Chapter Seventeen
The two-day journey northwest to Cruachan Aí went well enough. It rained in the morning both days, but by afternoon the sun peeked through the slate-colored clouds and Alannah’s clothes dried enough that she didn’t freeze while she slept. Nothing bothered her, human or otherwise.
She’d been to Cruachan Aí many times. The king held a fair there every year with games and dancing and more merchants than she’d ever cared to count.
Folk came from all nine kingdoms to the great fair at Cruachan Aí.
Alannah wondered absently if Conan had ever been there.
Perhaps she’d even heard him perform. It wouldn’t surprise her—the fair was a widely attended event—but sadness crept into the edges of her mind when she thought of having been there with him and not known it.
Though she’d visited every year for much of her life, Alannah had never before had cause to go directly to the king’s rath.
It was enormous, putting her small hostelry to shame.
Easily twice the size of The Hart’s Rest, the king’s hall was built in the same ancient style as the inn, though it was itself an ancient structure.
A massive dome woven of hazel branches and covered in thatch spread over the entire rath, the circular enclosure denoting the king’s immediate residence.
Outside the rath’s tall palisades, a town that dwarfed Ath Luain sprawled across green hillsides, reaching in meandering paths toward the fields of oat and flax and barley that encircled it.
A pair of guards holding steady spears before their stern faces stood watch at the entrance to the rath. Much like The Hart’s Rest, a long path led to double doors along the hall’s outer wall.
Alannah expected the guards to stop her from entering, slowing so that she could answer any questions they might have of her. When they didn’t appear concerned, she opened the heavy bronze door and stepped into the royal hall at Cruachan Aí.
She stood just inside the doorway for several moments, allowing her eyes to adjust to the dimmer light inside the magnificent hall.
Where The Hart’s Rest had one outer compartment behind a wattle half-wall, the king’s hall had no less than five compartments that circled the main room, the bronze walls rippling outward like waves around a tossed stone.
Each of the compartments was wide enough to accommodate braziers, so that they weren’t too dark even though the bronze walls barred the hearth light, in addition to ample space for walking.
Another pair of guards stood in her path, near the walls of the third compartment. They, also, didn’t move, but from behind them a man appeared. Thin and frail-looking, he had smoky hair tied in a knot and a long beard that matched. He wore a léine of forest green.
“Welcome to Ráth Cruachan,” he greeted her. His voice sounded like two stones rubbed together. “I am Eamon, steward of this royal hall. What brings you here today?”
They must get many visitors, as he didn’t seem surprised at all by her appearance in the hall. Alannah straightened her shoulders, drawing herself upward. “I bring a message to the king from Ath Luain.”
Eamon nodded solemnly. “The king is away, but I can see if the prince will receive you. Is that acceptable?”
“It is, thank you.” Alannah felt the urge to fidget at the formality, but managed to keep her hands at her sides.
Eamon disappeared back into the main hall, behind the guards and out of her sight.
The murmur of voices trailed toward her, but Alannah couldn’t make out any of the words.
She stood awkwardly, staring straight ahead and wondering if it would be more or less uncomfortable to make eye contact with the guards or let her gaze wander to take in the splendor surrounding her.
Happily, Eamon’s return spared her from the decision.
“My Lordship Teague, eldest son of King Cahill, will see you now. What is your name?”
She told him, then followed the steward past the rest of the bronze walls and their accompanying compartments, glancing down each as they passed and wondering what she’d find if she wandered that direction.
After the final compartment, they entered the main hall, where a hearth as wide as Conan was tall drenched the cavernous room with warmth and light.
Instead of stools, elegant wooden chairs surrounded the beckoning flames, draped with blankets and furs.
The rest of the room held tables and several other circles of chairs.
At one of the tables to Alannah’s left, a group of men played games and drank.
On the far side of the room, nearer to the hearth, several women in elegant dresses worked on mending.
One woman skillfully embroidered a rainbow of colorful threads into a dress.
In two of the chairs next to the hearth, facing the doorway where Alannah entered, were a pair of men who looked near her own age—likely close to thirty or just past. It was to these men that Eamon led her.
“My lord, this is Alannah nic Lorcan of Ath Luain, here to bring you a message.” He bowed, backing away and gesturing Alannah forward.
