The Legend of Lady Ilena (10 page)

“You could not have been mistaken?”

“No, Belert. It was our call.”

“When you heard the call what did you do?”

“We raised the cry ourselves and urged our mounts toward the battle. What else would we do?”

The chief sighs. “Cormec, I do not criticize. I am trying to understand this.”

There are only two other people at the table. One is a girl some years younger than I. Her wiry black hair, much like mine, and something about her face remind me of Moren. She twists a strand of hair with one finger and stares at me with wide eyes.

The tall man beside her has piercing gray eyes and the high shaved forehead of a Druid. His long gray hair falls forward in tangles around his face. He rises and points a long finger at me. “There is nothing to understand, Belert. This shapeshifter has come among us for no good. We must send her back to her unnatural companions.”

“Hold on, Ogern.” The chief’s voice is sharp. “I will hear the rest of Cormec’s story. And then I will hear from the lass herself.”

Ogern raises his voice to a shout. “It is not a lass. It is an evil one from the other world. We dare not give her opportunity to weave her spells.”

“Sit down, Ogern. I will hear Cormec out.”

There are murmurs behind me. Ogern has stirred the fears of some in the hall. He sits but keeps his eyes on me.

The room quiets as Cormec’s steady voice continues. “We reached the clearing at the fork. Five from beyond Red Mountain had attacked this one. I saw her charging and wielding her sword like a true warrior.
Just as we reached the battle, she was hit in the head with a slingstone.”

“Did you recognize her?”

Cormec hesitates. “I don’t know about the others. I saw the horse—certainly one from our lines—and the torc. I have not seen that torc for years, but I knew it at once. The lady wore a low helmet, and her hair was hidden. In truth she could have been a lad. Yet there was much about her that spoke to me even so.”

“And you engaged her attackers?”

“Of course. There was no question in any of our minds. It happened fast, but our allegiance was clear. We formed the fighting ring around her and dispatched the others.”

“There were five of them?”

Cormec is silent for a moment. Then he speaks slowly. “Toole was ahead of me into the clearing. He thought he saw someone vanish down the path toward Dun Alyn.”

Belert looks back into the gloom at the back of the hall. “Toole?”

Toole comes forward to stand beside Cormec. He casts a worried glance at me. “Yes, my chief.”

“You saw someone?”

“Yes. I could not make out the man—or woman— but I saw a black horse disappear into the trees. The lady could tell us.”

“We cannot listen to her. She speaks evil from the
land of spirits.” Ogern has risen again. His voice thunders across the hall.

“Ogern, you forget yourself. I am chief here.” Belert’s voice is firm.

Ogern sits down. His eyes, through the wild gray tangles that frame his face, burn with a frightening intensity when he looks at me.

Belert speaks then to Cormec and Toole. “What happened after the battle?”

Cormec looks to Toole, who shakes his head. Cormec sighs and says, “The lady was hurt. She’d dropped her sword.”

“What sword?” Belert’s voice is sharp. “Was it…?” he stops.

Cormec seems to know what he means. “No. Her sword is like that one. A fine blade from Trelawn’s forge, but I had not seen it before.”

“But she was hurt? As a mortal is hurt?” He glares at Ogern as he speaks.

“Yes. We—I—removed her helmet. No one else would come near.”

“And wise they were,” Ogern says.

“And you, Cormec, are a courageous man,” Belert says.

“I could not leave her to suffer. The helmet was pressing on the swelling.”

“Did she drink? Or eat?”

“Aye. Both.”

“And I tell you spirits can eat and drink and feign wounds and whatever else suits their evil purpose,” Ogern says.

Belert ignores him and looks at me. I feel weak and sad, somehow, when I encounter his eyes. “And now, lass, tell us who you are and why you have come to Dun Alyn.”

I have no story ready, no way to explain who I am, and no understanding of what is going on around me. I can speak only the truth. I take a deep breath and try to ignore the pounding in my head. “Sir, I am Ilena, of the Vale of Enfert in the West.”

