Tower of Thorns

  Grim appeared in the open doorway. “Got news for you.”

  “We’re almost done here.” I tied off the ends of the bandage. “Keep this clean and dry, Rodan.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Blackthorn.” It was the patient’s friend who replied. He helped Rodan up, and the two of them went off together.

  Grim came in and closed the door. “Just spoke to Deirdre,” he said. “She told me a message came in from the druid. Says he’ll be happy to help Lady Geiléis, only he can’t get there until after midsummer. Flidais just told the lady.”

  “And how did Geiléis take it?”

  “Badly, Deirdre said. Floods of tears.”

  “Tears or no tears, there’s nothing I can do to help her. Another midsummer will come around; she can try again then.”

  “Mm. Oh, and Flannan was looking for you. Told me to tell you he’s in the library.”

  “He’ll have to wait. Maybe he’s forgotten I have work to do.”

  “Go and tell him that, will I?” Grim was smiling.

  “He knows where to find me.”

  “Mm-hm. I’ll be off, then. Couple of the fellows are working on unarmed combat. Said I’d go and watch.”

  “Maybe you can stop them doing each other serious damage. I’m getting tired of patching up their mistakes.”

  “See you later,” said Grim, and was gone.

  The next knock on the door would be Lady Geiléis, no doubt. Pleading for me to change my mind. Wanting me to sort out her monster and set her world to rights. Thinking that because she was nobly born she could bend me to her will. I would give her a firm no, as I had before. If Conmael challenged me about it later, I would tell him that Flidais had asked for my help first, so I wasn’t technically breaking his rules.

  But when the knock came, it was Flannan’s, and what he said to me turned everything upside down.

  10

  Grim

  “You’ve what?” I’m shocked. Too shocked to hide it.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Blackthorn says, calm as calm, though she’s set my head spinning. “I’m going to Bann to deal with Lady Geiléis’s monster.”

  It’s late, after supper, and we’re in our chamber. Haven’t talked to her since the afternoon, when I passed on Flannan’s message. Been busy with the lads in the practice yard, then talking to some other folk at supper, and haven’t had the chance. She was looking pale at supper time and she still is. On edge about something. That makes two of us now.

  “But . . .” I can’t get the right words out. There aren’t any right words. “But you said . . .”

  “I’ve spoken to Flidais. She’s given me permission to go provided I come back straight after midsummer, and Lady Geiléis has agreed to that. The baby’s not due until autumn; Flidais will do perfectly well under the care of Master Caillín.”

  Plenty I could say. Thought she’d decided, thought we’d decided going to Bann was too risky, right on the border and all. Thought she wanted to stay with Lady Flidais right through, and Lady Flidais wanted her. Thought she was counting the days till we could head home, same as me. Seems I was wrong. Bonehead. Only . . . that’s what she said, before. Why would she change her mind so quick?

  “Mm-hm,” I say, trying to be calm like her though I’m a jumble inside. “Made up your mind, then.”

  “I have.” Sounds like she doesn’t want questions. Got no answers, maybe.

  “When do we leave?”

  Blackthorn’s been fussing with some things on the bed, taking a long time to fold them. Now she turns and looks at me properly. “Grim,” she says in a voice I don’t like much, “you don’t have to come. Not if you don’t want to. Not if you think I’m doing the wrong thing.”

  I look straight back at her. “You saying you don’t want me to come?” Had to happen sometime. But I’d started thinking it wouldn’t, stupid me.

  She folds her arms, looks at the floor now. “No. Just that Flannan’s coming with me, so I won’t be on my own.”

  Nothing to say to that. So it’s him—he’s what changed her mind for her.

  “He’s going to this monastery, St. Olcan’s,” she says. “There’s some work he can do there. And since it’s right next to Lady Geiléis’s holdings, it makes sense to travel together. Besides, Lady Geiléis came with an escort. There’ll be plenty of protection.”

  “So, no need for me.”

