The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) (27 page)

Send your gilded birds on the wing

Bright music across the orb of time

Their song, sweet and healing

Magic to set me free.

His voice sounded scratchy and weak and the effort hurt his throat, but he knew he had to continue.

Comb moonlight from your long, pale hair

Like dreams falling from the heavens

Enchanted stars to guide me.

Their song, sweet and healing

Magic to set me free.

His voice grew stronger:

Lady Rhiannon

Ride your white mare

Out of the dark shadows of the deathly realm

Gather the souls of your loved ones

Their song, sweet and healing

Magic to set me free.

All at once, he could hear someone else singing along with him. A woman. Her voice was deep and sad, unearthly.

Great mother, divine queen

Bring me water from the enchanted pool

Quench my thirst with memories

Their song, sweet and healing

Magic to set me free.

Carry me on a boat

Across the river of pain and suffering

Sparkling silver coins to pay my way

Their song, sweet and healing

Magic to set me free.

Finishing the chorus, he paused. The mysterious voice paused also. Bridei took a breath and began again. The first time, he had been tentative, singing slowly as the words came to him. Now he sang with his heart, putting his whole being into the song. He forgot that he was weak and thirsty. That he was imprisoned in a dank, dark hole. His strength seemed to return. It was as if the haunting voice that sang in unison with him was filling his body with vitality and power. As he began the song for a third time, his voice rose, as rich and vibrant as it had ever been.

Finishing, he fell silent. Three was a magical number, and Rhiannon was said to be accompanied by three golden birds. He’d evoked Her power. Now all he could do was wait.

* * *

He must have fallen asleep. When he woke, he heard a woman calling: “Bridei? Bridei, where are you?”

He got to his feet, so relieved he was trembling. “Aife? Aife? Is that you?”

“Bridei. Oh, Bridei!” Aife pulled aside the wicker covering the opening above him. “What are you doing down there? Did O’Bannon do this to you?” She sounded strange, as if she’d been weeping.

Bridei couldn’t make sense of her question. “O’Bannon? What are you talking about? Dessia put me here.”

“The queen? But why would she do that? Was she trying to protect you? Oh, of course she was. She didn’t want them to kill you like they . . . did . . . Keenan.” Aife began to sob.

“Keenan? What happened to Keenan?” Bridei’s head was spinning. His wits must be confused by hunger. He couldn’t imagine what she was talking about.

It took awhile for Aife to speak. Finally, she answered, her words punctuated by choking sobs. “They . . . killed Keenan. He was . . . trying to protect . . . the . . . queen . . . and . . . they . . . killed him.”

Bridei felt his body go rigid with dread. He could barely draw a breath to ask, “The queen? What happened to the queen?”

Aife gave another heartrending sob. His heart thundered in the chest as he waited for her to answer. “They . . . took . . . her!”

He swallowed. Forced himself to take a breath. “Where? Where did they take her?”

Aife sniffed loudly. “I don’t know. To Dun Cullan, I suppose.”

Bridei felt his insides go cold. Dun Cullan. The stronghold of Tiernan O’Bannon. Dessia had been abducted. She was in the hands of her greatest enemy. The man who’d killed the rest of her family.

“But how?” he whispered. None of it made any sense. He called up to Aife. “What happened? How did O’Bannon get access to the queen?”

“No one knows.” Aife’s voice was mournful. “It happened at night. Somehow they got in. Killed Keenan. Took the queen.”

“Was anyone else was hurt?”

Aife let out another sob, then recovered herself. “Scanlan was also killed. They found his body in the watchtower.”

“But if Scanlan was watching the gate, how did they get in?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Aife began weeping again.

Bridei sought for control himself. A few moments before, he’d been concerned for his own life. Now his own situation seemed insignificant. Dessia had been abducted. She was in the hands of her enemy. What might O’Bannon do to her? Bridei told himself he couldn’t think about it. If he did, he’d become so crazed with dread he’d be unable to reason.

“Aife,” he called up. “You have to get me out of here. I . . . we . . . we’ll gather together all the warriors and storm Dun Cullan. We’ll get Dessia back.”

“There are no warriors. They’ve all left Cahermara.”

“Why? Have they gone after the queen?”

“Nay. They ran away. Almost everyone else has left the hillfort.”

Bridei was stunned. Dessia’s people seemed devoted to her. He couldn’t believe they would desert her like this. “But why, Aife? Why would everyone leave?”

She sighed heavily. “They’re afraid to stay here. They say that now the spell is broken, it’s not safe. They took all the livestock and the foodstores and left. Some of them went back to their families. Some of them are living in the woods.”

“But you stayed,” Bridei said. “Bless you for your loyalty and your bravery.”

“I’m not brave,” Aife answered wearily. “I just don’t care if die. If O’Bannon’s men come back and burn the hillfort, it won’t matter to me. My heart is in the grave anyway.”

Poor Aife. She’d loved Keenan passionately. Bridei understood her terrible grief all too well. If O’Bannon killed Dessia, he would feel the same. But at least he had some reason to hope. If O’Bannon had meant to kill Dessia, he would have done so already, then taken over the hillfort. The fact that he’d stolen her away instead meant he must have a reason to keep her alive.

“Aife,” he said firmly. “Go and fetch a ladder or rope. I must get out of here if I’m going to help the queen.”

“But what can you do?” Aife asked in a bleak voice.

“I don’t know, but I’ll think of something.” He must. The Great Goddess Rhiannon had given him another chance at life. She had saved him. Saved him so he could save Dessia.

