The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island)

by Mary Gillgannon

  Aife shook her head again, appearing very ill at ease.

  “Doona?” Bridei held the necklace out to the cook.

  Doona draped the necklace around her neck. It hung down nearly to her waist. “I don’t see how anyone could wear something like this,” she said. “It’s so heavy it would exhaust you.”

  Bridei nodded, amazed. Doona wasn’t a small woman, yet the necklace appeared far too large for her.

  “Take it off!” Aife said suddenly.

  “Why?” asked Bridei.

  “Because I know who made it. Who made all these things.” Aife gestured to the glittering objects on the ground around them. “It could only have been the Firbolgs.” She shuddered again.

  “Who are the Firbolgs?” asked Bridei.

  “A race of giants who inhabited Ireland in ancient times.” Aife motioned frantically. “Oh, please! Put the necklace away! Put all of it away!”

  “Now that you mention it, I think I’ve heard the tale,” said Bridei. “The Firbolgs were said to be the enemies of the Tuatha de Danaan, who we now know as the fairy folk or Sidhe.”

  Doona quickly took off the necklace and laid it on the ground next to the other pieces. Straightening, she gazed at Bridei with an anxious expression. “I agree with Aife. We must put the treasure back. If these things belong to the Tuatha de Danaan, they’re probably cursed.”

  “But the Tuatha de Danaan are supposed to be little people. There’s no way they could wear these huge pieces,” protested Bridei.

  “They must have stolen them from the Firbolg,” said Aife. “Please.” Her voice was pleading. “Put the box back.”

  “If these objects are cursed, it’s likely the curse was set in motion when we opened the box. Putting them back won’t make any difference. Besides, we need this treasure to free Dessia.” He fixed the two frightened women with a stern look. “We have to help the queen, no matter the risk to ourselves.”

  Doona nodded slowly, then spoke softly to Aife. “He’s right. We owe it to the queen to do whatever we can to free her.”

  Aife closed her eyes and let out a kind of sob. “It doesn’t matter anyway. The queen is imprisoned and Keenan is dead. No curse could be worse than that.”

  Bridei began to gather up the jewelry, wrapping each piece in the tattered linen. Unlike the two women, he couldn’t see this treasure as something to be feared. To him it seemed this cache of valuables must be a gift from the goddess, Rhiannon. She had answered his pleas and sent him the means to free Dessia.

  Chapter 17

  The goddess Rhiannon must still be aiding him, Bridei decided as he bent down to examine the soft ground. Although it had rained heavily at Cahermara, once he got away from the dun, the hoof prints left by the horses O’Bannon and his men rode were still visible. Straightening, he adjusted the two tunics he wore under his cloak. Sewn into the hem of the one near his skin were a dozen pieces of gold, made by chopping up one of the torcs. Aife had been horrified when she came to Niall’s workshop and saw him cutting it up. She was convinced the metalwork had been made by the Tuatha de Danaan and the enchanted race would punish him for damaging the piece. Bridei had ignored her concerns. There was simply no other way to carry the gold. Even the bracelets in the cache were too large to hide easily.

  He paused for a moment to survey his surroundings. Although the oak and elm trees were stark and leafless, the grass remained faintly green. He could understand someone falling in love with this part of Ireland. Even in winter it had a seductive beauty. The glistening hills, the shimmering light of the sky, the soft curves of the terrain that were as beguiling as the lush form of a woman. The image made him think of Dessia, and how much she was like this place she held so dear. Both were wild and thrilling, yet could be soft and yielding. Both could seduce you and steal your heart.

  His mood darkened as he considered what lay ahead of him. Somehow he must get into Dun Cullan, find out where Dessia was being held and bribe someone to help him free her. He doubted gold alone would be enough to convince anyone in O’Bannon’s household to defy their chieftain. In order for them to be willing to help free Dessia, his accomplice—or accomplices—must already hold a deep grudge against O’Bannon. It might take days or even weeks before he found an ally.

