The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island)

by Mary Gillgannon

  What had gotten into her? Bridei wondered as he sat down again after Dessia had left. She wasn’t acting like a woman who’d been well-pleasured the night before. But perhaps that was just her way. She remained as proud and independent as ever.

  Penrick apparently also noticed her sharp tone, for said, “The queen seems a bit testy this morning.”

  “Perhaps she has a headache from too much mead,” Bridei responded. “I’m certain she’s not the only one who’s suffering this morn.”

  “Aye, that’s likely,” Penrick agreed.

  “There’s another thing I wanted to talk to you about,” said Bridei. “I’d like to buy a present for Queen Dessia. Unfortunately, I was forced to leave all my wealth behind in Britain. I thought perhaps I could visit some other households in the region and try to earn a little silver or other coin I might use to barter for a gift for her.”

  “What sort of gift?” Penrick’s eyes had brightened, the merchant in him obviously intrigued.

  “I’m not certain. Perhaps silk for a new gown. Or a piece of jewelry. Something beautiful and elegant. Something she would never purchase for herself.”

  Penrick nodded. “Queen Dessia purchases only necessities, and bargains fiercely for those.” He motioned to Sarlic and said something to him in a Germanic tongue, a language Bridei didn’t know. Sarlic rose, picked up one of the packs and took it to the bed.

  “Let me should show you some of the finer things I have to offer,” Penrick said, also rising. “I almost didn’t bring any jewelry from the boat. But then I remembered that the smith, Niall, is always interested in the finer stuff. He keeps trying to figure out how to reproduce that type of work on his own.”

  “I recall him saying something to me about that,” Bridei agreed. He followed Penrick over to where Sarlic was arranging fabric bundles on the bed.

  Penrick selected one of the bundles and unwrapped it. “I showed him some pieces and let him study them. But I doubt it will do him any good. The workshops where they make these things closely guard their secrets about the substances and methods they use to create the various colors. I don’t think he is likely to be able to figure out the process on his own.”

  Penrick held out a round gold brooch with design of elaborately curving lines. Bridei took it and admired it. The whole piece was exquisite, but what made it unusual were the vivid colors of the enamelwork. “Aye, this is stunning.”

  “You’d have to sing a lot of songs to pay for a piece like this,” Penrick said as he put the brooch away. He took out more jewelry and laid it on the bed. Bridei examined the pieces admiringly. “It’s all exquisite quality, but I’m not certain it’s what I’m looking for. I want it to be something that has special significance for her.” He frowned as he struggled to explain. “Something that represents Cahermara, or her heritage in some way.”

  Penrick nodded. “If you want to have something custom made, you could travel with us to Ath Cliath. There are a number of merchants there who would be eager to have a skilled bard visit their households, and they have the wealth to pay you. Then you could have one of metalsmiths design a piece especially for Queen Dessia.”

  “A horse,” Bridei said suddenly. “The brooch should have a horse on it—to represent the name of the queen’s tribe, the Fionnlairaos. That would be the perfect gift.”

  “The name must be an old one.” Rinc said, coming to stand next to them. “I’ve seen no horses since I’ve been here.”

  “Aye. Some years ago, the whole herd was stolen by a man named Tiernan O’Bannon. He also attacked the settlement and killed Dessia’s family. Only she escaped.”

  Penrick’s brows rose and he looked at Rinc. “I’ve never heard this tale. But, then, we’ve only been trading in Ireland a few years.”

  “The attack must have happened about ten years ago,” said Bridei.

  “You say she was the only one of her family left alive?” queried Rinc. “How did she regain her lands?”

  “She fought for them,” said Bridei. “Gathered together a bunch of men loyal to her father and led them into battle.”

  “But ten years ago, she would have been a child,” Penrick said.

  “Several years passed before she was old enough and skilled enough with weaponry to take on O’Bannon. But she did it, nevertheless. Then, having won back her family’s lands, she built this rath on the same spot the old fortress stood. Although she made certain this new one was in stone, making it more difficult to attack.”

