The Well of Shades Page 53

  “What are you saying?” She was glaring at Faolan. “Are you calling me a liar? Me?”

  All around the hall voices were buzzing and eyes were turned on this battle with keen interest. For entertainment, it seemed it far surpassed what could be achieved by a bard with a harp.

  “Sit down,” Bridei said, aiming his command halfway between his right-hand man and the princess. “You, too,” he added as he noticed both Bedo and Uric standing at the front of the hall, beside the dais that held the high table. “If there is a dispute to be settled, it should be behind closed doors, not here in the hall as if you were a mob of brawling drunkards.”

  “My lord—” Faolan began. Bridei heard a note in his friend’s voice that sent a chill through him. This was something serious.

  “I won’t just let this go!” Breda snapped. “You can’t expect that, not after the vile things you’ve been saying!” The big blue eyes turned to Keother, a step behind Bridei. “Cousin, this man—this Gael—is trying to accuse me of some kind of misdemeanor. I want him thrown out of the hall. I won’t tolerate this.” She tossed her head; the artful curls at her temples quivered.

  “Cousin, take your seat.” Keother moved to stand beside her. Something in his tone made Breda obey. Her eyes were venomous; there was no telling if that look was all for Faolan, or half for Keother himself.

  “My lord—” Faolan tried again, and this time his voice cracked.

  “Let us take this to a council chamber,” Bridei said. “Who is party to the dispute? Lady Breda? Uric? Bedo?”

  “No, my lord.” The uncharacteristic flush in Faolan’s cheeks had faded; now he was white. “The matter concerns Eile and this story that’s being put about. I need it resolved straightaway. It’s possible we’ve been searching in the wrong place, based on misleading information. This must be settled now, quickly and publicly. I won’t have Eile made the subject of lying gossip.”

  “I see.” Bridei moved to his place at the royal table and sat. The hubbub died down. Keother seated himself between the king and Breda; Aniel and Tharan took their seats on Bridei’s other side. Faolan made no move; nor did Uric and Bedo.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Bridei could see the two Christians entering the hall with an irritated-looking guard behind them. It was not possible to order them out. “Seat them at the end of this table, one on each side of Queen Rhian,” he murmured to Aniel. “I don’t want Suibne to do too much translating.” He turned to Faolan. “Very well,” he said, “I will hear the matter of this dispute now. Keep it brief and to the point. If it concerns my son and Eile, we need it set out quickly so we can take appropriate action. Who will speak first?”

  “Talorgen’s sons.” Faolan was in better control of himself now, his voice level, his eyes grim. “There are two stories here, my lord, and the one feeds into the other.”

  “Step forward, Bedo, Uric. What is this?”

  “It relates to the hunt, my lord king…” The two boys told their tale well, with calm logic, plain though it was to Bridei that they were strung up with tension. For all his own nervous anticipation, he was struck by their maturity and self-control. Talorgen would be well pleased if he could see them now. Bedo related how, at the moment before Cella was struck, there had been a scream, and that the horse then reared up and descended in a flurry of lethal hooves. Uric related the same sequence: the scream, the movement of the mare, and added one more detail. There had been something flashing in the sunlight, something Lady Breda had been holding in her hand. Then the mare had bolted and taken Lady Breda with it.

  “This is stupid—” Breda began.

  “Please be quiet, Lady Breda,” Bridei said. “You will be given the opportunity to speak.”

  “But—”

  “Hush.” Keother’s tone was a hiss of rage. Glancing sideways, Bridei was alarmed by the expression in the other man’s eyes. He read there horror, shame, and something that suggested this was perhaps not as much of a surprise as it might have been.

  “I don’t see the relevance to the other matter, the search, Eile, my son,” he said to Faolan.

  “It will become apparent, my lord,” Bedo said. “My brother and I had certain suspicions as to what had made Lady Breda’s horse shy. A scream might have done it. A scream and a sharp goad would certainly have frightened the most placid of creatures. Uric thought he saw something flash downward just before the… accident. He has been searching the place of the hunt for that item. A day or two ago he found it.” The hall was completely silent.

