Lady Ilena (15 page)

A chill wind has risen, and it startles me. I cannot see or hear anyone near the summit, but the evening insect song has lessened. I want to get off this exposed place as soon as
possible and take refuge under cover of trees or shrubs. I head down the side of the mountain, but after only a few steps, I see that I am not on the path that led me up here, and so I return to the top.

I force myself to remain calm and turn slowly until I think I see the right path. Halfway down this well-worn trail, I realize it is not my original route either. If I'm going the wrong way, I could end up hours away from our campsite. I stop and try to gain a sense of where I am. I peer out through trees and can see water stretching off in both directions. I must be heading toward River Leven, so I can take the main trail along the river back to Eogan.

I sigh with relief and try to hurry, but I'm exhausted and find myself stumbling. At last I stop just above the river and lean against a boulder, drawing in big gulps of air. As I step onto the trail, I hear a horse stamp its foot. I take two cautious steps and shrink against a tree trunk, motionless, breathing as quietly as possible, but it is too late.

“There! By the tree,” a man says. “Light a torch.”

I leap away from the tree and race along the path, praying that they will not bother to chase me, but I manage only a short distance before I trip and fall over a tree root. When I pick myself up, I'm in the center of a group of warriors— two women, one holding a torch, and three men, all carrying the square shields of those from north of Dee. My hand has fallen to my dirk, but strong arms drag me to my feet.

At first I twist and kick in an attempt to get free, but the
men holding me are too strong. I won't give my captors the satisfaction of subduing me, so I stand still, my head high, my mouth firmly closed, and make no further resistance.

A man who seems to be the leader pulls my dirk from my belt and holds it up under my chin.

“Careful, Hana.” The woman with the torch moves nearer and peers into my face. “I recognize her,” she says. “I was with the scouts at the Ford of Dee. This one stood with the Druid to rouse the ones we fought. She battled like a she-devil at the end.”

Hana grins and lowers the blade. He says, “Let's get across the ford and on to Alcluith then. Andrina and Faolan will want to see her.” He shoves me toward the river.

A chill runs through my body. I'm to meet Andrina and Faolan again. Sorcha, too, no doubt. And now I'm an unarmed captive.

Our progress is hampered by camps that have been set up on every piece of flat land along the east bank of Leven. In most cases we skirt the groups, but sometimes we must ride between clumps of warriors and their fires, which causes considerable grumbling from those near our path. My captors ignore the remarks, and no one challenges them.

I'm wedged in front of one of the women, who grips me with her brawny arms as she handles the reins. Even if I could struggle free of her, I could not get away from the rest. I twist my hands into the horse's mane and hold on with my knees.

The river widens as we approach Alcluith, and the fortress looms larger and larger.

I'm glad to slide off the horse when we stop at a channel
directly across from the fortress, but my relief quickly turns to distress when I realize I'm being dragged into a boat. The long wooden craft holds the six of us and two young men who use poles to push it over the water. While it does not bob up and down like the little leather currach I saw on the lake this morning, the sensation of moving with no good earth beneath me makes my stomach tremble.

We are poled across the channel to a narrow beach beneath the cliff. My captor drags me out of the boat with her and hurries me along with the others till we round a rocky outcrop and approach a group of warriors seated in front of a building.

A woman stands and challenges us. “And you're with Faolan's band?”

“Aye, I'm Hana of Dun Struan,” the leader answers. “We're expected—up above.”

I try to hold myself proudly, though I'm exhausted and every spot in my body aches. The sentry stares at me for a few moments.

“A prisoner for Faolan and Andrina,” Hana says. “They'll be glad to see her.”

The woman nods, and we pass behind the building and begin climbing toward the activity above us. I find it difficult to keep my balance on the rough terrain, but my captor yanks me up when I stumble.

At the narrowest point in the climb, where the cliffs
on both sides press in against the path, we meet a group coming down.

“Make way. Make way.”

I freeze at the familiar voice and strain to see the speaker.

“Hurry up. They'll be wanting more wine any moment, and it'll go hard on us if we haven't got it.” It is Jon, my old friend from Enfert.

