The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island)

by Mary Gillgannon

  She sought to identify the people she saw. Some of the adults looked familiar, but she didn’t recognize any of the children. How long had it been since these families came to Cahermara? How had she failed to stay in contact with so many of her people? She should go out and visit them, as her father had. But she’d always thought it too dangerous to travel far from the rath, and it was difficult without horses. A pang of longing went through her. For generations, her family had been known for the beautiful horses they bred, and now she didn’t possess a single one. There was no reason not to have horses now, except she’d have to go to Ath Cliath to purchase them, and then worry about them being stolen as she brought them back to Cahermara. While her enemies might believe the rath was protected by a magical spell, once she was away from it, she feared they would pounce.

  The thought made her sigh. She might as well be a prisoner. The only time she felt truly safe outside the rath was when she went to the Forest of Mist. It was a lonely, suffocating existence, although she’d never thought of it that way until Bridei came. When she considered all the places he’d been and the things he’d seen, she knew a pang of envy.

  Did everything about that man have to upset her? He made her want things that she’d long ago decided were impossible. Forced her see her life for what it was—stark and lonely. If only she could make things to go back to the way they were. She hadn’t been happy, but she hadn’t been discontent either. And what Bridei had done to her people was much the same. Having experienced some pleasure and beauty and enjoyed themselves, how would they ever be able to go back to their grim, dutiful existence?

  She sighed again, then turned as Aife entered. “You look lovely,” she said to her maid. “Is that a new gown?”

  “Nay. I merely trimmed an old one with some braid I purchased from the traders.”

  “It’s very becoming. The blue sets off your eyes.”

  “Thank you,” Aife said shyly.

  Dessia turned back to the window. Even her maid wasn’t the same. After all this excitement, the rest of the winter was going to dull and miserable for her, too.

  “What’s wrong, milady?” Aife asked. “You seem so melancholy.”

  “I’m just thinking how hard it’s going to be to go back to our usual lives after this feast is over and the traders leave.”

  “But if Bridei’s still here, it won’t be so bad, will it?”

  “Aye, if he’s here.”

  “Has he told you he’s leaving?” Aife asked.

  “Nay, but he will someday. What’s to keep him here?”

  “I suppose you’re right. From what he’s said, he’s never stayed in one place long before. Then again, perhaps no one’s ever given him a reason to stay.”

  Dessia turned to Aife, frowning. “And what would that be? I have scant wealth to pay him, and serving as my bard offers little status, especially to a man who has played for the high king of Britain and other important leaders.”

  “But maybe that’s not what Bridei’s looking for. Maybe what is he seeks is a place to belong.”

  “You think he belongs here? But he’s not even Irish.”

  “Aye, I think he belongs here. Even the land accepts him. Keenan told me the day Bridei left the hall in the rainstorm he went to the Forest of Mist. Other than you, no one I know has ever been allowed into that realm.”

  “How does Keenan know Bridei went there?”

  “Because he followed when you left the rath, then waited near the edge of the forest until you came out. Bridei appeared only moments after you did.”

  “I told Keenan to stay at the hillfort and guard it. How dare he defy my orders!”

  “Keenan sought only to protect you. He doesn’t trust Bridei. I guess he was afraid if you were alone with Bridei, something might happen.”

  Something had happened, Dessia thought uneasily. She’d looked into the depths of the lake and seen Bridei standing beside her, looking as if belonged there. She asked Aife, “Doesn’t it concern you that Keenan mistrusts Bridei so much?”

  Aife shrugged. “Keenan is just like that. He tends to make up his mind and then never change it. Besides, Bridei is so different from him, I think it makes him uneasy.”

  “But what if his assessment of Bridei is correct?” Dessia pressed.

  “Quit worrying, milady,” Aife answered, smiling. “It’s time for you to dress for the feast.”

