The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (15 page)

The rational part of him didn’t understand what had happened. The things he’d spoken of had happened long ago. Why had talking about what he endured brought it back with such intensity? It was as if he could still feel the shackles on his wrists. See Galacius’s face, the lust and eagerness shadowing his dark eyes. His thick fingers stroking . . .

Bridei inhaled sharply and willed his thoughts away from the sickening memories. He had to forget. If he didn’t, he would go mad. He increased his pace, stumbling forward blindly. All at once, he realized he was near the forest where’d he pursued Dessia. Although he was wary of the place, today it seemed like the perfect escape. Perhaps he could enter the enchanted woodland and never return.

Most of the trees were bare now but the forest still seemed dense and dark. When he’d been here before the landscape had possessed some of the last richness and fecundity of fall. Now he felt as if death surrounded him. Most of the vegetation was dead or dormant. There were a few bits of green still visible—mosses that grew all year long, a few patches of grass where on fine days the sunlight shone. But everything else seemed to have turned gray or brown. It reminded him of when he’d once walked through a forest in Gaul that had burned in a fire. There was the same atmosphere, as if he entered a wasteland, a place where no life could survive.

He reminded himself that it would turn green and verdant again in the spring. Wood violets, primroses and snowdrops would peek through the dried brown leaf cover. The barren branches of the oaks and hazel bushes would be transformed by greening buds and fuzzy catkins. Vines would curl in wild tendrils around now stark tree trunks. Mosses and ferns would carpet the ground.

Even as he had the thought, it seemed to happen. Ahead, the woodland appeared cloaked in green. He hurried forward, unable to believe his eyes. The trees were fully leafed. The ground covered with vegetation. He halted and turned around, expecting to see the winter-bare trees he’d walked through a moment before. What he saw astonished him. It was as if he’d traveled two seasons into the future. This was no desolate late autumn woodland, but a wonderland of green.

He glanced up at the sky, wondering if he’d stumbled through an invisible doorway into the realm of the fey. The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up as he recalled what had happened to him the first time he’d come here. How the dense mist had risen, surrounding him in blinding whiteness. This experience was even stranger. For a moment he stood frozen, afraid to go forward or back. Then a breeze rustled through the leaves of the trees and he seemed to hear a voice calling, “This way. This way. You must go this way.”

Mouth dry, he began to walk in the direction the whispering voice told him to. He thought he was headed down the pathway to the lake. Yet how could he be certain of anything when his surroundings altered before his eyes?

A little further and the ground sloped downwards and he heard the sparkling melody of the stream in the distance. He remembered the first time he’d come here and his sense of being tested, as if he must prove to the forest guardians he was worthy to enter their realm. Now there was no mist to obscure his way, and he could see the path clearly. He felt like a piece of iron being drawn to a lodestone. What would he discover when he reached the lake? After all he’d experienced, nothing would surprise him.

A thought flashed into his mind that he would find his mother and father standing by the still, pearly waters. He could almost see them in his mind: his mother small and delicate, her pale, freckled skin faintly lined and her russet hair threaded with silver. His father, his massive broad-shouldered form slightly diminished, his face carved into deep planes and shadows and his hair and beard frosted with white. With a shock, Bridei realized he was imagining much older versions of his parents. Was this what they looked like now? Were they even alive, or was he seeing their wraiths? Dread filled him. What if their spirits had called him here to say goodbye?

But then he reached the lake and there was no one there. He glanced around, half-panicked. Was he too late? Had they already left him behind? Tears filled his eyes. He felt like a small child, lost and abandoned in the woods. With effort, he calmed himself. It wasn’t real. None of this was. He was having some sort of waking dream. Going to the edge of the water, he bent down, wondering if the lake itself was enchanted. He dipped his hands in and splashed his face. The water was icy cold, very wet and very real.

* * *

The hall was filled with activity. With Bridei gone, people were taking this opportunity to step out to the midden, grab a drink of cider from the big pot Beatha had set near the hearth or to discuss the things he’d told them. Dessia was torn. On one hand, she was reluctant to leave. If Bridei came back and began talking again, she might learn even more about him. But her body was cramped and aching, and she worried someone would speak to her and she wouldn’t be able to carry off the disguise.

