Son of the Shadows (64 page)

"You should perhaps restrain your tongue. I have not yet agreed to the other part of this bargain."

"The deal is all or nothing. If you will not release the prisoners, I will make no agreement."

"I need time."

"You cannot have time. If I wished to do so, I could give my brother this news right now, while you watched. I could open my mind to his, and I could tell him. If you tried to harm me, he would know immediately. I would not hesitate."

"A pox on you, Liadan! Curse you and your sorceress's ways!"

"Will you release these men?" It was becoming harder and harder to keep control.

"Very well," he said suddenly. "Take your wretched lover and his bizarre companion. See what use they are to you after their brief but eventful sojourn in my custody. But there can be no safe conduct. There's not a man in my garrison, nor anywhere in my lands, who would convey the Painted Man to the border without sticking a knife in his back. Once outside these walls, you're on your own."

"You're saying you will let us go, so that your archers may shoot us down before we set foot on the road? That won't do. I need better than that. Do you want me to talk to my brother? Shall I call to him?"

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"No. We'll play a little game, I think. When Aisling is gone, if she is able to go, I'll set you a task of hide and seek. First you find your outlaw. Then you get him out. We'll help with that, or you'll be all night at it.

There'll be no 'foot on the road.' Let him go out the way he once came in, over the marshes.

Don't they say no mission is beyond him? That should be easy, then. Across the hidden way, with a woman and a small child, and a man without the full use of his hands. Simple, I should think.

You'll see what sort of a hero he is then. We might perhaps set you a time to achieve this. You'll need to be gone by dusk, I think.

After that, we'll come down with torches and start shooting again. My men don't get much excitement these days."

"That is—evil," I whispered, staring at him. Was this the man with whom I had once danced at Imbolc, a man I had once considered a good choice for a husband, if I had been able to teach him to smile? Was it indeed I who had changed him so completely, simply by saying no? My heart was cold. "Is not this bargain on my terms?"

"Not quite. You might decide to tell your secret now, to try to convince your brother of what you know, at a distance. You might do it, and destroy my life. But as soon as you took that step, the Painted Man would die. You would not save him that way. And your brother cares nothing for the outlaw. He is merely another piece on the board to be won or lost."

I ran my tongue over lips suddenly parched. "Very well. We have reached agreement. Now send for

Aisling."

"You will not speak to my sister of this. That much must be understood."

"It's understood, Eamonn. Now send for her, and for my men at arms."

Aisling looked sick and wretched. Her small, freckled face was ashen white, and I could see the bones beneath the skin. Her eyes were purple and swollen, and her curling red hair unkempt.

"Liadan," she whispered, heedless of her brother's grim looks and of the six men at arms waiting in the hall. "Oh, Liadan, you came! Where's Sean?"

"Waiting for you at Sevenwaters," I said calmly, though I could have wept to see the state my friend was in. "Your brother has given you permission to go. These men will see you safely there.

I've asked the women to pack you a little bag, and your horse is ready. You'll leave right away."

"Oh, Liadan, thank you. Oh, thank you, Eamonn!"

It was just as well, I thought, that she was at such an extreme of distress and exhaustion that it did not occur to her to ask any questions. No doubt they would come to her later when she was already on her way.

"My lady—" The leader of my guards was frowning with concern.

"These are your orders," I told him firmly. "Leave now, straightaway.

Make your way back to Seven-waters as quickly as you can; but remember the Lady Aisling has been ill, and will need to rest, as I did. Tell my brother I will come later."

"Our orders were to guard you." He sounded doubtful. "If we depart, you have no safe conduct."

"Lord Eamonn can provide what protection I need," I said. "I will remain here awhile longer.

Tell my brother Lord Eamonn will be in touch. Now go, and you should be there by dusk tomorrow."

"Very well, my lady."

I climbed the steps to the place where the sentries paced. I looked out over the causeway and the long, straight track that was the only safe way out of Sidhe Dubh. I stood there watching until Aisling's auburn hair and the leather helms of the men at arms had vanished into the distance.

