The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (6 page)

She made her way down the hillside, and at the bottom, found the pathway leading to the ancient oakwoods. It occurred to her that she was following the same route the phantom cat had taken on the night of the attack. She could still remember the terror of that journey, her awareness that although she might be escaping death, it was possible she was headed toward a fate even more horrifying. Children were warned against going into the Forest of Mist, taught to fear not only the wild beasts lurking there, but also the magical beings who ruled the enchanted realms, the space between this world and the Other Side.

But she’d never encountered anything fearful there, not that night nor anytime since. Over time it became a refuge, a place where she could escape the burdens of her life. Seeing the dark mass of trees in the distance, Dessia quickened her pace.

* * *

Where was she going—alone and armed like a warrior? Bridei stared at the gate the queen had just passed through. Something had woken him a short while before, and he’d left the barracks where the workmen slept and went out into the near dawn. There was just enough light to make out a tall, slim figure, armed with sword and shield, moving through the settlement. Curious, Bridei had followed. It was only when the mysterious person halted and called up to the guard that Bridei realized it was the queen. He’d grinned in appreciation of the way the male attire showed off her feminine form, emphasizing rather than concealing her delicious curves. Then he crept nearer and watched as she vanished through the gate.

Now he contemplated how he could follow her. What tale could he tell the guard to convince the man to let him pass? He puzzled on the matter, then decided to try another approach. Turning, he headed to the other side of the rath, to the place where he’d been working earlier that day. Passing the piles of rocks, he climbed the scaffolding to the top of the half-finished stone wall. His hand found a purchase on the timber fortification outside the wall and he scrambled up. Crouching on the edge of the wooden palisade, he warily regarded the ten-foot drop to the ground, then made the leap. He relaxed his body as he fell and rolled as he landed, a trick he’d learned as a youth. In seconds, he was on his feet, his clothing damp with dew, but his body uninjured.

He wasted no time in hurrying around the perimeter of the rath. But when he arrived on the other side of the fort, he saw no sign of the queen. It was too dark to see very far. He would have to guess which way she’d gone. The sea lay to the east. Would she have traveled that direction? Nay, he didn’t think so. She was too shrewd to venture out into the open along the coast, especially since she knew the slavers were about. A lone woman would have no chance against a group of men, even if she were armed.

Which was another puzzle. Why was she carrying a sword and shield? Was the weapon for protection? But protection from what? If she feared attack, she would have taken an escort.

Perhaps she wearied of being confined in the rath. He could well understand such a feeling. After only three days behind the fortress’s walls, he was also growing restless. It was a comfortable enough settlement, but small and crowded nonetheless. Nothing like the vast walled towns of Gaul, or even the old Roman colonae of Britain.

But if the queen sought fresh air and freedom, where was she headed? Bridei tried to recall the landscape around the rath. He’d had a good look at the area when he’d been up on the scaffolding the day before. Rolling hills all around, except for a dark swathe of oakwoods extending deep inland. His mother loved the forest, he recalled. She’d told him she never felt more content than when she was among the trees with their spirits all around her. Did Queen Dessia have a similar affinity for the wildwood?

Bridei started walking. It was only a hunch, but better than nothing. If he were wrong, he’d at least see another part of the Fionnlairaos’ territory. Again, he puzzled on the name of the queen’s tribe. He’d seen no horses since arriving in Eire and certainly no white ones. Did the name hail from a time in the past when Dessia’s ancestors possessed horses? Or was it an allusion to a supernatural animal?

This Irish queen and her world intrigued him. Ireland reminded him of the wild hills of his homeland, yet this realm was subtly different. There was less darkness here, as if the ancient forces of land and sea and sky were not quite so harsh and primeval. This seemed to be a place of more sunshine and less shadow than Gwynedd.

