Carnach hissed; Talorgen grimaced; Morleo clenched his fists.
“Ioua is not in King Gabhran’s gift,” said Bridei calmly. “As of today, he holds no power in Priteni lands. The western isles are under my control, and I will decide who comes and who goes. Fortriu wants no more zealous Christians poisoning the minds of its good folk.”
Suibne translated this, and Gabhran gave a measured, grave response.
“The king says, this great tide will hold back for no man. Not even the Blade of Fortriu can halt it,” Suibne said. “He’s right, Bridei. If you would know what we mean, invite this priest to your court at White Hill. See him, talk with him. I know you as tolerant and open-minded, a man who frames his own opinions. Hear Brother Colm, at least. None can meet him and remain unchanged.”
“What is this fellow trying to tell us?” Talorgen was becoming restless. “He’s here to translate, surely, not offer you his personal advice.”
“We are friends of a kind,” Bridei said. “But you’re right. Brother Suibne, tell the king I have noted this request. We are done here, for now.” He addressed Gabhran direct, while the Christian translated in a low voice. “My war leader and kinsman, Carnach, will arrange an armed guard for you. He will escort you personally to Dunadd and see to the arrangements for your swift departure from these shores. We’ve some work to do here first, men to bury, a ritual to perform, and some decisions to make as to which of your warriors will accompany you home and which may return to their communities here. I’ve no quarrel with any man who has a genuine desire to settle in these territories for good, as long as he respects Priteni law and Priteni faith.”
“My lord king—” Fokel was at the entry to the pavilion. His face was white and his tunic was covered in blood.
“I must leave you, my lords.” Bridei rose to his feet and made a courteous bow. “A dear friend is dying; I must speak to him while I still can. You, too, will have farewells to make. Do so swiftly. I want you out of this place before day’s end.”
GED WAS LYING on a makeshift stretcher, the terrible wound he had sustained covered by a bright cloak laid over his torso by one of his household men-at-arms. All around him other injured warriors lay; the surgeons were working in a welter of blood and flesh. The men who were helping them were gray-faced and silent. There was little equipment at hand; they needed saws, braziers for cauterization, healing herbs. In this land that had become a foreign country, there was only the scant supply each physician had carried in his saddlebags. The men with lesser wounds might be conveyed to a Dalriadan settlement and get reasonable attention there. Many would die here; this was the nature of a war fought on the march.
“Ged,” Bridei said, coming to kneel by his friend’s side and taking Ged’s hand between his. “This is grievous news.” There was no point in pretense; Morleo had described the wound to him earlier as they prepared for their council with Gabhran.
“Bridei …” Ged wheezed. “Good fight, wasn’t it? Fellows did us proud …”
“They did, my friend. Tell me now, is there anything I can do for you? Messages to convey?”
Ged tried to smile, and managed a contorted grimace. “You’re a king, not … errand boy … But Bridei … my boy, Aled … He’s only twelve, too young to take over Abertornie yet a while, and the little ones are all girls … Loura shouldn’t have to run the place on her own … Could you … ?”
“I’ll talk to your wife. We’ll put something in place for her, don’t distress yourself on that account.” Bridei could hear a change in Ged’s breathing, and see a filmy quality stealing across his eyes. Bone Mother was a hairsbreadth away. “We’re all here, Ged,” he said quietly. “Talorgen, Morleo, Fokel, and a good contingent of your own fellows, too. They fought as you’ve trained them to do, with heart, with guts, with inspiration. The Flamekeeper breathe his warmth into your spirit, and shield you on your journey.”
“Ah …” Ged breathed. “It hurts, Bridei. It hurts more than I thought it would. Hard to draw breath … But it’s good. We won it … We won our place back … If anything’s worth dying for, I think … it’s that …” The eyes glazed and became sightless; the chest ceased its shallow rise and fall. A thin trickle of blood came from one corner of Ged’s mouth to lose itself in the scarlet and yellow and green of his covering.
“Bone Mother cradle you gently, old fellow,” Talorgen said, turning aside to wipe his eyes.