  His first difficulty would be getting into the hillfort. He hoped his scheme to convince O’Bannon to retain him as a bard would work. Dessia had allowed him to remain at Cahermara not because she admired his talents as a bard but because she was attracted to him. He wouldn’t have that advantage with O’Bannon. His stomach tightened with anxiety as he realized he was facing the biggest challenge of his life. If he wasn’t able to free Dessia, or if O’Bannon had already killed her, he would grieve for her the rest of his life.

  It still astonished him that he felt this way. The old Bridei would never have gone to this much trouble, nor taken these sorts of risks. If he were still the man he was before he met Dessia, he would even now be walking toward Ath Cliath, hoping to get passage back to Britain or to find another patron in Ireland.

  He felt a vague yearning to return to his old life. It had been so simple, so easy, to care for nothing except himself and his own needs. But there was no going back now. Dessia had a hold upon him that was almost more powerful than his will to live. He adjusted the pack containing his spare clothing, some food and his harp and started walking again.

  * * *

  Dessia got up from the stool and began to pace. She was wearing a pathway in dirt floor of the cell, but there was nothing else to do, and she had to keep moving or she would go mad. How long had it been since O’Bannon abducted her? It was impossible to tell day from night in her underground prison, but from the number of candles she’d gone through, and the number of times Druim had brought her food and water, she guessed she’d been held there for nearly a sennight.

  Seven days, yet it seemed like an eternity. She’d spent every one of them tortured by regrets. It was miserable enough to know she’d lost her kingdom and everything she’d fought for, but the thought of Bridei down in the souterrain, with no food, water or means of keeping warm, weighed upon her even more. She told herself someone would find him. He would cry out for help, and they would hear him and free him from his prison.

  But what if Bridei never roused? Or, what if he’d woken and called out, but no one heeded his cries? The whole fortress would be in a state of panic when they discovered she was gone. They wouldn’t be looking for Bridei. Or, they might think that since he disappeared at the same time as she did, he was the person who’d betrayed her. Had she not thought the worst of him herself?

  She stopped pacing and let out a moan. What a fool she’d been. She’d been unable to trust the man she loved, yet she’d obviously trusted the person who’d betrayed her. How could her instincts have led her so far astray?

  Beyond that thought was more troubling one. Why had the forces that saved her when her family was killed abandoned her now? Had she done something to anger them? Could it be that her inability to trust Bridei and accept his love had turned the spirits of the Forest of Mist against her? She recalled when she’d looked into the dark waters of the lake and seen the vision of herself with Bridei beside her. It seemed a clear sign he was part of her destiny. Yet, fool that she was, she hadn’t been willing to believe in him, to trust him.

  There could be no doubt that Bridei was special. He’d managed to call down a storm to frighten the slavers. He’d made his way through the Forest of Mist and reached the lake, which no one else but her had ever done. Bitter tears filled her eyes. She’d had many reasons to believe in Bridei, but she’d refused to accept them. Now she’d lost not only her kingdom and her freedom, but the man she loved.

  A noise from above jerked her out of her misery, and she swiped the tears from her cheeks. She must not let Druim see her distress; he might tell O’Bannon, and she’d rather die than let her enemy know she was suffering.

  The wicker covering was moved away, but when she looked up, it wa
sn’t Druim’s grizzled face she saw. Instead, staring down at her, was the sinister countenance of her enemy. “How fare you, milady?” O’Bannon called out in a faintly mocking voice. Dessia clenched her jaw and didn’t answer. She couldn’t think of a retort sufficient to express her contempt and hatred.

  “You seem well enough,” O’Bannon continued. “But that could change at any time. Candles are expensive, even tallow ones. Perhaps if you had to spend your days in darkness, it might make you appreciative of your good fortune.”

  “Good fortune! Ha!” Dessia exclaimed. “The only good fortune I might know is if you fell down through that hole and broke your neck!”

  “That isn’t going to happen, so perhaps you should consider your choices with more care.”

  “Choices? I have no choices!” she threw back at him.

  “Ah, but you do,” O’Bannon answered, his voice silky. “The mistake you’ve made all these years was fighting me. It’s unnatural for a woman to take up arms. Women are supposed to be soft and yielding.”