Then I went to the kitchens and reclaimed my son and fed him, I bound him to my back again, ready for travel. Out in the courtyard, Eamonn was waiting.

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"I thought I'd watch this game," he said. "But I find I haven't the stomach for it. Don't worry, my guards have instructions to let you wander about. If you need keys, or a strong man to loosen a bolt or two, just ask and they'll help you. But you enjoy this kind of thing, don't you, Liadan? I'm told you prowled about the place like a little cat in heat last time you were here. Off you go, then. There's not so long till dusk after all. Oh, and do something about that bird of yours, will you? If it swoops down on my guards just one more time, its next appearance will be on the supper table, neatly enclosed in piecrust."

We had walked across the courtyard as he spoke, and Fiacha flew over our heads to alight on the shafts of an empty cart that stood there.

"Off you go then," Eamonn repeated, as if dismissing a troublesome child.

I had no doubt where this search must be undertaken, and I feared what it might reveal. I made a rapid decision and looked direct into Fiacha's bright, knowing eye.

Go

, I told him.

Fetch help. Go now. I

need help before dusk

.

He was gone, swift as an arrow from the bow, a dark streak soaring into the sky and away southward, ever southward. Then I picked up my skirts and walked down into the underground way, forward into the shadows.

It was difficult for the guards, I think. They had their orders, and they would obey them. Still they glanced at one another and muttered among themselves as I searched their underground domain, through one dark cell after another, gritting my teeth to keep back the tears, trying to still my drumming heart and quiet my breathing as I blundered into empty room after empty room.

"Where are they?" I demanded. "Tell me!" But they shuffled their boots and kept their mouths shut. The

Painted Man could expect nothing from Eamonn's folk, save fear and loathing.

Behind the small cells I already knew of, there was an iron-bolted door. I asked for assistance, and a big, gray-haired man with muscles like heavy knotted cords came forward to open it for me. There were rough steps leading downward.

"I need a lantern." Johnny was wriggling on my back, now tired of the restriction to his movements.

Having so recently learned to get about on his own, he was eager for fresh explorations and new adventures. I would not think of Johnny and the path across the swamp. I would think only of what came next, right now.

"Lord Eamonn said nothing about lanterns."

"I need a light. It's pitch-black down there. I could fall and break the child's neck. Would you take that story back to your wife tonight?"

Nobody moved. Grimly, I gathered my skirts and went forward down the steps. One. Two. It was so dark I could not see my hand before my face.

"Here, my lady."

Light flickered on the stone walls. The gray-haired guard was on the step behind me, a small lantern in his hand. I reached out for it.

"I'll bear it for you. You take care for the child. These steps are old and uneven."

There were ten steps, and a narrow passageway deep under the earth. It was very quiet. If rats or beetles made their home in this buried place, there was no sign of it. The dim light revealed iron rings, bolted to the cobweb-shrouded walls. At the end of the passage, another door, more of a grille, fastened with a loop of heavy chain. The place was airless, stifling.

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"My lady." The guard spoke under his breath, awkwardly. "These men are outlaws, scarce worth the trouble of tossing on the midden. You should leave this, and save yourself and the child.

You'll never get away across the marshes. Try it and you're as good as dead, and your babe with you. Give it up. We'd see you got home safe. None of us wants this on his conscience."

"Give me the key," I said. He put it into my hand without another word.

Beyond the grilled door was another small space, and there I found Gull. I heard his breathing just before the light revealed his dark features, now a sickly gray, his staring eyes bright with fever, his clothing ripped and stained. His wrists were locked in iron shackles above his head, so that he could not move from where he was held, sagging, against his restraints. Filthy, bloodstained rags were roughly wrapped

around his hands.

I moved forward, clenching my teeth.

"Unfasten this man's hands and be quick about it!"

"Liadan," Gull croaked, as the guard reached up to the shackles. Then he sucked in his breath as his wrists were suddenly released, and his arms fell by his sides as if there were no life left in them.

