The White Mare: The Dalraida Trilogy, Book One by Jules Watson Read Free Book Online

so close again! Then a second thought raced on its heels. No! The blood on the sands … the screaming … Oh, Mother, no …
    She heard a low moan, and realized it came from her own throat. Beside her Linnet was swaying, her grip on Rhiann’s hand growing tighter and tighter until flesh lost all feeling.
    The image behind Rhiann’s eyes was now clearer. There was a young man standing in the bow, dark-haired, his skin brown and clear, unmarked by the blue tattoos of her own tribesmen, his face shaven. A gael of Erin.
    The man’s green cloak was swept back to expose an immense gold torc, and under the sleeves of his embroidered tunic, arm-rings shone. The mailshirt over his tunic was burnished so that it glittered, and on his brow blazed a jewel of green fire. In one hand he held an unsheathed sword; in the other a crimson shield, bright-painted with the symbol of a boar.
    At last she dragged her eyes open, daring it all to be a dream. But there it was. Goddess, it was real.
    The boat was so close now that those of the Epidii without the sight could discern for themselves what the gods had brought them: a battered craft with cracked mast, and inside, a score of men with fierce eyes.
    And they were making for the shore.

Chapter 6

    I n an instant, panic broke out on the beach, as women swept up children and raced for the hill-slopes above, old people stumbling after on cold-stiffened legs. Rhiann stood rooted to the spot, her knees weak beneath her. She tried to turn, and faltered, and then Linnet’s firm arms were steadying her.
    ‘It is all right,’ Linnet murmured, as if she was gentling a filly. ‘We are safe, daughter. We are safe.’
    Rhiann tried to gulp a breath, but the panic had taken hold, and it left no room to fill her lungs. The edges of her sight wavered and grew dark.
    ‘Stop!’
    Gelert’s roar split the air, and such was the ingrained fear of him that the tide of people froze. The chief druid wrenched off his horse mask, spilling white hair over his shoulders, and thrust it into Declan’s hands. Then he took back his oak staff and raised it before him. Though old, he was formidable, and for the first time Rhiann felt almost grateful for that daunting power.
    The gael rowers had stilled their own hands, and the boat now hung suspended, the leader’s cloak against the sky like the first spear of grass after snow. And then the man held his hand up, with fingers open in the trading sign of peace.
    ‘Name yourself!’ cried Gelert, raising his staff. His voice carried clearly over the water. ‘You disturb a soul’s journey to the west!’
    ‘I am a prince of Erin!’ the man called. His voice was fair and strong, speaking a language close to Alban, with its own strange lilt. ‘We have come to negotiate a trading treaty, but were caught in the storm. Please, let us land and we will talk.’
    Rhiann’s mind was still spinning, and yet his words penetrated the haze of shock around her. These men were not raiders, no matter how well armed. Raiders fell upon people in surprise; they did not approacha shore defended by spears, or exchange fair words. Still, her shoulders trembled as Linnet released her.
    Gelert leaned into Declan and the two druids spoke, heads close together. The chief druid turned back to the boat. ‘You may land, man of Erin,’ he conceded. ‘But only if I bind you by your most sacred oath to do us no harm.’
    Without hesitating, the man laid his sword out across both palms. ‘I swear on my father’s honour, and that of Hawen the Great Boar, god of our tribe, that we will not raise weapons against you.’ He swung the sword back down, and broke into a sudden, crooked smile, startling in the grimness of his face. ‘Be assured! I would not wear such finery to attack, honoured druid. I only seek pardon for disturbing your rite.’
    Around Rhiann, people who had been crying out moments before began whispering again, and now their voices held a note of … admiration?
    Gelert stared