Warrior's Secret (The Pict Wars Book 2)

by Jayne Castel

  Glancing down, Muin caught sight of the bracelet upon his wrist. The leather was sodden, and the turquoise stones gleamed wetly. The morning they had left Balintur, he had been tempted to tear off Ailene’s gift to him—but something prevented him.

  Just because she did not want him, did not mean that he could not always keep a piece of her with him. It seemed childish to cast away something that had been made especially for him. The bracelet was a reminder of happier days, of a woman he would never stop loving.

  The army of just over two hundred warriors snaked its way toward the eastern coast. Muin knew they were close, and so when the mountains pulled back, and a grey, churning expanse of water appeared on the eastern horizon, he was not surprised. Despite that around half their number marched on foot, the army had made good time inland. They had camped in the midst of the mountains, the sides of their hide tents snapping and billowing in the wind, before setting off again at first light.

  This time tomorrow they would reach their destination, just a few furlongs north-east of An Teanga, where they would ready themselves for the siege.

  A horn blew then, its mournful wail cutting through the howl of the wind.

  Varar and Galan had decided to make camp.

  Relieved, for his body ached from being in the saddle for the past two days, Muin dismounted his heavy-set black stallion and led it over to where others were tying their ponies up under a row of birches. The trees had nearly entirely lost their leaves, so they did not provide much shelter. However, it was the best they could manage, and men were already erecting hide awnings between the trees to keep the worst of the rain and wind off the ponies.

  Muin’s pony, Feannag—Crow—nudged at his master’s shoulder as he tied him up. Turning to him, Muin slapped the stallion’s muscular neck. “Hungry, lad?”

  The pony nudged him once more, this time in the chest.

  Smiling, Muin fitted Feannag with a nose bag; the cloth pouch contained a few handfuls of crushed oats and barley. He then took a twist of wet grass and began to rub the pony down.

  And all the while, the wind howled like a demon.

  Around him Muin heard muffled cursing as warriors struggled to erect their tents in the gale. They put them up amongst the birch thicket, with a wide awning covering a central fire pit.

  When Muin finished seeing to his pony, he made his way to the heart of the camp to find that the others had somehow managed to light a fire. It smoked and guttered, yet tender orange flames now licked up into the gloaming.

  Muttering, warriors jostled around it, trying to get warm.

  “Why does it always rain whenever we go to battle?” Fina appeared at Muin’s side, handing him a wedge of stale bread and cheese.

  Muin managed a smile. “Aye … it’s almost as if the Gods start fighting amongst themselves when they know blood is about to be shed.”

  Fina grinned. “Just as long as it’s Serpent blood.” She glanced up then, at where the sky was now completely obscured by dark cloud. “I can imagine The Warrior up there, beating his battle drum.”

  Muin observed Fina, noting the gleam in her eye, the eagerness on her face. Fina was a born warrior, although ever since her union with Varar mac Urcal, there was a steadiness to her that had been missing earlier. Before falling in love with Varar, there had been a recklessness, a wildness to his cousin that had often concerned Muin.

  She had often teased him when he voiced his concerns. But Muin had no need to look after his fiery cousin now, not when she had Varar at her side.

  Meeting Muin’s eye, Fina’s grin faded. “Talor told me about you and Ailene,” she said quietly.

  Heat flushed through Muin. “Talor’s got a big mouth,” he growled. “Remind me to shove his teeth down his throat when we get back to Balintur.”

  “Don’t blame him,” Fina replied with a shake of her head. “After you turned your back on Ailene, I knew something was amiss. I bailed Talor up before we left Balintur and made him tell me.”

  Muin’s fingers tightened around the hunk of bread he held. He did not want anyone knowing of his humiliation. It was bad enough that he had confided in Talor. The last thing he needed was both his cousins feeling sorry for him.

  “Don’t look so angry,” Fina chastised him, digging her elbow into Muin’s ribs. “I’m not going to tell you what to do or how to behave.” She paused there, her grey eyes shadowing. “I’m just sorry … for I believe you two would be great together.”

