Some say war is never far from the horizon. . .

Pronouciation/Glossary

A chàirdean - friends (a chArsh-den)
Amadain - idiots (amadin)

Chapter 10

Rainbow bunting flapped in the gentle breeze cooling the evening air. Hopefully that, and the earthy smell filling my nose, meant we would soon have much needed rain. A layer of dust covered everything for miles, even in the City streets that workers swept tirelessly to maintain the bright white cobbles beneath our feet. Rain would wash all the stoor away and freshen the clammy air.

Back by the dragon fountain in the main square, Jareth and I struggled to find a bench in front of the stage not already crammed full with people of all ages and rank. Eveyone eagerly awaited the infamous Bard who travelled the continent and beyond, gathering stories and songs from the lowest of peasants to the richest of kings.

Eamonn approached when he spotted us, taking a seat on my right, his dark eyes scanning over Jareth and I as if searching for signs of mischief. At least he hadn't noticed we'd taken a detour down one of the side streets. He gave a stiff nod of approval and placed my newly bought clothes at his feet.

From behind the curtained stage, someone clapped three times. The sharp sound silenced the murmurs of anticipation, some in the crowd inching forward in their seats, as if trying to get even closer than they already were.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, lads and lasses, you are about to hear jokes that will make the love-drunk blush, songs that will sing in your blood for nights to come, and tales of long forgotten history silenced to myth!" a young woman shouted as she swept across the stage.

Her dress was a deep wine red, and made of a rich velvet with golden trim that shimmered with her every graceful step. Piercing green eyes searched the enchanted crowd, full red-painted lips lifting as a man whistled. She waved a floor length sleeve towards the rustling curtains, and called out, "I present to you the master of words himself, the bard who braves wars to bring you his songs, the one and only, Jolly of Old!"

The curtains swung open to reveal the man himself to thunderous applause and stomping feet.

Arms outstretched towards the crowd, he soaked it in with a smug grin.

He didn't look like a man who braved battlefields. His hair was silky black and tied at the nape of his neck with an expensive looking, slim golden chain with jingling bells dangling from the ends. His doublet was the same red velvet with golden trim as the beautiful women who remained standing at the edge of the stage, and I swore he even had the pink of rouge on his cheeks, and a dark liner around his hazel eyes. He was slim and sharp featured, walking forward with the grace of a dancer, not a fighter. Then again, I supposed he wasn't at these battles to fight, but to record what happened.

Jareth and I gasped in delight as Jolly of Old plucked a bright yellow daffodil out of thin air, and handed it to the woman. "I thank you for such an illustrious introduction, my sweet Elvira."

"A flower for every introduction is still not enough to seduce me, Bard," she quipped back, but accepted the gift.

A laugh went around the older audience members. Even Eamonn chuckled while Jareth and I shared a look of disgust. I didn't know what it meant to seduce, and I doubted Jareth did either, but her tone and Jolly's longing look towards his apparent assistant were enough to clue us in.

Both our faces went red.

Still, I knew his longing and her refusal were most likely an act for entertainment's sake.

"I will start with a song for you then, my lady." Jolly picked up a pale wooden lute gilded in gold shamed like licking flames He strummed his fingers slowly along the strings that vibrated a haunting chord. "Pay attention to the lyrics, dear listeners, and you will hear a tale of old, the story of a rose plucked too soon."

It was a rather sombre song, with a lilting melody and an unhappy ending. The plucked rose withered away in the glass case it was kept in, after a life spent watching all that happened, but being unable to take part. The enthusiasm of the audience didn't diminish however. After a moment of contemplative silence, they broke out in raucous applause. He lightened the mood with further jests aimed towards Elvira who sometimes joined his songs with her silver flute, her fingers moving deftly no matter how fast the tune.

He was by far the best thing I'd seen all evening.

Some of the crowd began to trickle off to see other entertainment as the night drew on - like the famed fire swallower performing by the river. Jareth wanted to see him too, as did Eamonn, but I wasn't for moving until I'd heard what I wanted.

"We've been sat for ages, Lèan," Jareth muttered unhappily. "He's almost finished now, and if we don't get to the river soon, we'll miss the bonfire and the actual solstice celebration. They have actors who dress up like deer and dragons-"

"Just another minute. He hasn't told the story yet."

"What story?" Eamonn asked.

I shook my head and hushed them both as Jolly of Old put down his lute and took his place in the middle of the stage. "For those who have stayed as the crowd has dwindled, I give you my most gracious thanks." He bowed dramatically low, one arm swept out, then lifted his head with a smirk. "Alas, I have one last tale to tell. So Listen well."