Aife came with a ladder and slid it down to Bridei. He climbed up shakily, wishing he wasn’t so weak. Although the goddess Rhiannon had given him the strength to sing, she hadn’t magically restored him. When he reached the top, he sank down on the wooden floor. “I need water,” he said. “And food. Will you help me, Aife?”

She nodded and left. Bridei sat there a moment, then got up slowly. Down in his prison, he’d thought once he got out, all would be well. He’d assumed his greatest challenge would be convincing Dessia she’d made a mistake and somehow winning back her affections. Instead, he faced the daunting task of trying to free her from the clutches of a determined enemy. Even if he had a large and well-equipped army behind him, he wasn’t certain it would be possible to force O’Bannon to give up his prize. But he had to do something. Had to try and help Dessia, even if he died in the attempt.

The realization of how much he’d changed shocked him. The old Bridei would have walked away. He’d have grieved for Dessia, but never risked his life for her. Now he felt as if his life had no purpose without her. He’d made a vow to the goddess Rhiannon that he would change, and become a man who cared for others and who lived his life with passion and meaning. But in many ways, that vow wasn’t necessary. He’d already changed, and it had been Dessia who’d changed him. She’d inspired him with her determination and her dedication. And she’d made him fall in love with her. He ached to hold her, to be near her; he couldn’t imagine going on without her.

The awareness frightened him. He didn’t want to end up like poor Aife, lost in grief and despair. But there was no turning back now. Dessia was his soul. Her spirit and his were bound together. He’d seen a vision of them in the lake of the Forest of Mist. Although he’d never told Dessia, after he’d seen the vision of his parents, another image had formed in the dark, still waters of the lake. It was of him and Dessia, standing side-by-side.

The memory heartened him. The gods had sent him a sign they were destined to be together. Their shared destiny might be in the next realm rather than this one, but knowing that made the connection between them no less powerful. As long as he was alive, he must do whatever he could to free Dessia and restore her to her rightful place at Cahermara.

A new sense of determination and resolve filled him, helping to banish the appalling weakness. He left the storehouse above the souterrain and went to a nearby storage shed. Opening the door, he was shocked to see it was empty. The people fleeing Cahermara had taken everything. He knew a surge of anger to think they could be so cowardly. But then he recalled what Aife had told him. Dessia’s people had always believed the spell she set upon Cahermara protected them. Now that she was gone, they felt vulnerable and helpless. Some of them probably also remembered what O’Bannon had done when he attacked Cahermara in Dessia’s father’s day, and they feared the slaughter and destruction would happen again. Still, it was rather foolish of them to abandon the hillfort. It was a stout, formidable fortress. If they all worked together, they could have defended it easily.

Bridei moved on to the next storehouse. There were a few baskets of grain here, but nothing he could readily eat. He began to wonder if despite having escaped his prison, he would still end up starving to death.

Discouraged and hungrier than ever, he started toward the hall. On the way he passed the smithy. The place appeared deserted, and looking inside, Bridei found that the fire in the forge was out and all Niall’s tools were gone, as well as the raw metal Dessia had purchased from the traders. Bridei shook his head in consternation. He would have thought at least Niall would stay. On the other hand, maybe everyone thought by leaving the hillfort and taking everything of value from the place, they were doing what Dessia would have wanted. This way, if Dessia could escape, they would be able to come back and help her, having preserved the wealth of Cahermara by hiding it elsewhere.

His hunger and thirst still raged. If he didn’t get something to eat and drink soon, he felt as if he would collapse. Then he remembered there was a rainwater cistern behind the smithy, providing Niall with a ready supply of water for cooling metalwork. He went to the large stone basin, knelt down and scooped up handfuls of the icy cold water and began to drink. The water chilled him, but he kept drinking, quenching his terrible thirst.

By the time he’d had his fill, he was shivering. He started walking again, to get warm as much as anything. He went to the hall, hoping to find a fire burning there. It was the same story. The hearth was cold and the vast structure stood empty except for the tables and benches, which had been too cumbersome carry off. Despite his weariness, Bridei crossed the hall and started up the stairway to Dessia’s chamber.

Unlike the rest of the hillfort, this room appeared untouched. Dessia’s manuscripts on magic lay on the table. The bedcovers were carefully smoothed over the bed. And when Bridei checked the storage chest, he discovered the queen’s clothing neatly folded inside.

He took out the garment on top, which was the beautiful red gown she’d worn to the feast. Holding it close to his face, he inhaled deeply. The clothing had been stored away with dried meadowsweet and lavender, but beneath that flowery odor, he detected Dessia’s own lovely scent. His throat went tight. For one brief night he’d held her close and felt her heart beating near his. Now he might have lost her forever. Recovering himself, he replaced the gown in the chest and closed the lid. He wouldn’t mourn for Dessia yet. There was every reason to believe she still lived. All he had to do was free her.

He went to the table where the scrying bowl lay and gazed into the oily depths. “Rhiannon, Great Goddess, heed my plea. Tell me how to help Dessia. Tell me what I must do.”

He stared into the bowl until his eyes watered, but saw nothing. It seemed the goddess Rhiannon was much like his mother. She would only give him hints of his purpose. The rest he must figure out on his own. And he would be able to do that much better if he had some food in his belly.

He left the tower chamber and made his way through the empty hall. As he went outside, a marvelous scent drifted to his nostrils. Food. Cooking food. He followed the scent to the kitchen, half-cursing himself for not thinking of going there earlier. Inside, Doona was turning a chicken on a spit. He gaped at her, then grinned. “It’s good to see you, Doona. I thought Aife and I might be the only ones left here.”

Doona smiled back at him. “It’s good to see you as well, my lord. I’m glad Aife heard you singing in the souterrain and got you out of there.”