The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy

by Jules Watson

  Rhiann stared up at him as she drank. ‘You saw, didn’t you? You were there at the rite.’

  Avoiding her gaze, Didius took back the cup and then hung his head, his jowls catching on his collar. ‘No one knew; no one saw me.’ His eyes swept up, the pupils huge and fearful. ‘I am sorry if it was wrong, lady! I wanted to know you were safe – and then I could not look away – and the Sisters, I didn’t recognize them … and the singing …’

  ‘Peace.’ Rhiann groped for his hand and held it, sinking back on the pillow as a wave of dizziness took her. ‘There is no harm done. And perhaps it was right for you to be there. Perhaps the Mother called you, too.’

  To anchor us to his people, Rhiann thought hazily, and a strange sadness swept her. Then her half-open eyes were caught by the flare of lamplight on the sword still strapped to Didius’s side. It was the first weapon he had been allowed to bear, yet it was made for Alban men, to defend Alban land. With a jolt, Rhiann remembered Eremon.

  Eremon! Oh, Goddess, what if it were her people who had been defeated?

  The plunge of dread took her breath away, and she struggled to rise on her elbows, trembling violently. It hadn’t worked; the Calling wasn’t strong enough. Eremon might be lying somewhere even now, wounded or dead …

  Murmuring, Didius eased her down with curiously gentle, though callused hands, pulling the wool blanket up to her chin. And it was that solid warmth and pressure that brought Rhiann back from the edge of panic, as she remembered what Linnet had once said to her: I would know, the moment you left Thisworld.

  And Rhiann would know, too, if the bond of soul-flames had been severed, if Eremon walked this land no more. She repeated it to herself over and over, her eyes squeezed shut. I would know. I would know.

  Gradually, as Rhiann sucked air in and blew it out, the thudding of her heart softened, and implacable exhaustion took hold once more. Though she struggled to open her eyelids, it was as if a hand was pressing them closed, and she was dragged back down into sleep.

  Yet there, dreams still came, jumbled and tortured, frightening in their intensity. Rhiann sensed rather than saw anything: pressure and constriction; cramping pain and wounded cries; cold wind and the silence of desolation.

  Early dawn found her fully awake, kneeling by Fola’s side, shaking her friend’s arm. Didius, giving into his own exhaustion, was a mound curled in a blanket at the end of her pallet.

  ‘Something is wrong,’ Rhiann whispered, when Fola rolled over with a sleepy exclamation. She’d re-lit the lamp from the coals, and now set it on a stool by Fola’s bed. ‘I can feel it in my belly. I must return home – now.’

  Instantly, Fola was sitting upright in her bed shift, blankets tumbling around her waist. ‘But it is not yet light.’

  ‘I can’t wait.’ Feverishly, Rhiann tied her single braid with flax and pushed it over her shoulder, pulling her pack onto the pallet. There, she began flinging in her scattered belongings: her antler comb; sleep shift; medicine pouch; and figurines.

  Now Fola was beside her, wrapped in a blanket, her dark pupils shrinking in the flickering light. ‘Sister, the rite was powerful, it will have disturbed you. Come, I will make you tea and then you can rest—’

  ‘No!’ Rhiann strove for calm, for the impulse that had driven her from bed was growing stronger now she had spoken it – a summons in her bones, her belly. ‘Fola.’ She took her friend by the arms and stared into her face. ‘Look at me. I am in my right mind. My sense is that I must get home, as soon as I can. Something …’ She swallowed, the strength leaving her once more. ‘Something is wrong.’

  Fola bit her lip, her eyes straying to Didius as he began to stir. I will rouse Nerida. She will want to see you before you go.’

  The sky over the inland hills was streaked with rose when they emerged onto the muddy path between the dark, crouching houses. Rhiann sent Didius to alert the boatmen and ready the craft with water and food, while she and Fola crossed to Nerida’s door. When Rhiann entered the warmth and light of the Eldest Sister’s home, her calm deserted her. Suddenly she was on her knees by Nerida’s chair, grasping the old woman’s hand.

  ‘Do not say I am sick, or fevered,’ she whispered. ‘My dreams were so vivid, and spoke of harm and pain and disturbance. Do you …’ The words hovered on her tongue. ‘Do you think that Eremon has come to grief ? Was the rite not a success?’

