By his side was Cathaír in his bloody shirt. He had a sword sheathed at his hip and a thrusting spear in his hand. It seemed to me his eyes were calmer today; indeed, there was a purpose about all this motley band that stilled my heart, letting hope in. Perhaps they could do it. Perhaps, even beyond the boundaries of the hill, they could hold strong against the frenzy if it came, and follow their chieftain to victory.
Olcan was on Anluan’s other side with Fianchu on a rope leash. They were formidable, the two of them, all harnessed strength. It was hard to believe this fearsome war hound had slept curled around a little child, warm against her eternal cold. Close by them was Rioghan, grim as death.
A rattling of bones preceded the appearance, from among the trees, of the skeletal horse and its monkish rider. Eichri looked in my direction, and he and his mount grinned. On the edges of the assembled force stood men of Whistling Tor settlement, Tomas among them. They had perhaps sufficient armor for half their number, but the pieces had been shared: one man had only a helm, another mismatched wrist guards; a third, luckier individual had a worn breast-piece. Some bore round shields, chipped and worn but freshly painted with the emblem of a golden sun on a field of blue. I recalled the mirror of might-have-been and the image of Anluan riding out with a band of fit young warriors under a banner with just such colors.The men from the settlement looked decidedly nervous.They had grown up on stories of the host, dark stories of murder and mayhem.To reach this point must have required a remarkable degree of leadership by both Anluan and Rioghan, and a great deal of courage from these ordinary folk.
“It’s time,” said Anluan, turning to include the entire assembly in his gaze.“You know the plan. Keep to it and we’ll drive these invaders off our land and into oblivion. Men of the settlement, you know what rides on this.We fight for our land, for our families, for the future. Men of the host, for you the stakes are still higher. Win today and you win us time to seek out the counterspell.Win me this battle and I swear to you that I will find it, if it takes all the years of my life.
“Men, you know what you must do. The first wave goes beyond the boundary of the hill, and beyond the line where I am certain I can keep you in check, whatever comes. If the frenzy touches your mind, you won’t be able to sing to hold it off, not until the moment of attack. Once outside the fortress walls we must maintain total silence or the enemy will be alerted. I will be there to lead you. I am your chieftain. If the frenzy comes, remember that mine is the only voice you must obey. If madness threatens to drive you off course, cling to that.You are my men; you are the men of the hill.We march to victory.When every last Norman soldier is gone from our territory, when Whistling Tor is ours again, we’ll march up here with our hearts high, singing fit to rattle the walls of this fortress.”
The urge to give this speech the resounding cheer it deserved showed on every face. That nobody uttered a word was testament to the transformation of this extraordinary band of frightened villagers and wayward specters into a disciplined fighting force. Anluan turned his head towards me. He smiled, and in that smile I saw his love for me, and his fear. I found a smile of my own and hoped it was full of confidence.
“Forward, men!” Anluan said, and they moved away, out through the gap in the wall and down into the dark forest.The men of the hill: young and old, dead and living, monk, councillor, warrior, craftsman, innkeeper, farmer. Hope shone in their eyes; pride held their bodies straight and tall. Above the trees the sky held the faintest hint of dawn.
“Well, then,” said Orna when the last in the line had vanished from sight. She wiped a hand across her cheek. “You’d best not stand about in your bare feet any longer, Caitrin, not to speak of that shirt that shows half your legs. Let’s see if we can find you a gown somewhere. Coming in?” This last was addressed to the wise woman.
“We will wait out of doors.” The woman with the moon tattoo had been joined by the others I had seen on the night of Anluan’s council, the village wife and the elegant creature with glittering jewelery and features of faded beauty. “Be wary, Caitrin,” the wise woman added. “If poison was in the jug, you, too, were an intended victim. If you are right, and the girl in the veil has done this, she is cleverer and more devious than any of us believed.We thought her harmless. Her devotion to the chieftains of Whistling Tor seemed of little consequence. She may have the ability to make others see in the way she wishes them to see. She is still here. She still watches you.Take care.”