He entered the woods, thinking his quest was probably hopeless. In this wild tangle of old oak, elm and hazel, it would be next to impossible to find her. Unless she’d kept to the pathway. For there was a trackway here, very narrow but clearly visible among the undergrowth of the autumn woods.

Along the path, bryony and rowan bushes glistened with red berries, while overhead great, ancient oaks spread their boughs, their dull gold leaves half fallen. There was still plenty of greenery here, the yellow green of hazel, darker hues of the ivy and vivid mosses, as well as a few late flowers—yellow agrimony and purple loosestrife. He heard birdsong; chaffs and warblers staying late in the season. The Blood Moon was waxing. In his homeland, the excess stock would soon be butchered in preparation for winter. But the grass here was still green, so perhaps they didn’t have to cull their herds.

As he progressed deeper into the woods, he encountered pigs rooting among the acorn mast, calling to mind the rich pork in the stew he’d eaten the evening before. Like his people, the Irish appeared to eat more meat and cheese than bread. Although he’d seen some fields of barley and wheat, they were relatively small compared to the rich pastureland where cows and sheep grazed.

The path grew even narrower, then disappeared altogether. Bridei peered into the dense, nearly impenetrable foliage. Why would the trackway simply end? It was almost as if the woods were urging him to turn back. Then he heard the sound of water, a little runlet trickling over the ground. He decided to find the stream and follow it.

The ground sloped downward as he set out through the underbrush, and he had to struggle over many fallen branches. It was dark here, as if the sky overhead had grown overcast even as dawn broke. He glanced upwards, wondering if it would rain. When he returned his gaze to the pathway, the ground had disappeared beneath a layer of mist. In a few moments, he was completely surrounded by whiteness. He could still see, but not well enough to be certain of his footing. A prickle of fear crept along his spine and he turned around, contemplating heading back. But he couldn’t do that either. The mist was even thicker that direction.

His sense of unease increased. It was as if the forest conspired to make him lose his way. Ridiculous. A patch of woodland couldn’t reason or plan. Holding out his hands, he started forward, determined not to give in to his growing sense of alarm. His progress was painfully slow. He must first determine the size and location of the trees and bushes ahead of him, then climb over them or go around. It was terrifying to feel like a blind man. His heart beat faster and faster and his skin grew clammy with sweat. Where would he be when he finally reached the end of the mist?

His body trembled with the strain of moving so slowly. By the gods, what was happening? He’d never feared magic or sorcery. He had memories of his mother telling him about the old gods, the powerful ancient forces that governed the land, but he’d dismissed them as he had all the other deities he’d heard of in his travels. Now he wondered if there was not more to her tales than he’d guessed.

He could feel some sort of power here, an almost palpable force. It felt as if he were at the whim at that force, as helpless as if he were in slave shackles with armed guards surrounding him. Was this spirit of the woods merely toying with him or did it have a purpose? So far, all he could be certain of was that he was hopelessly lost.

Anger surged through him and he moved forward. He refused to cower before this unseen presence. If it struck him down, so be it!

The ground sloped steadily downward. He must reach the bottom eventually. Unless he’d entered some other realm. Again, he experienced a sense of foreboding. Did the bewitchery of this place have anything to do with Queen Dessia? A ruler and their land were often connected. Bridei had heard of rituals where a king symbolically mated with the earth goddess to ensure his land’s fertility. And darker rites where a king was sacrificed to rid the land of a curse.

Despite himself, Bridei shivered. For all his exertions, he felt cold. What was this place? He struggled forward, not knowing what else to do. At last, he reached level ground. A few steps further and the mist began to thin. He was in a kind of valley, and through the autumn woods he could see a lake. It glistened in the soft morning light like a vast moonstone.

He walked toward the lake, feeling both relieved and awed. If sorcery had brought him here, then it must be a benevolent force, to guide him to such a beautiful place. As he approached the lake, he saw something that reinforced his sense of good fortune. There, in an open area near the edge of the water, was his quarry—the lovely Queen Dessia.

