The Well of Shades

by Juliet Marillier

  “Talorgen of Raven’s Well has agreed to take up the position, on my invitation.” Bridei spoke with quiet confidence. Eile was pleased to discover that she was understanding more than she had expected of his speech; she needed Wid’s whispered translation only for the most complicated parts. “I have faith in Talorgen’s abilities,” the king went on. “He is a warrior of long experience. At his hand I honed my own skills in armed combat; under his leadership I took part in my first battle. I ask you to acknowledge my choice and I expect you to support it wholeheartedly. Talorgen will be training men at Caer Pridne over the summer, against certain possibilities. I thank him for his readiness to take up this onerous duty. After the bloodshed of last autumn, each of us holds strong hope for a season of peace and time to rebuild. But if war comes again, we will be ready for it.”

  Eile was startled when, instead of applause and words of approval, a chorus of shouts broke out around the hall, challenges, objections, men’s voices raised in protest. “Why wasn’t this done in open assembly?” “Why no vote?” “Choose a younger man!” “What about Morleo?”

  The king’s councillor Aniel, who was not a tall man, rose to his feet and held up a hand. The hall fell silent; Aniel’s authority was widely respected. Talorgen was already standing; he was at the head of one of the long tables with his younger son by his side. Ferada had begun gnawing on her fingernails; across from her, Garvan murmured, “He knows what to say. It’ll be fine.”

  “I should make it clear,” said the chieftain of Raven’s Well, “that I agreed to take up these duties on certain conditions. I trust that, when I explain them, your concerns will be laid to rest. Be assured that, when and if the position of chief war leader becomes available on a long-term basis, it will be contested in open session, and any man who thinks himself worthy of consideration will have the opportunity to put his name forward.”

  “Explain yourself!” someone shouted. Immediately, another voice rose across that, “Hold your tongue! Talorgen’s the best choice anyway!” The first man hissed, and Eile saw Ferada turn pale. She put her hand over the other woman’s on the table. Ferada might on occasion appear intimidatingly capable, but this was her father being publicly attacked.

  “I’ve agreed to act in the position only until Carnach returns or King Bridei decides it is time to appoint a permanent replacement,” Talorgen said. “Nonetheless, I will carry out my new duties with all the energy and dedication I have to give.” He himself looked pale. Ferada’s father was still a handsome man, for all the touch of gray in his russet hair, but tonight he was plainly ill at ease.

  “He’s worried about the boys,” Ferada muttered. “Bedo in particular. This is a lot for my stepmother to handle. Father doesn’t really want to do it.”

  “That’s all very well,” someone spoke up over a continuing rumble of unrest, “but where’s Carnach? That’s what we all want to know. The men need certainty, not short-term measures. We all do, in the aftermath of war.”

  “If you ask me,” said another man, “there’s no better time than now to appoint this permanent replacement.”

  “Shut up!” yelled someone from down the hall. “What are you trying to do, defy the king?”

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  Keother of the Light Isles got to his feet; all eyes turned to the top table. “Indeed,” said Keother, running a hand through his thatch of fair hair, “a celebratory banquet is hardly the occasion for such… robust debate. King Bridei has made his decision. Now is not the time to challenge it. If he has appointed Talorgen here, then I am certain Talorgen will do an excellent job.”

  Ferada said something under her breath.

  “No doubt in time, perhaps in relatively little time,” Keother went on smoothly, “due process will be followed and a new appointment made. We’ve all heard what folk are saying about Carnach of Thorn Bend. In times of such threat, what’s required is a decisive leader. One who does not shy away from difficult choices.”

  “When does the dancing start?” A ripple of laughter followed this query, which had boomed forth in the sonorous voice of Umbrig of the Caitt.

  “Thank you, Umbrig,” said Bridei levelly, “for you remind us why we are here: principally for a celebration of victory and valor. There will be time to debate this other matter. That I promise you. And I assure you that it will not be debated before its due time. To choose a path on the basis of rumor and conjecture is the decision of an impulsive fool.”

