Chapter 13 #2
“Not very far now. It is a special place for my family. It was my father’s escape when we lost men, when raiders came from Briton, from the Continent, from the north.
” He glanced at Kylin. “Men came here, as we all know, hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years ago. We have their ancient burial passageways. We have found many of the first weapons that they made. We have great scholars among us now—when St. Patrick came and we opened our monasteries, many began to record our history and our stories. But over the years, good men and women have come from the continent, from the North . . . For man travels, he seeks good spaces for farming, for raising cows and sheep and for raising his children as well. The Gaels, perhaps, have the greatest bloodline now, but throughout the years, we have mixed, and we will mix again. Thus is the conflict, and the beauty, of man. But I digress. My father loved this place. He brought me often when I was a child. He called it his secret castle, not a place made of stone, but of nature!”
“Thank you, Cillian. Thank you for sharing something so special and unique to you,” Kylin told him.
Cillian nodded and looked at him. He stroked his long white beard. “And I thank you.”
“For . . . ?”
“For realizing that while I will fight, when necessary, that this long white beard is indicative of a few years of age!”
Kylin laughed. “Sire, I’d be happy for you to have my back anywhere, anytime.”
“Again, thank you for that. I hope to live for the main conflict. I had a strange dream last night.”
“Oh?” Kylin said.
Hopefully, it was nothing like my own!
“I saw the great Hill of Tara. I saw a rush of men. But over their battle cry, I heard another, and saw another great flood. They were there, Kylin. They came to Tara, but we were prepared, as you have tried so valiantly to make sure happens. I hope that this dream—so real I thought I lived it—speaks of truth!”
“I believe so, sire. I believe that we are being helped.” Kylin hesitated. “You didn’t happen to see the traitor in your dream, did you?”
“Nay, lad, I’m afraid not. Yet . . .”
“Yes?” Kylin pressed gently.
“We ride with Eion. We must pray that it isn’t him. Yet, I cannot believe that it is Eion. He loved his father. He learned his devotion to his people and to Declan through his father, who was, by the way, a good friend to your father, to me, to Eamon.”
“I believe we can put our faith in Eion,” Kylin said.
“If not, you’re heading into a precarious mission indeed,” Cillian warned.
“His men were killed. Since every man will be needed, I don’t believe he’d have allowed for his own men to be slaughtered if he knew how to stop it.”
“And I don’t believe that Eion would betray me or the ard-rí, and thus, I am all right with this mission,” Cillian told him. “Still . . .”
“We will be vigilant,” Kylin promised.
Cillian reined in, looking around. Kylin realized they’d ridden several hours; he knew where they were and was curious, for in all his previous travels, it had seemed that the forests bordering the hills of Derue were far too thick for the existence of any trails, much less any kind of a clearing.
“Ahead, just a bit. We’ll reach the trail,” Cillian said.
He pointed to the southwest. “There, the hills of Derue begin. There will be a certain amount of cover you can use to reach them, and you will discover low hills and great crags, ancient earth that appears gentle at times, but offers dangerous pits and crannies and high ledges. I don’t believe that it has been legends of banshees, demons or other evil beings that have kept people away—the ground is simply far too hard for man to manipulate, or even for goats to traverse. ”
“So close to our sacred land of Tara, and yet . . .” Deidre murmured.
“So inhospitable,” Cillian finished for her. “Stay close, the trail lies just ahead.”
“Cillian, we’d never have found so perfect a place,” Kylin marveled.
As they moved ahead and reached the trail—indiscernible to the naked eye even from the edge of the plain—he realized the truth of his words more fully.
The trail was so narrow at first, so laden with brush and roots, that it was slow going through. But then the trees took on a more even path and the brush became lower. Still, they rode through the winding trail miles farther until at last, and suddenly, they broke into a small clearing.
Rich green grass grew in a small circumference amid a thick growth of trees, perfect for the horses.
There appeared to be one way into the clearing—without crawling over thick brush and roots—but Cillian pointed out an escape route should one be needed.
