Lady Ilena (17 page)

The sentries see us coming, and one calls out, “What's your hurry now? Don't tell me they want more wine.”

“Oh, they do,” I say. “But we're supposed to straighten the whole shed before we go to bed.”

The sentry laughs. “Don't make too much noise. Everyone down here is sleeping but us, and we're ready for some quiet.”

“Yes, sir,” I say.

When we get inside the shed, Arthur and I set our jars down and race out the back door of the building. There is no boat.

“They've gone without us,” I whisper. “They said they might.”

“Psst! Ilena!” It's Jon. I look around but can't see anything except water and rock. “Up here. Take a few more steps and then climb up the rocks.”

Arthur is ahead of me and reaches back to pull me up the steep layers of rock. The moon is giving enough light for me to make out Jon's figure in front of us.

“Now,” Jon whispers, “down another set of rocks.”

Arthur braces himself on Jon's shoulder and drops down into the darkness. I take Jon's arm and follow.

Craig and Nol already have oars in the water; Jon steps into the prow and keeps one hand on the rock to steady the boat.

I give Arthur a slight push. “Get in. Hurry!” I whisper.

He steps carefully into the leather shell, then turns toward me and says quietly, “But there isn't room for all of us.”

At almost the same moment, Jon says, “I'll stay. At least I'm not marked for beheading.”

I hesitate for only an instant while a picture of Kenna, large with their child, flashes through my mind. I bring my fist down hard on Jon's arm, and he releases his grip on the
rock. I shove the boat away from the shore with my foot and watch the rising tide whirl it out into the current.

Jon falls backward onto the front seat, and he and Arthur both stare back at me as Nol and Craig fight the racing water to turn the boat into the mouth of River Leven. I watch the little craft until it disappears in the darkness.

“Where are they?” It's one of the sentries. He must be standing on the ledge outside the wine shed. A cliff blocks my escape from this spot. The only path out is back over the rocks the way I came.

“I know she didn't come out the front door.” This voice is getting closer; the man must be partway up the steps that lead to where I'm standing.

“Who are you looking for?” I call in as sullen a voice as I can manage.

“What are you doing? You're supposed to be in the shed. And where's the one with you?”

I pull myself up the rocks and stare straight at a sentry who has started up the other side. “What do you think I'm
doing? Looking for a moment's privacy, that's what. There's no time up top to find the latrines and precious little time here. What's a person supposed to do?”

Both of them laugh and the one down on the ledge says, “All right. Come on over here where you belong. We're supposed to make sure no one gets off the fortress.”

“And how would I manage that with all the water around it?” I grumble. When I've cleared the top of the rocks and moved down a couple of steps, I jump onto the sand below and stomp into the wine shed with them following me. I don't remember seeing either of them when the band from Dun Struan brought me in earlier tonight, but I still try to keep my face away from them.

“There was a tall man with you. Had a rag over his eye. Where's he now?”

I hope he's well upriver with the tide, but I say, “How should I know? Worthless clod. I left him here cleaning up. And he hasn't done it and there's a jar missing, so I've got to go up top looking for it. Will one of you give me a hand here? I'll be up till dawn getting this all done alone.”

This brings a bigger laugh. “Sorry, dearie. It's your problem. Good luck in finding a wine jar in the mess of people we've got here tonight.”

They leave me alone, and I sit down on a crate to think for a few minutes. I could never get past the sentries here to take the path that I came in on with Hana and the Dun Struan war band. Arthur mentioned a north entrance near
the prison cell. If I can find it, perhaps it will lead to a way off the island.

I clank a couple of jugs around and move some crates so that it looks like I've done something, then saunter out of the storage shed and take the path that leads between the peaks. One of the sentries looks up from his spot near the fire, but doesn't say anything.

Once through the narrow passage, I walk around the edge of the flat area; no one is awake that I can see. I stop again near the place where Durant died. I feel like lying down on the spot and crying, but I clutch his ring through layers of fabric and remember how his arms felt around me.