Reluctantly, she got to her feet, and maintaining her hunched-over position, made her way around the edge of the hall. She reached the stairway leading up to the tower, and turned to survey the hall. If she were seen going up the stairs to the queen’s chamber, people would think it odd. Seeing Sorcha coming towards her, she started to panic, but fortunately, Aife had seen what was happening and hurried over. “The queen has asked to see Glynna,” she told Sorcha.

Although Dessia had quickly turned away and bowed her head so Sorcha couldn’t see her face, she heard the puzzlement in the woman’s voice as she said, “The queen? What does she want with Glynna?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Aife answered. “Perhaps it’s about some herb or plant she needs for her spells.”

“Oh, aye,” Sorcha responded. “Glynna does know a lot about plants. That’s actually what I wanted to talk to her about. Nuala the Healer told me that coltsfoot might help my son’s cough, but she hasn’t been able to find any. I thought Glynna might have seen some in the woods on her way here.”

“You can talk with her after the queen does,” Aife said in authoritative tones. She grasped Dessia’s arm and guided her to the stairs. “Here now, I’ll help you, Glynna. The stairs are steep and we don’t want you to fall.”

As soon as they climbed the steps and reached the tower room, Dessia unfastened the scratchy, smelly cloak and tossed it to the floor. She stretched out her arms and rolled her shoulders, trying to get the kinks out of her stiff muscles. “What misery. I began to think my body would freeze in that cramped position and I’d never be able to straighten up. And that cloak—how does anyone tolerate wearing such rough, scratchy garments?”

“It might be uncomfortable to wear, but if you were outside in the rain, you would find unwashed wool sheds water very well. Not everyone has access to oiled leather garments to fend off the weather. Nor do they have the luxury of staying in their homes when it’s foul out.”

“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Dessia responded, feeling chastened. The next moment, they heard footsteps on the stairs. “Who could that be?” asked Dessia. “You don’t suppose Sorcha decided to follow after Glynna.”

“Nay, she would not,” Aife assured her. “Besides, it sounds like Keenan.”

Dessia raised her brows at this, then smoothed her hair and the plain gown she’d worn under the scratchy cloak. Keenan called up a moment later, and Dessia bid him come up.

Keenan came up the stairs, his cape and other garments wet and dripping. He shot a quick glance at Aife, then bowed to Dessia and said, “I’m sorry to intrude, milady, but I wanted to let you know that Bridei ap Maelgwn has left the hillfort.”

“In this weather?” Dessia exclaimed. “Why? Did he say where he was going?”

“Nay, but I watched from the gatetower and saw him heading west.”

“How peculiar,” said Dessia.

“And dangerous.” Aife looked at Keenan. “You should go after him.”

“Why?” Keenan’s expression was glowering. “If he falls into the marsh or the forest swallows him up, I say good riddance.”

“That’s unkind,” Aife retorted sharply. “Although you may dislike the man, he’s given the rest of us a great deal of enjoyment. Everyone’s eagerly awaiting the day when the harp is finished, so he can play for us. If something happens to him now, it would be dreadful.” She clutched Keenan’s arm. “The stories he told of his early life were heart-breaking. His father sent him away when he wasn’t yet a man and he ended up being sold into slavery. Yet he survived and was able to free himself through cleverness.”

Keenan snorted. “Or deceit and cunning, as some might say.” He looked at Dessia. “What say you, milady? Do you think I should go after him?” Keenan’s gaze met Dessia’s. It was clear from the disgust in his blue-green eyes he thought it ridiculous he even had to ask question.

Dessia frowned as she puzzled on the matter. Where was Bridei going? And why now, in the middle of a rainstorm, with half the day gone? He couldn’t hope to get far before dark.