  Penrick nodded. “It’s a solid structure, or will be when it’s finished.” He shook his head. “What an amazing tale.”

  “Indeed it is. That’s why I composed a song about it. The long ballad I sang last night told the whole story.”

  “Aye. I recall it now. I guess I didn’t realize you were singing about something that had happened recently.” Penrick regarded Bridei assessingly. “It was a very polished song. I assumed someone else had composed it and you were merely altering parts of it to fit the circumstances here.”

  “Nay,” said Bridei, smiling. “The piece was all my own.”

  It was Rinc who spoke this time: “You’re very skilled. If you found the right sort of patron, you could end up a very wealthy man.”

  “I suppose that’s true,” Bridei said, “Although I can’t promise I would be able to compose pieces the equal of the one last night on a regular basis. I doubt some hoary old chieftain would inspire me the way Queen Dessia has.”

  Penrick and Rinc both chuckled. Penrick said, “I must say I’m very impressed with what Queen Dessia has accomplished. She clearly has a strong will and the fierce loyalty of her people, but even so ...” He shook his head.

  “It must have taken years to build this hillfort,” said Rinc. “I’m surprised no one has attacked her in the meantime.”

  “Apparently her enemies believe Cahermara is protected by a magical spell,” said Bridei. “Queen Dessia is rumored to be a sorceress and to use an enchantment to keep her enemies away.”

  Penrick guffawed loudly, while Rinc gave a snort of derision. “And what do you think, Bridei ap Maelgwn?” asked Penrick. “Is Queen Dessia a sorceress?”

  “I must admit I’ve encountered things here at Cahermara that aren’t easily explained.”

  “What sort of things?” asked Penrick.

  Bridei shrugged. “There’s an ancient forest nearby. I tried to follow the queen there once, but a mist rose up and blocked my way. I’ve talked to many people here and none of them have ever ventured more than a few paces into that forest. Yet Dessia comes and goes there freely. It’s the place she hid when the original fortress was attacked when she was a girl. She also told me there’s a lake there and sometimes when she looks into the water, she sees visions of the future.”

  Even as he said this, Bridei felt a strange sensation, as if a finger of warning moved down his spine. Perhaps he wasn’t supposed to speak of these things. His goal was to reinforce Dessia’s reputation for magic and help protect her. But even with that worthy intent, talking about the lake and what he’d experienced there might not be right.

  “I can see why you—a bard—might be intrigued by such a fanciful tale,” said Penrick. “You can probably compose a wonderful song about Queen Dessia and this magical lake. But to me, it sounds like a bunch of superstitious nonsense.”

  “Think what you like,” responded Bridei. “I remain convinced that some force or power watches over Queen Dessia and her lands.” Or, at least it had, up until now. What if in speaking of these things, he’d angered the ancient forces and disrupted the magic?

  “Perhaps the reason the spell of protection works is because Queen Dessia’s enemies believe the tale,” said Rinc. “In my experience, the Irish believe all sorts of ridiculous notions. It seems to be their nature, along with being quarrelsome and hot-headed.” He scowled in apparent disgust.

  Bridei was amused. “You don’t appear to have a very high opinion of the Irish.”

  “They’re not the most
intelligent of races,” said Rinc. “They blame some ancient race they called fairies for many of their misfortunes. And they’re always fighting among themselves over next to nothing.”

  Although he couldn’t quite say why, Bridei felt compelled to defend the Irish. He admired their passion and fire. That was why he found Dessia so appealing. “It seems to me that like most people, the Irish fight over land and resources. That’s why Tiernan O’Bannon attacked Cahermara all those years ago. He sought to take over Queen Dessia’s father’s lands.”

  “Is Tiernan O’Bannon still alive?” asked Penrick.

  “Aye. He has lands to the west of here. None of his holdings are on the coast, which limits his access to trade. I’m certain that’s at least part of his interest in this territory.”

  “Under those circumstances, we’re unlikely to meet this Tiernan O’Bannon,” said Penrick. “We seldom travel inland, and usually only visit larger settlements. We put in here at Cahermara mainly because it’s a good stopping place on our way to Ath Cliath. Speaking of which, having you decided to come with us?”

