Read Online The Dawn Stag: Book Two of the Dalriada Trilogy by Jules Watson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jules Watson
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the dusky light some warriors were wheeling on horseback, or practised with sword, while others hefted spear or bow for target practice.
A heavy thudding interrupted Eremon’s thoughts, as Conaire’s fair head appeared at the bottom of the palisade stairs. Taking them three at a time, Eremon’s foster-brother sprang to his full height on the top planks. ‘Caitlin is abed and feeling well again,’ he announced, then stopped as his gaze took in Eremon’s stance. ‘You sport a face like thunder, brother. Is there a problem with the men? Have they grown soft while we were away?’
‘Nothing a few days of our drilling won’t fix.’ Eremon gripped the edge of the palisade with white knuckles. ‘It’s not that. My guts are gnawing on something else, very unpleasant, and I’m just getting ready to fix the pain.’
At Conaire’s raised eyebrow, Eremon flung out his hand angrily. ‘Look! So many men, so many guards, so many gates. And it is us, from Erin, who have given the Epidii such strength; strength for more than a petty cattle raid, strength to resist the Romans! Gathering and training such a large warband was our idea. The tactics are our idea. The guards and the signal beacons – our idea.’
‘ Your idea,’ Conaire interrupted quietly, folding his arms.
‘My idea, then,’ Eremon growled. ‘ And the border patrols, and the scout network – and after all we’ve done, the attempt on our lives came not just from Maelchon, but from the Epidii!’
Conaire’s brows rose higher. ‘This you did not tell me.’ Then the confusion on his face cleared into realization. ‘You mean the druid.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Eremon answered bitterly, and both their heads turned in the direction of the druid shrine on the crag’s crest. A wreath of smoke rose above it, merging with the high, white clouds drifting in from the sea. ‘He watched us leave Calgacus’s dun, he announced our deaths – he had a hand in it, I would swear it on my father’s honour.’
At that, Conaire’s mild, boyish features hardened, the scar at the edge of one eye flushing purple with blood. Caitlin and his unborn child had been on the boat that sank, after all. He flexed his broad shoulders, one hand coming to rest unconsciously on the sword at his waist. ‘I will come with you.’
For a moment Eremon glanced back at his brother. In the low sun, the hair on Conaire’s neck and arms was bristling with hostility, like a boar’s crest. But this was something begun with the druid long ago, and it was Eremon’s fight to pursue.
‘No.’ Eremon gripped Conaire’s forearm to soften the word. ‘Alone, he offered me this place in the tribe. And alone I will confront him.’
He didn’t say that he wanted Gelert’s wrath to fall on him alone. Better that he keep his men out of this. If there was one thing he had learned in Alba, it was to be wary of druids and their devious ways.
Eremon did not need to search for Gelert, for the old man was in the shrine conducting a sacrifice. Waiting for the attending druids to leave, Eremon edged around the outside of the pillars to where the shrine fell away directly from the western cliff to the plain below. Beyond the marsh and shining thread of river, the sea gleamed its last for the day.
When Eremon heard the murmur of voices and footfalls, he quickly ducked around to the side and entered between the pillars. Gelert was still standing before the bloody altar stone, the offering smoke curling to the sky.
The setting sun filtered through the wings of Gelert’s unbleached robe, and ignited the expanse of marsh beyond to a glowing crimson. This spectacle, and the dark blood on the stone altar, the tainted smoke, and leering ring of oaken gods at the base of each pillar would have awed and intimidated anyone else. But Eremon was too angry to be awed, and he knew that of any druid he had met, Gelert was driven more by the lust for earthly power than doing the will of the gods.
‘This was an
A heavy thudding interrupted Eremon’s thoughts, as Conaire’s fair head appeared at the bottom of the palisade stairs. Taking them three at a time, Eremon’s foster-brother sprang to his full height on the top planks. ‘Caitlin is abed and feeling well again,’ he announced, then stopped as his gaze took in Eremon’s stance. ‘You sport a face like thunder, brother. Is there a problem with the men? Have they grown soft while we were away?’
‘Nothing a few days of our drilling won’t fix.’ Eremon gripped the edge of the palisade with white knuckles. ‘It’s not that. My guts are gnawing on something else, very unpleasant, and I’m just getting ready to fix the pain.’
At Conaire’s raised eyebrow, Eremon flung out his hand angrily. ‘Look! So many men, so many guards, so many gates. And it is us, from Erin, who have given the Epidii such strength; strength for more than a petty cattle raid, strength to resist the Romans! Gathering and training such a large warband was our idea. The tactics are our idea. The guards and the signal beacons – our idea.’
‘ Your idea,’ Conaire interrupted quietly, folding his arms.
‘My idea, then,’ Eremon growled. ‘ And the border patrols, and the scout network – and after all we’ve done, the attempt on our lives came not just from Maelchon, but from the Epidii!’
Conaire’s brows rose higher. ‘This you did not tell me.’ Then the confusion on his face cleared into realization. ‘You mean the druid.’
‘Oh, yes,’ Eremon answered bitterly, and both their heads turned in the direction of the druid shrine on the crag’s crest. A wreath of smoke rose above it, merging with the high, white clouds drifting in from the sea. ‘He watched us leave Calgacus’s dun, he announced our deaths – he had a hand in it, I would swear it on my father’s honour.’
At that, Conaire’s mild, boyish features hardened, the scar at the edge of one eye flushing purple with blood. Caitlin and his unborn child had been on the boat that sank, after all. He flexed his broad shoulders, one hand coming to rest unconsciously on the sword at his waist. ‘I will come with you.’
For a moment Eremon glanced back at his brother. In the low sun, the hair on Conaire’s neck and arms was bristling with hostility, like a boar’s crest. But this was something begun with the druid long ago, and it was Eremon’s fight to pursue.
‘No.’ Eremon gripped Conaire’s forearm to soften the word. ‘Alone, he offered me this place in the tribe. And alone I will confront him.’
He didn’t say that he wanted Gelert’s wrath to fall on him alone. Better that he keep his men out of this. If there was one thing he had learned in Alba, it was to be wary of druids and their devious ways.
Eremon did not need to search for Gelert, for the old man was in the shrine conducting a sacrifice. Waiting for the attending druids to leave, Eremon edged around the outside of the pillars to where the shrine fell away directly from the western cliff to the plain below. Beyond the marsh and shining thread of river, the sea gleamed its last for the day.
When Eremon heard the murmur of voices and footfalls, he quickly ducked around to the side and entered between the pillars. Gelert was still standing before the bloody altar stone, the offering smoke curling to the sky.
The setting sun filtered through the wings of Gelert’s unbleached robe, and ignited the expanse of marsh beyond to a glowing crimson. This spectacle, and the dark blood on the stone altar, the tainted smoke, and leering ring of oaken gods at the base of each pillar would have awed and intimidated anyone else. But Eremon was too angry to be awed, and he knew that of any druid he had met, Gelert was driven more by the lust for earthly power than doing the will of the gods.
‘This was an
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