“Yes,” said Drustan immediately.
“My answer is also yes. Loura will be shocked.”
“I doubt it.” He laughed. “I think she believes the worst of us already; I was shown the sleeping quarters they prepared for us, and there is a door between. Oh, Ana. Such
happiness is more than I am worth. I want to shout, to sing, to fly high and cry it out so the whole world can hear me. Such joy I could burst with it.” His face was radiant. It seemed to Ana the hurts, the reversals, the cruelties of the last seven years had been wiped out in an instant. She had done that. She had turned his world upside down and made him whole again. There had been a cost. Tomorrow
they would borrow horses and ride out to do something about that. Tomorrow.
“You honor me,” she told him a little shyly.
“Ah, no,” Drustan said. “If you agree to be my wife, you grant me a gift above honor.”
“I have already agreed.”
He startled her by dropping to his knees, wrapping his arms around her and laying his head against her like a child; she felt a tension in his body that was new.
“He may not consent. Bridei. He may not think me suitable. You are my princess. You are also a princess of the Priteni, a bride of immense value to the kingdom. What if … ?”
“Drustan.”
A silence; his face was against her, and she could not read his eyes.
“Drustan, look at me. That’s better. I love you, dear heart.” She stroked the exuberant cascade of his bright hair. “More than sunrise, more
than moonlight, more than birdsong or light on the water or a warm fire after long journeying. I love you with all my heart, forever and always. I want my children to be your children. I want us to grow old together, still full of delight every moment we look on each other. I dreamed of a child, did I tell you? She had your head of hair, your beautiful eyes. She was ours, Drustan. I know this is
meant to be. If Bridei will not give his consent, I will leave court with you anyway. The gods will understand that the bond between us runs deeper than any druid’s handfasting can make it.”
“And Faolan?” His tone was a whisper.
Ana sighed. “Faolan is dear to me. In another world, if I had never met you, perhaps … No, I cannot say that. Faolan has more journeying to do on his own path. I think
there is a quest he must undertake, and with that we cannot help him. I don’t deny I would prefer to have him close by. But I think his destiny lies away from ours.”
“And that makes you sad, even at such a moment of joy.”
“A little sad, but I will put that aside until tomorrow. In the morning we’ll go after him and try to make him see sense. Until then …”
Drustan rose to his feet. “How long
do you think it is until sunset?” he asked her, smiling.
“Not as long as it will seem,” Ana said. “I suppose we can wait until then, after all this time. I hope you will take off that outrageous tunic before bedtime. It is more than a little dazzling.”
“Do you remember,” Drustan said softly, “a long time ago, I asked you if it would please you to undress before me? I think I recall your answer
was yes. Or perhaps you said maybe.”
“Fairly soon, you’ll find out,” Ana said, tucking her arm in his and turning back toward the house. “Perhaps you should show me these adjoining bedchambers. I won’t ask where Faolan was supposed to sleep; I hate to think what Loura had in mind. She must be more observant, and more broadminded, than I gave her credit for. But then, she’s Ged’s wife. I suppose
she’s seen everything.”
T
UALA HAD SEEN them coming in her scrying bowl. Since Fola and Broichan, between them, had made her break her promise to herself, she had begun to seek its revelations every day. Her head had no room for anything but Bridei; as she paced the hallways and chambers and gardens of White Hill, she was making his journey with him, across the valleys and passes and farmlands between here
and Dalriada, through battle and respite and battle again. She slept little, knowing Bridei would be lying awake weighing the cost of this man, that man. The territories won, the advantages gained would, for him, never be quite sufficient to balance the human cost.
She had made the difficult choice to leave Derelei at the house of the wise women for a little, with Broichan. The maidservant would
tend to him lovingly, and both druid and infant might be the better for the peace Banmerren could provide. Tuala herself was too distracted to give her son the time he needed. She would bring him home soon enough. In the meantime, Bridei’s little dog, Ban, had taken to following her about, settling at her feet when she sought the visions in the water, trotting by her side as she paced restlessly.
Tuala knew a subtle watch was being kept over her. Aniel had set his own guards to maintain a discreet protective presence. Tharan would appear from time to time to inquire with grave diffidence if she were well. These two, the senior councillors, knew what the scrying bowl had revealed. She had sought their advice the day she came back to White Hill, hoping beyond hope that there was something
she hadn’t thought of, some way the distance between here and the south of Dalriada might be traversed in time. Their grim faces had soon quenched that hope. Even supposing a messenger could make his way to Dalriada unscathed, he would not reach Bridei before autumn was well advanced. Tuala knew in her heart that this would be too late. As for her attempts to summon the folk of the Otherworld to
her aid, those had been futile. As she’d suspected would be the case, her pleas had fallen into silence. Gossamer and Woodbine and their kind only came when it happened to suit them. Whatever the solution was here, it lay in human hands.
