The sword of light, p.11
The Sword of Light, page 11
“And then again, maybe we are wrong in our interpretation.”
“It’s neither man?” Deidre asked him.
“The dreams aren’t always crystal clear. I wasn’t in your dream, so I don’t know what you saw. But it’s possible that they were both there to defend the passages.”
She nodded slowly and said thoughtfully, “The men we saw—James of Munster, Angus of Ui Neill, Eion of Connaught and Berach of Linns—maybe none are guilty. Now we’ve also seen Cillian, but his destiny is so tied in with Declan’s that I can’t imagine he’d do anything against the man.”
“There’s something about Cillian . . . I don’t believe that he’d go against Declan, either. I mean . . .” He looked at her with a pained grin. “We may have some magical or heavenly help coming our way, but we’re mere mortals ourselves. Now, hopefully, we’ve gained some sense of human nature and our instincts and abilities to judge others are sound, but . . .”
“But we have no guarantees.”
“Ah! But we do have fathers. And soon, very soon, we can set this whole thing before them.”
That was true. They had only a few hours to go.
In that time, they talked a bit, and were silent a bit. And it was all right to be silent with Kylin. It was comfortable. She realized how easy it was to be with him, and despite herself, she kept envisioning the naked half of his body she had witnessed as he bathed. She chided herself for such foolishness. Then his words came to her mind.
They were mere mortals.
She was a mere mortal.
And with all those instincts, maybe it was natural that she would find herself attracted to such a man. Something, of course, that she didn’t dare think about at this time!
He lifted a hand and paused a few times as they rode, listening to the world around them, always wary lest an enemy await in ambush and fall upon them.
But the ride was uninterrupted. They stuck to the forest trails and in time, they heard a call out from one of the warriors ever on guard around their communities.
“Dragger!” Kylin called. “It’s Kylin and Deidre, returning!”
“Ah!”
One of Kylin’s father’s men appeared on the trail before him, a man of Sigurd’s age, and a warrior with the look of his people with a full head of golden hair just beginning to whiten and a beard to match.
Once upon a time, I would be leery of such a man.
Now she understood that a man’s birth did not make the man.
“Grateful I am to see you,” Dragger told them, riding to meet them. “And your mission?”
“We reached the ard-rí. Our people are warned throughout the land,” Kylin assured him. “But we don’t know who our enemies are.”
“Someone out there is in league with the jarl.” Dragger shook his head. “We’ve been careful since you left. Lady Deidre, your brother has kept a firm watch upon the sea and Sigurd has used us to guard the forest and stream. There has been nothing—it has been quiet. But I wonder . . .
“We’re supposed to be caught off guard, I imagine,” he continued. “I knew the jarl, Swen Jorgensen. He is a man perhaps a few years younger than your father and me, Kylin. He was an ambitious man, eager to teach others the art of the kill. Your father was already appalled by a few of the raids in which he’d taken part. Deidre, you must understand that when the head of a family gives an order, those under him are expected to follow suit, especially when among some, such a way of being has become life. I beg that you trust me, it is not all of our people.”
“Dragger,” Deidre could say truthfully, “I am well aware that most people, here and there, seek nothing more than survival—food to eat, shelter, happiness with loved ones. As I know that you come from many, many good people, and I know that there may be those who share my own heritage who seek greater riches and glory.”
Kylin looked at her and she thought, and hoped, it was with the understanding that she had learned much from him, and he admired her ability to change.
“Thank you, thank you, Deidre,” Dragger said. He sighed. “I believe that we must be able to see if hordes arrive on the coast, but Swen is cunning.”
“The enemy is slipping in. With trading ships, perhaps. We encountered men who had come after us, twice, and in twos. I believe the intent is to infiltrate, bit by bit, and then, of course, arrive with a large force. But we intend to have councils with our fathers to determine our next course of action,” Kylin told him.
“Let’s ride!” Deidre said.
Smiling at the two, she nudged her mount lightly with her heels and cantered on ahead of the two men who followed in her wake.
They arrived in the great clearing before her father’s walled home.
Men and women were out, selling their wares, bartering, trading. Children ran around the expanse, playing at their mock sword games with wooden toys, childish games, the practice of which might one day save their lives.
Such is the world, Deidre thought. Would it ever change? Were men—and women—simply destined to wage battles forever?
“Deidre!”
She was greeted by many of her father’s people. She dismounted and let her horse go to one of the lads, knowing the animal would be tended to with all care. Kylin and Dragger were behind her as she hurried through the entry to the courtyard and then into the ancient stone enclosure that was her home.
“Father?”
He appeared on the balcony, looking down, a smile spreading across his face before he hurried down to meet her.
He took her into his arms, embracing her warmly.
“Ah, lass, no matter a man’s faith, he worries when a child is far from his sight. But you two have done what you set out to do?”
He was looking over her head, she realized. At Kylin.
“We’d like to meet with you and my father,” Kylin told him. “And with Aidan.”
“Easy enough. Your father is up in my chambers. Aidan is on his way from the shoreline. Come along, you two. We are anxious to hear all that you have to say.”