  Uric held up a jeweled pin. “The mare sustained no major injuries that day, but she did come back with many scratches and abrasions from her headlong flight,” he said. “If one of them was a deliberate wound, inflicted by this silver hair ornament, the grooms would not have singled it out for particular notice. I found the pin—or, at least, your dog found it—in a part of that field where only Breda and the two men who rescued her had ridden that day. This ornament bears the royal insignia of the Light Isles. It belongs to Lady Breda.”

  “Nonsense!” She was on her feet again, hands clenched. “Yes, maybe it is mine, but what you say is just silly! Why would I do that? Anyway, I wasn’t wearing it that day. Ask my attendants. I had quite another hair clasp on, the gold one with little chains. You’re just making this up!”

  Keother looked down toward the table where Breda’s handmaids were seated in a huddle. “Who can support my cousin’s version of events?” he asked. “Do you recall what she was wearing on that day? The young men’s story is somewhat flimsy, there’s no doubt, but we owe it to them to respond to their questions. A girl died.”

  The young women looked into their ale cups, at their hands, at the floor.

  “We require an answer,” Bridei said. “Faolan has indicated lives may be at risk. Does this silence mean yes or no?”

  A fair-haired girl half rose to her feet. “Lady Breda was wearing what she just said. Gold, with chains.”

  “That’s right,” muttered a second girl.

  The third girl stood up slowly. She was a little thing. Her face was white as linen. “No, it’s not,” she said in a shaking voice. “Breda was wearing the silver pin. I know because I did her hair that morning. I’d swear to it. Amna helped me.”

  After a moment the fourth girl got up to stand by the third. “Cria’s right.” Her voice, too, trembled. “She was wearing that one. The sea beast. It’s her favorite.”

  “I never did anything!” Breda burst out, hitting her fists on the table and making the spoons rattle. “It was the poxy horse! It’s not my fault if you give me a creature that shies and bolts at the slightest thing! If Cella had kept her wretched merlin under control—”

  “Hold your tongue!” Keother shouted. His cousin fell silent, but Bridei sensed it would not be for long.

  “The theory you propose is that, for some reason, Lady Breda deliberately caused the mare to shy, then to bolt,” Bridei said levelly, knowing this could not be pursued much further in public, not if there was any chance at all that it was true. It was for himself and Keother to resolve behind closed doors. “I cannot imagine any possible motive she might have for such an irresponsible action. It set her own life at risk. It killed a young woman and wounded you, Bedo. This is a very serious accusation. To do what you suggest would be an act of insanity.”

  “We’re told,” Uric said, “that Lady Breda is subject to fits of extreme jealousy. That, in this case, the friendship between my brother and Cella had made her angry. I’m sorry, my lord,” he inclined his head in Keother’s direction, “but we have one, maybe two young women who can testify to that. They prefer not to speak here before the whole court.”

  “What?” Breda glared at her handmaids, her lovely face suffused with rage. “Which of you’s been telling tales? How dare you? By all the gods, you’ll wish you’d never opened your filthy mouths—” She stopped dead, suddenly mindful that the entire court of Fortriu was sitting there staring, horrified, in her direction. “My lord, this
is… unseemly. Distasteful. These boys have got it all mixed up. Not so long ago they were trying their hardest to impress me; these accusations are the result of sheer pique. Besides, Cella’s gone. What is the point of raking over old ground?”

  Keother muttered something. Perhaps it was a prayer of thanks that the dead girl’s father had already departed from White Hill and need not hear this.

  “Faolan,” Bridei said, “what is the relevance of this matter to our present crisis? Be quick, I beg you.”

  “I’m told, my lord king, that it was Lady Breda who reported seeing Eile and your son walking out of White Hill yesterday, clad in their outdoor clothing as if for a journey.”

  “That is correct,” said Aniel.

  “The tale of the hunt must, at least, raise questions over Lady Breda’s reliability,” Faolan said. “I’m a bodyguard, not a nobleman; I say these things in an open forum only because lives are at risk and time is short. Lady Breda, if Eile was planning to spirit Derelei away as a hostage, why did she go out of White Hill without her warm cloak and boots?”

