Blade of Fortriu

by Juliet Marillier

  He reached the top as the guard was finishing his short walk to the far end of the passageway, beyond the door to Alpin’s chamber. The man turned. The stone caught him precisely in the center of the brow; his hands had been reaching for his weapons even as Faolan hurled it. The guard sank to his knees, dazed. Faolan closed in, using a dagger in one quick, sure thrust to the heart; it was tidier than throat-slitting. The longer it took for anyone to spot his trail the better.

  Outside Ana’s door Faolan hesitated, working through the possibilities: it might be locked, requiring him to make a noise and perhaps alert the women downstairs or other men-at-arms. She might not be there. There could be a whole group of them inside, ready to scream and run for help. There were courses of action to deal with each of these chances, but he didn’t particularly like any of them. No time for scruples. He reached out and gave the door a push.

  It was not bolted. It swung partly open, well oiled and silent, and through the narrow gap he saw her standing by a window, gazing out beyond the wall. Time stopped for a moment. Faolan knew this image would stay with him always; it would never lose its power to grip his heart. Her hair was unbound, its silvery-fair waterfall tumbling down her back, touched to a thousand glinting points of light by the morning sun. She was wearing what must be the wedding dress; its lines curved around her shoulders and clung to her breasts before falling in graceful folds that gave subtle hints, here and there, of the shapely figure beneath. Her ash-pale face was illuminated by the sunlight; Faolan’s eyes drank in her delicate brows, her sweet mouth, the perfect lines of cheek and chin. The livid bruise that stained her skin did nothing to diminish her beauty, but it made his heart sick. Her gray eyes, once so serene, now looked out on the world with a desperate sadness. And yet she held her back straight. It was this that struck him most deeply; delicate creature as she was, there was an iron discipline in her. She might seem some princess of fantastic story, but Faolan saw in that moment those qualities that had first made him love her: her courage and her honesty. He recognized that in all the world he would find no other woman to equal her.

  “Ana,” he said quietly.

  She whirled around; she had been far away.

  “Hold the door open for me.”

  Startled into compliance, she did as he told her, her eyes widening as he dragged the dead man in and stowed him behind the door. There was no concealing the bloody trail on the flagstones.

  “We’re leaving,” he said. “Now, straightaway. No time for talk. You need boots, a cloak.”

  “What?” She stood rooted to the spot, staring first at the corpse, then at Faolan himself, who had now opened the storage chest and was rummaging through the contents. “Faolan, what is this? What are you doing?”

  “Boots!” he snapped. “Get them, put them on and come with me. Quick!”

  “Come with you?” Ana backed toward the window. “Don’t be stupid!”

  He found a cloak, spotted her outdoor boots at the foot of the bed, seized both. “We’re going home,” he said. “Trust me, Ana. Now move, will you?” He reached out a hand; she pressed back against the wall as if afraid of him. “I’m taking you back to White Hill. But we have to go now or there’s no chance of getting away.”

  “I’m not going.”

  “What?”

  “I said I’m not going. It’s my wedding day, Faolan. Now get out of my room before the guards come.” Both of them glanced at the fallen man.

  “This is crazy!” Faolan’s whole body was tense with the awareness of time passing, time they could not afford to waste. “You’re not telling me you actually want to marry that oaf Alpin, are you? If it’s the treaty that’s bothering you, forget it. Alpin has no intention of honoring it. Come now. Quick!”

  “I’m not going, Faolan. I can’t.” Her tone was cold; there was a strength in it that told him this was no token protest.

  “Ana, don’t be foolish—” He made to take her by the arm, to drag her out if he had to, for there was no way he would let her stay here; this was utter madness.

  “Don’t touch me!” She shrank away, and he froze. What was this? Surely she did not actually believe he was a traitor? “I’m not going, I told you! I must stay here! I can’t leave him, I won’t!”

  Faolan made himself take a controlled breath. “I assume it’s not Alpin you’re referring to,” he said as a strange feeling came over him, the sensation that everything was about to turn upside down.