The night before he left Dun Alyn, he said, “I will not always be beside you. A chief must be strong enough to stand alone when she has to.”

I think of Spusscio and Belert watching me ride away from Dun Alyn, of Eogan waiting and worrying beside River Leven, and of Vorgel's faith in me. I take a deep breath and hurry into the shadows behind the building.

The prison is dark, so the guards' fire must have burned out. I have to find a way off the island before they discover that their prisoners are gone.

“Quiet at last.” It's a man's voice and it comes from somewhere in the dark to the north of me.

“About time. And they'll be up early for the beheadings.” Another man, in about the same place.

“Likely. And the rest of the day getting ready to march on Cameliard. Glad I can stay here and guard the fortress.”

“Aye, I've no desire to go off with a bunch of Saxons and fight Cameliard.”

I can't see anything in the darkness except a faint glow from a small night fire. The north entrance would be guarded, so I suppose these are the sentries. I'm afraid to step out from my place against the cliff; there is enough light from the smoldering coals of fires behind me to make me visible.

“I'll be glad when that Dragon Chief is done away with tomorrow.”

“He's got a charmed life for sure, but we have him safe now.”

“Aye. No getting out of that prison.”

“It's dark over there. Why'd they let their fire go down so far do you think?”

There's a silence and then a flash of light as one lights a torch.

They're headed this way!

I hold still and press myself against the cliff. Just as they come close enough to spot me, they veer off toward the prison.

Now is my chance. When the sentries enter the guardroom, I run as quickly as I can toward the spot that they have left. Just past their fire, a rocky path slopes into darkness;
I can hear shouts from the prison as I try to keep my balance on the rough terrain.

Most of the night has been overcast, but now the clouds part, and there is enough moonlight for me to see the path. A short distance ahead, the earth seems to drop away, and I check my speed just in time to see the track turn sharply to the right. If the moon had not appeared when it did, I'd have plunged over the cliff.

The noise above me is increasing, but I don't waste time worrying about it. The moon disappears again, so I slow to a careful walk, staying close to the rock face. There is a slight glow somewhere in front of me; I've been heading east, so I must be approaching the channel that we crossed.

The path descends, and I come out on the east side of the fortress, only a short distance above the beach. The large wooden boat that ferried us from the mainland is drawn up onto the shore, and a small leather currach lies upside down beside it.

The only people I can see are two sentries far to my right, where the path leads around to the south entrance. The flickering light from their distant fire helps me pick my way down steps in the rock to the beach, and the sand softens my footfalls as I flatten myself against the steep cliffs.

The water level in the channel is higher now than it was when we arrived. I do not know the currents here, but perhaps the high tide that carried Arthur to freedom is still rising. If it is, the stream before me will take me up into
River Leven; if the tide has turned, I will be swept down past the sentries, into River Clota, and past the guarded beach on the south of the fortress. There I'll be seen and captured again or else washed out into the western ocean.

There is a disturbance at the sentries' fire; two warriors, armed with spears and shields, have arrived. Their voices carry clearly above the sound of the river.

“The prisoners have escaped. Have you seen anyone?”

“Nothing here. When did they get away?”

“Don't know. The guards were sleeping.”

“Wouldn't want to be them when Camilla hears.”

“Keep an eye out. We think they were seen near the wine shed.”

Soon everyone on the island will be searching; if I don't get away now, I will be found. I run, stooping as low as I can, to the shadow cast by the large boat. When I'm safely hidden against its rough wooden side, I sit still, listening.

“Look everywhere! That's orders.”

“Well, you can see there's nothing out here.”

“Right. You're to start in by the shed and search back to this spot. Then stay where you can see the channel. We're going to look around the prison and start checking everyone sleeping up there.”

I have a little time while they're searching around the shed; I must get off the island and out of sight before they come back.

I crawl to the currach and lie flat on the sand while I
examine it. It's even smaller than the one Craig and Nol guided out into River Leven. There is an oar lying underneath, and I can feel a plank across the middle that must serve as its only seat. The shell is hardened leather, and wooden ribs inside provide stability and places to step.