  “Then why not cast an augury?” put in Keother, who was evidently not finished yet. “Let the gods advise you.”

  “That’s a low blow,” whispered Wid.

  “You are a man of deep faith, my lord king,” Keother went on. “Should not the Flamekeeper have the final word on this matter?”

  Then an exceptionally bold, or foolish, man from somewhere at the third table called out, “Where’s the king’s druid, then? Where’s Broichan? Ask him what he thinks!”

  “Enough!” There was a quality in Bridei’s voice that cut the interjection off as crisply as a sharp axe splits dry pine. “We are done here. Let the musicians commence their work, for it is time to put weighty matters aside awhile. Be assured that I will hear every man’s concerns in due course. But not tonight. We have waited long to celebrate.”

  Folk got up; serving people began to move aside benches and tables. In the press of bodies, Ferada could be seen heading to her father’s side to speak to him reassuringly, while Garvan hovered, far enough away for decorum. Wid rose to his feet more slowly; Eile offered him her arm. An instant later Dovran was on the old scholar’s other side, doing the same.

  “I’m not in my dotage yet, young people,” Wid chuckled. “But it’s true, I would prefer a comfortable seat; my capering days are long over. Put me beside Fola and her wise women over there in the corner. They should keep me entertained. Now go off and enjoy yourselves; that’s what the king wants. Let’s see you dancing, the pair of you. I’ll wager you’re light on your feet, Eile.”

  It’s a challenge, Eile told herself grimly. Let Dovran take your hand, let him touch your waist, convince everyone you’re having a wonderful time. And hope you can convince yourself. The music was good, not that she had much to compare it with. She thought she could remember a wedding or something similar at Brennan’s in Cloud Hill. A long time ago. Maybe so long ago that her father had been there, and her mother had still been able to smile. There’d been a little bowed instrument that made a scraping sound, and a goatskin dram—she’d liked that—and a reed pipe, high and shrill. She thought she could remember getting up to dance and someone—Deord?—saying with an approving grin, “That’s my girl.” These musicians were as far above those as the sun is above a little yellow daisy in a field. The flute throbbed and sang, the drum set feet tapping. There was a harp as well. That Eile loved best of all, a magical kind of music like a voice from a fairy world. It made her think of Derelei and his visions in the water.

  “Will you?” asked Dovran, holding out his hand.

  “I… not know… steps. Never do… before.”

  “Nor have I.” He grinned.

  Eile was disarmed. “I suppose we’ll have to tread on each other’s toes, then,” she said in Gaelic, then gave him a demonstration of her meaning, making him laugh. By the time that was done she had taken his hand and they were moving out into a swirling mass of couples. It is possible, she told herself, to bear his touch. If I concentrate on other things, I can do it. Just. I wonder if Faolan knows how to dance?

  14

  IN THE AFTERMATH of King Bridei’s victory feast, the household at White Hill began to shrink toward its usual number. Chieftains and their families rode for home and men-at-arms headed to Caer Pridne in anticipation of a season’s training under the new leadership of Talorgen.

  Bridei had made his decision and intended to stick by it, but he was uneasy. He had asked Fola to conduct an augury, in Broichan’s absence, to obtain the wisdom of the gods as to the immediate future
and the question of Carnach. Was it best to send a force southeast, to be ready to hold the border against armed insurgency from that quarter, or should he wait in hope of clearer information? How could he set strategies in place against an uprising when he did not yet know who Carnach’s allies were?

  The gods had provided no clear answers. It was not that Fola lacked skill in the interpretation of a pattern of birch rods cast on a stone table. She was a priestess of long standing, learned and deep. Bridei himself, raised in a knowledge of such tools, could see the message of the rods was obscure, hinting at one interpretation, then another. He had consulted Tuala, who had in the past proved more astute than anyone in her comprehension of the gods’ messages. Even she had been unable to reach a conclusion. “We face confusion,” she had said. “Challenges; fences and bridges. But we knew that already.”