“Blessed All-Flowers bring you dreams of the comeliest girls and the brightest gardens in all Fortriu,” said Fokel, bending to touch the dead man’s brow with his lips.
“The Shining One light your pathway, until you march forward into a new dawn.” Morleo knelt and closed the staring eyes; Bridei moved to cross Ged’s arms on his chest, where blood had soaked all through the borrowed cloak. He could find no more words. There was nothing to be done here. Ged’s men would keep a vigil, though only until dawn, for there were many to bury, and nobody wanted to linger in these parts. For himself, there were things to do yet, people to see, news to pass on. It would be a long time before he could be alone and begin to weigh this.
He found Cinioch, drew him aside, and told him that the matter he had seen unfold between Bridei, Hargest, and the mysterious redheaded stranger was to be kept strictly secret, for now at least. He was to make sure the other men who had been with him understood this.
“Already told them,” Cinioch said. “The only thing is, I did speak of it to Uven. Had to; he was all questions about our unexpected visitor. He knows to keep it to himself. Did you hear he killed three Gaels one-armed? Didn’t lose a single one of the wounded.”
“Uven’s not lacking in courage,” Bridei said. “As for you, I heard you acquitted yourself more than ably.”
“What will you tell Umbrig, my lord?” Cinioch asked baldly. “You going to let him know the boy he sent you as a bodyguard turned out to be an assassin?”
“Hush, Cinioch. What I choose to tell Umbrig is my own business.” Bridei saw the genuine concern on Cinioch’s face, and relented. “In fact,” he added, “I’ll be telling him the truth.” Once, before, he had come close to being slain by a friend turned foe, and he had lied to that man’s father to shield him from hurt. Talorgen had almost certainly guessed the truth, but the lie had helped him and his two younger boys to deal with their grief more easily. Bridei would not lie this time. “But there’s no need for the entire army to know as well. I’m going to find Umbrig now. And where’s—?” He glanced around the area where the Pitnochie horses had been tethered. A number of men he knew were seated, resting, tending to minor wounds or repacking gear. Someone had made a small campfire and was cooking what smelled like porridge.
“Drustan? The bird-man?”
“That, too, should be kept quiet. Is he still here, or has he flown off while we were making our terms for peace?”
“He’s up yonder, my lord. Looks as if he hasn’t the strength for any flying; not yet, anyway. By the Flamekeeper’s manhood, though, that fellow can fight more cannily than any warrior I’ve seen in the field. He’s got a rare talent. I’d like to learn a few of those moves. For a while there, I almost thought …”
Bridei managed a smile. “Perhaps we all did. But this is a mortal man, in my judgment; the fact that he claims to be Faolan’s friend seems to prove it. Offer him some food, will you? He’s come a long way in a hurry to help us. Ask him to wait until I come back. I wish to thank him. And I think he has a request to make of me.”
UMBRIG SURPRISED BRIDEI by shedding tears, and then by stating that he’d been worried all along the boy would turn bad; his father had a mean streak, and there was always the suspicion Hargest might revert to type. As for the news that apparently Alpin, too, was dead, Umbrig took that calmly. The Caitt chieftain opined that if Hargest had attempted assassination, it would be Alpin who’d put him up to it. Umbrig suspected the two of them might have met, once or twice, during those long expeditions the boy liked to make on horseback, ostensibly to build up the stamina of
newly trained mounts. The boy’s public disdain of his natural father had never quite meshed with his desire for recognition and for a place in the world.
“A desire for love, I think it was,” Bridei said quietly, feeling his own failure as an ache in the chest. “I tried to help him. I could have done much for him, if he’d given it time. Hargest had promise; all he needed was good guidance until he recognized his own strength and his own humanity.”
“I did try, Bridei,” muttered Umbrig, wiping his face on the cat-skin border of his massive cloak. “I tried over seven years. There’s bad blood in that family. Strange stories; dark history.”
“You know the boy’s uncle, Drustan, is here? That it was he who brought the news of Alpin’s death?”
Umbrig stared at Bridei. “The mad uncle? Really? What side was he fighting on?”