  “When are you leaving?” asked Bridei.

  “It depends on the weather,” said Penrick. “With luck, tomorrow.”

  “I’ve like to take you up on your offer,” said Bridei thoughtfully. “But I don’t want Queen Dessia to know what I’m up to. Perhaps I’ll pretend to set off in a different direction and at a different time. Make it look like I’m traveling inland, then double back and meet up with you before you sail.”

  Penrick nodded. “We’ll be waiting for you.”

  Bridei rose. “On that note, I’ll bid you farewell. I have some things to do before tomorrow.”

  Seeing Bridei get to his feet, Dessia left her spot outside door of the barracks and rushed around to the side of the building. She hid in the corner there until Bridei was well across the yard. Then she left her hiding place and raced toward the gate. She called up to the gatetower and Flann came down. “Where’s Keenan?” she demanded.

  “Out on patrol,” Flann answered.

  “As soon as he gets back, have him come and see me,” said Dessia.

  Flann nodded climbed back up the ladder to the gatetower. Dessia watched him go, her whole body taut with anxiety. “Keenan,” she muttered to herself. “I need you. I need you now. You were right about Bridei after all. Curse the lying bard!”

  She exhaled sharply, nursing her anger. She had to make herself hate him. But it was so hard.

  Her next breath was a sob. She reminded herself of what she’d heard. A lot of words hadn’t been clear to her, but she’d made out enough to guess Bridei’s plan. His mention of Tiernan O’Bannon was the most damning thing. Then she’d heard him say something about not wanting her to know what he’d up to. At the very end, he appeared to be arranging to meet up with the traders in order to set sail with them. So, he was a spy. The only way it could be more obvious was if he’d announced his plan to the whole hall!

  At that bitter thought, her anger took over again. Pacing, she outlined her plan, muttering to herself as she did so: “I’ll have Keenan follow him when he leaves. Then kill him once he gets a reasonable distance away. Bury his body in the Forest of Mist. No one will ever know. If anyone asks, we’ll mention him setting off and the direction he went, then insist we know nothing else.”

  It was a sound plan, and perfectly justified. She had to do whatever was necessary to protect her lands and her people. She’d killed men in battle. This was no different.

  Except it was, a voice in her head reminded her. You weren’t in love with those men! “By the gods! How can I do this?” she moaned.

  She’d never felt so despairing, so conflicted. It reminded her of the night long ago when Cahermara was attacked. Then she’d also felt torn in two. She’d longed to stay and try and help her family, but knew if she did so she would die. She’d feared to enter the Forest of Mist, but also known it was the only place she might be safe.

  Once again, she had a wrenching choice to make. Yet it was clear—as it had been that night long ago—she could only make one decision. She had to think of the future, to consider what was best for her people.

  But, by the gods, how could she bear to kill Bridei—and in such a cowardly fashion? It was one thing to kill a man in battle. Quite another to kill a man when he was unarmed and helpless. And how would Keenan go about it? Would he run Bridei through with his sword? Cut his throat?

  The very idea sickened her. It seemed like such a loathsome, dishonorable thing to do. And even if Keenan was the one who performed the act, she would be the one to blame. And if she were wrong, if Bridei wasn’t a spy, if what she’d heard didn’t mean what she thought it did, then she would have done something truly evil.

  She gave a moan of misery. “What should I do? How do I deal with this?” This was too momentous a thing to decide on her own. But who could she ask for help? Who could guide her? All at once, she knew.

  Again, she called up to Flann. When he came down, she said, “I need to borrow your cloak.” When he gaped at her, she continued, “I’m leaving the rath, and I don’t have time to go up to my chambers and fetch my own.”

  Flann nodded, still looking puzzled. He took off his cloak and handed it to her. Realizing that he would now be freezing up in the drafty watchtower, she said, “As soon as I'm gone, you have my leave to fetch another cloak.” She gestured distractedly. “You can have one of mine if you wish. Tell Aife to give you my old green one.”