  Late one afternoon Bridei called his inner circle to a meeting in his small, private council chamber. There were an oak table, two benches, a narrow window looking out over the forest below the parapet wall. A lamp stood in a niche, for the place was naturally dim. Otherwise the place was bare, stone floor swept clean, walls devoid of decoration. With the window set so high and the door both unobtrusive and effectively defensible by one man—currently Garth stood guard—it was a place where conversations on delicate matters could be held with confidence.

  Talorgen had come early; it was plain he wanted to speak to Bridei before the others arrived. The king was alone in the chamber save for his dog, Ban, whose small white form was a blur under the table.

  “I’m packed up and ready to go, my lord,” the chieftain said. Talorgen’s brow was, if anything, still more furrowed than on the night of the feast, and he paced the small chamber restlessly, setting Ban on edge. “We’ve decided, Brethana and I, that it’s best if she takes the boys home to Raven’s Well, for now at least. Because of Bedo’s arm, they’ll travel by water. That means they’ll need to stay on here awhile without me, until passage is available.”

  “Of course,” Bridei said, a little surprised that this need even be mentioned. “Your family is welcome at court as long as they want to stay.”

  “Uric wants to come with me. But he’s young yet. I’ve told him if things go well he can travel to Caer Pridne later in the summer. It’s Bedo who most concerns me.”

  “His arm is not mending?”

  “Oh, the arm is all right; the physician’s pleased with him. But Bedo’s still acting oddly. He can’t let go his suspicions about that day, the day he got the injury. They’ve gone quiet about it, he and Uric both; they won’t tell me exactly what it is they believe happened. I know they’re offended that we didn’t seem to take them seriously when they first raised the matter. Now they’re afraid we’ll dismiss their fears as nonsense.”

  “I did have the events of that afternoon investigated, Talorgen. Nothing suspicious was uncovered, beyond the fact that a well-trained mare shied and bolted for no apparent reason. Some folk thought Breda screamed before the horse reared up; some thought she did so afterward, as one would expect. If your boys won’t put this theory of theirs out in the open, I can’t see any real grounds for pursuing this further, and nor would Keother, I’m sure. Where this matter is concerned, he’s shared my own opinions. Indeed, he’s been remarkably cooperative.”

  “A surprise in view of his performance at the feast,” observed Talorgen, curling his lip. “I’ve never seen such a disgraceful attempt to belittle and undermine a leader as the exhibition he put on that night. What Keother’s up to I don’t know, but I’ll be glad when he and his spoiled brat of a cousin are gone from here. Their visit has been disruptive and unsettling.”

  “Breda was quite blunt when asked to account for the behavior of her horse that day. In her mind it was a clear case of the animal’s inadequacy. She considers herself entirely blameless. I spoke to her myself. The girl seems too naive and childish to be the instigator of anything devious.”

  “Her uncle might have exerted pressure on her. Keother’s powerful, and she’s young. I hope you don’t intend to retain her here as a replacement for Ana.”

  “Keother’s outspokenness at the feast suggests some action may be required to keep him in check. If taking a hostage is the only option, then I will do it.”

  “You say she’s too childish to be dangerous. I should tell you that Bedo’s obsession seems to be centered on her. Of late, he’s taken to sending his brother out on horseback to conduct some kind of search in the field where the accident took place.”

  “Search? For what? Surely all signs will be gone now; time has passed, and we’ve had rain.”

  “He wasn’t exactly open about it, but I gather the search is for an implement that may have been used to startle Breda’s horse. Once I’m gone from White Hill, my wife is not confident she can call a halt to this. My sons know they’re due to return home shortly, but Brethana believes that when it comes to the point, if they haven’t found what they seek, they may insist on staying at White Hill. They treat her with respect, but she’s not their mother.”

  “I see. Very well; if required, I will assist your wife with the matter. It’s awkward with Keother and Breda still here. Would Bedo talk to me now?”

  “I doubt it, Bridei. I think it’s best if—”

  A knock on the door. Ban barked, a sound far more arresting than his size suggested was possible. Then Garth’s voice: “My lord?”

  Bridei nodded to Talorgen to open the door.

  “My lord, I regret the interruption,” said Garth from outside. “Faolan’s back.”