It could only be traveled on foot, but he sincerely doubted that they would need it, or that anyone at the other end of it could possibly know of its existence.
The escape trail went far to the south and the west, heading closer to their own lands than Cillian’s.
They dismounted and looked around.
Kylin looked up at the sky. They had been riding most of the day, but slowly and carefully, pausing several times to water and rest the horses. The sun was still up, but falling in the western horizon.
“Darkness,” he said.
Cillian was by him, staring into the trees, stroking his long beard.
“Aye, the night will come on quickly, despite the hour in which we left. But—”
“Darkness might be our friend!” Deidre said, joining them.
Cillian pointed through the trees. “You can slip out through the trees that way on foot, but if you keep to the trail, you miss the far access to the hills. To reach the hills, you’ll need to crawl over roots and stumps and go through the brush.”
“Which we’ll all do,” Eion said, coming up to them.
“Are you sure that you don’t want us to come with you, be a force?”
Kylin turned. It was Cillian’s man, Alaric, speaking to him.
He knew Alaric, just as he knew Magnus, because they had trained together at times at the ard-rí’s castle.
He was a good man, to the best of Kylin’s knowledge, and through the conversations they’d had over the years.
But it was hard to trust anyone. Still . . .
“I intend to wait here through the night,” Cillian said, “head home by morning’s light. But—”
“Alaric, thank you. I will feel best if you are here, with Cillian. This place is remote, and not just that—I believe that our strength will be in discovering what this ‘banshee’ is, who is in the hills, perhaps taking them out, perhaps knowing that we do need a major assault if we’re to take down something.
But if we don’t know what is going on, they could disappear—they might have hiding places in those hills and if we don’t find them, we may expend a great deal of force and energy on nothing when something is surely on the way. ”
“Of course,” Alaric said. He was young and well-built as so many of the warriors. He grimaced. “It’s just hard to be trained to battle—and become a groom for a night.”
“Not a groom. A guard for an extremely important rí,” Kylin assured him.
Alaric grinned. “So, then, I shall dig into the saddlebags and find food.” He sighed. “We dare not build a real fire.”
“Sadly, there can be no fire.” Kylin looked at Cillian, hoping the cool dampness that would come by night wouldn’t be too hard on the elderly rí.
“I think I’ll roll out my blanket,” Cillian said, grinning. “I shall take advantage of my position—and my age—and let you young people bring out the food.”
Deidre moved quickly to help Alaric. Cillian’s two other warriors were also intent on bringing out the food, along with Eion.
They didn’t need more help.
Kylin sat down by Cillian and realized that the older man was watching Deidre. He looked at Kylin as he realized that he was being observed.
“She is quite something, your betrothed,” Cillian told him.
“Aye, that she is,” he agreed.
Cillian was quiet for a minute. Then he let out a soft sigh and spoke softly.
“I remember the attack that killed her mother. Aidan and Deidre were small children at the time. Workers had been repairing a breach in the wall and an enemy combatant crawled over it, seeking whatever riches he might find within the rí’s castle.
Eamon had no idea that any men had slipped past the fighting on the shore.
He was busy putting down the assault, which he did.
But with the enemy defeated, he returned to find the man still in his home—with his dead wife’s body.
Needless to say, there was little mercy in Eamon when he fought the man who killed his wife.
She was such a sweet and gentle soul. I believe that their marriage had been a love match—Deidre’s mother was a cousin to the ard-rí.
Eamon blamed himself for years and years.
He probably still does. But when we spoke after, he told me that he’d never tell another man—any man, a nobleman, a sheepherder, or any man in between—what he should do.
But his daughter would always know how to defend herself.
I’m not sure exactly what was done to Deidre’s mother but .
. . Eamon was determined that his daughter would never be weak, that if any man attacked her, he’d be at tremendous risk for his own life. ”
“We live in a violent world. It’s important that we all know how to defend ourselves,” Kylin told him.