Her attention turned back to Keenan. While she would have liked to have her man-of-arms follow Bridei and see where he went, it seemed unreasonable to ask such a thing. Even if Bridei were spying for her enemies—which she’d begun to doubt more and more—it was unlikely he would meet up with them on a day like this.

She said, “I’m certain he’ll be back soon. The weather is too miserable for him to go far.”

“The very reason someone should go after him,” said Aife, her expression pleading. “Before he gets lost and freezes to death.”

Keenan snorted again. “He’s a grown man. If he gets lost, then he’s a fool who’s not worth saving. Besides, when I saw him, he was wearing a rather fine cloak. It won’t keep him dry for long in this, but he’s not likely to perish with that kind of protection either.”

“Oh, aye, Beatha gave him a new cloak before he left,” Dessia recalled. “It’s a good quality garment. A very extravagant gift, I thought. Beatha could offer that to the traders when they come, and get a fair measure of goods in return.”

“Perhaps she thought he’d earned it by entertaining us,” Aife responded in cold tones.

Dessia gave the maidservant a look. Could it be that Aife was more taken with Bridei than she’d let on?

Aife seemed to sense her thoughts, or perhaps she was aware her words might have angered Keenan, for she said, “It can’t have been easy for Bridei to speak of some of the things that happened to him. His honesty surprised me, and makes me think that his true nature might be much different than the cheerful image he shows the world. I can’t help but feel sorry for him. He’s had a hard life.”

Aife’s words aroused a spark of guilt in Dessia’s mind. She’d been on her guard with Bridei from the very beginning and always thought the worst of him. She’d assumed his handsome face and natural grace implied a shallow and self-serving nature. But perhaps it was unfair to make that assumption. He might be a much different sort of person than she’d thought. Perhaps, like her, he hid his true feelings behind a mask.

The idea unsettled her, and she began to wonder if someone should go after Bridei after all. The only reason she could think of for him to run off like that was because he was distressed. It was exactly the sort of thing she did when her thoughts were in turmoil. When everything became overwhelming and she didn’t know what to do next, she would go to the Forest of Mist. Passing through the mist forced her to concentrate and when she reached the lake, the magical peace of the place always soothed her. Would Bridei do something similar? She looked at Keenan. “What direction he was heading when you saw him?”

“He appeared to be walking northwest, which I thought odd. That means he’ll have to circle around the forest to reach the main trackway. It would be much easier for him to head south, especially if he were planning to meet up with someone coming from outside your territory.”

Unless he decided to go to the Forest of Mist, Dessia thought. The idea bothered her. That had always been her special place, where no one else dared to go. When she went to the lake, she had a sense of the Ancient Ones watching over her. She felt safe there, and also powerful in her own right. That was why she often practiced swordplay on the lakeshore. She believed that she—and her weapon—might absorb some of the magical essence of the realm. It was also a good place to be alone, to think and untangle her thoughts. Which was the very reason Bridei might also be drawn there.

Her emotions roiled. She felt angry, as if Bridei had stolen something from her. Yet, she also felt a vague worry for him. When the forest had let him pass, he’d been following after her. If he went there by himself, the spirits might turn upon him. If he stubbornly kept going when the mists came, he might end up falling and hurting himself. Or, he might simply get lost and end up traveling in circles. If he were very wet and cold when night fell, he might indeed perish of exposure.

Dessia sighed, then said, “I suppose I’ll have to go after him.”

“
You
, Milady?” Aife exclaimed. “But why? Wouldn’t it be better to send Keenan?”

“Aye,” Keenan agreed. “If you deem it necessary, I’ll go after him.”  He turned to leave.

Aife grabbed his arm. “You must eat and drink something warm before you go. Shouldn’t he?” Aife looked at Dessia with pleading eyes.

Dessia motioned. “Go to the hall and eat and drink. Then, when you’ve warmed a little, return to the gatetower. Despite the weather, I don’t want the rath unguarded. In the meantime, I’ll garb myself in my warmest clothing and set out after Bridei.” She looked at each of them. “This is something I must do myself. He’s a visitor under my roof, and I’m responsible for what happens to him.”