At first he couldn’t make out what the queen was doing, with her sword drawn and her shield at the ready. Then he decided she must be training herself in weaponry. She parried and lunged, as if engaging an invisible opponent. The intensity of her efforts amazed him. Her face was flushed and her expression and movements bespoke desperate concentration, as if she fought for her very life. He wondered if she did battle against some terrifying but invisible enemy. If she were in danger, how could he aid her? He had no weapon. Even if he did, he could hardly engage a foe he couldn’t see.

But perhaps she didn’t need his help. Her movements were rapid and precise and she wielded the heavy weapon with remarkable strength. Who would have guessed a woman could appear so formidable? And yet for all her ferocity she remained the essence of grace and femininity, the lines of her body as elegant as the curving patterns on a brooch fashioned by a master craftsman.

She seemed to be driving her opponent back. Back and back. Her enemy appeared to surrender. She held out her sword as if the tip touched her unseen opponent’s throat, forcing them to beg for mercy. Bridei was filled with satisfaction at the sight of her evident triumph. Although he was certain by now that her adversary was imaginary, it still pleased him to see her prevail. He clapped his hands in approval. “Well done, lady.”

At the sound of his voice, Queen Dessia whirled around. Her green eyes met his, brilliant with shock. Then her expression grew hard. “What are you doing here? How dare you . . .” Her voice trailed off and she glanced around in obvious dismay.

“I saw you leave the rath and followed.”

“But the forest . . .” She shook her head in confusion. Clearly, she hadn’t expected the forces guarding the woods to allow him to pass. Encouraged, he drew nearer. The men’s clothing she wore emphasized her femininity, accentuating the narrowness of her waist, the delicacy of her wrists and hands, the slenderness of her neck. She was garbed as a warrior, but all he could see was her womanliness, her vulnerability.

As he drew nearer, she raised her sword in a threatening gesture and sprang into a fighting stance. “You’ll come no closer.”

“I’m not your servant to command.”

He could tell his response infuriated her. But beneath the anger was fear. He gestured, feigning amazement. “You would use your weapon on an unarmed opponent? That would hardly be honorable.”

She let out a hiss of rage. “Come no closer.”

He moved slowly, deliberately, nearer. Her expression grew furious, then desperate. For all her ruthlessness in mock combat, he wondered if she’d ever engaged in real battle, ever injured or killed anyone. He paused a few paces away and held her gaze. The strain was beginning to wear on her. Her hand holding the sword had begun to tremble. Observing that sign of weakness, he moved into action, sweeping past her right side before she could bring the sword around. She tried to turn but he was already behind her. He grabbed her around the waist and pinned her arms against her body.

She writhed and twisted, struggling to get away. But she was untrained in this sort of close combat and not as strong as he was. When she paused for breath, he grabbed her right wrist and twisted until she dropped the sword.

She let out a scream of outrage and flailed and fought some more. But trapped as she was, her body tight against his, she was unable reach his face or strike a blow. After a time, she stopped struggling and Bridei allowed himself to enjoy the intimacy of their position. Her firm buttocks pressed against his groin. The soft swell of her breasts pressed into his forearm. A violent wave of lust surged through him and he thought she must surely feel his erection hard against her bottom.

But mixed with his arousal was a touch of pity. How defeated and helpless she must feel at being trapped in his arms. She was breathing heavily, her chest rising and falling in rapid rhythm. Clearly, she was furious with herself for letting this happen. She hadn’t truly believed he would lay hands on her. Otherwise, she would have fought much harder.

That was his advantage, and he had pressed it. Even now, he didn’t think she wished to be away from him. While her mind told her to fight, her body was perfectly willing to surrender. He had the knowledge and the skill to tip the balance so she would yield. But he also knew that even subtle coercion was risky. If he took advantage of her vulnerability, this haughty queen could end up hating him. He might ease his lust, but it would be at the cost of the ultimate prize.