He had strayed from that path long ago.
Chapter thirteen
The Moth
By week’s end, the fever broke and the druid braced for Halla’s arrival.
He had considered relenting this silly notion of freedom. But each day the chambermaid looked at him in pity, each day his fate remained in that man’s hands, his agitation deepened.
As evening neared, he busied himself packing squirreled-away bits from his breakfasts. Just like the night he’d departed the Fáoth, he was running again. But this time, he was emptied of fear.
The latch jangled and the door creaked open, revealing the old chambermaid looking pale as powder. A wave of guilt washed over him.
“Halla—”
She hushed him, coming down into the room and presenting him with a plain grey cloak. “Isnae much, but it’ll keep ye warm.”
“I ought to remain,” the druid muttered. “This is foolish…”
“Aye,” said Halla, taking his hands. “Aye, maybe it is. But I cannae bear to see ye witherin’.”
The guilt bubbled up again. “Are yousureyou want to help me?”
Halla smiled, though it was weaker than he remembered. “’Twas a druid who led my bairn to peace, ’n I owe the spirits for takin’ he. One good turn deserves another, they says. So, let me lead.”
Then the druid would follow. Even if it meant returning to the place he had long fled.
He was not naive enough to think a successful escape would be the end of it. The Vaich’s men had found him before, and they could find him again. There was only one way he might elude them.
The Arran Fáoth, the great forest, was the ancestral heart of all mankind. And the only place with enough power to conceal him.
“If yer ready?” Halla asked.
The druid nodded.
It was just as Halla had said. The castle was busy in preparation for the feast. Peculiarly, despite the influx of visitors, many of the usual posts were left unattended. They slipped easily down the back staircase to the bustling kitchens. But getting out was only half the trouble. What the druid needed was a comfortable lead to get east before the bannerman caught his scent. He couldn’t get that on foot.
“There’s a market man who’s come with fixings from Hornheil out in the daire,” said Halla, shuffling him down the corridor. They were bathed copper by torchlight; the flickering flames mirrored his waning faith. “He’s got a wagon out in the yard, ’n he’ll be leaving at half past the hour. Ye cannae miss it or there shan’t be another!”
“And how shall I be sure this market man will agree?” asked the druid.
Halla gave him a bewildered look. “Agree? I never thought to ask!”
The druid frowned. “Surely he’s not willing to bear the consequence of spiriting me away.”
“Aye,” Halla said. “’N that is why he willnae ken!”
The druid liked the plan less the more he understood it.
“Shh!” Ahead, a group of maids rushed out of the scullery, their hands full of silver. The druid drew his hood and pressed tight to the wall as the maids hurried up the stairs in front of them. They hadn’t seen. A sigh seeped out of him, but the old woman grabbed his wrist, steering him along.
The iron braziers whistled around them. As they came to the kitchen door, Halla gestured for him to wait. The scent of spiced meat wafted through, along with the rhythmiccrack!of knives on cutting boards. Over the din, the cook barked orders to his staff.
Halla poked her head around the archway and motioned for him to pass. He held his cowl tight as he darted across the open door.
Crash!
His breath tumbled along with him as he collided with another kitchen maid. Her silver tray clattered to the floor.