He waits for me to say more, then speaks when I do not. “And what is your lineage, Ilena? Who is your mother, and who is your father?”

“Grenna is my mother, and Moren is my father,” I say. I see shock on Belert’s face. The rest of the hall seems even quieter than it has been. Their names have meaning here.

Ogern shouts, “That tells us well enough where she comes from. Moren and Grenna have been dead for years.”

Belert starts to speak but stops and reaches over the carved chair back for his flagon. He drinks deeply, then wipes his mouth. He stares at me in silence for another minute before he asks, “Where are Moren and Grenna now?”

Tears flood my eyes. It is too much. The wound, the animosity I find here, and now the pain of remembering.
I force my voice to stay steady. “Grenna died two summers past. Moren died a few days ago. They lie side by side above the Vale of Enfert.”

Ogern springs to his feet before Belert can speak. “Lies! Spells from the other world. Moren and Grenna died years ago. Do you remember, Belert?”

“Remember!” The chief’s voice is loud enough now for all to hear, but he speaks only to Ogern. “Remember? How could I forget? I returned from a hunting trip to find the baby born before its time and Moren, my war leader and most trusted friend, gone without explanation. I remember, Ogern. I remember.”

He turns to the hall. “Moren and Grenna vanished without a trace. Cara told me that Grenna went mad with grief over the loss of her own baby, and the sight of our beautiful Miquain sent her shrieking from the room. Moren took her away to recover. When we heard nothing through the summer, we looked for them.”

Ogern steps forward to stand beside the chief. His voice is sharp, and he throws the words out as if they were slingstones. “We sent searchers everywhere. A messenger went south to Grenna’s people. No one there had heard from them. Moren and Grenna are long dead, and this shapeshifter comes to do us harm.”

“And if Moren and Grenna lived? She could be their child.”

“No,” Ogern shouts. “Grenna could have no more children. That was why her grief was so deep. The
midwife was certain; she would never carry another babe. This one could not be hers.”

The words strike me like a blow. Grenna not my mother!

Chief Belert is watching me. His eyes hold sympathy, I think. All there is in this hall, anyway. There is mumbling behind me. Ogern’s words find willing ears.

A woman’s voice close behind me hisses, “A shapeshifter!”

A man’s voice carries above the others. “Bad luck, that. And Samhain Eve in thirteen days.”

The chief hears the voices too. He pulls himself straighter and starts to speak. “Good people of Dun Alyn …” His voice falters and trails off. He sways and steadies himself by gripping the chair back.

Ogern shoulders him aside and says, “We must act quickly. This spirit that has come among us must not be allowed to bring us harm. It is well known that evil ones take the form of those who have died. It is near Samhain Eve, and the spirits always try to return at this time. If this one stays among us, she can open the doors to a host of her kind who even now roam the world seeking entry into human realms.”

Chief Belert steps around him. His voice is weaker now, less certain. “Ogern speaks…”

It is no use. Someone nearby calls in a loud voice, “Death! Death! Death to the evil one!” It is a man’s voice, deep and familiar.

The chant is taken up throughout the hall. Belert’s
face is grim, but he does not try to speak again. He slumps down into his chair and stares at the tabletop.

I shout above the din, “I am not a shapeshifter!” but my voice is lost in the roar.

Ogern’s face is triumphant as he looks at me. He lets the noise roll through the hall for several minutes, then holds up his hand for silence. “She will be no danger to us in the Oak Grove.”

The chief attempts to stand, but he loses his grip on the chair arms and falls back. He says something, but Ogern drowns him out.

“Cormec, Toole, take her to the sacred grove!”

Toole has stepped back into the shadows. Now he comes forward slowly. Cormec turns to me but makes no attempt to touch me.

I look to Chief Belert. “Sir,” I begin, “I am not—”

Ogern cuts me off. His voice rises to a shriek. “We must not let a spirit speak in this hall.”