  * * *

  Bridei observed the packed hall from a spot near the stairs to the tower. By now, almost everyone had had something to eat and drink. Except for him. He’d found he was too nervous to consume anything—not an ideal circumstance since he was drinking mead. Perhaps he should switch to cider.

  He fingered the harp through the rough cloth he’d wrapped it in, since he didn’t want his audience to see the instrument until he played, and told himself to relax. No performer had ever had a more receptive audience. Everywhere he looked people were smiling and talking, their faces were flushed, their eyes bright. Their stomachs were full of beef, pork, cabbage and spiced apples. It was probably the best meal some of them had had in years, at least since the days of Dessia’s father. The only sign of discontent were a few small children, who, overexcited by all the activity, had begun to fuss. Bridei wasn’t concerned for them. Once he started to play, they would settle down and listen, then fall asleep. He was utterly confident of his craft, so why was he nervous?

  Ah, there she was, the reason for the vague queasiness in his belly. He watched Dessia move through the hall, speaking to her people, admiring children and babies. She wore a gown of deep red wool, set off by a golden belt and a simple gold neckpiece at her neck. Her hair was unbound and it flowed down from the gold circlet around her temple like the waves of a wine-colored sea. Rosy color suffused her fair skin and her verdant eyes shone like jewels. Taller than most of her subjects, even the men, she looked every inch the proud, glorious queen.

  Seeing her, his heart filled with lust and an aching longing he’d never experienced before. Despite her bold, impressive appearance, he was struck by an urge to protect Dessia, to keep her safe. The feeling was utterly new to him. Never before had he responded to a woman this way—or perhaps anyone.

  His mood shocked him and increased his unease. He must start playing soon. If he waited much longer, he would be undone.

  He started to make his way to the hearth. People moved aside to let him pass and as he heard their murmurs of excitement and expectation, some of his tension began to ease. He’d done this dozen of times before. Nay, hundreds. By the time he took a seat on a stool near the hearth, he was feeling much better.

  He waited until the people on the very edges of the hall had quieted, then pulled off the cloth to reveal the harp. A sigh of satisfaction and delight seemed to sweep through the crowd as they saw the instrument. Bridei delicately strummed the strings, then set about tuning them again. As he did so, he heard murmurs and whispers as a description of how the harp had been made passed from person to person. For Niall, and Eth and the other workmen, this was their moment of glory, and he meant to make the most of it.

  As soon as he was done tuning, he held up the harp and said, “I know you’re all eager to hear me play, but first, I must thank the people who made this beautiful instrument. First of all, I laud Eth. It was his idea that the harp should be made, and his persistence and dedication that inspired everyone else. Many people were involved. Eth found the wood. It was shaped and smoothed and put together by Nally and Cori. The cook, Doona, supplied the gut for the strings.” He paused and smiled. “Which means that some of the rest of you gave up some sausages that might have been made instead.”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd. Bridei continued, “With their patience and craftsmanship, they built this fine instrument. “Then Niall . . .” he gestured to the burly smith. “He made the harp a work of art.” Bridei held up the instrument again, then turned around so that those behind him could see. “I’ve traveled as far away as Narbonne on the great eastern s
ea and never seen metalwork that could surpass this.”

  He let them see the bright ornaments sparkling in the torchlight, then glanced at Niall, savoring the flush of pleasure on his face. “It was Niall’s art that imbued this instrument with beauty. Eth and other the workmen’s industry and generosity blessed it with grace and warmth. But the magic of the music you will hear this night comes from all of you, from this place, this land, and most of all, from your extraordinary queen.”

  At last, Bridei allowed himself to seek out Dessia. He’d been vaguely aware of where she was standing, but feared that if he looked at her, he might lose his composure. Now he dared to meet her gaze, to risk his soul in the depths of her green eyes. He cleared his throat and sought to slow his thudding heart, then said, “For it was Queen Dessia’s tragic past and her triumphant defiance of her enemies that has inspired me to write this song. Her love of the land and her people that made me understand how truly fortunate I was to have found this place. Her beauty that has captured my heart.”