  “Aye, milady.” Flann’s eyes were round and staring. Dessia was aware her behavior must seem witless, but she didn’t care. She must leave before she encountered Bridei. There was no way she could face him.

  “Now,” she said to Flann. “Open the gate.”

  Chapter 14

  “Where’s the queen?” Bridei asked Ona as the serving woman entered the hall carrying a basket of bannocks.

  Ona motioned with her head. “Perhaps she’s up in the tower.”

  “I checked there, of course,” Bridei said. “I’ve also been to the kitchen, all the storage sheds, the workmen’s barracks, the hall.” He ticked off the places on his fingers.

  “Have you asked Aife if she’s seen her?”

  Bridei fought to control his temper. “Aye. She was the first person I asked.”

  Ona shrugged. “Well, she must be somewhere. Unless she left the dun. Are the traders still here? Could she have gone with them when they returned to their boat?”

  “The traders aren’t leaving until tomorrow. But you’re right. She could have left the rath.” Bridei turned and started for the gate. Reaching it, he called up to Flann in the watchtower, “Have you seen the queen?”

  Flann came down to answer him. “The queen left the rath a while ago,” the guard said. “Most likely heading toward the Forest of Mist. What’s wrong with her, do you think?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She was behaving very strangely. Had me give her my cloak because she said she didn’t have time to fetch her own. Her whole manner was distracted and odd, as if she were upset about something.”

  Bridei thanked Flann, then turned and walked back toward the hall. Poor Dessia. She must be having second thoughts about what they’d done. She wouldn’t be the first woman to regret losing her maidenhood. Still, her attitude rankled a bit. She’d been more than willing last night, and he’d thought he’d pleased her well. But this was Dessia. Proud, stubborn Dessia. She would find it difficult to admit she’d done something for her own pleasure. Even now she must be agonizing over how what they’d done would affect her plans for her kingdom and her people.

  Should he go after her? He imagined finding her by the lake and making love to her in that magical place. It would be amazing, he had no doubt. On the other hand, Dessia had obviously gone there to be alone. She needed to work out her feelings and accept that she had a right to enjoy her own life. As much as he wanted to follow Dessia, consideration demanded he let her return in her own time.

 
* * *

  Dessia walked along the forest pathway, her heart heavy and aching. It was obvious she wasn’t going to find answers here. This time there had been no signs of magic at all. No mist had risen as she walked along the pathway. And when she reached the lake, the area around it had been as been as barren and winter-drab as the rest of landscape. She’d gone to the lake and bent down and peered into the water. But the only thing she’d seen was her own face, pale and pinched with tension and distress. In the matter of Bridei, the forces surrounding the lake were silent.

  Perhaps that was her answer. The fact that she’d experienced no magic this day might mean her plan to get rid of Bridei was a sound one. Perhaps the forest and the lake were in mourning for what she must do. But that seemed unlikely. If the forces here knew Bridei was a traitor, why had she seen the vision in the lake of him at her side, as if he were meant to be her consort?

  Recalling what she’d seen and the sense of destiny she’d felt at that moment, her determination wavered. How could she kill the man who she’d seen in a vision of what surely must be the future? For that matter, how could she kill the man she loved? It was unthinkable. There must be some other answer. She had to find it, or she would go mad.

  A moment later, she halted on the pathway, relief flooding her. Of course there was another way to protect her kingdom. All she had to do to prevent Bridei from betraying her secrets to O’Bannon was lock him in the souterrain. She started walking again, her mind racing. She was going to have to plan this carefully, and carry out her scheme without anyone except Keenan knowing what was going on. It was especially important the traders didn’t guess what she’d done. She’d tell them she had no idea where Bridei had gone, that he must have decided to leave before them. As for her people, she’d suggest that now he had a harp, he’d probably left to find a wealthier household in which to entertain. It sounded plausible. She’d remind everyone that Bridei was traveling bard and had never stayed in one place long before, so why should he linger at Cahermara?