The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy (27 page)

And the reason why came to Lorn as a stab under his breastbone. For all that Urben had supported Lorn, he had other sons, three others to be exact, and all of them fostered out to outlying clans. Lorn was expendable, then. He had a good chance of killing the prince, and that was worth the risk of Eremon killing him. If Lorn died, Urben could take another son and form a new plan. And then another – if he chose.

Swept by a plunging nausea, Lorn turned away, ignoring both the mocking, empty gaze of the shrine’s wooden idols and his father’s barked order to come back.

Rhiann was embroidering a tunic for the baby when Lorn raised her door-hide and entered along with a gust of wind. All within the house fell silent, their gazes hostile, but Rhiann took in the dazed expression on Lorn’s face, and her priestess senses prickled at the nape of her neck.

She flicked her fingers at Caitlin, who beckoned to Eithne. Both retreated behind one of the bedscreens with their sewing. Didius only glared, but Aedan swiftly dragged his stool to the far reaches of the lamplight, hunching over to mend his broken string.

Rhiann eyed Lorn, as he flung himself to the hearth-bench and, in stumbling words, told Rhiann of the offer Urben had made to Eremon: that if he left now empty-handed, there would be no bloodshed. Rhiann dropped her embroidery in her lap. ‘Your father knows little of Eremon’s determination if he thought that would be accepted.’

Lorn continued to stare into the lamps set on the shelf of figurines.

‘Yet he did know, didn’t he?’ Rhiann continued softly. He knew Eremon would never leave us.’

Lorn’s mouth turned down. ‘It was worth a try, that is all. It would have made this easier for everyone.’

Rhiann snorted, twirling the bone needle in her fingers. ‘For you perhaps, but hardly for Caitlin and I. Or do you and your father believe that women’s hearts will capitulate as quickly as defeated warriors?’

Lorn raised his hand as if warding her away, his cheeks turning a mottled shade of crimson. Silence fell, and one of the lamps hissed as the rush wick burned out. Yet although Rhiann took up her embroidery again, she recognized the bleakness in Lorn’s face. And that brought the glimmering of an idea to her mind.

Something was amiss with Lorn; she could smell it. He did not have the air of confidence that might be expected in one who held such valuable hostages against his enemy. Watching him sidewise as she stabbed the needle into the cloth, Rhiann wondered if she might be able to goad Lorn into betraying something. She shot a warning glance at Didius, mouthing
stay
, and received a nod in return.

‘All this scheming seems beyond even your father,’ she suddenly remarked to Lorn, biting off her thread. ‘In truth, it has Gelert’s stink all over it. Tell me …’ She pierced Lorn with her gaze. ‘Do you dance for him when he orders you to?’

Lorn straightened as if he had been stung. ‘I have kept a civil tongue for you, lady. You will do the same for me.’ He reminded Rhiann of a cornered stallion, and she knew she must walk a careful line. Yet even if he struck her in rage, it would be worth it, for all of them.

‘I will do nothing for you, Lorn,’ she ploughed on. ‘Because you are not just a traitor: Eremon sits there before your gate, and you are too much of a coward to go out and face him!’

It wasn’t shock or outrage that flooded Lorn’s eyes, but shame, and Rhiann pressed her advantage.

‘If you care for the people at all, you will avoid the shedding of kin blood! Go and face him like the warrior you purport to be!’ She flung her hand towards the door.

Lorn had now gone deathly white, and his grey eyes glittered with something unexpected, despite Rhiann’s goading.
He does fear facing Eremon!
she realized with a jolt. Yet it couldn’t be death he feared, for Lorn possessed all the courage of his class. She took her racing thoughts in hand, and raised one eyebrow. ‘So? Will you go, or are you the coward
I
think you to be?’

Lorn gasped, then he stumbled to his feet, nearly wrenching the door-hide from its pegs as he left.

Rhiann stared at the empty doorway, breathless, her heart pounding with elation. For if she could just get Lorn and Eremon together, she knew that somehow Eremon would find a way out of this.

The whispers began at dawn the next day, which brought a sudden rainstorm to veil the sun.

The conflict between Urben’s clan and the royal clan for the leadership of the Epidii, the right to the King’s Hall, would be decided by single combat between champions. Lorn, of the Dun of the Sun, had already stepped forward as his father’s champion.

And before the sun had burned off the clouds, Eremon of Erin sent word back that he accepted the challenge, on the royal clan’s behalf.