  Dessia stared at him, looking so stricken that his mouth went dry. Was she offended? Had he been too bold? If he had, there was no hope for it now. What was done, was done. He resumed his place on the stool and lightly strummed the harp strings. The sweetness of the sound calmed him. He played a chord, and then another, and began to sing.

  Dessia couldn’t move. Indeed, she could barely breathe. Bridei had said he was singing this song for her, that she had inspired him. Nay, she must not believe it, for if she did, she would want to weep. The melody was crystalline and pure. It made her think of the stream that ran through the Forest of Mist, trickling down to the still, gleaming lake. His voice rose above it, rich and vibrant, as keen as the wind through the trees. And the words were about her. They told her story, revealed her essence: Her grief and despair. Her defiance and resolve. Her dedication to restoring her home, her lands, her legacy.

  Then it changed and became a love song. He described her beauty, her proud bearing, her passion. Heated blood crept to her face. From the way he sang, everyone would think he’d bedded her. And then the song changed again, and her embarrassment turned to awe. He’d made her into a magical being, a goddess. She who brings the bounty of the summer, the rich plenty of autumn, the fierceness of winter, the joyous warm of spring. And then he was singing about the land itself. Rich gleaming meadows. Glistening lakes and streams. Wild forests teeming with life. The sky, a dream of light and rainbow colors. Soft, sweet rain. And the restless energy of the sea that washed the shores of the land.

  “And the great waves will wash her tears away,

  The deep thunder of the surf soothe her aching heart.

  Someday, borne on the fierce wind of the untamed sea

  Will come a man to love her and stand beside her.”

  As the last notes died away like the last sparkling drops of a cresting wave falling into the surf, Dessia stood rooted in place. She was afraid to move, almost to breathe. Bridei had sung a song that bared his heart, offering her his admiration, his loyalty, his love, his being. Offering himself. It was a gift so amazing, so unexpected, so . . . terrifying. She had no idea how to respond. What to do or say.

  She was grateful when he began to sing another song, a lively melody. The mood in the hall shifted from utter stillness to a more normal atmosphere of celebration and gaiety. People began to tap their feet and sway to the music, and Dessia immediately thought it was a pity the hall was too crowded for them to be able to dance properly.

  But at least the spell was broken, and she didn’t feel as if Bridei held her heart in his hands and each movement of his fingers on the harp was like a caress of her soul. She drew a deep breath and licked her dry lips and composed herself to smile at the people around her, and say, “He’s very talented. I’ve never heard the like.”

  She thought the looks they gave her were searching and curious, but their responses of “Aye” and “Indeed” gave no indication if they thought it odd that she should react to Bridei’s passionate performance with such banal remarks. She silently thanked them for their discretion, and focused her gaze on Bridei. While he’d sung the first song, she’d been too embarrassed to look at him. Instead, she’d closed her eyes and concentrated on the words and the melody. But now she let herself feast her eyes upon the audacious bard.

  In the dazzle of the firelight, he seemed to glow. The sleek dark sweep of his long hair shone like a raven’s wing in sunlight and there was a faint sheen of sweat on his tanned skin, giving it a silvery aura. His features and movements were so graceful that she could almost imagine him as some sort of fairy king, a magical being so fine to look upon that the very sight could steal a human’s soul and make them forget everything else. The comparison seemed very apt, for fairies were said to ensorcel their victims with beautiful music.

  The first song was over, and now Bridei sang a ballad, sad and keening. She could almost hear the sighs around the hall as he told a tale of two lovers that fate kept apart. His skill was amazing. He had the ability to reach inside his listeners and touch their emotions as deftly as he plucked the strings of the harp.

  Thinking of this made her wonder about her earlier reaction. She felt as if he’d declared his love for her. As if he held out his beating, vulnerable heart as an offering. But he was so gifted. It might have all been a performance. How could she ever be certain what he really felt?

