A Fading Sun

by Stephen Leigh

  “So, our new draoi wishes to tutor me now? Tell us, friend of Savas, newest of the draoi: what mistake are we making?”

  His tone was mocking and dismissive. Voada knew he wanted to intimidate her, wanted the others to laugh at her and render her silent. Once, perhaps, she would have wilted under his glare, made an apology and sat again, but the echoes of the voices in her anamacha as well as the memories of what had been done to her family and home remained with her and stiffened her spine. She drew herself up, inhaling hard through her nose. “You’re thinking only of Onglse, Ceanndraoi Greum,” she said. “That’s the mistake. Yes, Onglse is in genuine danger, and that must be considered, but look at what the Mundoa have done to create that danger. They’ve brought nearly all of their army here. How many of their cohorts are left in Albann Deas? How many of those are disciplined and strong troops? How many protect the cities and towns they’ve taken from us over the last several generations? Leaving those sites unguarded is their mistake; ours would be not taking advantage of it.”

  Greum snorted as if amused, and a few chuckles sounded from the others in the room. He waved his hand at her. “And how should we do that?” he asked.

  You must go back … Voada had spent the night thinking of what the voices were saying and feeling the truth of it. “We should keep enough of our draoi and warriors here to slow down the Mundoa and to keep them engaged here in Onglse,” she said to Greum, Iosa, and the others. “But we don’t need to stop them, only keep them engaged here for as long as possible. We take the strongest draoi and our best warriors, and we gather more warriors and more draoi from the clans of Albann Bràghad. Then we march our own army south across the River Meadham. We burn the Mundoa’s houses and destroy their cities. The Cateni they’ve subjugated and enslaved for three generations now will rise up with us, and our army will only grow stronger. By the time Savas realizes what’s happened, it will be too late. We’ll take back the land they stole from us. We’ll drive the Mundoa back over the Barrier Sea. We will make all of Albann, both north and south, Cateni land once more.”

  Greum was shaking his head long before Voada had finished. “You’d let Bàn Cill and Onglse fall?”

  “Onglse would be the bait in our trap. It may not fall in any case, but if that happened, that one small defeat would lead to a far greater victory.”

  “Onglse is the home of the draoi, and it has always been so,” Greum responded, his voice rising now. His face was nearly as red as his hands. “Bàn Cill is sacred ground, and I will not allow it to be stolen from us the way Albann Deas was stolen. I won’t let Onglse be dangled in front of the Mundoa like a lure. I will defend it to my last breath, and so will all of us here. Anyone who dares to say otherwise is a traitor and should not be wearing the torc of the draoi.” He looked directly at Voada. “The strength of your anamacha doesn’t make you ceanndraoi, Voada Paorach, nor does it give you the right to question my orders. The Mundoa have foolishly come here, and as Ceannàrd Iosa has said, they will leave their bones here. A mistake?” His laugh was loud and cutting. “Savas has made the mistake, not us. The clans of Albann Deas were weak when they allowed themselves to be conquered in the first place. We of Albann Bràghad are neither. But then, you wouldn’t realize that, being of Albann Deas yourself. Sit down, Voada Hand-wife. Sit down, and stop making yourself look foolish.”

  The faces surrounding her were either accusing and angry or carefully averted from her, as if everyone were embarrassed to meet her eyes. Even Ceiteag was staring carefully toward the window as if the clouds drifting past and the splash of rain on the sill were somehow intensely interesting. Voada clenched her jaw so tightly that she heard her teeth grinding.

  Greum’s regard was harsh and unrelenting. Iosa was also staring at her, though it was hard to guess his thoughts behind the scarred and bearded face. The silence fell heavy around Voada, pressing down on her, and she did sit once more, wrapping her blanket tightly around herself.

  At last, Greum looked away. “Unless someone else here feels we’re making a mistake,” he said with a significant pause after the phrase, “then here’s how I believe we should best place our resources …”

  18

  An Alliance Offered

  “YOU’RE UPSET WITH ME,” Voada said. Ceiteag shook her head.

  “Not upset, child. Worried for you.”