I try to see if any of the others are from the vale, but most carry jugs on the shoulder closest to me so that I cannot see their faces.

I shrink against the rock to let the procession pass. My captors have let go of my arms and are so busy cursing and complaining about the delay that they aren't paying attention to me. When Jon comes level with me, I speak quietly. “Jon. Jon, is it you?”

He is watching the trail in front of him until he hears my voice. Then his head snaps up, and he stares straight at me. I see his eyes widen in shock, and his mouth opens as if he might speak, but he looks away quickly and says nothing until he is well past me.

“Move along! We have to be back up here with full wine jugs before the flagons run dry.” His voice is harsher than I've ever heard it. I watch as long as I can see him, but he does not look back.

For a wild moment I am encouraged by Jon's presence; then I realize that he and any others from Enfert with him
must be slaves here and could not possibly help me. And I cannot help them either.

When we stagger up the last rocky patch, we are on a flat space between the two high peaks of Alcluith. A round house stands against the eastern peak, and another, rectangular in the manner of Saxon buildings, is beside it. The smell of food fills the air and servants hurry through the area with planks of meat and large wine jugs.

The ground is covered with people; at least eight fires have circles of men and women crowded together around them eating and drinking. We weave our way through, stopping now and then for my captors to exchange greetings with friends, until we are in front of the rectangular building, facing three people seated on a bench—Andrina, Faolan, and Sorcha.

Andrina lounges at one end of the wooden seat with her back against the daub wall of the building behind her. Sorcha and Faolan sit close together a short distance from her. Hana bends to speak with Faolan. I can't hear what they are saying, but Faolan smiles broadly as he listens.

I knew that I would be presented to Faolan and Andrina as a prize by my captors, and I had seen Sorcha riding with Faolan. Still, I'm not prepared for the rage that overcomes me at the sight of them. I square my shoulders, raise my head high, and clench my fists.

“Ilena!” Sorcha squeals in her excitement. “The chief of Dun Alyn herself!”

“Not chief anymore, we've heard,” Faolan says. “Not that it would matter. After we take Cameliard, Dun Alyn will be next, and Sorcha will be restored as the rightful chief.”

“At least I'm not a traitor to Britain!” I say as loudly as I can.

Andrina stands and looks out over the crowd. It is so quiet now that I can hear wood crackling in a nearby fire. “Welcome, friends,” she begins. “We have an unexpected guest—Ilena of Dun Alyn. Once chief of that fortress, till she failed to hold her place at Belert's sword side.”

There is a wave of conversation behind me.

Faolan is beside Andrina now, and when it's quiet again, he says, “A band of my scouts stumbled over Ilena near the Ford of Leven. She was alone—as befits a coward who has been forced out of her fortress.” He turns to Andrina. “Will you bring out that pet of yours? And the famous Dragon Chief? We have three captives now for the ceremonies tomorrow.”

Andrina's pet? Could it be Durant? Might he still be alive? My hopes rise—then crash as I realize I can't help him. The Dragon Chief, of course, is Arthur. Vorgel was right; he is a captive here. Andrina motions to someone in the crowd behind me, and four warriors come forward.

“Bring the prisoners here.”

My captors have moved back into the crowd, so I am standing alone now, but I make no effort to go anywhere. I want to be right here when Arthur and Durant come—if it is
Durant. Escaping from this spot would do little good anyway. Even if I could get away from all these people, I'd still be trapped on an island.

Andrina leans over to talk with Faolan and Sorcha. I can't hear the conversation because the noise behind me has risen.

“Server! Over here!”

“Wine! Where are those wine carriers?”

“Bring more bread—and hurry with it.”

Jon must be back there somewhere with his wine jug. I wish that I dared turn around to see, but I don't want to call attention to myself and risk getting tied up or removed before the other prisoners are brought.

When I hear footsteps in the darkness behind the building, I try to prepare myself for whatever happens.

The first prisoner must be Arthur. I've not seen him before, but the tall young man with red hair who strides into view, defiant despite his bound arms, matches the bards' descriptions of the Dragon Chief.

I stare into the darkness behind him, willing away my desire to see Durant and praying that he is somewhere else— somewhere safe.