  “Not as a bodyguard. Grim, don’t look like that. I want you to have the opportunity to make up your own mind about it, that’s all. If you think it’s a bad idea, and I can see you do, you shouldn’t feel obliged to come. You could go home to Winterfalls, wait for me there.”

  “Mm-hm.” Me at the cottage, on my own, and her at Bann with this monster. Ha! She’s crazy if she thinks I’m going along with that.

  “You won’t, though, will you?” she says. Not so crazy after all.

  No need to answer that. She knows I’ll follow unless she orders me not to, and maybe even if she does. It’s my job, looking after her. It’s what keeps me moving from one day to the next. So I’ll go even if I think it’s the worst idea she’s ever had. “What about him?” I ask. “Flannan. Planning to help you kill the monster, is he?”

  She heaves a big sigh. “I imagine he’ll be with the monks at St. Olcan’s, studying their famous collection of manuscripts and consulting their esteemed scholars. Nothing to do with Lady Geiléis and her creature in the tower.”

  Monks. For a bit I’d forgotten them. “Where would you be staying?” I ask her.

  “Not at the monastery. That’ll be men only. I think Lady Geiléis can accommodate me. Us. That’s if you’re coming.”

  “Looks like I am,” I say. “Better pack up, then. Not sure what a fellow needs to deal with a monster.”

  “Courage,” says Blackthorn. “Sharp wits. Imagination.”

  “Mm-hm.” Courage, I might be able to find, though if I have to visit this monastery that could get hard. Not strong on sharp wits and imagination. But then, she’s got more than enough for two.

  11

  Geiléis

  By all the gods! She hardly dared believe it true. So late, when hope had seemed all but lost, Mistress Blackthorn had suddenly changed her mind. Of her own volition, she was coming to Bann.

  Geiléis pushed down the wild excitement that was rising in her, threatening to undo the whole enterprise. She must be cool, calm, every bit the lady, even when her inner voice was shouting, Yes! This time it’s really going to happen! This woman is clever, she’s brave, she’s open to the strange and uncanny. She’s not like the others. This time, this time . . . There must be none of that. The very strengths that could help Blackthorn complete the task could also be the quest’s undoing. A clever woman could solve puzzles. A fearless woman might ask difficult questions, seek answers in places others would shun. A woman who understood magic might see what an ordinary person was blind to.

  This must be carefully controlled, every step of the way. She must feed the information to Blackthorn drop by drop, giving her enough to hold her interest, but not so much that the healer would balk at the task ahead of her, or question Geiléis’s sanity as others before her had done. This must be calculated perfectly.

  First things first. She bade Prince Oran and Lady Flidais farewell in the privacy of the royal council chamber. She thanked them for their hospitality and for lending her their valued wise woman. She promised to ensure that Mistress Blackthorn returned to court straight after Midsummer Eve, whether or not she was successful in banishing the monster.

  The healer was bringing both the hulking bodyguard and the scholar with her to Bann. Neither was required for purposes of safety; Geiléis’s own escort was more than adequate. But Blackthorn had simply stated that both men would be accompanying her. Since Blackthorn’s cooperation was essential, Geiléis had agreed without demur. A little inconvenience cou
ld be endured in order to keep the woman content.

  The guard, Grim, was all muscle and no wits. Loyal to his mistress, certainly. But lacking in intellect and subtlety, and therefore no real threat. The scholar would be quickly absorbed at St. Olcan’s, as others of his kind were. He would become enmeshed in his studies; blind and deaf to the outside world. The illuminated manuscripts in the monastic collection were considered the finest in all Erin. Provided Master Flannan stuck to what he knew best, he would not present a problem. She might send one of her guards ahead to have a word with Father Tomas. Best if the fellow was accommodated in the monastery guesthouse, safely out of the way.

  They rode out in the early morning. Cahercorcan had provided horses for Blackthorn and her two men.

  “I should have explained, perhaps,” Geiléis said to the healer, “that when we stop along the way—the journey takes almost five days—we do not seek out the hospitality of chieftains or princes. My men carry rudimentary supplies for camping. We sleep under the trees. We wait until the horses can go on.”