  Nerida’s grip on her wrist was forceful, and Rhiann met her eyes, which were unfilmed by sleep or age. Her white hair was unbound, and she had drawn a faded blue blanket around her shift. ‘Daughter, the rite was strong and true. You anchored us to him; you sent him the Source with your hands, your heart. It will be well.’ She squeezed Rhiann’s arm, and at last her calm authority began to penetrate the frozen shell around Rhiann’s mind.

  He is alive, he must be alive. But what, then, calls me home? She didn’t know, but she couldn’t ignore it.

  ‘I must go,’ she said, stumbling to her feet. With Nerida’s blessing warm on her forehead Rhiann was out then in the starry dawn, the chill on her skin drawn from within this time, and not from the wind off the sea.

  Against a strong swell, the sailing to Dunadd took four days, during which Rhiann could hardly contain her impatience, sitting in the bow almost straining out over the waves. On disembarking, she hurried along the Trade Path, so quickly that Didius had to trot to keep up.

  The land about did not share her unease. Calm weather had returned, and the field strips across the river were a rippling sea of green barley heads. The few homesteads they passed were deserted and peaceful, for the young people were in the high pastures with the cattle, and the men were clearing next year’s fields in the Add valley. Even the trading punts on their way from their ships at Crinan glided lazily up the river.

  When Dunadd swept into view Rhiann stopped so abruptly Didius nearly ran into her. Yet as she gazed up at the imposing crag and high palisade, the tension wound about her heart began to loosen. The dun still stood: strong, unassailable. Perhaps her fears had just been dark fancies after all. Perhaps if she was wrong about this, she was also wrong to fear for Eremon. Pausing in the hot sun, she unpinned her cloak, stiff from salt, and folded it over her arm. Then, with her head high, she endeavoured to continue more calmly.

  There was not enough wind to stir the royal banner that crowned the King’s Hall, but the village gate stood wide open, and from afar Rhiann could see people moving in and out of it as normal. She barely glanced up at the gate guards or noted who was about, so intent was she on reaching her own house. It wasn’t until she entered the Moon Gate on the crag that she realized something was indeed wrong.

  It was the thick, heavy silence that alerted her, unnatural and tense.

  Among the houses of the nobles – her royal clan – no one moved. Has someone died? she wondered, with a resurgence of panic, and found herself turning for the Horse Gate and King’s Hall. Yet she had not got far before she was met by a sight that arrested her. Three men were advancing towards her under the oak arch of the carved stallion’s legs.

  The first was Gelert, his face carefully blank even as his raised brows registered surprise. The jet eyes on his owl staff, clasped in one bony hand, flashed in the sun.

  Then came Lorn, his chin rearing up when he caught sight of Rhiann.

  And finally Urben, commanding the space around him with his bear shoulders, his garish clothes and excess of rings, chains and brooches. His hair, the fair mingled equally with silver, was bound back with a gold circlet, and his moustache framed a profoundly satisfied mouth.

  It was Urben who broke Rhiann’s shocked silence. Ah!’ he boomed. ‘Our Ban Cré has returned to her people at last. Splendid!’ Belying these hearty words, his grey eyes assessed Rhiann with a coolness that turned her belly.

  ‘What has happened?’ Rhiann struggled to keep her voice even, staring hard at Lorn, willing him to answer. But he would not meet her eyes.

  That was when she knew.

  ‘Alas, it appe
ars that our war leader will not be returning from his southern adventure.’ Urben spread his glittering hands in a parody of helplessness. ‘At such an unstable time, I thought it prudent to lend my protection to the royal dun.’

  The blood roared in Rhiann’s ears. Struggling for breath, she spun around, only to notice belatedly that unfamiliar guards – Urben’s warriors – were now flanking the Moon Gate. And the high timber gates themselves, which had never been closed in a generation, were now scraping shut behind her.

  Cutting her off from the village below.

  CHAPTER 15

  Rhiann rounded on Urben. ‘Traitor!’ she hissed, her face ablaze with sudden rage.

  Lorn turned his head away, but Urben merely smiled and folded his hands on his jewelled belt. ‘Traitor, lady?’

  At his raised voice, a few pale faces appeared in the darkness of their doorways – the nobles of the ruling clan. Rhiann could only wonder how they’d subdued Talorc, who would never stand for such a betrayal.

  ‘By traitor,’ Urben boomed, ‘think rather of a foreigner, a gael, who, in pursuit of his own glory, puts our men at risk for other tribes’ lands: Caledonii lands, Damnonii lands, Novantae lands!’