  Muin tore his gaze away to stare at the dancing flames in the fire pit before him. “What makes you think that?”

  “You balance each other … like Varar and I do.”

  Muin’s mouth curved in a humorless smile. “I don’t think that comparison works, cousin.”

  “Aye, it does. You know you’ve met the right person, for they bring out the best in you, and smooth out the rough edges.”

  Muin snorted in an attempt to cover up his discomfort. This conversation was starting to make him squirm. Of course, Talor did not know about Muin’s last disgrace; after his shame at Gateway, Muin had avoided confiding in his mouthy cousin.

  However, Fina was a woman—and hopefully as such had more understanding of the situation. Shifting his attention from the fire, Muin met Fina’s gaze once more. “I kissed Ailene.”

  Fina stared back at him a moment, before she threw her head back and laughed.

  Muin stiffened. “This amuses you?”

  “The tragic look on your face,” Fina gasped, wiping her eyes. “Gods, Muin. You take everything so seriously.”

  Muin muttered a curse and raked a hand through his damp hair. If the rain had not been pelting down, he would have walked off. As it was, there was nowhere to go without getting soaked.

  Sensing his darkening mood, Fina sobered. “Well … how did she react to the kiss?”

  Muin scowled back at her. He was not discussing this.

  “Did she slap your face?”

  “No.”

  “Did she try to knee you in the cods or start weeping?”

  “No,” he snapped this time.

  “How did she react?”

  “She pushed me away.”

  Fina frowned. “So, you don’t think she enjoyed it?”

  Muin twisted, giving Fina his profile once more. “No,” he ground the word out. “She didn’t.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Taking Shelter

  AILENE FOUND A place to take shelter for the night, while a grey dusk settled over the land. Frowning as a particularly vicious squall buffeted pony and rider, she guided Eòrna across the bottom of a shallow valley carpeted on one side by a hazel thicket. As Macum had predicted, the bad weather had arrived.

  She was not fond of storms, but at least there was no thunder or lightning with this one, just howling wind and driving rain that chilled her to the marrow. Shivering, Ailene tied Eòrna up to a tree. She made sure to give the pony enough rope so that he could graze a little overnight. Built like a barrel, the gelding was not likely to starve if he did not have a meal of crushed oats and a manger of hay. Even so, Ailene fed him a piece of oatcake, before she settled down for the night.

  Ailene peered up at her choice of shelter, her frown deepening. Being deciduous, the hazel tree did not offer much protection from the elements. However, in the wild, open landscape of this part of The Winged Isle, it was the best she could find.

  With a grunt, Eòrna lowered his bulk onto the ground next to her. Grateful, Ailene shifted close to his furry back. The pony was an effective shelter against the biting prevailing wind.

  Pulling her fur cloak close, Ailene settled against the gelding’s warmth. It would be a long, cold night, but since she did not know this area at all, she would not risk traveling in the dark, especially in such foul weather.

  Around her the rain still drove in; dark clouds obliterated the sky and the surrounding mountains. It was as if the world had shrunk to this forgotten valley, and this hazel thicket.

  Ailene stroked Eòrna�
�s luxurious dun coat as she tried to get comfortable. The action soothed her jangled nerves and eased the worries that had plagued her all day. Even so, one surfaced, gnawing at her.

  What if I’m too late?

  Icy dread settled in the pit of her belly. Ailene clenched her jaw, pushed the thought aside, and shifted position against the pony. Her thigh muscles were stiffening already, as she was unused to riding long distances. The wind buffeted her, its probing fingers attempting to get through her fur cloak. However, there was not any point in trying to light a fire in this weather. She would just have to brave the cold and try to get some rest.

  Stop fretting, she counselled herself as she reached into her satchel for some cheese. It’s not helping.

  Nibbling at her supper, she surveyed the bleak valley where she had stopped for the night. The weather was so foul, and she had been in such a hurry to find shelter, that she had barely taken notice of her surroundings.