  The two were taking their midday meal in their room. After Greum Red-Hand’s meeting that morning, the decision had been made that the outer perimeter of forts would be abandoned except for a skeleton crew of warriors and messengers who could relay any unusual movements to Ceannàrd Iosa or Greum. The draoi and the bulk of the warriors would move inland to the smaller second ring of hill-forts and walls, which they would defend while launching assaults against the Mundoa. Greum Red-Hand strode away from the meeting with Iosa at his side without speaking to Voada again. The other warriors and draoi had given her glances that seemed equally amused and angry and went away whispering to each other.

  Voada could only imagine what was being said.

  “You don’t think I should have said anything.”

  Ceiteag lifted a shoulder as she broke off a piece of hard bread. She turned it in her hand as if appraising a yeasty gem. “You contradicted Greum in front of those he commands,” she answered, speaking more to the bread than Voada. “What in Elia’s realm did you think would happen?” Now she brought her gaze to Voada’s face. “You’re no longer the Hand-wife who can expect to say something and have everyone at least pretend to listen. You’re a draoi, and a new one, no matter whose anamacha has bonded with you. Greum is a proud man; even if he might have agreed with you, you made it so he could not.”

  Voada bit her bottom lip, taking in Ceiteag’s mild scolding. “I should have gone to him in private.”

  “Ah. Finally some wisdom.” Ceiteag popped the bread into her mouth and chewed before saying more. “He may have still disagreed, he may have still said no, but he would have heard you out, and there would have been some small chance of him taking your advice. As soon as you claimed in front of the others that he was making a mistake, he stopped listening to anything you said.”

  “It is a mistake if he wants to defeat the Mundoa once and for all. That’s not going to happen by protecting Onglse.”

  “If it is a mistake, you’ve just assured that he’s going to continue to make it.” Ceiteag leaned forward. She stroked the torc around Voada’s neck, then let her fingers trail down to the oak leaf pendant before taking Voada’s hands in her own wrinkled, thin ones. “The truth is, Voada, that you frighten the ceanndraoi,” she said. “He looks at you, and he worries that you not only want to take his place but that you have the power to do so.”

  Voada gave a dry laugh. “I don’t. I barely know what I’m doing with my anamacha. He’s told me so many times.”

  “Yes. And what does that say about your potential?” Ceiteag patted Voada’s hands and leaned back. “He knows your story, and he knows the others have heard it as well. He sees that people have sympathy for what happened to you. He—and every other draoi here—also knows the history of your anamacha. He’s seen the others watching you and wondering. He’s heard the passion in your voice when you talk about bringing the clans together, and he wonders whether you might be able to do just that.”

  “Then why doesn’t he help me? If he wants to lead the way, I’d be happy to follow him.”

  “You’d be happy as long as he went the way you wish him to go.” Ceiteag’s rebuke was gentle but firm. “Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

  “Menach, we have the chance to do something that the Cateni haven’t been able to accomplish before.” There was exasperation in her voice, and Ceiteag responded to it with a wry smile. “I know how prideful that sounds,” she told the woman. “But it’s true nonetheless. The voices of the Moonshadow’s anamacha, they all tell me that.”

  “The voices of the anamacha sometimes try to deceive the draoi they serve. They aren’t always truthful, and
sometimes they’re as jealous of the draoi who uses them as any living person. Listening to them can be dangerous.”

  “Maybe, but …” Voada looked away, not wanting to see the kindness and sympathy in Ceiteag’s eyes. “Ceanndraoi Greum is squandering our chance.”

  “I know that’s what you believe,” Ceiteag answered. “But only Elia knows the truth, and Her voice is the most difficult of all to hear.” She went to the pot steaming over the hearth and spooned stew into a wooden bowl. She brought it back to the table, placing it in front of Voada. “Dip your bread in this,” she said. “It’ll soften it and make it easier on your teeth—something that might not bother you yet, but it does me. And I’ve added rue and shepherd’s purse to help ease your bleeding.”

  Voada glanced from the bowl to the bread to Ceiteag. The old woman lifted her hands, palms up.

  “At least that’s good advice you might take,” she said.