“He intervened to save my life. You’ll see wounds on your foster son’s face. His uncle inflicted those. But the mortal injury was my own doing. I didn’t mean to kill him, Umbrig. I sought only to prevent him from piercing my heart with his knife. I would give much to have that time again, to turn him from his mission and to guide him into a future of bright possibilities.”
“You’re not a god, Bridei, for all so many folk come close to thinking so. You can’t get it right every time. Maybe it was meant for Hargest to go now, today. The lad was eaten up by rage and frustration. Perhaps he’d never have been satisfied. Perhaps he’d never have accepted the fact that he wasn’t Alpin’s legitimate son and heir. Who knows? We lost scores of good men on this field today. In the long run, the boy’s just another casualty of war.” Tears were flowing freely down the broad, tattooed features.
“Thank you, Umbrig,” Bridei said, bowing his head. “This places me in your debt, and I will honor that when you need it. Just tell me quickly: this mad uncle we spoke of, has he earned that description through temperament or infirmity? Drustan does not seem to me addled in his wits.”
Umbrig grimaced. “Haven’t seen him for years,” he said, “not since the lot of us were children. He was all right then, bit of a dreamer, but nothing unusual. Tale goes that he killed Alpin’s wife and child, and his brother declared him a danger and locked him up for safety. Seven years ago; that’s just after Hargest was sent to me. So he’s out, is he? That’ll be interesting. You realize Drustan owns the anchorage in the west? The one Alpin’s been using for his seaborne forces? And I suppose Briar Wood will go to him now as well. That’s going to make him one of the most powerful chieftains in the north.”
“Interesting,” said Bridei. “I must ask Talorgen if there were Caitt ships among those he sank on the way here. But first, I will seek out this uncle and put some questions to him. Farewell, Umbrig. Again, I can’t tell you how sorry I am about the lad.”
“You don’t need to,” Umbrig said. “It’s written all over your face. Go on, then. I’ve men to bury. I’d best start now and get it done with.”
DRUSTAN WAS ALONE, standing at some distance from the campfire Uven had made. It had been a very long day. Dusk was falling now and the breeze had dropped to a gentle westerly, bearing the salt smell of the sea. Many birds flew overhead, calling to the coming night, and the red-haired man was gazing up at them. His arms were wrapped across his chest. As Bridei approached, he saw that Drustan was shivering and that his jaw was set tight as if to keep his teeth from chattering. A metal bowl of food had been set on a flat rock nearby; it appeared untouched.
“Drustan?” Bridei kept his tone soft. He had not come alone; Cinioch and Uven were close by and watching out for him. While he had never quite shed his desire to be able to move about without constant protection, he accepted that today was somewhat exceptional. He had chosen to trust Hargest, and Hargest had almost killed him. Today, his army had won Dalriada back; the peace depended on him.
“My lord king.” Drustan unfolded his arms and inclined his head courteously. His voice was not quite steady.
“You seem unwell. Shall we sit?”
“I am well enough. To change my form takes some toll on me; to ride straight into a conflict after what had occurred tested me severely. Besides …” Drustan hesitated.
“Come, sit.”
They settled on the ground, side by side. This field provided few comforts.
“As you doubtless saw, I have been trained to fight,” Drustan said, “and to do it capably. I’ve been a prisoner, seven years locked up with just the one guard. To pass the time and to keep me from madness and despair, he taught me what he knew. The moves, the skills, those I enjoy. It is good to exercise body and mind. Riding into battle and employing those skills to maim and kill is alien to my nature. It troubles me. And I am unaccustomed to being among folk. I offer my apologies. Your men must have thought me churlish and ungrateful.”
Bridei absorbed this speech, which had contained several surprises. Things being as they were, he was unlikely to have time to get to know this intriguing man very well, for a while at least. “Drustan,” he ventured, “I have a number of questions to ask you. Indeed, I scarcely know where to begin. Umbrig told me you were locked up by your brother for a serious crime. A heinous crime.”
“You wish to ask if this is true? Why would you believe me over Umbrig, whom you already know?”
“Umbrig tells only what he has heard. You are in a position to tell the truth.”
“I am innocent of that crime.” Drustan turned his lambent eyes on Bridei. “Do you trust your man Faolan?”