  Rhiann’s mouth dropped open, her anger a bright flood in her veins that burned away all fear. ‘Eremon is putting his life at risk to save us all!’ she cried furiously, her hands clenched by her sides. ‘And you repay him with this? You take Dunadd by force?’

  Urben’s smile remained in place. ‘No, Ban Cré, not by force. There were many in the council who welcomed us. Your prince is the outsider here, after all, not me. Since after a year you seem … unable … to bear our next king, we must look elsewhere – and my son is the next best candidate. How can I be a traitor when I am just doing what is best for the people?’

  ‘You have had that year to lay your claim,’ Rhiann spat. ‘And now you act when Eremon’s back is turned, like a sneaking, filthy coward!’ Her mind spun, the words on the tip of her tongue, that Caitlin also bore the old king’s blood; that this very moment she perhaps carried a boy child in her belly. Yet something stopped those words in her throat.

  ‘I will not allow you to insult me a third time, Ban Cré.’ Urben’s voice held a dangerous edge. ‘We have taken action now because the war leader has obviously come to some grief in the south.’

  The ground lurched beneath Rhiann; her heart flung itself against her ribs. Yet her mind grasped wildly for control. Eremon was well. Somehow she knew he was well.

  ‘What has it been now?’ Urben mused, spreading his fingers as if counting. ‘A moon, nearly two? More than a moon and no word? He left us here, poorly defended and leaderless, and now someone must take up the reins.’ His hand curled towards Lorn. Yet the young Epidii lord still would not meet Rhiann’s eyes.

  Rhiann’s shock was beginning to recede, as the first flare of rage burned out. And with it, her mind suddenly cleared. Caitlin, oh Goddess, where is she? Linnet? Eithne?

  She took one shaking step towards her house, but at a snap of Urben’s fingers two warriors came from the Horse Gate and stood on either side of her, hands placed carefully on their sword-hilts. Urben’s smile pulled down with feigned sorrow. ‘My lady, in troubled times, I cannot have such a valued prize wandering around unaccompanied. My men will keep you safe.’

  Rhiann fought to draw dignity around her, unwilling to give them the further satisfaction of her rage. Without another word she turned, her contemptuous gaze sweeping first the silent Lorn, then Gelert.

  The druid’s expression had remained unmoved, yet Rhiann saw the slight working of his thin mouth as he stared towards the banner lying limp on its post above the King’s Hall. Her eyes involuntarily following his, Rhiann saw now that the banner was no longer the scarlet of the White Mare, but the pale blue bear of Urben’s clan. She bit down on her fury. Gelert may stand there as if he had nothing to do with this. But she knew better.

  Didius, meanwhile, was being stripped of his sword by Urben’s men, his face stricken with shame and fear, and only then were they free to continue, the two guards trailing them to Rhiann’s house.

  All the way Rhiann sensed their presence like menacing hounds behind her, and when they attempted to follow her inside, she whirled, palm raised and trembling. ‘This is my home – you cannot come here!’

  One of the warriors fixed his eyes on the sun-warmed wall outside, his bear tattoo curling fiercely over one cheek. ‘We have orders to watch you at all times, lady,’ he murmured. ‘For your own protection.’

  Enraged words leaped to Rhiann’s lips, but before she could speak there came a soft, anguished cry from inside, and instantly she dropped her anger and rushed to the sickbed against the wall. ‘Caitlin!’ She sank to her knees by the bed and grasped Caitlin’s hand. Beside her, Eithne crouched on a stool, her small face pinched and fearful. ‘But I left you with Linnet!’ Rhiann burst out.

  Caitlin’s face was streaked with tears, her other hand spread protectively over her swollen belly. In the weeks Rhiann had been away she had grown much bigger, her face a blotch of paleness in the dark recess of the bedplace. ‘Urben’s guards came for us a week ago,’ she whispered, her voice husky from weeping. ‘They tore us from Linnet and brought us back here.’

  At the mention of Linnet, Rhiann’s fingers dug in to the fur cover. ‘And what of her?’

  ‘She is safe, alive and unhurt.’ Caitlin’s lips trembled, and she pressed them together to steady herself. ‘That is all I could beg from Lorn.’