Eamon was concerned at first that they might need refreshment after their long ride. Deidre assured her father that Cillian had sent them on their way with plenty to eat and drink as they rode. And still he called for food and drink, saying that Aidan would be with them soon.
Sigurd greeted Deidre warmly and embraced his son, obviously as relieved to see Kylin as Eamon had been to see his daughter.
Then Aidan arrived and the greetings went around again until at last they were all seated in a circle and Kylin spoke quietly, looking at Deidre.
“We were, as we all know, attacked by ships from the far north. We fought, caught in different places by the water and inland. Deidre was set upon, nearly knocked flat by a monster of a man.”
Deidre smiled grimly, looked down and picked up the tale.
“There’s been so much information shared between us all about the sword already. But what I didn’t admit to everyone is that I truly believe one of the Tuatha Dé Danann or an angel, or a creature that is both, was there. I was not nearly knocked flat—I was flat on my back. But the sword was there, and with that sword, I could fight with a skill beyond that of my usual abilities and, Father, thanks to your training, I do have skill. But the sword is extraordinary.”
“Then we shared the dream,” Kylin said. “We dreamed of a cauldron in the woods by Tara. I had the dream, and separately, Deidre had the dream. We both went to seek the cauldron.”
“And we found it,” Deidre said quietly.
Eamon appeared concerned, grappling with all the information, trying to make sure that he had given them everything that he could, and that he understood everything regarding a direction in which to go. He turned to Sigurd to explain, “As we’ve discussed, there were four gifts from the Tuatha Dé Danann. A sword, a cauldron—”
“A spear and a stone,” Deidre interrupted quietly. “And we have them all. Sigurd, you spoke with the injured man who warned us of an attack. Whether the spirits helping us are from the ancient world or the present, we sincerely believe that they are doing their best to give us what information they can and what weapons we may need to fight those who intend to come upon us.”
Sigurd looked at Eamon. Northmen, of course, had their own gods. Deidre believed that Kylin thought that in some strange way, it was all the same—a greater power seen by different peoples in different ways.
“Can it be?” Sigurd asked her father.
Eamon nodded grimly, giving his attention to Sigurd.
“And I believe that your son and my daughter have been chosen as recipients of these gifts because of their love of fairness and their wish for the prosperity of all the people of our island home. There is an innate goodness in them that has been seen. The good is that it appears the ancients wish to save us, those here now who honor the present and the past and the bounty of our land.” He turned back to Deidre and Kylin. “You have these things?” he asked. “I have seen the sword but . . .”
“We have them, sire,” Kylin assured him.
“And a cauldron is a weapon?” Sigurd asked.
“Well, it’s already taken down a would-be attacker,” Kylin told his father. “The spear . . . I have wielded it as well and it is powerful and true.”
“I believe there’s more to the cauldron,” Deidre said. “One can cook with it and probably much more. And the stone . . .”
She hesitated, looking at Kylin.
“The stone is not mammoth, as one might imagine. In fact, it is not big at all. But it, too, has proven to be a strange but invaluable weapon,” he explained.
“Ard-rí Declan came under attack while we were there,” Deidre continued. “Men no one knew lured him down to the center of his castle, alone, and meant to slay him, we’re certain. The stone was instrumental in stopping them.”
“And Declan has sent out emissaries, seeking to warn others and ask that each rí send out men from their counties or villages?”
“Aye, Father,” Deidre said.
“How do we do this?” Aidan asked. “We need to fight with the ard-rí when the time comes, but we dare not leave our shores unprotected.”
Deidre looked at Kylin again briefly before speaking.
“Things are coming to us. We believe they are visions sent to us by the fairy folk of the Tuatha Dé Danann or angels. I had a dream—when we reached the great mound and burial passageway at Tara, Kylin saw, in a vision, what I had seen in my dream. Great hordes coming at us. We believe that the great battle to be waged will be there. And we believe we are forewarned because many of us know the passageways, a way to hold back enemy forces, to flank our foes when they come upon us.”
“These are invaders from the sea,” Sigurd said. “Trust me, child, I know. And I know that Swen Jorgensen is a brutal man, determined that he must take what he wants. He is a man heedless of the bloodshed he leaves in his wake. He, in fact, relishes it.”
“Aye, in force, they must come from the sea, Father,” Kylin said. “But we believe that they are slipping in their scouts and early forces in small numbers, arriving perhaps in the night or as traders. Just a few men here and there, numbers that would cause no alarm. And, perhaps, they need to be lured inland so that we choose the ground upon which we face the final fight.”
“If the wounded man told you the truth,” Deidre said quietly.
“He is still tended by our women,” Sigurd said. “He has begged that he might stay if he recovers—he will fight for us, work for us, in any capacity. I believe him. He is grateful to be alive and he knows that it is because Rí Eamon chooses not to finish those who are down. He seeks a world where one fights to protect his homeland and not to seize what belongs to others.” He looked at Deidre. “If you don’t trust my word, perhaps you would like to speak with this man.”
“I trust your word,” she told him.
“Still, perhaps Aidan might see him with me. Someone else to judge the validity of a man’s words,” Sigurd said.