  A LITTLE LATER, while the chieftain of Raven’s Well waited tactfully outside, Bridei regarded his right-hand man across the table and tried to mask his concern. Faolan had limped in; his efforts to disguise the fact that he was in pain did not deceive Bridei. His face was pale under the marks of fading bruises; his dark eyes were shadowed, as if he had gone long without sleep. The little dog looked up at him but remained silent, for this was a trusted confidant well known to him. Of course, Faolan always drove himself hard. But Bridei had never seen him like this. His heart sank. It must be bad news; the worst news.

  “Faolan, welcome back. Sit, please. I must ask for your report immediately. I have a council scheduled; the participants will be here soon. But I will hear from you first, before we decide what we can share.”

  Faolan did not sit. “The tale’s odd, my lord,” he said. “A long journey with nothing new to be gleaned, only the same rumors, and tales of activity on the road toward Circinn and within, armed men, parties of riders. Then I stumbled on Carnach in person.”

  Bridei leaned forward, hands clasped before him on the table. “If you did, you’ll be the first man in all Fortriu who’s clapped eyes on my kinsman since he went home for the winter. Where? In what company?”

  “On the surface it looks bad, Bridei.” Faolan abandoned the more formal mode of address, falling into the common pattern of speech between friends. “He was in Circinn, and the man with him was Bargoit.”

  Bridei whistled. “Are you sure?” If true, this was almost worse than he could have imagined. It made Carnach a traitor of the basest level.

  “I’m sure. They captured and interrogated me. Oh, nothing too bad,” at Bridei’s gesture of concern. “I managed to convince that stoat Bargoit that I was insignificant. The chief problem was that it delayed my return. Made me slow.”

  Bridei did not ask about the leg. He could see the uneven stance, the pain written all over his friend’s well-governed features. “I take it from what you’ve said that Bargoit did not know who you were,” he said, thinking hard. “So…?”

  “I believe this is not the ill news it appears to be,” Faolan said. “Garth told me you’ve appointed Talorgen in Carnach’s place. I curse myself for taking so long to get back. In the matter of your chief war leader, you could have afforded to wait.”

  “What are you saying? That Carnach is coming back? That he expects to step into his old position after consorting wi
th the likes of Bargoit? Whatever he is, my kinsman is not a fool.”

  “Bridei,” said Faolan, sitting on the bench at last and stretching out his leg before him with a grimace, “there’s something you may need to take on trust.”

  “Yes?”

  “Firstly, note the fact that Carnach showed not a flicker of recognition when his men brought me in. He played along with my assumed identity as a rather dull farmhand who’d wandered a little too far from home.”

  If the matter had not been so serious Bridei would have smiled at that. “You, a farmhand?” he said. “That must have been a challenge.”

  “They believed me; at least, Bargoit did. I had an odd conversation with Carnach. Let me tell you…”

  Bridei listened, weighing it up: talk of going away, of turning one’s back on a good home and a good job; of loyalty calling a man home. Something about opportunities in Circinn. Mention of Midsummer. Trust was a fine thing. All the same, what Faolan suggested required quite a leap of faith.

  “If you’re right,” he said, “Carnach showed an amazing degree of quick-wittedness.”

  “Ask yourself if, before the day he took exception to your decision regarding the crown of Circinn and marched away home, you had any doubts at all about Carnach’s loyalty.”

  “You know I had none, Faolan. But he was angry; bitterly disappointed in me. Can I risk believing that this conversation between the two of you, for which he cannot have been prepared, was indeed the passing of a cryptic message assuring me of his loyalty? What if I act on that belief and you’re proved to be wrong? We could be caught perilously underprepared for an attack. Besides, nothing alters the fact that Carnach was in Circinn, in company with Bargoit. Bargoit has never been a friend of Fortriu. And he’s powerful; more powerful than any councillor should be.”

  “All I can do is offer my own conviction that Carnach meant me to tell you his allegiances are unchanged, and that he will return to his position as war leader. I believe that when he ordered me to go home by Midsummer he meant you could expect him then.”