  Dessia gave an unfeminine snort. “Some women are like that, I suppose, but not me. I was raised to be brave and bold, to honor my tribe and my heritage. I’ll never stop fighting you, O’Bannon. I’ll never give in. You might as well kill me now, rather than expect me to yield to you!”

  “Kill you?” O’Bannon tsked softly. “That would be a great waste. You’re young and healthy and likely to bear fine sons. I’d be a fool to throw away such an opportunity.”

  Dessia’s stomach lurched. She’d rather die than submit sexually to this man. Indeed, she would make certain she did die rather than endure such shame and degradation.

  “I see you’re thinking the matter over,” said O’Bannon. “There’s no hurry to make your decision. I can be patient. I’ve waited a long time for you, Queen Dessia.”

  Dessia’s fury rose to fever pitch. “And you will wait much longer! You can wait until the heavens fall and never will I lie with you!”

  O’Bannon’s only response was a laugh. The door to her prison was replaced. Dessia stared upwards, her insides churning with frustration and rage.

  * * *

  So this was Dun Cullan, Bridei thought as he surveyed the hillfort from a distance. The dark timber walls of the palisade stood out starkly against the overcast sky. In a field below the fortress, a herd of horses grazed. A number of them were a misty gray color. Could these be the remnants of the herd the Fionnlairaos were named for?

  He turned his gaze to the hillfort and envisioned a small warband creeping up to the fortress at night, setting a fire and forcing their way in when the blaze damaged the timber walls. That was probably the way O’Bannon and his men had gotten into Cahermara all those years ago. It would serve him right if the same brutal methods were used against him.

  But there were many problems with this plan. First of all, he didn’t have a warband. Even if he could assemble one and convince them to try this thing, there was still the problem of finding Dessia once they got into the hillfort. O’Bannon would keep her some place secure, either close by him or in an underground chamber similar to where Bridei himself had been imprisoned. That was, of course, if she was still alive.

  The thought made Bridei’s heart sink like a stone in a pool. He told himself that if O’Bannon’s goal was murder, he would have ended Dessia’s life at Cahermara. Since he’d abducted her, he must have some had other plan in mind. Bridei could well guess what it was. Rape was the ultimate weapon against a woman. By forcing Dessia to marry him, O’Bannon could claim her lands by right of being her husband and Bridei doubted that anyone would dispute the claim. Even in Ireland, where women appeared to have more power and authority than Britain, it would be difficult to argue the matter in such circumstances. If O’Bannon impregnated her, it would be even more futile.

  Bridei sought to unclench his hands. The idea that O’Bannon might rape Dessia filled him with a rage so intense he could scarcely breathe, but he couldn’t give into his emotions now. He took another deep breath and tried to regain his usual outlook: calm and confident, seldom bothered or distressed about anything. For Dessia’s sake, he must become the old Bridei.

  With that thought in mind, he started walking toward Dun Cullan. Since it was daytime, the gate to the hillfort was open, but as soon he was within shouting distance, someone hailed him from the gatetower, demanding his name and his reason for being there.

  “I’m Bridei ap Maelgwn,” he called back. “A traveling bard. I’ve come to offer my services for a night or two. I’ve performed for kings and chieftains throughout Britain and Gaul, and I would willingly entertain your lord and his guests for the compensation of a few meals and a place to sleep.”

  There was no response. Bridei felt a stab of anxiety. What if he were refused entrance? He told himself to pretend it didn’t matter. If O’Bannon sent him away, he could always find another place to perform.

  It took awhile, but eventually the guard called out, “My lord said to let you come in.”

  Bridei felt a frisson of warning. Now that he’d gotten his way, he worried it had been too easy. Did O’Bannon guess what he was up to?

  He walked swiftly through the gate and was confronted by a well-armed and burly warrior. Although he greeted the man with a pleasant smile, the warrior insisted he hand over his pack. Bridei did so agreeably. “Be careful of my harp. It’s the only thing of value I possess.” The man examined the contents of his pack, then set it aside. “Now,” he said, “remove your cloak.”