But it is Durant. He is not bound. His head droops, and he seems frail. He moves listlessly and appears to have little interest in his surroundings.

“Durant!” I close the distance between us in two quick steps.

He does not respond at first. Then he looks closely at me and his face changes. “Ilena!” His arms circle my body, and we embrace for a brief sweet moment.

Rough hands tear us apart. I'm wrestled into place beside Arthur, and Hana stands near me with his hand on his sword.

Durant is pushed to a spot on Arthur's other side.

Arthur looks from one of us to the other. “Courage, friends,” he says.

“Silence!” Andrina orders.

She looks out over the assembly. “Tomorrow the chiefs of Alcluith—Camilla, my sister, and Cedric, her Saxon husband—will lead us into battle. Only Cameliard stands between us and victory across the North. Dun Alyn, Dun Dreug, Dun Selig, and Glein will fall like ancient trees in a storm as we march northward. With Arthur our captive, his forces cannot hold against us.

“Tomorrow we will meet here again, and Ilena of Dun Alyn, Durant of Hadel, and Arthur himself, our captive since the last new moon, will die.” She pauses for a moment and cheering breaks out. When it quiets down, she continues. “The next day they will ride with us—their heads on our spears—to lead the way to our victory.”

A cold fear starts in my belly. So this is how it is to be—a sword stroke, and my head mounted on a lance to frighten my people! I take a deep breath and try to compose myself. If I'm to die, I will look courageous to the end.

“Take them away.” Andrina reaches over and pushes me.

As I catch myself, I turn and find Durant watching me with such intensity that it brings tears to my eyes. A Saxon warrior holds a spear in front of him to prevent any attempt to come to me.

“Wait!” Faolan grabs my arm. His face is red from too much wine, and he slurs his words. “This woman insulted me, as her father and her sister insulted me before.” He pulls his dirk from his belt and holds the blade against my cheek.

I stand very still, barely breathing, and try to keep my face expressionless.

Sorcha leans forward and says, “She killed my grandfather and forced me out of my home.”

Faolan taps my face with the blade. “I'll have your revenge, Sorcha. After tomorrow no one will dispute your place as chief of Dun Alyn.”

I press my lips together and force myself to keep still.

Arthur has moved from my side to a spot behind me. Now he tries to push himself between us. “Let her go, Faolan! She's no threat to you now.”

Andrina signals and two warriors leap forward to pull the Dragon Chief away from us. They shove him against the building and stay beside him.

There is little I can do with a knife to my face, but I'll gain nothing by submitting helplessly to whatever torture Faolan plans. When he lowers the knife and pulls me closer to him, I gather all my strength, twist my body, and slam my
knee into his groin. As he doubles over in pain, the knife flies out of his grasp and clatters onto the hard ground.

He straightens, grabs me by the hair, and slaps me across the face. The blow is so hard that I cry out despite my resolve to remain quiet.

“Let her go!” The wild cry startles everyone into silence.

Durant slams the Saxon's spear aside, scoops up Faolan's dirk, and leaps onto his back. Before he can be pulled away, he clamps his arm around the wolf-man's neck, and stabs him over and over.

The two of them lurch back and forth and stumble against me. I fall to the ground and warm blood spurts over me as I twist and roll myself out from under their feet. When I lift my head, Sorcha is moving toward us.

She holds a sword high, waiting her chance.

“Durant!” I scream as loudly as I can. “Behind you— Sorcha!” But it's too late, and I cannot get up in time to stop her.

She plunges the blade into Durant's back.

Both men, locked in a deadly embrace, fall to the ground and roll toward me. With help from Andrina, Faolan staggers to his feet, though blood is pouring from wounds in his chest.

Durant quivers and jerks on the stony ground and then lies still with the sword protruding from his back. I crawl to him and call, “Durant. Durant,” but there is no response.

I'm not sure how I make my way to the prison. My guards have a tight hold on my arms and carry or drag me when my legs give way. Tears are streaming down my face, and I can't wipe them away, nor do I want to.

Arthur and I are taken behind the buildings to an enclosure built against a steep cliff on what I think is the northern side of the island. There is a roofed room for guards; the two on duty are playing knucklebones when we enter.