  Breda stared at him as the assembled folk hushed anew. “But she didn’t—I mean, she did go out, but she was wearing them, of course she was, and so was the boy. I saw them. I said so.”

  Garth rose to his feet; he came to stand by Faolan’s side. “That’s not true, my lord king. My wife can vouch for it. Eile’s warm clothes are still in her chamber.”

  “Eile would never leave Saraid behind,” said Faolan. “Anyone concocting a lie about abductions would need a story to cover that. I don’t believe Lady Breda’s tale. Eile couldn’t have just wandered off. She wouldn’t have. And if that was a lie, perhaps both Eile and Derelei are still somewhere inside White Hill.”

  Bridei felt the blood drain from his face. “Breda,” he said, “could it be you were mistaken?”

  “No, of course not! If I saw something, I saw it. Unless it was someone else, not her. I mean, there are other women here and other little children, after all. With a hood on, and her back turned… perhaps it wasn’t her. I may have mixed it up…”

  “I need an answer.” Bridei could not keep the edge from his voice. Derelei, oh gods, Derelei here all the time, here somewhere, and silent…”Was your account of how you spent that day true or wasn’t it? Did you see my son or didn’t you?”

  “Of course it was true. Ask my handmaids.” She fixed them with a ferocious glare. “They wouldn’t lie, would they?”

  The smallest girl, Cria, stood up again. This time she held herself straight. “My lord king, may I speak?”

  “Please do.”

  “This might be best in private,” Keother muttered in Bridei’s ear, but it was too late.

  “I’m not proud of this,” Cria said. “Lady Breda asked us to lie and we did. There were reasons for that, reasons I’m not saying here. We all saw Eile and the children yesterday.”

  A gasp ran around the hall, and Bridei clenched his fists until the knuckles were white. “Go on,” he said.

  “Eile came down to our quarters with Breda. They fetched some sweetmeats. Amna gave the little girl a ribbon and she put it on her doll. It was one of those lavender ones, the ones Amna’s got in her hair. Then they all went off together, Lady Breda and Eile and the two children. Lady Breda told us we couldn’t come.”

  “She said something about a secret place,” Amna said softly. “She was going to show little Saraid.”

  “When did Lady Breda come back?” Faolan’s tone was a reminder of why so many folk feared him.

  “Not until much later,” Cria said. “When she came back she told us what to say. Then, today, she told us about Eile going out and taking Derelei, and that was what we had to say. I’m truly sorry, my lord.” She was crying.

  Keother had risen to his feet. “You others,” he said, “what tale do you tell now? Is this an accurate account? Did all of you indeed see King Bridei’s son and his attendant and say not a word, even when the child’s life was in jeopardy?”

  “My lord,” Bedo spoke up, “there were reasons why these girls did not speak up earlier; reasons best set before you in private.”

  Keother ignored him. “Speak up!” he commanded. “Who is telling the truth, Cria or my cousin?”

  “This is outrageous!” Breda’s voice had risen still further; it was approaching a shriek. Tharan’s wife, Dorica, got up quietly and went to stand behind the young woman’s chair. She put a hand on Breda’s shoulder, whether to reassure or restrain her was not clear, and the princess of the Light Isles shook it off with some violence.

  “Cria’s telling the truth,” the fair-haired handmaid said. “We all just said what Breda told us to say. I’m sorry, I really am.”

  “She’s right,” said the fourth girl. “Lady Breda didn’t like Cella, not after…” She glanced at Bedo. “And she didn’t like Eile. She said it was wrong that a Gael was given so much trust; that she shouldn’t be left in charge of the king’s children.”

  “That’s a lie! I liked the little Gael!”

  “Breda,” Keother said, “there’s to be not another word. Not one, understand. My lord king—”

  Faolan was suddenly on the dais, confronting Breda across the king’s table, breaking every rule of court protocol. “Where is she?” he demanded, and Breda flinched backward. “And where’s Derelei? What have you done?”

  Before Bridei could say a word, Garth was taking hold of Faolan’s arm, drawing him away, speaking calmly. “Come, we’ll search again. I’ll help you.”

  “By all that is sacred,” Faolan hissed at Breda, as his fellow guard half dragged, half supported him from the dais, “if you’ve harmed either of them I will make you pay!”