  Bridei quickly complied with the order. Then, guessing that he might be searched for weapons and not wanting the man to feel the gold in his inner tunic, he stripped off both tunics. When he started to undo his trews, the man waved dismissingly. “Don’t bother. I’ve seen enough to be satisfied that you’re unarmed.”

  Bridei put his clothes back on and the man led him into the hillfort. Although he tried to appear casual, Bridei was careful to note the location of every structure he encountered. Dessia might be held in any one of them.

  They reached a hall similar in size to the one at Cahermara. Entering, Bridei saw a group of men gathered around the hearth, mending and polishing weapons. In the center was a stocky man of middle years with black hair going gray. The man’s shrewd, deep-set eyes focused on Bridei, who reminded himself to remember he was the old Bridei, carefree and easygoing.

  When he was a few feet away from group of men, Bridei bowed, then called out in ringing tones, “Greetings, Tiernan O’Bannon. I am Bridei ap Maelgwn, famed bard of Britain, Gaul and Catraith. I’ve come to entertain your household. All I ask in return is a meal or two and a place to bed down for the night.”

  O’Bannon’s eyes narrowed further. He responded, “I’ve heard of you, Bridei ap Maelgwn. Of how you beguiled everyone at Cahermara with your music and your charm, even Lady Dessia herself. If you think you can do likewise here, you are mistaken. This is a warriors’ household. We have no use for cunning-faced poets.”

  Bridei shrugged. “If you think I only know songs and tales pleasing to womenfolk, you’re mistaken.” He immediately began singing. The song was a stirring, rhythmic tune often sung by King Arthur’s men when they were on the march. To mark the beat, Bridei pounded his hand on a nearby table.

  He’d once told Dessia that music was his magic, and as he had many times before, he watched as the song cast its spell. He could see the subtle changes on his audience’s faces and in their bodies as they anticipated the beat. The driving rhythm was affecting them, making their hearts beat faster and the blood rush through their bodies. Soon they would be ready to fight . . . or at least to dance.

  Bridei glanced at O’Bannon and saw that the chieftain seemed to be clenching his jaw, as if willing himself to resist the music’s pulsing lure. As his enemy’s his face flushed, Bridei felt a twinge of unease. It was possible his strategy would backfire. Instead of pleasing O’Bannon, the song would end up goading him to violence. But he pushed his doubts aside and continued singing. He m
ust trust the music. Trust the goddess Rhiannon to make certain the song did as he intended.

  He repeated the chorus of the song and finished. O’Bannon met his gaze with a hard look. “You’re skilled,” he said. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I have no use for a bard.”

  “If you rather I didn’t perform, I won’t. But I would still presume upon the tradition of hospitality and ask that you allow me to spend the night. I’ve traveled quite far already and I doubt there’s another settlement near enough to reach before nightfall.” He deliberately mentioned Irish hospitality, hoping to make O’Bannon feel he no choice but to allow him stay the night. If O’Bannon still appeared reluctant, he would point out that Queen Dessia had hosted him for several weeks.

  “Very well. You can stay for one night.” O’Bannon’s expression bespoke reluctance and suspicion. Bridei bowed again and pretended to be well pleased. O’Bannon motioned to the warrior who had led Bridei there. The man approached O’Bannon and the chieftain spoke to him in low tones. The warrior nodded and returned to where Bridei waited, motioning that he should come with him. Bridei followed the man out of the hall.

  “What’s your name?” Bridei asked his escort.

  “Dermot.”

  “I’m Bridei, but of course you know that.”

  The man grunted and continued walking.

  As Bridei scanned the area for possible places where Dessia might be held, Dermot turned and glared at him. Bridei hurried to catch up. The warrior led him to a roundhouse set off from the rest of the buildings and motioned that Bridei should enter.

  The dwelling was decently furnished with two beds, a small low table and woven mats upon the floor. Bridei put his pack on one of the beds, then went out again. Dermot was standing by the door. Bridei said, “I’m certain I will rest there most comfortably. But I wonder if I might have candle or lamp for light and possibly a brazier to warm the place.”

  “I have no orders to provide such things. You have a decent place to sleep. That should be enough.”