  As such, she had missed the fairy mound upon the opposite side of the vale. It was around thirty feet distant, a smooth green hillock studded with stones.

  Ailene’s gaze fixed upon the mound, and she went still, swallowing her mouthful of cheese with difficulty.

  It was not wise to make camp near such a place.

  Ailene had heard many a tale of unwary travelers or lovers who had fallen asleep too close to the mounds, only to be stolen away by the Aos Sí, or the Fair Folk—the fairy people who dwelt in the forgotten corners of this isle. Beautiful yet dangerous, the Fair Folk were to be avoided unless you came bearing gifts to lay before their homes.

  Ruith had taught Ailene charms to protect against the caprices of the Aos Sí, and Ailene murmured one now.

  They were known to emerge at dusk, but hopefully, the foul weather would keep them away. Even so, Ailene tensed. She had been so immersed in her worries over Muin, she had not taken proper note of her surroundings.

  The daylight continued to fade as sheets of rain swept across the valley. Ailene huddled against her pony. Despite her tension, tiredness washed over her; she had been traveling since before dawn.

  She was just starting to feel drowsy, her eyelids slowly closing, when she saw lights appear in the gloaming.

  The lights floated toward Ailene like fireflies. Blinking, she tried to focus. Were they torches? Had someone else sought refuge overnight in the valley?

  Sucking in a deep breath, she reached for the knife at her waist.

  The lights did not belong to the folk of this isle, but to someone else.

  Slender figures dressed in long silvery robes emerged from the driving rain. Even from this distance Ailene spied their beauty. Many had yellow or silvery hair and gold-hued skin. Their robes shimmered as if they had been woven with starlight. The rain and wind did not appear to touch them.

  They were walking toward the fairy mound.

  As a child, Ailene had longed to catch a glimpse of the Aos Sí. Yet now she had, panic fluttered up under her ribcage. Fear prickled across her skin. She was in grave danger here.

  Ailene swallowed hard, cringing against Eòrna.

  Thank the Gods, I never lit a fire.

  She was also grateful that her pony had lowered himself onto the ground next to her. Ailene’s pulse started to race. It was too late to run, too late to try and hide deeper in the hazel thicket.

  She had nothing to do but pray that none of the Fair Folk looked her way.

  The line of Fair Folk neared, and one by one, they disappeared into the mound. A doorway opened, and they stepped through it, until only one figure remained.

  It was a woman with long golden hair that flowed down her back till it nearly reached the back of her knees. She wore a shimmering white gown.

  Turning from the mound, the woman glided toward the thicket of trees.

  Ailene’s already pounding heart lurched. Gods, no. She’s seen me.

  The woman’s face was beautiful, an ethereal loveliness with not the slightest imperfection upon it. Ailene wilted at the sight of such beauty, for she knew that the Fair Folk could be cruel. Ruith had told her many tales about how they meddled in the affairs of mortals, how they ruined lives merely for pleasure.

  Next to her, the pony let out a weary sigh. He had not noticed the fairy’s approach, and nor did he care.

  When the woman was only a few yards away, she stopped. Despite her fair complexion, she had eyes as dark as a moonless night, deep and ageless. And when those black eyes fixed upon Ailene, she felt her body go cold.

  “Bandruí.” A cool, soft voice greeted her. The fairy’s mouth did not move, yet Ailene heard her all the same. “We were hoping that one day our paths would cross.”

  Ailene did not answer. Fear had frozen her in place.

  “You are welcome here.” The voice continued. It had a gentle, beguiling note. “Come now, and join us.”

  Ailene swallowed. She wanted to reply, to send the woman on her way, yet her lips would not move, and her tongue felt leaden in her mouth.

  The woman’s beautiful lips curved, although those eyes remained fathomless, ancient. “We can take you away from all of this. We can end your struggle,” she continued. The voice echoed in Ailene’s head now, drowning out all other thoughts. “You are alone in this world, bandruí. But with us you will be where you belong.”