  “That’s fine with Grim and me,” Blackthorn said. “What about you, Flannan? You may be more accustomed to sleeping with a roof over your head.”

  “Not at all,” said the scholar, who was riding close to Blackthorn. “A great deal of my life is spent traveling. Provided I can keep my writing materials dry—and they are well wrapped against possible damage—I have no objection to a few nights in the open, Lady Geiléis.”

  “Call me Geiléis, please, Master Flannan.” She favored him with a smile. “You must do the same, Mistress Blackthorn. On the road we may dispense with convention, surely.”

  “If you say so.” Blackthorn glanced over her shoulder. The men-at-arms were in their usual formation, three at the head of the group, three at the rear, one on either flank and one free to move about as required. The healer’s man, Grim, was riding with those at the back of the party. “That goes for Grim too, I take it?”

  “If you wish.” What was the fellow to her? Not a lover, surely—there seemed nothing of passion or tenderness in either of them. Indeed, they appeared singularly ill-suited to each other. Even a beaten-about sort of woman like Blackthorn could surely do better than that slow-witted lump of a man. But perhaps she liked her pleasure quick and rough, with no sentiment attached. “We’ll ride as far as Cormac’s Crossing today, all being well. My men will set up shelters, cook a meal, provide all that is required.”

  “Mm-hm.”

  “A long ride for you,” Geiléis said.

  “We’ll cope. And as for the camping, we’re used to managing with very little. No need to apologize for the lack of amenities. Cormac’s Crossing. Who is, or was, Cormac?”

  “It’s an old name; I know nothing of its origins. You’ll find the spot perfectly suitable for an overnight camp. I thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, for agreeing to do this. Your courage is exemplary.”

  “More curiosity than courage. Grim and I like a mystery. Yours is particularly challenging.”

  Geiléis would have said more; would, perhaps, have ventured a question or two about where Blackthorn had been before she came to Dalriada. But the healer let her horse drop back and the opportunity was lost. There was a story behind the woman’s combative eyes and sharp manner. There was a story behind her unlikely friendship with her hulking protector. Not that it mattered, unless it got in the way of the task ahead. She’d watch them carefully, and set others to do so when she could not. Make sure her guests saw what she needed them to and nothing else. Make sure they heard only what was required to ensure the fulfillment of the task.

  “Question for you.” Blackthorn had come up beside her again, jolting her out of her thoughts. “You still want a cleansing ritual, yes? That should be the first thing I do when we get there. But you’ve spoken of these monks as if you’re on friendly terms with them. Since you’re happy to have my assistance with your problem, I assume you’re not of the Christian faith.”

  “That is not a question, Blackthorn.”

  “What is your own spiritual path?”

  Geiléis felt her mouth twist into a bitter smile. “You think Father Tomas and the brethren might object to a ritual of the old faith conducted so close to their house of Christian prayer?”

  “One might expect that.”

  “We are all desperate for answers, Blackthorn. The creature’s screaming is enough to send the sanest of folk witless. Father Tomas may not be best pleased by your arrival, but I am chieftain of Bann, and what happens on my land is my business. As for my faith, ill fortune has all but snuffed it out.”

  “But not entirely?”

  “If it was quite gone,” Geiléis said, “I would not have waited so long for the druid. As it is, I am prepared to try anything. When we reach Bann, you will understand why.”

  12

  Blackthorn

  The landscape passed me by unseen. The voices of my fellow travelers might have been the babble of a brook or the sighing of the wind. I held my tongue. The secret within me, the perilous secret Flannan had shared with me, was so huge that I feared it would burst out and ruin everything. One wrong word might betray me. One wrong word—Mathuin or south or plot—might alert Grim or Geiléis or even Conmael, if the man really could appear wherever he liked. And once they had an inkling of what had made me change my mind, they would start asking questions, and then stop me. And that would be wrong this time, because what Flannan had told me meant I wouldn’t be on my own confronting Mathuin; I would be part of a much wider strategy, a plan that had been years in the making, a plan involving many folk. With so many voices raised, the chieftains would surely listen this time. Mathuin would face justice for his wrongdoing. At last we would make it happen.