  Rhiann leaped up, unable to stay still. ‘Curse them all for lying dogs!’ She pressed both hands to the bridge of her nose, her breathing swift and fierce. ‘How dare they lay a hand on us, take our home! Wait until Eremon gets back—’

  ‘Rhiann,’ Caitlin’s agonized whisper broke through Rhiann’s anger, ‘they called all the people together and said that Eremon and Conaire must have been defeated, since we have heard nothing. Urben said he had no choice but to put the people first, and give them a new king and war leader.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Rhiann snapped, staring down at her cold hearth, her hands curling into fists. ‘Wily words from a cowardly traitor.’ She sank to the bed and took Caitlin’s hands, chafing her cold fingers, disturbed at the unhealthy translucence of her skin, and her haunted eyes. ‘Come, cariad, you know they are alive, as do I.’

  Caitlin buried her face in Rhiann’s shoulder. ‘Since the baby, my heart is so weak!’ she sobbed. ‘I can’t think straight and when Urben said it, my heart just froze, Rhiann. I’ve been so frightened—’

  Over her sister’s shoulder Rhiann held Eithne’s dark eyes, yet the maid’s composure was also threatening to dissolve under an onslaught of fright and relief. Rhiann reached out and pried Eithne’s fingers from the twisted knots of her skirt, willing strength into her. She had chosen Eithne as her maid for many reasons, not least her sharp mind and her spirit, and it was these she must draw forth now.

  When Caitlin was quiet, Rhiann gathered Eithne and Didius by the hearth. There she drew a deep breath, dredging up a semblance of control with sheer will. ‘We are all in shock,’ she said to them. ‘Yet it is Caitlin we must look to now. She is not well.’ Rhiann took Eithne’s trembling fingers. ‘Can you be strong for her, and for me? I’ll need you to help care for her, give her the draughts she needs, keep her spirits raised. Can you do this?’

  Eithne straightened her thin shoulders, forcing a smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘Yes, lady. I’ll make you proud, you’ll see. And do not forget that Eremon left us Aedan. He must still be in the King’s Hall. Perhaps he can play for her.’

  ‘Goddess help us!’ Poor Aedan would be out of his mind with worry; she must go and retrieve him if she could. Yet first she addressed Didius. ‘A bard I may have, son of Rome, but I need a strong male presence in this house, too.’

  Didius nodded sombrely, his hand going to his sword-belt, before he realized with obvious dismay that it was empty. Swiftly he composed himself, hooking his fingers into th
e rope belt around his belly. ‘You do not need to ask, lady.’

  Yet when his eyes strayed to Caitlin in the bed, Rhiann went completely still.

  We may be safe for the moment, came her sudden knowing, but not the babe, for he is a king born.

  Her so-called guards did not stop Rhiann striding past them to the King’s Hall, and to her relief the paths were empty once more. Aedan was crouching on a stool at one end of the great hearth, plucking dolefully at his harp, Cù at his feet. Yet at the sight of Rhiann he set his instrument aside with a startled yelp of relief that pierced the hound’s excited barking. Aedan was never so undignified; this, more than the slump of his shoulders, told Rhiann of his state of mind.

  ‘Urben and Lorn and their men moved in here,’ he whispered to her, his grey eyes round and fearful, glancing over her shoulder. The cream and rose complexion that made him the target of so many warrior jests was now just pale, his dark curls for once uncombed. ‘They make me play for them every night, but Lady, I am so frightened for my lord. They say he is not coming back, that he is dead!’ Aedan’s head drooped, shame creeping up his neck. ‘They held a dagger at my throat, made me play a dirge to send his soul to the Otherworld,’ he confessed.

  Rhiann swallowed her disgust at Urben, and patted Aedan’s knee. ‘You and I both know he is not dead. And, though you are unquestionably talented, I don’t think even your dirge could send a man to the Otherworld before his time.’

  Aedan shook his head, his mouth lifting ruefully at one corner.

  Rhiann rubbed Cù’s head to calm herself, pushing the dog’s flank into her leg. ‘I will ask Lorn to release you to my household, Aedan, for I need you to keep Caitlin’s spirits raised. Her pregnancy does not go as well as I’d hoped—’

  Aedan straightened and groped for her hand, pressing his forehead to it. ‘Lady, I will gladly discharge my duty to you and my lord thus. I will not let you down!’

  His fervency brought a tired smile to Rhiann’s lips. ‘What happened to the nobles? And where is Finan?’