“Muirne, do you know where Anluan is today?”
“He’s resting, Caitrin.”
No sign of anyone this morning; even the scarecrow was absent. Perhaps my companions from last night had been felled by the same headache that had interrupted my work.
The sun was out, sending dappled light down through the trees. It had been raining again and the air was fresh. I made my way along one of the overgrown paths, thinking how quiet it was. In fact, it was unnaturally quiet. Where was everyone? Surely Magnus wouldn’t let a headache keep him from his daily work. Suddenly I felt ill at ease, my skin prickling, my palms clammy.
A single furtive footfall. My heart lurched. Before I could turn, someone grabbed me from behind.
I fought. I had not known I could fight so hard, clawing, biting, kicking like a wild creature in a trap. Cillian, it was Cillian, I knew his voice, the voice of my worst nightmare. “Get a gag on her!” he ordered someone sharply. I twisted and wrenched one way and another, but there was no escaping the strong arms holding me, the cruel hands biting into me.
I got one scream out before a cloth went over my mouth and was knotted so tight it made my gorge rise. Cillian had four others with him, all familiar to me from Market Cross, big men with knives, clubs and wooden stakes. He held me while one of his cronies bound my hands behind my back and another tied my ankles together. I kept struggling until Cillian hit me over the ear, making my teeth rattle. My body was tight with terror.
“Stop fighting, stupid fool,” Cillian hissed. “You’ve led us on enough of a dance.” He slung me bodily over his shoulder, with my head hanging down behind, and strode off towards the gap in the wall. My heart hammering, my flesh clammy with cold sweat, I willed someone to come, anyone.
Cillian halted. Around him, his men did the same. He turned. Upside down, I saw the chieftain of Whistling Tor standing in the archway of Irial’s garden. Anluan’s face was ashen pale, his eyes incandescent with rage. Nobody else was in sight; he was confronting them alone. A rush of warmth ran through me, and with it a new fear.
“I said, release her!”
Cillian put me down but kept a punishing grip on my arm. My eyes met Anluan’s as he limped towards us, head high, gaze fierce, cloak swirling around him.
They laughed, Cillian first, then the others.
“You planning to fight all of us at once, cripple?” My captor’s tone was mocking. “From what I heard down the hill there, you’ve about as much strength as a wet piece of string. Cursed, they said. Only takes one look at you to see what the curse is, freak. Come on, then, fight me! Let’s see what sort of a man you are!” A roar of appreciation from his cronies.
Anluan had halted ten paces from us. Now he took one step forward. His tone was level.“This is your last warning. Untie Caitrin’s bonds and set her free immediately, or pay the price for trespass.”
More sniggering. “He’s got the manner of it, surely,” Cillian drawled, “but not the manhood to carry it out.You’ve got the wrong end of the stick,
He made to pick me up again and for a moment his attention left Anluan. Mine did not.The chieftain of Whistling Tor advanced no further. Briefly, the blue eyes went distant. He raised his left hand and clicked his fingers.
“Whaa—!” shouted one of the men, and another cursed explosively. Olcan had appeared from nowhere and was standing in front of us, a sturdy, short-legged figure. His face was not genial now but wore a fearsome grimace, and in his fist was a big shiny axe. A rope leash was wound around his other hand. The leash was taut—Fianchu was straining towards the intruders, teeth bared, tongue slavering, little eyes full of murderous intent. Cillian turned, taking me with him, and there was a general scramble for weapons until the men’s eyes fell on what was behind. A tall horse stood there, a horse all bones beneath a pale translucent skin. Its eyes glowed red. The rider was in the habit and cape of a monk.Within the shadow of the hood his face was skeletal; his eyes glinted with an eldritch light.
“Don’t be afraid, Caitrin,” Eichri said, then showed his teeth in a ghostly rictus of a grin. The horse did likewise, uttering a sound that was more rattle than neigh, and reared up. Cillian’s party scattered, shouting.
“Release her.” Anluan’s voice was quieter now, but it cut through the general mayhem like a knife through butter, and this time Cillian obeyed, gesturing for one of the others to untie the rope around my ankles. The spectral horse was circling, its progress audible as a clatter of bones, and I saw that Eichri was carrying a long, pale sword.
“Oh God, oh God!” someone screamed, as behind the rider a swirling mass flowed out from under the trees around the courtyard, not mist, not smoke, but something full of gaping mouths and clutching hands, something with a hundred shrieking, moaning voices and a hundred creeping, pattering feet. Cillian’s men struck out wildly with their weapons, but the blanket of ill-defined forms continued to advance until it was close to swallowing all of us. The uncanny sound reverberated through my head, blotting out reason.With my heart pounding fit to leap out of my chest, I kept my eyes on Anluan’s. If he was not afraid, I told myself, then I would not be afraid. I belonged to his household now, and he had told me I would be safe.
A parting shove, and I found myself sprawling on the ground as Cillian and his men fled through the gap in the fortress wall and down the hill, pursued by Eichri at full gallop with the amorphous host following behind. Unleashed, Fianchu pelted off in their wake, baying. Olcan marched at the rear. As Anluan hurried to my side, his limp more pronounced than usual, Magnus appeared from the general direction of the farm, striding towards us.
Anluan had knelt to lift me to a sitting position, his touch gentle. “You’re safe, Caitrin,” he murmured. “The host will not harm you; they obey my commands.There is nothing to fear.”