CHAPTER 23

L
orn did not speak to Rhiann again, but late in the afternoon she climbed the upper palisade to watch him ride out in his chariot, and her trained senses noted the slight difference in his stance. His shoulders seemed too carefully braced, his shield held too rigid as he swayed on the chariot platform behind his driver. She could almost taste the despair around him, and rejoiced in it, for it would make him weak.

Lorn’s chariot left the causeway outside the gates and rode straight over the level turf towards the ridge, his driver’s spear trailing plumes of woven horse-hair. The earlier rain had cleared the haze from the sky, and now the grass and the paths glittered with puddles, and the house posts, palisade and gate shone in the low sun. Behind Lorn, Urben rode in his own bright chariot, the bear banner streaming over his head, and then came five mounted warriors, three of them Lorn’s own sword-mates who had fought beside Eremon.

Up on the low ridge to the south, the boar standard was held in Conaire’s hand. Rhiann had to strain to discern Eremon, further back among his men. He would never agree to fight within bowshot of the walls, and so the people of Dunadd had to content themselves with what they could see, the far-sighted among them speaking for those less favoured.

‘Calum has speared Lorn’s banner into the ground, and Conaire has come forward with the Boar!’ one of Talorc’s daughters whispered nearby.

‘The chief druid and the seer are between the two lines now, reciting the laws,’ someone else ventured.

‘Look! Now they’re drawing back!’

Rhiann jumped down from the palisade next to the Moon Gate and, leaving Caitlin with Eithne, hurried along to the natural walls below the druid shrine. There she clambered up the slick rocks and perched with the young boys of the dun, enjoying a far better view. Her two guards climbed up too, making no move to take her down.

After listening to the druids and bowing to the gods, the combatants had withdrawn. Even at this distance, Rhiann could make out Eremon’s dark head next to Conaire’s blond one, as Conaire spoke to him, his hand in its accustomed position on Eremon’s shoulder. Lorn’s warriors were speaking, too, but in their midst Lorn stood remote, staring into the distance.

Watching one of the Epidii warriors with Eremon hand him a shield, Rhiann felt utterly impotent. Those men by Eremon’s side knew his thoughts and what he had planned – for she knew he would have planned something. But what?

Once the druids had made their own bows, the two fighters strode forward into a clear space at the same time, shields and swords flashing sun from their wet surfaces. Still the men had not exchanged any words. Yet at least Rhiann could see how straight and tall Eremon stood, how proud his head. Love bloomed in her heart. He was confident, and so must she be.

Then all thoughts fled from Rhiann’s mind as she squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the clash of swords. Her pulse was hammering in her throat, and she found herself muttering prayers to Andraste, war goddess, under her breath, pleading with the fierce lady to bless Eremon’s sword arm.

The clash she was expecting never came.

Rhiann opened her eyes to see that Eremon had gone down on one knee before Lorn, his sword laid across his hands. And as the murmurs of disbelief grew to cries around her, and shock turned her knees liquid, Rhiann could grasp at only one prayer now – that she might fly across the space between them, and hear what in Thisworld Eremon was saying.

The disbelief of all those in Dunadd shone from Lorn’s eyes.

‘What…?’ His voice failed him, and he cleared his throat as he looked down at Eremon. The horse-tail crest on his iron helmet shook slightly, betraying what his face would not show. ‘By the Mare, what are you doing?’

Eremon gazed up steadily from under his own helmet guard, his damp hair sticking to his cheeks. ‘I am pledging my allegiance to you, as the rightful king of the Epidii. My sword is in your service.’

Lorn glanced to the side, where his father and the druids had started forward with mutters of alarm.

‘What do you mean?’ The whisper was a hiss now, and confusion and hurt pride flared in Lorn’s face. ‘Do you mock me? Get up!’

Eremon did not move. ‘I do not mock you. Hear what I have to say.’

As the other men came close, Lorn flung up his sword to hold them at bay. ‘Come no closer! Under the laws of combat we speak alone!’

Urben halted, his red mouth working with anger.

Eremon spoke low and rapidly. ‘If you want it so much, I cede the King’s Hall to you gladly. Only give me Rhiann and Caitlin, and we will leave you in peace.’ Eremon held his breath, for though he and Conaire had talked this through, they had no way of knowing how Lorn would react.

Lorn fell back. ‘You would give up all you’ve fought for, just like that? Like
this
?’ He gestured at Eremon’s kneeling stance.