  “Faolan, just go, will you?”

  “You won’t leave him.” He could not let this go, though time was passing. “Who?”

  “Drustan,” she whispered, and he saw something in her eyes that terrified him beyond the thought of Alpin’s brutish threats and a flooded river and packs of armed guards pursuing them: he saw the implacable determination of a woman in love.

  A man experienced in the professions of assassin and spy is accustomed to performing tasks that may be displeasing on a personal level, but are necessary to the mission. It was ironic, Faolan thought, that having entertained so often, in his dreams, the delight of touching Ana in passion, he now took hold of her by the shoulders before she could dodge, before it occurred to her to scream, turned her around and, with his forearm across her throat, applied an expertly calculated amount of pressure for just as long as it took to render her senseless. He made sure he had the cloak and boots, then maneuvered her up over his shoulder as if she were a sack of grain and made his way to the next-door chamber: Alpin’s chamber. He was not altogether surprised to find the little secondary door unlocked. He edged through, balancing Ana’s weight as he ducked below the lintel, using a foot to close the portal behind him. In the semidarkness of the storage chamber where he stood, something stirred. He started, unpleasantly aware of how vulnerable he was, thus burdened; how helpless she was, and would continue to be unless she gave up this foolish determination not to be rescued. How far could he hope to progress if she were unwilling? It was a long way back to Fortriu and the terrain was not easy. He had counted on her help.

  The thing moved again, whisking across into deeper shadow, and he saw that it was a cat. He followed it through a maze of narrow passageways and out to a path sunk between high walls, where the creature sat down and would go no farther.

  Ten paces along the path he met Deord coming the other way. The bald-headed man seemed to take in the situation at a glance. He showed no sign of surprise.

  “She’s injured?”

  “No. She wouldn’t come with me. Can we get out this way?”

  “Go on ahead. I’ll lock up behind you.”

  The gate to the gloomy enclosure at the end of the path stood open. Within, the tall figure of Drustan could be seen moving about restlessly. Today, even the pretense of security seemed to have been abandoned. At the sight of the blood-spattered Faolan with the limp figure of Ana over his shoulder, Drustan sprang forward, and Faolan began to wish Deord had not left the place so welcomingly open.

  “She’s hurt! What have you done?”

  Then, almost before Faolan could take a breath, Ana’s weight was gone from his shoulders and she was across Drustan’s lap as he sat down on the bench, one arm supporting her body, the other hand curved to cradle her head against his shoulder.

  “Ana!” Drustan’s voice was edgy with anxiety. “Ana, wake up!” Then, looking up at Faolan with accusatory eyes, “What happened?”

  It was not the response of a distant acquaintance concerned for her well-being. The fierce tone, the glare, the way Drustan’s fingers moved against her skin and her hair, all spoke the feelings of a lover. Faolan wondered how this could have happened; how he, the best spy in all Fortriu, had managed to miss it.

  “Don’t wake her up,” he said. “She refused to come with me; I need her like this until we’re safely away.”

  “You hurt her. What is this bruise?”

  Faolan sighed. Where. had Deord got to? They must move on quickly; it could not be long before someone found the evidence he had left behind
. “She’ll wake with a slight headache and she’ll be angry. I had to, Drustan. As for the bruise, that’s not my doing. What’s it to you, anyway?”

  Drustan ignored the question. He had stopped trying to revive Ana; his arms, instead, had gathered her tighter, and he pressed his lips to her hair, closing his eyes. “You’re taking her away,” he murmured.

  Faolan hated him. He hated Drustan’s hands, holding her with the confident touch of one who has every right to do so; he hated Drustan’s assumption that he could do what custom and duty would never allow for Faolan himself. He had dreamed of caressing her thus. Drustan did so without even considering how wrong it was. “Since the alternative is for Ana to marry your brother,” Faolan said tightly, “yes, I’m taking her away. The treaty is worthless, Alpin admitted it. And she’s afraid of him. He hit her. I won’t have it. We must leave this morning; I was hoping Deord—”

  “He has supplies packed for you.” Drustan had not opened his eyes. He was rocking Ana in his arms; Faolan heard her breathing change, a sign that she was regaining consciousness. “We did not expect that you would take her. It is too dangerous. Alpin will come after you with dogs. How can you keep her safe?”