  The words were cruel and yet oddly beguiling. Dully, Ailene realized that the fairy woman had just cast an enchantment over her. And even as she fought it, Ailene was tempted.

  Life had been a struggle of late for her—how had this fairy woman known that?

  Muin.

  Ailene jerked, as if someone had just slapped her across the face, and the enchantment lifted. She was out here in this desolate valley because of him. And if she did not catch up with Muin, did not warn him, he would die, as would many others.

  To accept this woman’s offer would mean death to all of them, including Ailene.

  Life suddenly seemed incredibly precious. Ailene’s heart beat fast, slamming against her ribs like a Bealtunn drum. It was a reminder of her mortality, of how fragile the line between life and death really was. She would not let this woman’s sweet words draw her in.

  “No.” Ailene’s voice came out in a croak. “I will remain here.”

  The fairy woman’s head tilted. “You refuse our offer?”

  Ailene straightened up, her hand gently moving in front of her in a warding gesture that Ruith had taught her. She wished that she carried salt with her, for these magical creatures would not dare to cross a line of salt.

  The Fair Folk woman’s black eyes narrowed. “Such an offer will never come your way again, bandruí.” The voice turned ugly then, lowering to a hiss. “Next time our paths cross, there will be no choice. We will take you with us, whether you wish it or not.”

  And with that, the woman turned and glided away.

  It was almost completely dark now, yet the woman glowed as if bathed in moonlight. She drifted toward the fairy mound, where an opening yawned before her, and then disappeared into the gloaming.

  Ailene blinked, and the doorway into the mound had disappeared.

  Long moments passed before Ailene released a long, shaky breath. The fairy’s warning still rang in her ears, and despite the evening’s chill, sweat bathed her skin under her layers of clothing.

  That had been close—too close.

  The Reaper had been breathing down her neck. With a jolt, Ailene realized that only the fact that she was a bandruí had saved her. Ruith had said that the Aos Sí were wary of seers.

  The woman’s message had been clear. The Fair Folk would not bother Ailene again tonight at least. However, the displeasure in the fairy’s voice was a warning. It was best to move on from this place.

  Heaving herself up off the ground, Ailene winced as her leg muscles protested. “Come on, lad.” She gave Eòrna’s reins a gentle tug, noting that her hands were shaking. Her heart still raced in the aftermath of her encounter. Suddenly, the rain, wind, and darkness did not bo
ther her. “I think we’ll find another spot to rest tonight.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Secrecy

  EXHAUSTION WAS SETTLING upon Ailene in a heavy, smothering shroud, when she caught up with the army at last.

  She had been traveling for over two days, taking only brief rests along the way. What little food she had brought had been consumed by the second morning of travel. Her belly was hollow and aching now, and she felt light headed.

  However, she pressed on, her thoughts constantly returning to Muin. Worry tied her belly in knots.

  Likewise, her pony was tiring. Eòrna carried his head low, his feathered feet thudding listlessly on the damp earth. She hated pushing him so hard, but she knew that her time was running out. The army of the united tribes would be about to begin their siege. She had to reach them before they did.

  She had followed the army’s trail with ease. The wet weather had left clear signs of their passing. The army had cut east before following the coastline of The Winged Isle farther east and then down, into the heart of occupied territory. On the way, they gave Kyleakin, and any other villages, a wide berth.

  The Serpent would have taken over all the settlements in this area. It was best to keep a distance from all of them.

  As such, the army had moved inland, to a wide valley that was covered in hawthorn and alders on its eastern edge, and boulders to the west.

  She knew that she was traveling faster than the host she tracked, for a large group of ponies and warriors could not journey as swiftly as one pony, yet dread clawed its way up her throat with every furlong.

  What if I’m too late?

  When she crested a tall hill and spied smoke rising into the late afternoon sky, Ailene nearly wept with relief. The rain had ceased for the time being, speeding up her journey, although a chill wind still gusted in from the north-east.

  Breathing hard, she brought Eòrna to a halt at the top of the hill and surveyed the wide valley below.