The deep voice begins again behind me. “To the Oak Grove. The sacred grove will keep her.”

Others take up the cry until the entire hall is pulsing with the shout. Belert meets my eyes for a moment, then shakes his head as if to clear it and tries to pull himself up again. When he fails, he leans back in his chair and closes his eyes.

Cormec motions to the back of the hall and waits for me to precede him.

Before I can turn around, Ogern speaks again. “Wait. The Great Torc. Get the torc.”

Cormec eyes my neck. Toole stands an arm’s length from me. Neither makes any move toward the torc.

Ogern walks around the table and steps down from the dais. His long, bony fingers are rough, and one of his nails scratches my throat as he rips the torc from my neck. He carries it back to the table and lays it in front of the girl.

Cormec turns again toward the back of the hall. I turn also, but before I take a step toward the door, I scan the tables near the front of the hall.

He is at a table near the center aisle, just below Ogern’s place on the dais. I recognize him without the helmet, without the checked cloak, without the tall black horse. His dark eyes stare at me, and a slight smile plays under the black mustache.

I meet his eyes with defiance, then lift my chin, square my shoulders, and march behind Cormec. Once I am outside the door, my false courage crumbles. I left Rol here only a short time ago, but it seems a lifetime. There are no horses in sight in the courtyard now.

I turn to Cormec. “My horse?”

“In the stables. You won’t need him.”

I know that those who go to the Oak Groves as prisoners rarely return, but his words shock me all the same. I think of Rol and long to rest my head against his warm neck. Toole has started around the hall toward the back wall. Cormec motions me to follow him.

“Wait, Cormec.”

Something in my voice seems to soften him. He looks at me for a moment with sadness.

“Please grant me one request,” I say.

“If I can, lady.”

“My horse. Care for him and send him, when you can, to Dun Dreug.”

“I can do that for you, lady.”

“And say that he is for Durant of Hadel. Those at Dun Dreug will know how to reach him. And say that the pack and sword are for Gola. Will you do that for me?” Tears begin now, and I stop trying to talk.

Cormec nods. “Yes, lady. Between myself and God, I will do that for you.”

The hall has emptied behind us, and people stream out the wide doors. Most give curious glances in our direction, but no one comes close. Ogern is near the back of the crowd, and he walks beside the man with the dark mustache. They are deep in conversation. The girl follows them.

Ogern seems startled to see us there. He calls to Cormec. “Get her to the Oak Grove before she makes further mischief.”

I walk as proudly as I can beside Cormec. It is too dark to see my way, and I stumble on rough ground more than once. Light from torches and fires shows a cluster of houses, and we thread our way among them. As we move past one shuttered window, I hear a child whimpering and a woman’s voice singing a soft
lullaby. The tears flow harder, and I’m grateful for the darkness that hides my face.

We come out beside the rampart wall, where the smoky torchlight shows a wide ladder leading to the walltop. Cormec and I step around the ladder and head for a gate a few yards ahead of us.

Toole stands talking with three sentries. All turn to stare at me as we approach. Toole takes a torch from one of the sentries and motions to the gate. When it opens, he leads the way out.

T
HE ROUTE DOWN THE CLIFF AT THE BACK OF THE
fortress is steep and rough. The moon still has not risen, and our only light comes from the torch. There are three entrances here, just as there are in the front. All have a night guard posted, and the sentries stare at me with the same half-frightened, half-curious gaze I’ve encountered from everyone here.

I trip on a rock and fall to my knees just outside the last gate. Toole stands waiting for me to get up by myself. Cormec hesitates for a moment, then reaches out a hand to help me. I nod my thanks.

Stars are bright above us, but I can’t take my eyes off the path long enough to determine our direction. At first I hear the sea crash on rocks far below. At the bottom of the slope we enter a dark woods, and I no longer hear the surf. The going is easier, but I am weak and dizzy. The moon has risen when we finally stop on the edge of a small clearing.