  Breda gave a little squeal of fright.

  “I remind you,” Bridei said sternly to his right-hand man, “that you are in the presence of the king and of his guests. Curb your anger.” It was the first time he had ever had to reprimand one of his personal guards in public. The look on Faolan’s face made him wretched, for he felt its twin in himself, a powerful compulsion to rush off and search, and a fierce anger that this erratic young woman had, through sheer foolishness, prevented them from reaching their lost ones quickly. He reminded himself that he was king, and turned to address the assembled household. “Many of you have searched long today on little sleep. You’re weary and supper is late already. Tharan and Dorica will preside over the meal. Please eat and rest. King Keother and I will excuse ourselves to pursue this weighty matter in private. I ask you to remember that my son is still missing, as is Eile. I ask you not to spread tales that may be untrue. Do not increase the distress of those close to this terrible unfolding of events by passing on rumor and gossip. We of Fortriu are strong people. Lend one another your strength. Garth has offered to assist Faolan. Any man who is prepared to help them will be welcome. Any man who prefers to eat and then sleep must do so with a clear conscience. Unless we find our lost ones tonight, or gather further information that can help us, the main search goes on tomorrow outside the walls as planned.”

  Keother was standing beside the now-sobbing Breda, his hand firmly around her arm. Farther down the table, Brother Colm was looking on with a little frown on his brow.

  “My lord, I should be present at your discussion,” Faolan said. “I need to know—”

  “Go, begin your search,” Bridei told his friend quietly. Get out that door, search high and low until a miracle occurs and you find the two of them safe and well in some forgotten corner. Go now. “If we discover information that can help you, we will bring it to you promptly. Go, Faolan.”

  A small knot of men was gathering around Garth and Faolan: Talorgen’s two sons, an exhausted-looking Dovran, Garvan the royal stone carver and his assistant. Wid, leaning on his staff. No more. Perhaps the rest of them were simply exhausted. Garth could be heard telling the group to eat something quickly, then take torches and meet him in the lower courtyard.

  Bridei retreated toward the council chamber where his earlier me
eting had taken place, with Keother beside him, shepherding the weeping Breda. Aniel came behind, followed by a guard.

  “Gods, Bridei,” muttered Keother, “if this is what it seems, I don’t know what to say to you. I should be out there with them, searching.”

  “I ask only one thing of you tonight,” Bridei said. “Keep your cousin in check. If Lady Breda’s lies have caused my son to be harmed in any way, it is not just Faolan who will be seeking vengeance. If Derelei is hurt, if he is dead, your kinsmen will pay for it in blood. Make no doubt of that. Harm my child and you will know what it means to offend the king of Fortriu.”

  INSTINCT SERVED TUALA well. The creature whose form she had borrowed went with speed and caution, padded feet soft on the forest floor, the journey a dance of light and shade, of concealment and swift, calculated exposure. Scent offered the path; sharp vision helped her avoid trouble. On the fringe of the great wood that cloaked the slopes by Serpent Lake, a wild dog gave chase. She climbed for safety, claws and bunched muscle carrying her up the trunk of a young oak before there was time to think. Crouched between branches, every hair standing on end, she willed her human understanding back with some difficulty, and marveled at how quickly instinct had served her in her borrowed shape. She must be more wary; she must remember how small she was, how vulnerable to hungry predators. When the sun was low in the sky, she caught a new scent, a sweet, familiar one, though her animal senses found it confusing. There were marks in the soil here and there; she thought they were the prints of little feet shod in soft leather.

  The part of her that was still Tuala, the part that was exercising all its strength to remain in control, was desperate to change back then; to be human, to call out to her son, to run after him. The day was passing quickly and it was dark here in the forest. She longed to find him, to scoop him up in her arms and hug him tightly, to weep with relief that he was safe at last. The other part, the instinctive, animal part, held back, sniffing the alien scent, cautious yet. She crouched there, hesitating, her mind torn two ways, and as she did so there was a rustling in the bushes behind her. She sprang up and turned in one movement, tail bristling, as the presumptuous fox hurled itself across the small clearing toward her.