The Dragon Bard (Dragon of the Island) by Mary Gillgannon Read Free Book Online

in the near darkness of the root cellar. From above came the sounds of fighting   . . . and dying. Screams and cries. Dessia crouched low and put her fingers in her ears, trying to block out the terrible noises. A few moments later, some instinct jerked her to alertness, and she removed her fingers from her ears and listened intently. Footsteps above her. Very near. She glanced up at the wicker covering over the entrance to the cellar. A shaft of light pierced the gloom and she knew she’d been found.
    She looked around the crowded chamber for something to use as a weapon. Spying a basket of cabbages, she pulled it near. She grabbed one of the cabbages and prepared to fling it. A dark form filled the opening, blocking out the light. The next moment the man was in the cellar. His huge sword gleamed in the torchlight filtering in from above as he moved towards her. Dessia let out a scream of rage and terror and flung the cabbage at his head
    * * *
     
    Dessia sat up with jerk. She was shocked to find herself lying on her bed in the tower room. The dream had seemed so real, so incredibly, appalling real .
    She took gulps of air as she tried to calm herself. Perspiration glazed her skin and her throat felt raw, as if she really had screamed. Fierce emotions broke upon her consciousness, grief and horror to realize how much of the dream was true. Her family had died that day. They were gone forever. She wondered why the dream had come to her now. What did it mean? Was it a warning? Or a chastisement?
    The gods might be angry with her because she hadn’t avenged her family’s death. Surely that was the reason she’d been spared. The gods had sent the phantom cat that guided her to safety. She'd been allowed to live because the gods meant for it to be so. The dream was a reminder of their claim upon her.
    Anguish forced her from the bed. Wrapping her arms around herself, she began to pace about the small chamber. Tears of frustration stung her eyelids. She was doing the best she could. How could the gods reproach her? A child had no chance of wreaking vengeance. She’d had to grow up first, and learn to defend herself. As soon as she was able, she’d returned to the crumbling ruins of her father’s once proud fortress. It had taken nearly a year to build a settlement there and raise the walls in timber. Then she’d realized such defenses were not enough. The rath must be rebuilt in stone. She'd told herself she dare not take revenge on O’Bannon until she and her forces had a safe place to retreat to, but perhaps that belief was false. Perhaps the gods wanted her to attack now, this winter. The dream might be a sign.
    She went to the window and threw open the shutters. Cool, damp air assaulted her face and chilled her sweaty skin beneath her fur-lined bedrobe. In the east, she could see a faint thinning of the gray curtain of night. Almost dawn. She would never sleep now. Her body seemed to pulse with wild energy.
    She dressed quickly, not bothering to wake Aife. Rather than putting on a gown, she donned a warm woolen tunic and trews. From one of the clothing chests, she removed a broad leather swordbelt and secured it around her hips.
    She slipped out the door and ventured down the dark stairway, moving stealthily. The realization that she was sneaking out of her own home made her smile, then the weight of her responsibilities again descended. She could escape the rath, but she couldn’t escape her duty. The awareness seemed to crush her, making her feel as she had that night in the cellar, overwhelmed and helpless. She shoved away the gnawing self-pity. Life was hard and brutal, a struggle for all creatures. She should not bemoan her lot. To do so was to risk angering the gods.
    Down in the hall, one of the maidservants was tending the hearth fire. Dessia nodded to the woman, then moved behind her father’s chair and took down her shield and sword from the wall above. As she sheathed the sword on her belt, she