  The sun was setting the clouds in the west afire as it set, but Voada was looking east and down the line of the wall, where under banks of low, scudding black clouds, the fort that Savas had taken stood like a broken tooth in an old man’s gums.

  “What Greum said is correct,” she heard a low voice say behind her. “The Mundoas’ next attack will be toward the inner wall and Bàn Cill. More of their ships stuffed with soldiers will arrive in a few days, and that’s when Savas will make his next move.”

  Voada glanced over her shoulder to see Ceannàrd Iosa standing a few strides from her. Lost in her own thoughts, she hadn’t heard his boot steps approaching. The sentries posted along the wall were standing well away from them, not looking their way and out of easy earshot. She wondered if that was deliberate.

  “I never suggested otherwise,” she told him.

  “But you would have us abandon Onglse.”

  Voada shook her head as she turned to face the man. He was standing close to her, a looming silhouette against the setting sun. He smelled of smoke and oil. “No,” she said. “Not abandon it. We need to keep Savas engaged here for as long as possible.”

  “While you set fire to the south.”

  Voada took a long breath of the cool evening air. “As long as Savas and his army are here, Albann Deas is open to us as it hasn’t been before. The commander knows that the Cateni—and especially the draoi—think of Onglse as sacred; he’s convinced that we’ll do everything possible to defend it, and he’s certain that’s the weakness that will allow him to defeat us. But his certainty about what we’ll do is his weakness, yet you and the ceanndraoi don’t see that.”

  Iosa didn’t answer immediately. He took a step toward her. She remained where she was. She could see his shadowed eyes, and she held their gaze, her chin lifting. “You would need the cooperation of many of the Albann Bràghad clans for your plan to have any chance of working, Draoi Voada. And you’d still need a large force of both draoi and fighters left here on Onglse to convince Savas that he needs to remain here for as long as possible.”

  “Greum Red-Hand could go to the clans. They’d listen to him if he went to them personally.”

  “But he won’t,” Maol Iosa answered even before she finished. “And you won’t be able to convince the clans yourself.”

  “I can try.”

  “Your accent’s southern, and the northern clans think of their southern cousins as weaklings—you heard that yesterday from the ceanndraoi himself. You’ve no reputation yet as a draoi. None of the clan àrds will listen to you.”

  “Just like Greum,” Voada said bitterly.

  Another step. He was very close to her now, and she resisted the impulse to take a step back. “I listened to you,” he said, his voice low and soft. “I heard you. I told you already, you and I—we want the same thing. We want an Albann that is ours once again.”

  The sun slipped below the horizon, and around the fort, watch fires and torches were being lit. The sentry behind Voada put a torch to his watch fire, and Voada could see the flames reflected in Iosa’s pupils as the ruddy light painted his cheekbones and the scars there. He leaned forward slightly, though he didn’t touch her. “And the clans … well, their àrds might listen to me as one of their own.”

  “What are you saying?”

  He tilted his head, speaking nearly into her ear as she stood still, wondering whether she should back away, wondering what he’d do if she tried. His breath was warm against her ear and the side of her neck. “I’m a warrior,” he said. “I lead men into battle, but I prefer those to be battles that can be won. I listened to what you said, and I think your strategy is worth considering. You’ve proved yourself as a draoi, but you don’t know war. You don’t understand it. I do, and the clans will listen to me because they know me—because I am Ceannàrd of Clan Iosa, and because Greum Red-Hand chose me to lead our warriors.” Now he leaned back away from her. “I wonder what could we accomplish together?”

  Voada could feel her stomach tightening. She wanted to take a step away from the man but forced herself to remain where she was. “Together?”

  “You lead the draoi. I lead the warriors. We take them south. Would that be something that interests you?”

  “What would Greum Red-Hand say if he heard you asking me this?”

  “He would say we were both traitors and cowards. He would take your torc from you and mine from me. He’d have the draoi kill you and the warriors kill me—if they could.” A trace of a smile touched his lips. “Which is why I’ve said nothing before and why I’m speaking to you here, where anyone who sees us together might assume that I’m simply trying to persuade the new draoi to share my bed tonight.”

