“If I should allow you… If I should bring you to your home, what is to say you would not remain there?”
The druid said, “I gave myself to you. That was my promise.”
Skyre’s eyes shifted to the silver ring upon the druid’s finger, sat with that small pale stone. And for a moment, he was there above the altar once more. A gnawing sensation came over him, and he glanced away.
There was the crackle of fire, the bray of the pups, and the night dragging slow about them.
“Then you may have it. What you wish,” said Skyre, quietly. “And you will return to me when it is done.”
The druid nodded his agreement, and they drew quiet as the fire burned low.
Chapter thirty-eight
The Mare
Summer loomed near.
Hirí came with a premonition of good weather, and so the Aardmût prepared for departure.
They would begin to the north, round the coast at Briscaigh, and travel east through the fertile lands. From there, they’d make their way down the Everstretches to Annath. The last leg would take them to the untamed south of Dunn Kennigh, around the villages of the coastal west, and deposit them, once more, at Rhyd-hal.
They said it was not to be a comfortable journey, but the druid rather delighted in the idea. For three months, he would be returned to the road. The Arran Fáoth awaited him, as did the paths of green earth. He stood again beneath the sky and was happy to make reacquaintance.
Halla came to see him off. He had requested her accompaniment, but her words stayed him. “Aye no, íridh, the journey is much too long ‘n rough for ‘n old maid like me. Ye go ‘n make good yerself. Keep well, ‘n mind yer brekkie.”
He had agreed.
The druid idled about the yard as the men mustered their horses and strapped their packs. Some had wives who had come up for the Reaffirmation and they were kissed well and bid goodbye.
Hirí was enthusiastic. She said, “The road is no place for the fairer folk—all these stinking men! Come druid, I’ve made perfumes.”
He declined.
He did not enjoy the thought of being three months on the way with the priestesses. Medhin was even colder than usual, sending him furtive gazes across the yard. Othrik, thankfully, was not coming.
The yard was noisy. There was the usual bawd and roughhousing from the boys, and the men looked on with reproach. In all, the mood was celebratory, filled with eagerness and excitement. The Vaich was smiling. The druid observed from under the shadow of the keep, his hands warm beneath his cloak where the cool dagger lay fast against his body. Revelry or otherwise, the druid would be careful with himself. He hadn’t forgotten that night in the cloister. And on the road, anything could happen.
At the hour, the Vaich came to him, the pups yipping at his feet. “They’ll be big and strong next time we see them. Then we can bring them along.”
The druid had spent a great deal of time with the dogs since the wedding and was sad to say farewell.
“Be certain they are well fed,” he said quietly.
“They’ll be treated like little princes, dinnae fash. Now, we’ll soon depart. Your mount is there.”
The druid hadn’t considered it much, but as the king brought him to the stable gate, his pace slowed. The Vaich stopped, frowning. “What is the matter, druid? Come here.”
The druid gazed up at the beasts. He had seen horses, of course. He had healed them once or twice before. He had ridden them as passenger. He feared few animals beneath the sun, yet…
“I said, what's the matter?” The Vaich glanced at the steed. “You’ve not steered before, have you?”
“Why should I tame such a thing when I have two legs of my own?”
The Vaich smirked. “A lot of good reasons. Surely you’re clever enough to admit that.”
The druid stayed quiet.
The Vaich pushed open the gate and led him under the thatch. “No matter. I’ve already decided on your mount. Consider yourself lucky.”
