Blade of Fortriu by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online

out, knives or spears in hand. Faolan remained by the embers, standing now, his face in shadow. Ana realized that his particular task must be guarding her. She found that deeply unsettling. Close to dawn, she fellasleep to the sound of Darva’s steady snore.
    They traveled north and inland. The third day saw them ford a substantial river, the water rushing about the horses’ legs and soaking the riders’ boots. Faolan rode downstream of Ana, keeping a close watch on her pony. At the far side, she dismounted to wring the water from her skirt and, seeing him nearby, said testily, “I can ride, you know.”
    “Justas well,” Faolan said. “That’s only the first.”
    She climbed back on the pony and the journey continued. Another woman might have demanded a fire to dry herself by, she thought, or a rest, or food and drink. Another woman might be deciding, already, that Abertornie was as far as she was prepared to go, and that if Alpin of Briar Wood didn’t want her enough to come and fetch her, he could do without.Ferada, for instance, would already have put her foot down, Ana was sure of it. Ana would not do so. Eyeing the straight, somehow disapproving back of Faolan as he rode ahead to assess the safety of the track, Ana felt she had something to prove, not just to him but to herself. She had been brought up with a strong sense of duty. There was her duty to Bridei and Tuala, who had provided herwith a home and family of sorts. More importantly, there was her duty to Fortriu. As a woman of the royal line she was bound to marry and produce children: sons who could contest the kingship in future years, daughters to make strategic marriages such as her own. Her family in the Light Isles would expect this of her. Her family … She had hardly seen them since she was a child. Her cousin, vassalking to Bridei; her older brothers, who had been distant presences in her childhood world. The aunt who had raised her after her parents died. A little sister, Breda; her, she missed most of all, remembering summer days at the tide’s edge, the two of them gathering shells under a wide, pale sky; winter afternoons by the hearth fire, embroidering linen kerchiefs; Aunt pretending not to be snoozingin her chair, and Ana surreptitiously fixing Breda’s wobbly stitches. Breda would be sixteen now, old enough to have a husband of her own. It was not so very far from White Hill over to the isles. Yet, when you were a hostage, it was a whole world away.
    Ana spent most of the day trying to distract herself from the chill of the wind through her damp clothing and the aching in her bones with storiesof heroes and dragons and strange forest creatures. She sang songs under her breath, just so her mind did not dwell on her misery. She went through the repertory of little tunes she had sung to Derelei, counting-rhymes, lullabies, songs for seeding or harvest or hauling in nets. The isles were full of such melodies, each with its particular purpose.
    The ride continued; the path was steeper now,the horses picking their way on stony ground. A vista of pine-clad slopes opened to the west. Beyond the forest she could see high, dark mountains, snowcapped and lonely. Ana began to hum a longer piece to herself, the ballad of a traveler in faraway lands and the strange and wondrous folk he encountered on his journey. With luck, its dozens of verses would last her until they reached level groundand Faolan decided they could stop.
    A considerable time later, just as Ana reached the part where the hero slew the dragon, they came to the foot of the hill and the men reined in their mounts, gathering around Faolan. As Ana rode up, she heard him speaking.
    “ … made good progress. I judge there’s time to reach Abertornie before dusk if we keep up a brisk pace. That way we’ll avoid the needto make camp again. It means we can be on our way across the borders while the weather still holds.”
    The men were nodding. Ana glanced across at Darva, who sat