“Do you have a plan?” Aidan asked them.
Kylin sighed. “There isn’t time for us to travel the length and breadth of the island and attempt to discover who might be a traitor. We saw Angus, Eion, Berach and James, and . . . we don’t know.”
“Angus might well be bitter, but toward me, not Declan,” Eamon said.
“Again,” Kylin told him, “we just don’t know. But as it stands, Declan intends to warn everyone. The traitor will know that we are expecting such a thing among our ranks. But we believe in Cillian, and . . .” He paused to look at Deidre.
“Father,” she said, “we believe they must land in force near us. We will be ready for all our people to come behind the walls. We will be ready to repel them, whatever they might attempt. They don’t come with great siege machines, so those within the walls should be safe—safe and harrying their numbers with missiles and other means of fighting from behind the walls. But then we will lead them through terrain we know very well, force them to the mounds where we will have men ready to surround them, hidden within and around. That is not something we’ve shared with Declan as yet.”
“We have sought your council first,” Kylin said, bowing his head in acknowledgment of their elders.
“Declan and Cillian will need to be part of this plan,” Eamon said.
“Aye, Father,” Deidre agreed.
“What of our homeland?” Aidan wondered.
“Son, this land is your inheritance,” Eamon told him. “It will fall to you, and your sister, just as the village will belong to Kylin on Sigurd’s passing. Aidan, you will stay here. Sigurd and I will move as is necessary when the time comes. We still need to consider serious tactics on this. Sigurd and I have traveled many times to visit Cillian as we are close neighbors, and together, we have all honored the ard-rí. I believe we’ll send you two out again, to bring this to a meeting with Cillian and the Declan. And if they agree, it sounds as if we have a solid plan. Except that it may not be easy to convince them that you can lure the forces after you to the battleground of our choosing.”
“Sire, I honestly think that we’ll manage well enough. When prepared, this walled domicile is a fine fortress. With nothing to gain here, they will come inland, especially if they think that a meagre array of troops is headed that way,” Kylin argued.
“Quite possibly—especially if they have come to seize the isle. There is no place more sacred upon the isle than Tara,” Eamon said. “You will leave again come the morning. Now, you two must sleep because you must be weary with so much riding and more to be done on the morrow.”
“Good night, then, Father, Sigurd. Thank you for . . . listening. Believing. Aidan! I swear—”
Aidan interrupted her with a laugh. “Deidre, I’m your brother. I know your heart as few others may!”
He walked to her. She hugged him warmly. Her brother was an exceptionally good man. Of course, as children, they had driven one another crazy. But that had turned into a closeness when they had become adults.
“Love you, Aidan,” Deidre murmured.
He smiled at her, and she hurried on out.
She wasn’t sure if she was surprised, grateful or not happy at all that their fathers had understood so easily, believed in them with little proof of what they were saying.
She forced herself not to look at Kylin as she fled.
We are to be on the road again together tomorrow!
Our fathers, she thought dryly, do have tremendous faith.
She hurried to her chambers, greeting friends as she moved along the way, reassuring them that she was well, that her missions were going well.
At last, in the sanctity of her own room, she lay down to sleep.
As ever, she wondered if she would dream.
And she thought of the night in the guest room at Cillian’s earthwork castle. She remembered waking in such bizarre fear.
Fear—from a dream.
Had one man intended to fight with her and the other slay her? Were they both enemies, were they both friends?
Therein, she knew, lay the fear. And, with all things, it must be met head-on. They couldn’t suspect any man because of their feelings toward him. Just because a human being might be coarse, he wasn’t necessarily a murdering traitor.
She tossed and turned.
And she wished that she could sleep as she had before, curled against Kylin. She had been deeply grateful to her father for never forcing her hand. She knew what was expected of a wife, and yet with others, she’d felt nothing but a desire not to be touched, not to be used, not to be a plaything, a servant.
And with Kylin . . .
All I want is for him to touch me.
Half asleep, she smiled. His ethics! She was safer with him than she’d ever been with anyone else in the world.
In every way.
Finally, she drifted off to sleep, still wishing that she might be lying beside him, feeling his warmth.
Mist rose in the dream. The air was damp with it, yet she could see. She was in a small clearing and the cauldron sat atop a fire.
So many previous dreams of battle scenes, images of running, screaming warriors . . .
This was different. She was stirring something in the cauldron, and she was surrounded by friends, her father’s men, Sigurd’s men and a few of the women who, like her, had been trained for battle rather than cooking.
But she was cooking!
A silvery presence was next to her, whispering about herbs.
And she was adding them to the mixture, listening gravely. And when she had finished, the men and women were coming to her, all with their carved wooden bowls, seeking scoops of the potion she had been mixing in the cauldron.
They were at peace, enjoying the fire, enjoying the sweet quiet of the forest.
Whatever she’d created in the cauldron must have been good. An injured man stood and smiled at her, steady on a leg that had sustained a serious sword thrust.
She realized that all those surrounding her had been injured. They were not the full body of their forces.
And she hadn’t created poultices; she hadn’t come with healing mixtures to set beneath their linen bandages.
