The Well of Shades (67 page)

T
HEY CAME IN
through the gates, after the usual challenge from the men on duty. As soon as they rode into the lower courtyard it was apparent something was afoot. Men were assembling, collecting
torches, heading off in every direction within the walls. Garth was issuing orders. At the sight of Faolan with Saraid mute and still before him in the saddle, the big bodyguard froze, staring, then hastened over to lift the child down.

“Where was she? Where did you find her?”

“On her own in the woods near the bottom of the hill. What’s happened? Where’s Eile?” He was cold; cold all through.

“We can’t find her or Derelei. We thought Saraid was with them. Nobody’s seen them since this morning.”

“This morning? And you’re only searching now?”

“Eile had the two children; folk just assumed they were safe within the house and gardens somewhere. Faolan, I need to—”

“How can nobody have seen them? This is ridiculous—” He heard the panic in his own voice and made himself breathe.

“The king
is speaking to folk now, questioning them. It’s being done properly, Faolan, I promise you. But if
you found this little one outside the walls, we’re going to have to change our tactics. Gods, what a turn-up.”

“Saraid won’t talk,” Faolan said. “She can’t tell us what happened.” He could feel the little hand holding on to his tunic; the little form by his side, pressing herself closely against
his leg.

“She must be able to tell us something.” Garth eyed the child, who turned her face away, burying it against Faolan’s thigh. “Would she talk to Elda? You’d best take her to our quarters, anyway. We must be able to get something out of her, some sort of clue. Maybe once she’s warm and fed and with friends, she’ll be prepared to talk. Tell Elda it’s urgent.”

Faolan nodded, picking Saraid
up and wondering if he could bear to surrender her, even to Elda, whom he trusted completely. He was going to have to ask Garth’s wife to undress the child and check for injuries; to find out if anyone had molested her. The very idea filled him with a white-hot anger. “I’ll be back here as soon as I can,” he said, setting a well-practiced veneer of calm on his features.
Eile, Eile…
“I’d suggest
you get the men organized to search down the hill before the light goes; if Eile and the boy were in the house or garden surely they’d have been seen by now. Uric, our other business must wait. I won’t forget.”

F
AOLAN HAD NEVER
seen Bridei looking so white, or so old. This seemed to have sucked something out of the king; it was clear what an immense struggle it was
for him to remain calm and composed. He had Aniel with him as he interviewed, in turn, each member of the household who might possibly have seen Saraid or Derelei or Eile that day. Faolan made his report, doing his own hard work to remain in control of his voice and expression. “I don’t think Saraid’s been hurt,” he said at the end. “But she’s frightened; whatever has happened, she seems too
scared to talk, even to me. Elda’s checking to make sure she’s unharmed, then she’ll try to get something useful out of her.”

“We need to know if Eile and my son went outside the walls; whether they went out walking, or were taken by someone. Abducted. Couldn’t you question the child yourself?”

“I did try, Bridei. Saraid’s closed up as tight as a limpet. She seems determined not to speak.”

“Try again.” Bridei’s tone was uncharacteristically sharp. “I cannot imagine how this has happened. Such a lapse in security here in the heart of White Hill seems unthinkable. You believe they’ve gone outside the walls, don’t you? I hear it in your voice.”

“Eile would never leave her daughter alone in the woods. She’d never allow Saraid to go beyond the fortress without her. If Saraid was out,
so must Eile be, and Derelei with her.”

“They’d have had to go through the gates. None of the men on duty has reported seeing them.”

“Indeed. And Eile knows, as all your people do, that Derelei does not leave White Hill without guards in attendance. There’s some kind of foul play here, Bridei. We need to move the search out into the woods. Folk can’t just disappear within the walls of a place
like this. Especially not a little child like Derelei.” Faolan did not voice one obvious exception to his own theory; that once a child was dead he no longer made noise when hungry or thirsty or tired. He would not say it; Bridei was strung tight enough already. “I’ll lead a search party outside, if you agree.”

“It’s almost dark. There’s no point going beyond the base of the hill before dawn
tomorrow; you could easily miss them. Garth has already sent men to the settlement. They’ll scour that thoroughly. Yes, by all means institute a search of the woods around the hill, and take dogs. Faolan—” Bridei hesitated.

“What is it?” Faolan was barely listening; his mind
was concentrated on how the search might most effectively be done, how to deploy men and dogs, which were the likeliest
spots for a child to conceal himself in. Which were the routes a man, or men, might take if they wanted to abduct a woman.

“You’ll hear some talk around the place.” It was Aniel who spoke, his grave features even more serious than usual. “Theories about what has occurred and why. It’s foolish talk, but folk tend to want to accuse at such times, to find a culprit.”

“What are you saying?”

“Eile’s
a Gael. She’s had a position of trust with Derelei. It’s inevitable that people will jump to the conclusion that this is a kidnapping engineered by disaffected Dalriadans or by Gabhran’s powerful kinsmen in your home country. There’s talk that she was planted here in order to do precisely this; to win the king’s and queen’s trust, then spirit away their son to be held for ransom. Our enemies
would have much to gain from such a plot. To some it seems entirely plausible.”

Faolan’s fists tightened with fury. “You’re not telling me you believe this filth?”

“No, Faolan,” Aniel said wearily. “I know the girl and I know you. If Eile was given trust, it was because she merited it. Others look at her and see only the enemy. It is not so long since we and the Dalriadans were at one another’s
throats. These folk have lost fathers and brothers to the Gaels.”