  “The longer we delay, the less likely it is that I can,” Faolan snapped. “Am I right, is there a way out from here, somewhere I can slip past the guards?”

  “Answer me,” Drustan said, and although his eyes were still closed, his tone commanded a response.

  “Ana is more resourceful than you seem to believe,” Faolan said. “She saved my life on the way here at risk of her own. Just help us get out; we’ll do the rest.” It came to him that this was a perfect opportunity for Drustan, too, to make his escape. Watching the captive’s hands, threaded into Ana’s golden hair, Faolan held his tongue.

  The iron gate creaked and slammed shut. Much to Faolan’s relief, Deord strode into sight, moving quickly, but calm as always.

  “I can give you provisions, a weapon, a pair of boots. You won’t get far in those,” eyeing Faolan’s cracked, illfitting shoes. “Can’t help with a horse. You may do better on foot anyway. But the lady—I wasn’t anticipating that.”

  “How much did you overhear yesterday?” Faolan asked as Deord fetched a small, neatly strapped pack from the sleeping quarters and handed him a pair of well-worn but serviceable boots.

  “Enough. Alpin found out your secret; perhaps put pressure on you to betray Bridei. For some reason he decided to lock you up for a while. It was anyone’s guess whether you’d cut and run or do as he wanted. Being a Breakstone man, you did what I’d have done under the circumstances. In the end, we answer only to ourselves.”

  “You answer to Alpin, surely,” Faolan said, glancing around the gloomy enclosure. On the bench Drustan sat motionless; Ana’s bright hair made a shimmering cloak over his shoulder and chest. He looked bereft, as if he were about to lose the one good thing in his world.

  “Alpin’s given me work and a place to live,” Deord said. “No more than that. If I’ve stayed, it’s not been because of him. Faolan, you can’t take her with you. You don’t stand the slightest chance of getting away.”

  “I’m taking her. That’s why I’m going. She’s not marrying that man; I won’t allow it.”

  “You won’t?”

  “There’s no time for this.” Faolan shrugged the pack onto his back. “Where’s the way out, the place where you two get into the forest? I killed two men this morning and stunned another; I need to be off. Here,” moving to Drustan, “I’ll take her now.”

  Ana let out a moan and rolled her head from side to side; she was coming to. Drustan’s fingers moved against her hair, stroking gently. He murmured words of reassurance.

  “I have a draught,” Deord said with some reluctance. “We use it on our worst days. A little of that will keep her thus for some time longer; long enough for you to reach a deeper part of the forest.”

  “Please.” The thought of drugging Ana was repugnant to Faolan, but Deord had been right; the chances of getting away were slight at best and he must seize what help was available. He waited while Deord fetched a tiny vial from indoors, uncorked it and administered what seemed a very small dose indeed.

  Drustan’s features tightened. “It gives long slumber,” he said. “And disturbing dreams. She will awake confused and afraid.”

  Faolan did not reply, simply knelt by Drustan, ready to take Ana on his back once more. She was silent now, the drug already beginning to do its work.

  Drustan looked up. “Deord,” he said, “you must go with them. Does not the Breakstone code you mentioned bind you to aid him?”

  A silence.

  “I can’t,” Deord said flatly. “I can’t go off and leave you on your own.”

  Drustan gave a joyless smile. “My brother will find me another guard. I want you to do this. Faolan’s right, Ana must go home. She must not marry my brother. Take her and run. The two of you together can do it. Go, Deord. I want you to go.”

  “You know what you’re saying?” Deord crouched down by Drustan, looking him in the eye. “This will enrage your brother. He’ll be off after Faolan like a wildcat on a rabbit’s scent. If I go too, and we escape him, the one who’ll bear the brunt of his anger is you. I’m responsible for you, Drustan. I have been these seven years. I’m not abandoning you to that.” Then, glancing at Faolan, “Unless …”

  Faolan had to force the words out; the words he knew were right. “Why don’t you come too, Drustan? Go free; leave Briar Wood behind.”