  When Flannan had first told me, I’d refused to believe him. False hope was a cruel thing, and this had reeked of it. We’d tried, hadn’t we? We’d tried, and my husband and child and a whole lot of other folk had been killed. I’d tried again, years later, and where had I ended up? Incarcerated in Mathuin’s cesspit. Powerless. Hopeless. Silenced as effectively as if I too had died. The plot Flannan spoke of sounded just like that first one, only weaker, because Flannan himself had not gone back to Laois and spoken in person to his fellow conspirators there. He’d relied on messages carried by pigeons from one monastery to another, messages that could then be passed on to other trusted allies. Why would I break my word to Lady Flidais and my promise to Conmael and rush off south on the strength of that?

  Flannan had come to find me in the stillroom while Grim was off watching combat practice. Even so, with just the two of us behind a closed door, Flannan had dropped his voice to a whisper as he’d told me. This was not like the old plot, he’d said. There were sympathetic folk, folk who knew the secret, strategically placed in every chieftain’s stronghold and in every Christian monastery in Laigin and the south of Mide. There was a network of reliable informants; a growing number of stalwart supporters. All were ready to stand up and be counted. Their number included folk of considerable authority—councilors and nobles. It had taken Flannan and his loose fellowship years to set it all in place. The birds were vital to the enterprise; every monastery had its pigeon loft. Monks could write in Latin, or use coded messages only decipherable by scholars.

  “Stand up and be counted when?” I’d asked, fighting back the urge to say yes. “Where?”

  “At the council.”

  “The High King’s council? Is the plan that you and I sprout wings and fly to Tara? Even if we could be there in time, the moment any of Mathuin’s cronies recognized me, whether as the wife of the traitor scribe from years ago or the troublesome woman who wouldn’t stop talking about his misdemeanors, I’d be silenced. Permanently silenced. Either killed or thrown back in that hellhole and left to rot.” I’d made myself unclench my hands; forced myself to take a few deep breaths. “Why have you waited so long to tell me this?”

>   “You’d made it pretty clear you weren’t interested in taking risks anymore,” he said flatly. “I didn’t think it was worth asking.”

  It had been like a slap in the face. Had I really changed so much? Had I truly become the coward he’d called me? “Well, you’ve asked now,” I’d snapped. “So explain how we’re supposed to get to Tara before the council.”

  “I don’t mean this autumn’s council,” Flannan had said. “Not only would you and I lack the time to travel so far south, but others, too, could not be assembled by then. The plan is that we—all of us—make our ways separately to Mide, to the court of King Lorcan or its environs, or to one of several monasteries that lie close by. We would make our move at Lorcan’s next spring council. The High King should be in attendance. They are kinsmen, as you probably know. At least two of Lorcan’s councilors are sympathetic to our cause. It’s been suggested, indirectly, that the king of Mide would not be averse to seeing Mathuin removed from his position of authority, since he stirs up constant trouble on the border.”

  It had taken me a while to find words; my thoughts had been conducting a minor battle among themselves. “Make our move,” I’d said eventually. “What move?”

  “Stand up at the council. Make a statement of Mathuin’s crimes, supported by evidence, including the accounts of witnesses. Request that he be formally charged. In the presence of both the High King and King Lorcan, Mathuin will not be able to do what he did last time. At the very least, he’ll need to answer to the accusations.”

  “Witnesses. You must be out of your mind.” But my heart had been racing, my thoughts leaping ahead. “What witness would be prepared to come forward? Everyone knows that would amount to suicide. Or worse.”

  “It’s the weakest part of the plan, I would be the first to agree.” Flannan had reached out to take my hands in his. “But you could help. What I thought was that you might find some of those women you told me of, the ones whose cases you tried to draw to Mathuin’s attention. You could talk to them, persuade them to speak out.”