The voices have faded. I crawl to a point where I can see around the prow of the wooden boat. There is no one at the fire now; all four of them are moving past the corner of the cliffs. Fear holds me immobile for a brief moment, but I force myself to risk everything on this fragile leather craft and the chance that the current in the channel is still running upstream with the tide.

I crouch down as far as possible and run to the water's edge, dragging the boat and oar along behind me. It takes three attempts before I'm safely seated and floating in the shallow water along the edge of the channel.

I give a hard push with the oar and shoot out into the current, bobbing along like a piece of driftwood. The tide is still rising, and my small craft turns north, heading upriver toward the Ford of Leven.

At first I'm so grateful to be safely away from the fortress that I don't mind what my stomach does as the boat spins and bounces on its way. However, when the stream joins the current that whirls around the north side of Alcluith, my speed increases, and the spinning becomes unbearable. My first attempts to steer with the oar nearly capsize the craft, but at last I manage a system of quick paddle dips that
stop the spinning without threatening to dump me into the river.

The seat is well below the rim of the boat, and I keep my body bent so that I won't be seen from the shore. The boat might be mistaken—I hope—for a large log being washed in with the tide. Smoke and the dull glow of night fires mark the camps along the right-hand shore. The moon has set and I'd guess it to be only a short time before daylight.

Too soon the tidal current slows, so I paddle to increase the boat's speed. After some jerks and near-spills, I master the rhythm, but by then the tide has turned and the retreating seawater combined with the natural downstream sweep of river water is more than I can overcome. I try to move the boat toward the left shore, where I might find safety in the deep darkness—perhaps even locate Eogan and Machonna in our camp spot of last night—but one paddle stroke goes deeper than I intended and sends me toward the right-hand shore.

Before I can recover control, the leather boat scrapes to a halt on the river bottom, beside a brush-covered shoreline. I grasp a branch and pull myself onto the bank. At least I'm north of the enemy camps here, so I drag the boat up between two shrubs and sit beside it. I must be close to the ford, but I'm too tired to cross it and look for Eogan. I just want to get out of sight before it gets lighter.

The boat would be a clear sign to any pursuers, so I strip
off my boots and trousers, add the rest of my clothes to the pile, and wade out into the stream, dragging the boat, until the water is over my knees. I hold on to it for a moment, reluctant somehow to part with it, but then push it toward the center of the river and skim the oar after it.

“Good-bye,” I whisper as I watch the downstream current take it and whisk it along until it is out of sight.

Before I return to shore, I dip down into the water and scrub as much of the filth and blood off my face and body as I can. I dry off with a few handfuls of leaves and pull on my clothes, tossing the filthy tunic and rag under a shrub, then pick up my boots and move closer to a large oak tree. I lean against the trunk and look up through layers of green leaves to the dawn sky.

The earth feels cool and solid beneath my bare feet.

Across the river I can see the hill I climbed at twilight; Eogan and Machonna must be asleep in the little glen on the far side. Arthur is somewhere nearby, I hope, and my friends from Enfert should be well up into the long lake by now. I smile at the thought of their homecoming.

The night seems a dream; so much happened so fast. Still, I know that it is not a dream, because Durant is gone. I look up to the sky, too weary and sorrowful to think, and let the pain flow through me and out into the air.

At last I tug on my boots, then push through underbrush to the path and set a brisk pace northward. By the
time I pass the ford, the sun is rising; I continue for a short distance, then veer off the trail and up into tree cover, where I break off pine boughs for a bed. Despite the thoughts that come as soon as I'm still, I am so exhausted that I fall asleep within moments.

I dream of Durant and see again the sword that Sorcha drove into his body; I dream of Sorcha in my weapons class as we practiced the grips a warrior uses to slice or stab or parry. And I dream of fear and cold.

Then I feel soft warmth against my body. I hear horses nearby—and voices, getting closer.