There had been no repetition of her other vision, Broichan in the forest in springtime and a woman of the Good Folk watching him. Who knew what druids did on
their long, lonely forest vigils at the festival of Balance? The goddess commanded their obedience in mind and spirit. And in the flesh: did not they of the brotherhood hang for days in the forks of the oaks, wrapped in oxhides, inviting prophetic visions? Perhaps there were other ways a fit man’s body could be called to the Shining One’s service. She wanted to know what year that image had belonged
to. She suspected it was the year Broichan traveled to Caer Pridne and nearly died of poison: the year of her own birth.
The scrying bowl yielded no further glimpses of Bridei, but this morning in the clear water Tuala had seen Ana riding home, Ana strangely altered, as if she had been through a furnace and emerged stripped of all but her essential core. Tuala’s friend was painfully thin and
her lovely hair had been cropped oddly short. In the vision she rode by Faolan’s side down a familiar track, the main way from Abertomie. Faolan looked wretched: sick, defeated. Something had gone terribly awry, that much was plain. There were just the two of them, no escort, no guards, just the man, the woman, the two horses. And …
And the hawk. Ana wore a single heavy gauntlet, and on it was
perched a creature whose magnificent plumage held every color from deep oak-brown to fiery red to ripe barley-gold. Its eyes were piercing, knowing, dangerous. The bird was of a species unknown to Tuala, its rich colors and noble bearing seeming to mark it out as something exceptional, one of a kind. Ana carried it easily despite its size, her arm and shoulder relaxed. Her gray eyes had ever possessed
a deep serenity; she had always appeared calm but somehow sad. There was an expression in those eyes now that Tuala had never seen there before. For all the manner of this return, a clear sign that the mission to Briar Wood had not fallen out as Bridei had wished, Ana’s eyes were alight with a transcendent joy.
Tuala made a judgment that this was a vision of the present time, and set preparations
in place to receive the two of them later that day. The light in the image was that of early afternoon, a warm glow shining on the foliage of the beeches, the sun brushing the forest paths and turning Ana’s hair to a bright splash of gold amid the green. Already the leaves were turning to the mellow hues of autumn. Soon it would be Measure, and the war in the west might be nearly over. If Bridei
lived. If the gods spared him. If a big young man with a knife in his hand and a mission in his eyes were somehow stopped in time.
Tuala sighed. The gift of the seeing eye was a cruel one. Life, after all, was full of chances and dangers and quick decisions. If a man did not die of the assassin’s blade, there was still no saying he might not perish in some other way the next day, or the next.
Seek to intervene because the water showed something unwelcome and one risked setting in train a whole sequence of events that might, in their way, be more disastrous than the vision. On the other hand, the Shining One sent Tuala these images for a reason. And this was Bridei: not simply her husband, her beloved, her dearest friend, and the father of her child, but also the king of Fortriu, his people’s
great leader. What was that vision but a call to act?
With this dilemma tumbling through her mind, Tuala now stood by the rampart on the upper level of White Hill with Aniel, looking down the slope for any sign of riders approaching. Ban was at her feet, small body tense with expectation. Tuala had called Aniel as soon as she saw Faolan in the water, for there was some small hope in his return.
Had not Bridei’s right-hand man always been able to fulfill the most challenging missions and find answers to the most perplexing puzzles? Faolan was bold, inventive, and capable. Perhaps he would discover a solution where even Broichan had been unable to discern one. Tuala kept to herself her disquiet about Faolan’s appearance. She would let these travelers tell their tale before she shared hers.
It was close to dusk by the time the riders came into view. When she saw them Tuala stifled a gasp of surprise.
“I thought you told me Ana and Faolan were alone,” commented Aniel, narrowing his eyes for a better view. “So who is
that?
”
His tone reflected Tuala’s own response. Not only were Faolan and Ana now accompanied by a third, but he was sharing Ana’s horse, supporting her with an arm as
she sat across the saddle in front of him, her golden hair tangling with his own mass of wild russet locks. The two of them were like an image from an ancient tale, a picture so lovely and so arresting it stopped the breath in the throat.
“That’s no guard,” Tuala said. “I can only suppose it’s her husband, Alpin of Briar Wood. It looks as if she’s done rather better for herself than anyone expected.”
Ana’s companion was, without a doubt, the finest specimen of manly beauty that had ever visited White Hill. Even Tuala, who considered Bridei the most perfect man in all Fortriu, was obliged to concede this. Belatedly she recalled the vision Fola had recounted, which included a battle with wolves. It had seemed unlikely at the time. Then she noticed the hooded crow that was riding on the
fellow’s right shoulder, and the smaller red bird on his left. Ana’s glove was gone, and so was the hawk. There was something decidedly odd about all this. Ana leaned on the young man as if he were her home, her hearth, her sanctuary. His supporting arm curved with delicacy and tenderness around her thin frame in its too-large clothing. Perhaps the mission had been a success after all.
“Come,”
Tuala said to the councillor. “We must go down and receive them properly. They have a tale to tell, and I expect it will be a strange one. Come, Ban.” The little dog followed obediently, but his ears were drooping. Tuala’s heart bled for him. “Be patient,” she whispered, bending to pat the small creature’s white head. “He will come home.”