  She reacted as if the man had just slapped her face. Her fingers went to her cheeks, to the scars that remained from her beating in Pencraig. Then she stepped back and opened her arms as she turned to where her anamacha waited a few steps away. Maol Iosa’s smile widened. “There’s no need to call your anamacha to you, Draoi Voada,” he continued. “I’m no threat to you, and I’m asking nothing more of you than what you wish to give freely. I know what you’ve lost and how recent that was. I know you must still grieve for your husband and family.”

  “I do,” she told him firmly.

  “Then I’ll leave you to consider what I’ve said. We’ll talk again. But if we follow your path, we need to do that soon.”

  With that, he gave her a brief salutation, turned, and walked toward the tower staircase. She heard the guard stationed there chuckle as he passed. “It’s a cold bed tonight, eh, Ceannàrd?” His voice carried too loudly in the still air.

  Maol Iosa lifted a finger to his lips, shaking his head, and the guard grinned. The ceannàrd slapped the man—not unkindly—on the shoulder as he passed into the shadowed interior of the tower.

  Voada’s moon-flow had lightened considerably by the next morning. She prepared another linen pad, then washed out the stained one and placed it in a pot to boil. She’d removed it to dry when Ceiteag entered the room. “Ceanndraoi Greum wants the draoi in the main hall,” she told Voada. “He’s also called for Ceannàrd Iosa and the other chief warriors. I suspect we’re leaving today.”

  The prediction proved correct. Greum Red-Hand wasted no time with niceties, standing to speak as soon as everyone had gathered. “We’ll be leaving two hands of warriors and one draoi here,” he said without preamble. “No more. Draoi Conn has volunteered to remain and continue to cast his weather spells over the Mundoa. He’ll also be in charge of the warriors. Everyone else will leave through the western gates in three stripes of the candle. We’ll follow the wall over the next ridge, then follow the valley north. The Mundoa won’t be able to see us; we’ll use our land itself as a shield until we reach the inner fortifications. I sent a messenger to the eastern hill-forts to tell them to do the same. The Mundoa will assume that all the remaining forts are still fully manned. Get yourselves ready.”

  The draoi and officers gathered in the room muttered their agreement, but Iosa stood to address Greum. “Ceanndraoi, let me take my chari
ot and a hand of mounted warriors as you leave. I would like to give a last challenge to Commander Savas or his champion before I rejoin you.”

  Greum shook his head. “You already know that the cowards won’t accept challenges.”

  Iosa persisted. “I don’t expect them to, Ceanndraoi. But issuing the challenge will make them believe that we intend to make our stand here. That may delay them a few days more, or at the least make them plan for that. We’d slow them and give ourselves more time to prepare.”

  Greum shook his head. “It’s too dangerous. We can’t afford to lose you, Ceannàrd.”

  “You won’t,” Iosa answered. “Draoi Voada has agreed to ride with me to ensure that.”

  Voada, sitting on the stone floor with her back to the wall, lifted her head belatedly upon hearing her name. Greum was already glaring toward her, but Iosa’s back was to her, and she couldn’t see his expression. “Her?” Greum questioned, a ruddy hand gesturing to Voada. “Why?”

  “Draoi Voada’s spells will keep the Mundoa’s heads down and their archers nervous,” Maol Iosa answered. “And if they see a draoi with me, they’ll be doubly certain that we intend to stay here. You can’t deny, Ceanndraoi, that Draoi Voada’s anamacha has power.”

  “It does,” Greum responded, though it looked to Voada as if the words were bitter on his tongue. “And we wouldn’t care to lose that power, either.”

  “You won’t lose either of us, Ceanndraoi. I give you my word. I’m your ceannàrd; you’ve given me that title because I can best defend Onglse. That’s why I ask this.”

  Greum looked unconvinced. “Draoi Voada has agreed?”

  Now Iosa turned to Voada, his long braided hair moving. The wounds on his arms were dark with clotted blood, just beginning to heal. “She has,” he said easily. He tilted his head in her direction. “And I believe Draoi Voada trusts me. Draoi Voada?”