Eremon held his eyes. ‘The women mean more to me than leading a tribe. And the people of Dunadd, and their peace, mean more to me than the walls that enclose them.’

Shame seeped into Lorn’s features, as his sword gradually lowered. ‘Then you are more king than I.’

Ah!
This admission snagged on the edge of Eremon’s sharp mind. ‘But I never wanted to be your king, Lorn.’ Eremon glanced at Urben, and back up at Lorn, suddenly changing tack. ‘I was glad it was you who challenged me, and no other. I once told you we were brothers-in-arms.’

The grim line of Lorn’s mouth twisted. ‘And once I gave you my allegiance! So I am twice-cursed – a traitor, according to your wife, and now an oath-breaker!’

It was the first mention Eremon had gained of Rhiann, and though he yearned to ask more, now was not the time. He must press his advantage. ‘And what oath have you broken?’ he murmured. ‘You vowed to me as your war leader – I am still the war leader, if you wish it.’

Lorn’s brows drew together, yet a faint hope began to light far back in his pale eyes.

Eremon’s knee was beginning to ache horribly, for he’d rested it on a stone. But he must hold strong now. ‘I am a foreigner, and do not have the blood to be a king here,’ he continued. ‘You do. Yet I have the allegiances of the Caledonii, the Caereni and the Carnonacae. I believe there is room for both of us in the King’s Hall of Dunadd.’

Lorn had always been impulsive, yet never witless, and it only took a moment for him to grasp the rope Eremon had thrown to him. The furrow on his forehead smoothed away, and his sword tip came to rest on the ground. ‘You are sure?’ He folded his hands over the hilt, a bear’s head worked in bronze and horn.

‘Quite sure. Now, let us put aside the jealousies of these old men, and wield our swords together, as it should be.’

For a moment Lorn did not move, then a great, shuddering breath escaped him and he laid his hand across Eremon’s jewelled blade. ‘Then I accept your oath, prince. Rise now, war leader of my people.’ Gingerly, Eremon got to his feet, stretching his knee, and Lorn’s hand moved to his shoulder with a wry smile. You keep surprising me, prince. I should be used to it by now.’

Urben had finally taken all of this in, and now he strode forward in spluttering wrath, Gelert hesitating at his heel. What is the meaning of this?’ Urben thundered.

Instantly, Lorn dropped his hand and turned, and Eremon could see that all the shame and pain had fled from his face. ‘The meaning, Father, is that the prince acknowledges me as king. And I also acknowledge him as war leader, since he is doing such an able job of it.’

As Urben’s jaw fell slack, Eremon’s attention shifted to Gelert, and he was satisfied by the stifled rage that crossed the druid’s face. He could almost see the thoughts scrambling behind his eyes.

Lorn’s gaze, meanwhile, was sweeping from Declan to his own men. ‘As you can see,’ he continued, his voice spreading and growing, proclaiming its authority, ‘it is the best solution for us all. It is time to end this siege and return our attention to the Romans, where it belongs. Fighting among ourselves,’ he held his father’s eyes, ‘weakens us when we need to be strong.’

As Urben’s brows knit together, his mouth opening, Lorn pressed his point. ‘You’ve gained what you wished, Father,’ he said evenly. ‘Your son will be king. So now you can leave off your sword, and stand at my kingship ceremony in gladness, and drink to my health in the King’s Hall.’ The warning was clear in his voice.

And after a visible struggle, Eremon saw surrender descend over Urben’s ruddy, belligerent face. Despite his size, he was an ageing man, after all, and now he shrugged his massive shoulders, his gaudy brooches glittering in the clear dusk. ‘As you will it.’ With a sharp jerk of his head, he and his two older warriors returned to their chariots.

With raised eyebrows, Eremon turned to Gelert, pleased at the dry swallowing of fury even a druid couldn’t hide. The old goat had been outmanoeuvred, for there was no doubt in Eremon’s mind that Gelert had been in league with Urben, pushing Lorn as king. If Gelert protested now, he would only reveal his true desire – to gain personal revenge on Eremon.

‘Thwarted three times, druid,’ Eremon muttered, watching Gelert toss his straggling hair and stalk away. ‘When will you concede defeat?’

Now his gaze met Declan’s hesitant smile. ‘The people will praise your wisdom, prince,’ the seer promised. ‘You have brought a peaceful end to this … distressing … situation.’ Yet his smile faded as he turned to go, and he frowned as his eye fell on his chief druid’s back.