The Shining One grant that it be so,
she added in silence.
The gods bring him home alive, and well, and victorious, so we need not do this again a while. Let my next child be born into a world at peace.
IT WAS INDEED A strange tale and a sorry one, for eleven men from White Hill had died at Breaking Ford, and their kinsfolk must be told the shocking news. Tuala sensed that Faolan, who was doing most of the talking, had not given the whole story.
He had introduced the stranger as Alpin’s brother, and Ana had told them with quiet assurance that the chieftain of Briar Wood had proved a great deal less than they had hoped for. Alpin, she said coolly, was now dead as the result of an unfortunate combination of circumstances. With the king’s permission, she would be marrying his brother instead. His brother: this bright-eyed, fine-looking
stranger whose manner teased at Tuala, reminding her of something she could not quite identify. The two birds stayed close to him even here in the council chamber where the travelers had gathered with Tuala, Aniel, and Tharan to give their account of themselves. Drustan held Ana’s hand quite openly. The two of them glanced at each other often, as if they could not bear to keep their eyes away. Save
for a courteous greeting, Drustan had not said a word. There was a mystery here, but it must wait.
“What news of Bridei?” Faolan asked. “Where is he? How far has the force advanced?”
Tharan cleared his throat. Aniel glanced pointedly at Drustan.
“We need to speak with you alone, Faolan,” said Tuala. “There’s a grave and urgent matter we must put before you. We’re hoping very much that you can
help.”
“What matter?” His tone was sharp.
“In private,” Aniel said firmly. “Lady Ana, you’ll be weary after the ride from Abertornie. I’ll arrange some refreshment, and a chamber for your—”
“They should stay,” Faolan said. “This concerns Bridei, doesn’t it? You can speak openly before the two of them, indeed should do so. Ana can be trusted with your secrets. Drustan is a friend and ally.”
The two councillors stared at him. What he suggested was a total breach of protocol. There were sound reasons for such rules, especially in time of war. Faolan, of anyone, must know the risks that lay in spreading sensitive information.
“I have no allegiance in this conflict and never did.” Drustan spoke quietly. “My brother took it upon himself to employ my territory as a base for his seaborne
forces; that will change when I return to Dreaming Glen. Now that Alpin is gone, Briar Wood will also fall under my custodianship. Ana’s friends are my friends. I stand outside the war.”
“Tell us,” said Ana. “What is it? Has Bridei’s venture gone wrong?”
“I’m sorry.” Aniel’s tone was suddenly forbidding. “Such matters are for private council. Whatever Faolan’s opinion might be, the decision,
in the absence of both the king and his druid, is for myself and my fellow councillor here to make, with the queen’s advice. A man does not gain entry to such meetings on the strength of a few moments’ acquaintance, or a presumption that he may at some time in the future be judged an acceptable suitor for a royal hostage.”
A look appeared on Faolan’s weary features that could only be described
as frightening. His hands tightened into fists.
“Drustan,” said Ana calmly, “you and I will retire a while. Aniel’s right, I am tired, and besides, I want to show you the garden before it gets too dark. And introduce you to Derelei. Come, shall we?”
“Thank you, Ana,” Tuala said. “I’m afraid Derelei’s not here; he’s at Banmerren with Broichan. I will come to see you as soon as we’re finished
here.” And, as Ana and her extraordinary young man went out, still hand in hand, “Faolan, sit down, please. We have no time for arguments among ourselves. Bridei’s in danger. We need your help.”
He sat, tight-lipped.
“You tell him, Aniel,” Tuala said.
Aniel set it out: the vision—he did not specify whose—the battle, the struggle, the large young man with the knife. Tuala watched Faolan’s cheeks
grow pale and his jaw tighten as the account progressed.
“We believe,” put in Tharan gravely, “that this must take place soon, if indeed it has not already occurred. Broichan tells us he has not the power to make a rapid journey to the west, as his kind have sometimes been known to do; indeed, there is now no druid with that capacity alive in all of Fortriu. We’ve dispatched riders, of course.
But we are convinced they will not reach Bridei in time. The weather is particularly balmy just now, unseasonably fine for early autumn. The description of this scene, the light, the color of the trees, all suggested such conditions. Our estimation of this battle’s location fits with the plan of Fortriu’s war leaders. We think it’s imminent.”
“Broichan’s augury, before Bridei left here, contained
a warning of death.” Even in this setting, with all of them trusted advisers, Tuala was careful not to mention her own role in any of it. “This is desperate, Faolan.”
“I should be there,” Faolan muttered. “I should have gone with him.”
“We were hoping,” Tuala said, “that you might be able to think of something we couldn’t. I cannot believe the gods would sacrifice him so easily, nor that they
would grant this vision if there were no way to intervene. We must save him.”
“There is a solution,” Faolan said. “It lies with Drustan: the man you don’t trust. You’d be asking him to put his life on the line. You’d be asking Ana to put her hard-won future at risk. Even with Bridei’s life at stake, that sits ill with me.”