"I had heard—" Domhnull raised his voice, "—that they were hunting with your lord."
"Why, that may be. I will inquire, sir Domhnull."
Somewhere below a door shut, hollow in the wooden halls. "That may be my lord."
"I did not hear the gates."
"Why, this is a rambling place, hall upon hall. All sorts of sounds come and go, playing tricks with the ears. Come now. I am certain that is he. Bide patient."
"And my men, sir?" He stood quite calmly for all that his heart was racing. "Do you think they might be with him?"
There were footfalls on the nearby stairs, a great number of men by the sound of them; and Breandan stood there smiling with perfect falsity.
So Donnchadh came, cloakless, in light boots, not a thing one would wear in hunting; and men came with him, all armed, all ar mored, and filled the back of the hall.
"Where are my men?" Domhnull asked, following with his eyes this brother of his lord, this thin unsmiling man who went and took the chair at the head of the table, and drew it aside, and sat down in it at the front of the hall, as a lord sat who disposed of cases.
"What?" Donnchadh asked him. "What talk of men? I thought we were to speak of trust. Of peace. Of forgiveness."
"How was the hunting, lord? Did you take the wolf?"
"Ah. The wolf. It did not fare well, sir Domhnull."
"Where are my men, lord?"
"You have one refrain, it seems."
"Until I have an answer."
"Young fool. You will give the answers, alone here as you are."
"Alone. Is that my answer?"
"Fey you are. I have felt it since you came. There was a night, Domhnull mac Gaelbhan, that doors where shut in Caer Wiell; and strange things passed there, the sound of harping, all in private— they say that bargains were struck there."
"What, they? Have you made them say such things, to agree with all your fancy?"
"Bargains such as my brother struck before. Such as on the field at Caer Wiell. We know what that portended, and mark you, he was born least and youngest of all our house, and now has hold and lands and a name far and wide as defying the King. Evald of Caer Wiell took him in, and that was his undoing."
"That is all fantastical."
"Oh, but truth, all the same, sir Domhnull. Evald was a strong man, to die still hale and with a good many years before him."
"My lord loved this man. Evald was more kin to him than any of his house."
"But Evald died untimely, did he not?"
"All men die, lord. And none of us know the time of it."
"And there was this meeting, this gathering behind doors; and bargains struck and plans laid, how there should others die, oppor tunely. No lord has richer lands, more wealth of cattle and horses— the King's own cousin for his wife. Oh, aye, all men die, lad. Luck, for one, may leave them. He has bargained with the Sidhe to gain all that he has gained. I know it. There is nothing natural in his lands. And now he aims higher—oh, I don't doubt he looks to win me now. The King is failing ... I doubt will last the summer. And now behind these doors in Caer Wiell, bargains are struck. You were in that room. You know what words were passed, and with what, and with what issue."
"The Sidhe warned him of hazards."
"I do not doubt, warned him of me. Come to me, he says now, come and be my brother, help me overthrow the King—"
"He has served his King better than the King has served him. Were even two of the lords of my lord's mind, then Laochailan King would be better served than he is. The Sidhe warned of danger; of some shadow hanging over us; and so my lord sent to you—"
"That I should take him to my heart."
"He has loved you. Twice he sent to your father. Now to you."
"This hall was lighter once, filled with my kin. Their bones are at Caer Wiell."
"They chose to be there, following the King. As you did. As Evald. As my lord. And without him—"
"And his allies of the Sidhe."
"He won your battle for you; and if cousins of his died, do you think he didn't mourn them? So did others die there. So did cousins of mine, and my uncle. So no one of Caer Wiell but lost someone on that field. You are not unique, lord of Donn."
"And so he prospered. He and his allies. And now he sends to me, hoping to gain even more than he has. I will know what was said there that night."
"Nothing of concern in this hall. Much of reason. Of friendship."
"With the Sidhe."
"Lord, if what they say is so, there is Sidhe blood in him—on your father's side, lord. I do not know why you hate him."
A vein beat in Donnchadh's temple. His nostrils were white about the edges. "One of us knows another. I have the Sight, yes. What bargain has he made?"
"There was no bargain."
"And what is this thing he carries?—Oh, I do know, lad. I know many things."
"But the truth. Did you get that from your watchers? He sent us here honestly. He purposed nothing but your good."
"This meeting—this—visitation—"
"This meeting. You are too fearful, lord. There was no—bargain." Back again to this, he thought. So we are out of words. He half turned, to measure those between him and the door; and one face caught his eye among the five that guarded the way out, a small and scowling man who seeing him, smiled his ugly best.
"So," Domhnull said, feeling the sands slipping farther beneath him, "Coille. We wondered where you had gotten to." And louder, not taking his eyes from Coille: "Lord, did you know you shelter thieves? Or do you breed them?"
Hands went to swords, steel rising to the light. "Alive," came the word from behind him. "Take him alive."
"Coille!" he shouted and flung himself, dagger coming so deftly into his hand—Rhys had taught him: and into Coille's belly. He never stopped to account of it, ducked low, snatching Coille's fallen sword and ran, staggered by the blow that struck his back, by hands that tore at him. He spun against the hallway wall, swung a two-handed sweep across bodies oncoming from the door. He ran. He felt a wound, his back, his side—some edge had struck him. The whole keep thundered to running steps, to shouts of rage: pursuit was close behind him, below him, coming up the stairs he wanted.
He went for light instead—for the slitted window that gave day into the dingy hallway: he was high in the keep, he knew it, but that death was quick and better. He leapt for it as they rushed about him. Hands grappled at his clothes. The hills, the daylight blinded him to the height. He thrust off from the sill and took it, a long, twisting fall with the clean wind rushing past him.
Branches took him, snapped, speared at him in rapid course like weapons.
He caught at them, tried to hold; and after, another space of air, another hurtling, past rock where there had been branches, one im pact and another before his sight was darkened.
Dogs were in his hearing, that fell sound echoing among the rocks, with the sound of voices. "T'was on the cliffside; he never got to bottom."
"Go round," someone shouted, "go round, up on the hillside. If he is not below he has fallen to that brushy shelf."
"T'is a long climb, that."
"Go, get the dogs to it, fool, and quickly."
His limbs drew up like a child's, hike a child's kept moving rest lessly, and that movement relieved one pain and brought another torment of sharp gouges at his body, brush beneath his hands, then smooth and heated stone, and the taste of blood, and ache so deep it had shaken to the roots of his teeth and the center of his bowels. Bones are broken, he thought, hearing the dogs, and scrambled all the same, having his sight back, a jumbled view of bristly foliage, of light on stone, of leaf-patterned shadow. He felt no pain clearly. It was all one ache, and he got his knee up, the one that was not battered and strengthless, and staggered to his feet on the cliffside. Depths swayed into his vision, sunbright and deadly as he stood holding to the gnarled limb: they beckoned, sunlit jagged stones, without dread in them, but he veered away, took a step, another, for the hills and sky were in his sight, and he went to them.