"You'll be in a lot of pain while the feeling comes back," I said, as he sank to the floor with a wheeze of agony. "But there's no time. We must get out of here. Where's Bran? Where's the chief?"

Gull moved his head from side to side, weakly, to indicate he did not know.

"You must know! Somebody must know! We have only until dusk to get away from here!"

"Can . . . walk. Can . . . go." Gull struggled to all fours, then to his knees, then stood up, swaying. "Ready

... to go."

"That's good, Gull. That's very good. See if you can put your arm around my shoulders—watch out for the boy—that's it. I'll help you." I turned to the guard. "Tell me where he is. Please tell me. Would you see all of us die before the sun sets?"

But the man was silent, his eyes chill as he watched Gull's staggering, shivering efforts to walk.

The air was thick and close around us, and each breath was a struggle. Johnny whimpered. If we left now, there would still be some daylight left. If we left now, there would be a chance to be out of sight before dusk. I

might search and search until it was indeed too late and still not find him.

Put the mongrel back in the dark where he belongs

.

"Best to go back up," muttered the guard.

"Not yet," I said. "Stand still. Keep quiet." For it was there, a small cry in the darkness, a feeling of dread, a summoning of will to endure what was beyond endurance.

Where are you'

? I could not tell if it was my own imagination that conjured it or if I truly heard the cry of that lost child who had haunted my thoughts since first I began to learn the truth about the Painted Man:

The voice of my mind whispered into the darkness.

I'm here. Stretch up

Silence. Helpless, shivering silence.

Reach out your hand to me, Johnny. I will help you. Show me where you are

. It was not my son to whom I spoke, my son now blessedly silent, held warm and safe against me. Gull leaned on my shoulder, and I felt the trembling control he exercised over his damaged body to remain upright, to quiet his breathing so that I could listen.

Where are you1? Give me your hand. Reach up just a little farther
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.

There was no sound, not that I could hear. Not in the outer world, nor in the shadowy realm of the mind.

But I knew. Suddenly, I knew. I walked out through the grilled door, with Gull stumbling beside me, and the guard following with the lantern and a scowl on his face. Halfway along the dim subterranean passage, I halted.

You could hardly see it. It was very neatly fashioned, flush with the floor, the only signs of its existence the faint line around the edges, and a small depression in the stone where the trapdoor might be lifted.

Eamonn's ancestor had indeed possessed an unusual and inventive mind.

"Open this trapdoor."

"It's not a job for a man on his own."

"Open it, curse you! Fetch another man if you need one. And hurry!"

They were slow, painfully slow, as I waited, shivering.

Hold on

, I told him.

I'm here. Not long now

.

The trapdoor was heavy, a solid slab of rock a handspan thick. The mechanism seemed finely tuned and expertly maintained. But it took all the strength of the two guards to lift it. At last it stood open.

"Give me the lantern," I said, and they put it into my hand. I placed it on the edge of the rectangular opening in the floor and looked in.

It was a small enough space. Just big enough to take a man who was not particularly tall, if his knees were doubled up to his chin, and his arms bent over his head. Air could get In, but not much. There would be no light. No space to move. A tomb, in which a man might stay alive for a time. How long would depend on what strength he could find deep inside himself. If you took him out occasionally, and fed him, and let him breathe before you put him back in, he might survive to entertain you for quite some time.

"Bran?" I was foolish indeed if I expected an answer. He appeared dead, his features ghastly pale, his curled-up form devoid of any movement. "Get this man out. Quickly."

They did, for their orders were to help me, up to a certain point. But nobody had ordered them to be gentle, and by the time the limp figure had been dragged from the tiny hole where they had stowed him and deposited at my feet, still curled around himself, he bore a few more bruises than before. I knelt by him, and Gull, stifling a curse, squatted beside me.

"He's alive," I said, my fingers feeling the place at the base of the neck, where the blood flowed weakly, my ear catching his faint breathing, so slow, so slow. The lantern cast little light, but I could see the bruising was extensive, and blood was encrusted on his head, where a new, soft growth of brown hair crept over the bold markings of the skin.