“What is your trade, Alannah?” A tall, fit man with long, dark hair that reminded her of Conan’s tilted his head curiously at her.
“My sister and I own a guesting house in Ath Luain,” she answered. “The Hart’s Rest. King Cahill graciously permitted us to rent the land from him to build it four years ago.”
“Does that manner of work require you to wear trews and carry a sword?”
“No, lord. I do it to more easily protect my sister. Men have a tendency to lose their good sense around her. The sword knocks it back into them.”
He and the man beside him, smaller of stature and with curly pale hair, laughed at her reply. “And the trews?”
“They make the wielding of the sword and the escorting of the rowdy men easier. Long skirts tend to get in the way.” He certainly was taking a great interest in her choice of attire.
But, then, it was a little unusual to wear to call on the royal family.
If she’d given it more thought, Alannah would have brought one of her nicer gowns to wear.
She’d been in such a hurry to relay the message that she hadn’t stopped to think about bringing presentable clothes.
“I’m certain they do,” he smiled. “What is the message you bring to your king? I will relay it myself upon his return.”
“The causeway at Ath Luain was attacked. Someone tried to burn it, but we put the fires out before much damage could be done.”
His dark brow furrowed, oddly reminding her of Conan yet again. It seemed even miles away she couldn’t keep the roguish bard from her thoughts.
“Have any subsequent attempts been made to destroy it?” the prince asked.
Alannah shook her head. “No, lord, though I fear they are forthcoming. I came here to ask for men to help us guard it against further attacks.”
Teague brought a hand to his face, stroking the short, dark beard on his chin and staring into the fire.
Alannah waited, giving him time to decide what course of action he believed best.
“How badly did it burn?” he asked. “I imagine that even if it is still usable, it may need repairs.”
Alannah fought the urge to shuffle her feet, forcing herself to keep looking toward the prince. “I didn’t inspect it very closely, lord.” She should have, though. How had she not thought to do so?
He nodded, his eyes still pensive. “I believe my father would wish to inspect it himself, but he won’t be returning for some time. I will come to Ath Luain in his stead. You own a hostelry, you say? Have you any rooms free?”
“Aye, lord, but they’re far too small for a prince. We have but one stone cottage, and it’s already occupied. I’m building another, but it isn’t ready yet.”
“I will come see the available rooms and decide for myself what is fit for a prince,” he declared. “You have a few days to prepare, as I have business to attend here first. I will bring men with me to stand guard until the culprits of the fire are found.”
Alannah bowed, feeling much like a goose pretending to be a swan. “Thank you, lord. We’ll look forward to your visit.”
“Thank you, Alannah, for taking it upon yourself to relay the news of the fire. Until I arrive, you have my permission to set a watch and investigate it as you see fit. If you wish, you may sleep here before returning to Ath Luain. Eamon,” he called.
The steward stepped forward beside Alannah.
“If she wishes to stay, she may have a room in the fifth compartment.”
Alannah thanked him again, her curiosity getting the better of her nerves.
She wasn’t about to pass by the opportunity to see what lay beyond the bronze walls, no matter how out of place she felt in a hall of kings.
If Emer was alone back in Ath Luain, Alannah would not have stayed.
But knowing that the bards were keeping watch in Alannah’s stead made her comfortable accepting the prince’s offer of accommodation.
Eamon led her to a room she estimated to be about a quarter of the way around the outside wall of the hall, in the fifth and outermost compartment. The flickering lights of the braziers bounced wildly off the bronze walls, casting dancing shadows as they passed.
The sleeping cubicles were modest, smaller than the individual roundhouses at The Hart’s Rest, but far more luxurious.
Alannah estimated that the corridor through the compartment was about four feet wide, and the cubicle about six feet in both directions.
It looked as though the fourth compartment was made up entirely of little cubicles, which were accessed by doors in the fifth.
Eamon opened one such door, casting into view a small but tidy room with its own brazier.
A pallet covered in linens lay in one corner of the room, a stool and cupboard in another.
“We dine at the none bell. I’ll have a meal sent to you.”
She thanked Eamon, content with the offer of food and a warm bed and the opportunity to see the inside of the royal hall.
Teague hadn’t invited her to dine with them, after all.
The use of a room alone had been most generous.
Her mission completed, Alannah laid down on the soft pallet, wondering how in the world she was going to get the hostelry ready to host a prince in only a few short days.