This was unexpected. “With my life,” Bridei said.
“He knows I am innocent. He will speak in my support. So will Ana.”
Something in Drustan’s tone caught Bridei’s attention. “You refer to the royal hostage, Ana of the Light Isles, whom we sent to wed your brother?”
Drustan lowered his eyes. A little smile curved his lips. “She never doubted me,” he said. “Even when I myself was unsure, she trusted in my innocence. They have been true friends to me, the two of them.”
“You surprise me. According to Faolan, he doesn’t have friends.”
“You and I know that he does.”
“I think you’d better tell me the whole story,” Bridei said. “We don’t have much time; in the absence of my druid, I must conduct a ritual before nightfall. And I have a request to make of you, but it depends on your answers to my questions.”
“I wish to ask a question of you, before I tell our tale: mine and Faolan’s and … Ana’s.” There it was again, the name spoken with such delicacy and passion that one could not hear it without a jolt to the heart.
“Ask, then.”
“You fought and killed today as we all did. You took your place among your warriors and led by example as a true king should. Indeed, it seemed you chose to set yourself at hazard; to conceal the signs of your royal status until the very end, taking your chances with the rest of your men. You were courageous, decisive. Now you appear calm and controlled. But I saw in your face that you relished the shedding of blood no more than I did. This interests me. Your Faolan speaks of you almost as if you were a god … No, that’s wrong, he is not a man who places much trust in things spiritual. He sees you as a leader without peer, and as a man whose example is outstanding in every way. He sees you also as a friend, although he will not acknowledge it.”
There was a silence. Then Bridei said, “What is the question?”
“How do you reconcile these things?” Drustan asked, placing his arms around his knees. “How can you bear it?”
Bridei managed a smile. “At times like this,” he said, “with considerable difficulty. I was raised by a man who understood what a king must be; he prepared me well. I have folk at White Hill, and chieftains here in the field, who support me with all they have to give. And there’s my wife. Without Tuala I couldn’t make sense of any of it. She is my anchor, my still center, my heart and my gift.” It felt odd, yet strangely right, to be confiding this to Drustan, whom he had known for so short a time. In a curious way, the bird-man r
eminded him of the old druid Uist, who had ever seemed full of an Otherworldly radiance and wisdom, even in the darkest times, as if he stood outside the ordinary rights and wrongs of human business.
Drustan was smiling. “Thank you,” he said. “I honor you, and I pity you. Each of us has his own shackles. I escaped mine with the help of remarkable friends. But you can never escape.”
“You misunderstand me. I love the gods and I love my country. The duty of leadership has called to me from the first, and I follow this path willingly.”
“Love sustains you. Tuala is a remarkable woman. I will tell my story now.”
His account was long, dark, and stranger than anything Bridei could have anticipated. Ana’s role seemed utterly out of keeping with what he knew of her nature, and some of Faolan’s choices surprised him, but the tale was compelling and he believed it. He listened in total silence until Drustan brought his story to a close with Tuala’s request that he act as messenger. “And I knew,” the red-haired man said, “I knew in my heart that this assassin was none other than my brother’s son. As soon as the queen spoke of his eyes, I knew. I did not tell them. For Faolan in particular, asking me to intervene in such a situation would have sat very ill.”
“Why for Faolan especially?”
“There is an event in his own past, an experience I cannot share with you, for the account of it was given in confidence. Faolan would be loath to ask a man to put the life of a kinsman at risk. That was always possible, even though, as far as we knew, all I had to do was deliver a warning. I did not wish to reveal my blood bond with Hargest to him.”
“I’m sorry. Had I known—”
“It could have made no difference, my lord. I made a choice. Your survival outweighs Hargest’s many times over. You are the Blade of Fortriu. He was—”
“Just a confused and angry boy? I can’t see it that way, Drustan. It seems to me a man is a man, and each small passing deserves an equal share of tears. I could have helped that lad; he could have been something, I know it. Now another friend has entrusted his son to me, and I fear I will botch the task all over again. Outstanding example? At times like this, I feel as if I’m blundering along in the dark.”