Read Online The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One by Jules Watson - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jules Watson
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baking bread. It was just a place; a place like any other. How Conaire would laugh if he knew his fears!
Slowly, his breath whistled out through his teeth. Then, without pause, he forced himself to leap on to the pier, and take his first steps on Alba. By the Boar, it’s all nonsense ! he chided himself. The sea sickness has addled my mind !
He broke into a run, cuffing Cù around the ear as he hurried to catch up with his men. Talorc was waiting to take them to Dunadd.
Eremon’s first glimpse of the Epidii dun was in clear light, so he witnessed the full effect of the gold-thatched roofs on its crest and the flying banners, warmed by the ruby glow of the marshes that surrounded it.
It was impressive, by design. The King’s Hall was exposed to the full force of the sea-wind, but spectacle was far more important than comfort. Dunadd’s builders well knew how their dun would look from afar.
The thudding feet and hooves of the party of Epidii nobles ahead raised flocks of teal to wheel in the air, skimming low over the moss and sedge to land in a scattering of marsh pools. The only firm ground was the path that followed the river, which had been laid with hard shell and gravel until it shone pale under the falling alder leaves.
As the path brought them closer to Dunadd, they could just make out a scarlet banner flying from the highest roof-tree, and when the wind caught it, Talorc cried, ‘See there the White Mare of Rhiannon, emblem of our Royal House!’ Yet Eremon caught the glimpse of a frown marring that bluff face.
Dunadd’s palisade was broken only where the sheer walls of the crag made attack impossible, and even the pier, tied about with punts and canoes, was built into a whaleback of rock that reached out to the river. This dun was a mighty jewel indeed – and it looked as if it knew this, standing proud and lonely above its marsh.
‘Have you seen anywhere placed so well?’ Eremon breathed to Conaire. ‘A single rock bounded by bog, with clear access to the sea?’
Conaire’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at the rock face. ‘A worthy challenge! We’d be spitted like pigs before we gained the walls!’
‘Taking it by force is not what I had in mind,’ Eremon said drily.
The Trade Path ran up to a gate that was guarded by twin towers. On entering the village, Eremon expected to be engulfed by the noise and smells of a busy dun: the ring of smiths’ hammers and squawking of geese; children crying, women calling. But though there were people about on the pathways, the dun had a subdued air, and there was little evidence of anyone labouring at the granaries or in the multitude of worksheds. The murmuring groups of people fell quiet as the men from Erin passed under the shadows of the gate, and people stared, toddlers hanging wide-eyed on their mothers’ skirts.
Talorc hurried them past the people clustering by the gate. ‘The stables are there.’ He waved to one side. ‘You’ll find that we are the best horse breeders and traders in Alba: we’ve an eye for fine blood. And there, you see the sheds of the armourers and iron-smiths.’ He stopped and hooked his hands in his belt, cinched under an ample belly. ‘Your sword is very fine, prince of Erin, but perhaps your young lads,’ he smirked at Aedan and Rori, ‘could do with a sturdy helmet or two. You may not find our neighbours so friendly, and some of them can bring a sword down faster than a bull can come, eh?’ He jabbed Rori in the ribs with a forced jollity, and the boy blushed and ducked his head.
‘Our own swords are fast enough, thank you,’ Eremon responded firmly.
‘Well, here’s the bronze-smith, then. You’re not the only ones with fine craftsmen, as you’ll see.’ He turned to Conaire and clapped him on the back. ‘Maybe you need an amber hair pin for your lady back home, son of Lugaid!’
‘I’ll need more than one, then!’ Conaire replied, grinning.
Rhiann left Linnet at the stables with her mount Whin, and
Slowly, his breath whistled out through his teeth. Then, without pause, he forced himself to leap on to the pier, and take his first steps on Alba. By the Boar, it’s all nonsense ! he chided himself. The sea sickness has addled my mind !
He broke into a run, cuffing Cù around the ear as he hurried to catch up with his men. Talorc was waiting to take them to Dunadd.
Eremon’s first glimpse of the Epidii dun was in clear light, so he witnessed the full effect of the gold-thatched roofs on its crest and the flying banners, warmed by the ruby glow of the marshes that surrounded it.
It was impressive, by design. The King’s Hall was exposed to the full force of the sea-wind, but spectacle was far more important than comfort. Dunadd’s builders well knew how their dun would look from afar.
The thudding feet and hooves of the party of Epidii nobles ahead raised flocks of teal to wheel in the air, skimming low over the moss and sedge to land in a scattering of marsh pools. The only firm ground was the path that followed the river, which had been laid with hard shell and gravel until it shone pale under the falling alder leaves.
As the path brought them closer to Dunadd, they could just make out a scarlet banner flying from the highest roof-tree, and when the wind caught it, Talorc cried, ‘See there the White Mare of Rhiannon, emblem of our Royal House!’ Yet Eremon caught the glimpse of a frown marring that bluff face.
Dunadd’s palisade was broken only where the sheer walls of the crag made attack impossible, and even the pier, tied about with punts and canoes, was built into a whaleback of rock that reached out to the river. This dun was a mighty jewel indeed – and it looked as if it knew this, standing proud and lonely above its marsh.
‘Have you seen anywhere placed so well?’ Eremon breathed to Conaire. ‘A single rock bounded by bog, with clear access to the sea?’
Conaire’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at the rock face. ‘A worthy challenge! We’d be spitted like pigs before we gained the walls!’
‘Taking it by force is not what I had in mind,’ Eremon said drily.
The Trade Path ran up to a gate that was guarded by twin towers. On entering the village, Eremon expected to be engulfed by the noise and smells of a busy dun: the ring of smiths’ hammers and squawking of geese; children crying, women calling. But though there were people about on the pathways, the dun had a subdued air, and there was little evidence of anyone labouring at the granaries or in the multitude of worksheds. The murmuring groups of people fell quiet as the men from Erin passed under the shadows of the gate, and people stared, toddlers hanging wide-eyed on their mothers’ skirts.
Talorc hurried them past the people clustering by the gate. ‘The stables are there.’ He waved to one side. ‘You’ll find that we are the best horse breeders and traders in Alba: we’ve an eye for fine blood. And there, you see the sheds of the armourers and iron-smiths.’ He stopped and hooked his hands in his belt, cinched under an ample belly. ‘Your sword is very fine, prince of Erin, but perhaps your young lads,’ he smirked at Aedan and Rori, ‘could do with a sturdy helmet or two. You may not find our neighbours so friendly, and some of them can bring a sword down faster than a bull can come, eh?’ He jabbed Rori in the ribs with a forced jollity, and the boy blushed and ducked his head.
‘Our own swords are fast enough, thank you,’ Eremon responded firmly.
‘Well, here’s the bronze-smith, then. You’re not the only ones with fine craftsmen, as you’ll see.’ He turned to Conaire and clapped him on the back. ‘Maybe you need an amber hair pin for your lady back home, son of Lugaid!’
‘I’ll need more than one, then!’ Conaire replied, grinning.
Rhiann left Linnet at the stables with her mount Whin, and
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