“You need to know this,” Bridei said, “if you’re to take control of the search, in part or in full. We’ve already had Dovran take to a fellow with his fists for making a remark about Eile. All of us need to keep calm. That is the best way to do this. It is the best way to find them.” The king’s voice shook on the last words.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Faolan made himself say. “Garth and I will arrange this together. Saraid was close enough to the base of the hill. With luck we’ll find the others quickly.”

“I want to come with you,” Bridei said. “I want to find my son. He’s only two, and it’s cold out there. Aniel and Tharan say I must not. There is a possibility this whole thing is designed to draw me out of the protection
of White Hill by night and to separate me from my personal guards. An assassination attempt. Dovran will remain on duty here with us. Do what you can, you and Garth; know that I rely on your courage and expertise. I’m sorry this has come so close to you. That Eile is involved.”

Faolan managed a brief nod, then turned on his heel and left them. The sooner he got back to Garth, the sooner they
changed the orders to get the searchers outside with dogs and torches, the better chance they had of finding Derelei before he perished from cold, and of reaching Eile before… before something happened to rob her of her newfound happiness and confidence. Before something plunged her back into the nightmare of Dalach.

A
T A CERTAIN
point, before the sky began to brighten,
they called off the search and sent the men home to rest. Almost the entire manpower of White Hill had been out; Faolan had seen Talorgen’s sons among the searchers, Uric intent and focused, Bedo doing his best with his arm still strapped in a sling. For now, their other quest must take second priority. Even King Keother had joined the search, attended by his own guards, his shock of fair hair
and impressive stature making him clearly visible among the darker, shorter forms of the men of Fortriu. Once or twice the dogs had caught a scent and the search had taken on a new dimension, but each time it had petered out, the hounds losing the trail to mill about in confusion.

With every moment that passed Faolan felt a new
tightening of the heart, a new clutching at the gut. He fought to
keep his mind from seeing her in peril, hurt, cold, afraid. To do this job well, he must banish his own feelings entirely. The time was coming when the men must sleep or be unfit to resume this task by daylight. He caught up with Garth and agreed on the order, though his own urge to keep searching was hard to deny.

They went home and the men dispersed quietly to their various quarters; only a
token guard was left atop the walls and in the courtyard.

“I’ll report to the king,” Faolan said to Garth. “I won’t disturb Elda at this hour, but it would please me if, before you rest, you would check that Saraid is well and sleeping. If she’s awake and asks for me, call me. Please.”

“Of course.” Garth was showing signs of exhaustion, stalwart and strong as he was. “We recommence at first
light, yes?”

“The men must be fed; once that’s done, we’ll talk to them in the yard. The search must go wider once it’s day. I have a plan.”

“Good, you’ve done better than I have; my head’s incapable of another rational thought. Make sure you catch some sleep, Faolan. Nobody can go on forever.”

It was evident to Faolan, on entering the royal apartments, that nobody was expecting him to announce
success. Bridei sat with his head in his hands; beside him was Tuala, calmer than her husband, but with a look in her eyes that stopped Faolan in his tracks. Not sorrow, not fear, not anger, though all three were present there. It was an expression of implacable determination. By the hearth was Aniel, a reassuring presence in his councillor’s robe, gray hair rumpled, eyes maintaining calm. A
flask, cups, a platter of food stood on the small table. All were untouched.

Faolan had already passed Dovran in the hallway. A glance had gone between them conveying, on both sides,
apology, distress, understanding. “I want to search,” Dovran had said. “At dawn, when they go out again, I want to be there.”

“Someone has to guard the king.”

“Let Garth do it. I need to go out. I need to find
her.”

“That’s not my decision,” Faolan had told him, swallowing his first reaction. “If you’ve energy to spare, put it to planning. They could have gone a long way by now. How do we cover the territory with the resources we have? Apply yourself to that. It doesn’t matter who finds her, as long as the two of them are found before it’s too late.”

Now, within the king’s quarters, the atmosphere
was tense. Faolan reported what had been done; apologized for not doing better. He was feeling quite odd. It was not just the ever-present pain in his leg, but a vagueness, a disassociation, as if his mind did not quite belong to his body. Dimly he was aware that Garth was right. He needed to rest. But who could rest at such a time?

“Thank you,” Bridei said. “You should go and lie down awhile.
It’s not long until sunrise.”

“Before you go, Faolan,” Tuala looked up from her position kneeling on the floor beside her husband, with Ban close by, “we need to tell you something. Fola! Come through.”

The wise woman emerged from the inner chamber. Of them all, she looked the least exhausted, her silver hair neatly caught back, her strong old features serene, though the dark eyes were troubled.
“Anfreda’s stirring,” she said.

“That is good,” said Tuala. “Best if she feeds just before… Faolan, there’s a certain matter you need to know. It’s to be kept confined to a very small group of people. Those of us present now, with Tharan and Dorica, already know about it. We’ll extend that to Garth and Elda, and also Dovran. Faolan, I… I have a way to reach my son. I believe it is possible. I’m
not speaking of scrying, of attempting to see him in a vessel or mirror.
We need more than that now. Derelei possesses powerful abilities in the craft of magic. As great, perhaps, as Broichan’s, but only partly formed; lacking in the expert controls required to channel such skills to wise use. Derelei is only a little child. His speech is limited; his physical skills are those of any two-year-old
boy. He may be a budding mage, but at the same time he’s a vulnerable infant with little knowledge of the world and its dangers. I need to bring him home, and fast. There’s only one way I can do that. It involves… going away.”