"Aye," said yet another man.
"And mark my words," continued the second one, "he will return to Eirren when we need him most."
Voices began to rise in heated debate over whether the hero Cuillean was alive or dead.
"There is yet another possibility," cut in Bricriu's smooth voice. "It is a rumor I have heard among my men, though I for one do not believe it for an instant."
"What is that?" queried the man with the russet beard.
"That Cuillean has betrayed Eirren and gone to Medb, the Queen of Ghosts."
This provoked a chorus of outraged dissent, and the queen's steady voice finally cleaved through the uproar.
"Such rumors do not deserve the dignity of a response, much less a public airing." She cast a quick, reproachful glance at the elegant nobleman.
Bricriu bowed his head deferentially. "I am in full agreement with you, my queen, but is it not true that a rumor ignored will run wild like heathfire? Is it not better to acknowledge it right away and put a stop to it?"
The queen replied evenly. "Perhaps. However, I cannot see that, in this case, your gossip has served any useful purpose. Cuillean was our friend." She paused, and a smile replaced the stern look on her face. "But enough solemn talk for one evening. Shall we have music?" She turned to the Ellyl. "Perhaps you would honor us with a song? We have heard much of Ellyl music."
Silien shook his head slightly with his usual half-smile. "I think not, Your Majesty, though I do not wish to appear ungrateful. I am weary and out of practice. Perhaps another time." The queen nodded graciously and gestured to the court bards.
The rest of the evening was filled with song and story. The bards were gifted with dazzling skill, each one with a repertoire that amazed Collun. He noticed Talisen was unusually silent; his face wore a fierce look of concentration.
Later, as they made their sleepy way back to Fial's quarters, Collun asked Talisen what he had thought of the night's entertainment.
"Oh, they were fair enough," Talisen responded breezily. He lapsed into silence for a few paces, then burst out, "That's nonsense, of course. They were extraordinary! But Collun, I have found out tonight from that posturing prig I was seated next to that to truly become a bard one must attend a special school called the Eisteddfod. It is only after four years of lessons, seven days a week from dawn until dark, that one can presume to call oneself a bard. Most of those bards who traveled through Inkberrow are called gleemen here in Temair, and they are much scorned. They cannot make songs and have never been to this accursed Eisteddfod." Talisen's face was more downcast than Collun had ever seen it.
"Not that I haven't the talent to be a true bard," Talisen added with a flash of a grin. "That goes without saying. But to spend four years shut inside some gloomy school building! I might just as well be back in Farmer Whicklow's pigsty."
***
The next morning Collun rose early. At Quince's request, he prepared several batches of the herb posset with which he had been treating Fial. He worked in a corner of the sick woman's room while she lay in her bed, still lost in a restless half-waking, half-sleeping state. A knock came at the door. Quince entered with a thick, folded piece of vellum in his hand.
"This has just arrived for the mistress. It is from Inkberrow. I thought you should be the one to open it."
Drying his hands on a cloth, Collun took the folded vellum from Quince. He recognized Goban's handwriting and got a queasy feeling in his stomach. His hands shook slightly as he broke the seal. He opened the letter.
"Fial," it began in Goban's awkward hand, "Emer is dead."
ELEVEN
Lord Bricriu
The room suddenly tilted, and Collun had to put a hand on a nearby table to steady himself. He stared blindly at the vellum. He thought of Emer's face as it had been the last time he saw her. He had known then that she was dying. He should not have left Aonarach. Now both Emer and Nessa were lost to him.
Collun focused his eyes to read the rest of the letter.
Fial,
Emer is dead. The boy Collun left here several
weeks ago, bound for Temair. If he should arrive
there, tell him what you will. It is no more a
concern of mine.
Goban
Collun's limbs felt frozen. He rubbed the numb spot on his forehead and wondered why he could not cry.
He suddenly became aware of Quince's voice. "What is wrong?"
"It is bad news," Collun replied, his voice sounding faint and high-pitched in his own ears. He cleared his throat. "My mother, Fial's sister by marriage, is dead." He walked woodenly to the small fire burning in Fial's fireplace. Collun thrust the thick goatskin vellum into the embers and watched, clenching his ice-cold fingers as it smoldered and finally burst into flames. A rancid smell permeated the room. On the bed nearby, Fial moved restlessly, but she remained unconscious.
Quince watched Collun, sympathy in his dark eyes. "May I bring you something?"
Collun shook his head. He turned and slowly walked into the outer room where his friends were gathered. Talisen and Silien were playing a game with dice, and Brie stood by the window gazing out.
Talisen looked up and, alarmed by the sight of Collun's chalk white face, laid down the dice he held. He quickly crossed the room to his friend's side. "What is it? What has happened?"
"She is dead," Collun replied dully.
"Who? Nessa?"
"No, Emer. My mother is dead."
From her spot by the window, Brie swung around to face Collun. "Emer?" she said sharply. Her face was almost as white as Collun's, and she stared at him as if at a ghost.
"Yes," Collun replied without looking at Brie. His lips felt dry.
"Here. Sit." Talisen gently nudged Collun into a chair. "Bring him something. Quickly!" he hissed at Quince, who had followed Collun into the room. The servingman nodded and went out. Talisen sat on the arm of the chair and tried to rub some heat into Collun's hands.
Collun sat still. His mother was dead, and his father's words hung before his eyes: "It is no more a concern of mine." Goban was dismissing Collun from his life as if he were a worn horseshoe. Collun had long known his father had little love for him, but to be swept aside so finally, so unexpectedly, caught him like a blow to the stomach. He had no home now. Nowhere to return to. And still he could not cry.
Quince returned with a flagon of thick amber liquid that burned Collun's throat as it went down. The paroxysm of coughing that followed brought his thoughts into focus. They were due to leave soon for Lord Bricriu's dun, and he still had to finish making the herb possets Quince had requested for Fial. He rose to his feet, feeling strangely calm. "Please do not speak of this to anyone," he said, voice flat, and then left the room.
As he crushed the leaves of the wood avens plant and sifted them into a bowl of broth from the dun's kitchen, Collun could hear voices through the open door.
"Why did you react so to the news of Emer's death?" asked Talisen. "You turned pale as a cloud."
There was no answer for a moment, then Brie spoke. "It must have reminded me of my own mother's death." Her voice was without expression. "Why has Collun never spoken the name of his mother before this?"
"She wished it so," Talisen replied. "I do not know why." There was another pause. "I thought you were only a babe when your mother died," Talisen went on, his voice speculative.
"Losing a mother is hard no matter what your age."
"Yes," responded Talisen. "Perhaps I am the lucky one. As far as I can remember, I never had a mother to lose."
Then Quince entered Fial's room. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the sound of the voices.
"Can I help?"