  The thought made her panic, and she knew she had to get away. The hall was crowded with people deeply under Bridei’s spell. In their eyes, he could do no wrong. But as queen, she dare not give so easily. She had to be canny and cautious. She had to imagine every threat. Anticipate every danger.

  Half frantic, she started toward the door. People moved aside for her, their faces clearly registering puzzlement. Why was she leaving now? their expressions seemed to ask. By the time she made her way outside, she was breathing hard. She walked swiftly across the yard and tried to decide where to go. When she was a little girl and she was distressed, she would go to see the horses. Stroking the nose of one the animals, she would pour out her tale of unhappiness. Something about being close to the beautiful beasts soothed her and made her feel better.

  And if it wasn’t the horses she sought out, it was one of her father’s hounds or the cats that lived near the storage shed and waited to pounce on the mice the grain attracted. Somewhere along the way she’d lost the intense connection to the animals she’d once had. She’d been too busy being queen to indulge in such simple pursuits. With dismay, she realized that Bridei was right. She’d given up many things to be Queen Dessia, ruler of the Fionnlairaos.

  Conflicting emotions warred inside her. She was proud of what she accomplished, but she never felt secure . . . nor happy either. Was that simply the way life was? Dare she reach out and take what was in front of her? Bridei’s vibrant voice and stirring music promised her passion and love. But was that enough to risk everything she’d worked for? What if she allowed herself to be a woman for one night and to indulge in the satisfactions most women knew, and ended up destroying her whole life’s legacy?

  It was cold outside, and the wind was chill and damp, seeping through her gown. She would have to go back soon; she would have to decide.

  Chapter 12

  Although Bridei kept playing, he was simply going through the motions, singing a song he’d sung dozens of times before. As soon as he saw Dessia leave the hall, his heart was no longer engaged in what he was doing. Nay, his heart had left with her, and he felt the loss of it as a deep ache in his chest. What did her departure mean? Was she offended? Angry? Had he been too bold? Choked with anxiety, he struggled to keep singing. At last he finished the song. He forced a smile to his face and said, “I’m afraid I need a drink.”

  Immediately, a half dozen people appeared holding out full cups. He took one from a plain young woman with a shy smile, and found it contained mead. Aye, he needed mead, but more than a cup. He needed enough to bring oblivion. Again, he thought of Dessia and wondere
d where she’d gone and what it meant. He drank slowly, aware that everyone expected him to continue performing. In the past he would have done so. In the past he would also have shrugged off having a woman walk away from him. But this wasn’t any woman, this was Dessia. She made him feel things no one else ever had. But he couldn’t go after her. Couldn’t disappoint all these people waiting to hear more songs.

  He asked for another drink, and drained a second cup of mead. The potent liquid seemed to clear his head, and as it burned deep in his belly, he knew what he must do. He began another ballad and poured all his own despair and longing into it. This one was even sadder than the first, for in the end, when the young man finally returns to claim his love, he finds her dead. Stricken, the man plunges his knife into his chest.

  As Bridei sang the final verse, he saw some of the women weeping openly. Aye, weep for me, he thought. Weep for me. For if Dessia loves me not, then I, too, will want to die. The next moment, he saw her, near the doorway. The torchlights caught the fiery brightness of her hair and cast her tall silhouette upon the wall. His heart sang with joy. She’d come back.

  He celebrated with another song, this one a light, rousing tune meant for dancing. To keep the rhythm, Bridei tapped his fingers on the body of the harp. Soon people began to clap, and the whole hall seemed to vibrate. When the song was finished, he didn’t pause but immediately began another one, this one a marching song that kept them clapping. As he started the refrain, he saw two little girls making their way through the crowd. They finally reached him and stood watching with wide eyes. When he smiled at them, they grabbed each other, giggling wildly. They were both redheads, one with ruddy gold curls and the other with straight auburn hair. Looking at them, he thought of Dessia and wondered if they had a child together, if the babe would resemble one of these sweet little lasses.