  Two pairs of eyes turned to him. There was a brief silence.

  “After all, why not?” said Deord quietly. “Fly away; never come back. That was the dream of every Breakstone man. Fly away and make life anew. Few of us achieved it.”

  “I can’t do that.” Drustan’s tone was flat.

  “We’ve all killed, some of us more than once,” Faolan said. “You’ve paid the price. More than a fair price; your brother imposes harsh punishments. You’d be a fool to stay on.” Then, when neither of them replied, “You must decide now, the two of you.”

  “What if I go, and kill again?” Drustan was looking down at Ana; her lids were heavy, her face pale save for the livid bruising on cheek and jaw.

  “You once said,” Deord reminded him, “that you would never hurt her. Was that true, or wasn’t it?”

  “I would never harm Ana. She is my hope.”

  “Then come with us. Alpin will chase us by the known paths, difficult as they are. Those are the paths his hounds will follow. But there are other ways, ways better known to stag and buzzard, hare and fox. You can lead us; you can show us how to evade him.” And, as the redheaded man looked up with something new in his eyes, “You can save her, Drustan.”

  Drustan glanced around the familiar enclosure as if in panic. “She would know, then. Know what I am.”

  “I can’t spare time to debate the issue,” said Faolan crisply, lifting Ana onto his shoulders. “Show me the way out.” He thought for a little that Drustan would not give her up; his hand held hers until the very last moment.

  “She needn’t know,” Deord said quietly. “Go in your other form. You have the changes under control now. There’s no need to show yourself. This way, Faolan.” Moving to the sleeping quarters, Deord looked back over his shoulder.

  “You go, Deord,” Drustan said. “I will follow if I can.”

  “Make sure you do,” Deord said. “I don’t want your death on my conscience. Don’t delay too long.” He took a bag of his own from a shelf and slung it on his back. Then, to Faolan, “Best let me carry her; I’ve broader shoulders. See there, our rabbit hole to the outside; we knew you’d be coming, so it’s open. Keep your head down.”

  “Will he come?” Faolan asked, looking back as he clambered down into the underground passage.

  “He’d better,” said Deord. “If he doesn’t, he’ll be making me into a deserter; a man who abandoned a friend. If he stays behind his brother will kill him. Silence now, until we’r
e well into the forest. Wait for my sign before we run for it. I know the patterns those guards keep. Ready?”

  “I’m ready,” said Faolan.

  13

  IT WAS SAID, among those few who had the knowledge, that a man who survived incarceration at Breakstone Hollow lost his capacity for fear: the nature of the place was such that terrors faced in later life paled into insignificance. A Breakstone survivor was tough in body and mind; he had to be, or he’d be dead or mad before he could bear his mark of brotherhood out into the sunlight again.

  Fear, nonetheless, sped Faolan’s flight through the forest that day, fear not for his own safety but for Ana’s. It didn’t take much imagination to guess how Alpin would treat her if they were taken. As for his own survival, since that was critical to her return unharmed to White Hill, he must ensure he evaded capture and retained his ability to protect her. There was no time to think beyond that. It was one foot before the other, running on uneven paths, clambering up rocky slopes, ducking behind boulders or bushes before a punishing sprint across open ground. Sometimes Deord carried Ana and sometimes, feeling bound to do his share, Faolan bore her on his own shoulders.

  Deord’s potion must have been strong. They ran on, driving themselves as fast as they could in the rapidly shrinking time before Alpin’s inevitable discovery that his bride had flown, and still Ana lay heavy-eyed and supine, unable to help them or herself. Unable to argue; and thank the gods for that, Faolan thought grimly, glancing across at Deord’s tireless figure as they made their way downhill under a stand of oaks. All the same, he’d be relieved when she opened her eyes, even though her first words would likely form an angry protest.