Elvira glanced around the square almost nervously, and my gaze followed hers to where a group of soldiers lingered by a crackling brazier. Soldiers wearing the sigil of the royal family, not the plain grey clocks of the City Watch. Maybe that was why the square had nearly emptied entirely.

"There was a time when wild dragons roamed the skies of the world as often as the hawks patrol the skies above the field. There was a time when one did not need to be the son of a great lord to join the infamous Guild of Riders in the mountain shadowing us now. Once we had a Southern King who understood The North was still it's own no matter who wore the crown of DàTìre."

A few more stood from the benches and scurried away with their heads down. Jolly of Old didn't look bothered. His lips twitched, even as he ignored whatever Elvira hissed unhappily at him.

"We should go too," Eamonn muttered uneasily, though he didn't move a muscle, as if he was as entranced by what the bard was saying as I was.

"Whispers of war are on the wind, my friends, coming from beyond The Southern Strait, and to the North. . ."

Cries rang out from the remaining crowd, questions and shouts of ridicule drowning out the rest of the bards words.

"How can there be war coming from the North, there isn't anything North," I whispered.

Eamonn, jumped to his feet and gripped my hand to yank me up too. "We're leaving. Now."

A glint of armour caught my attention.

The soldiers by the brazier crept towards the stage.

"The signs are here, my friends!" Jolly shouted over the noise. "Signs that foretell the end of the dragons should we fail. Seers speak of the coming of the last Torchbearer. He is here, a chàirdean! The one to light the fire that will lead us out of the dark, the one who can return dragons to the wild, the one who will stop the coming war. You know the words, we all know the words though you have been forced into silence: The Torchbearer will rise from the ashes and-"

"Move!" Eamonn barked.

The sound of hissing metal as swords were drawn sliced through the air. I managed to dart round Eamonn just in time to see one of the soldiers plant a heavy gloved hand into the Bard's face. Elvira cried out, but was held back by another. Jolly of Old laughed at his attacker as he got to his feet, and held out his wrists.

"Arrest me!" he dared. "I have powerful sponsors who will have me out before you can spit on the dirt."

More soldiers spilled into the square, their armour clanking with every step. At first I thought they'd been drawn by the scuffle but a balding older man with a bright red ploom decorating the helmet under his arm appeared surprised to see the Bard and his assistant being dragged off.

For a while, the crowd too were stunned. But then laughter came from some distant part of the city, and it was like nothing had happened. Vendors picked up what had been knocked down in the scuffle, the stage was quickly cleared, and the musicians began to play again.

"We're going back to The Keep," Eamonn said, dragging both Jareth and I away. He made sure to keep a wide berth of the group of soldiers who'd arrived.

Eamonn ushered us to leave the square to the West where the streets were still bustling with people, most rushing towards The Northern Gate for the strike of midnight. But Eamonn was leading us against the crush towards The Southern Gate.

"What about the bonfire?" I asked. "Please? It's my first time here for the solstice."

"You! Stop where you are!"

Eamonn stopped short. "Shit. For the love of Bera, not now." He turned, shoving me behind him. "Don't make a sound, don't let him see you unless I say."

I frowned but decided to obey.

The crowd parted for the approaching soldier with his red ploom, a few casting unnerving looks our way.

"I've seen you at Dùn Ceò, have I not?" the soldier asked.

"You have. I am Eamonn of the Second Riders, under command of Captain Lann."

"You will address me as Captain, Sir."

Eamonn shifted on his feet. "I only have one Captain. . .Sir."

The Captain hissed. "Do they not teach etiquette and manners in the north? I will have to speak to one of the Commanders about this."

"Do as you wish. Is there something I can help you with? We're causing a block standing about here."

"I've been sent to look for someone of interest to The Duke. But as you were also witness to what just occurred in the square, getting your statement would also be useful. Riders are apparently respected more than King's soldiers here in The North."

I smirked.

"A foolish Bard spilled foolish words," Lann replied, his tone bored. "Pompous idiot probably had too much of the summer wine. Your men handled it well enough. Now if you'll excuse me." Eamonn patted Jareth's head. "This young lad needs escorted to the bonfire to see the last of tonight's celebrations before I take him to bed."

"And the girl?"

Armour creaked and I got the sense the captain was trying to get a glimpse of me. Eamonn hesitated before saying, "His sister. Shy wee thing. Doesn't like scary looking soldiers from out of town with big swords and armour."

Why was he lying? Why was everyone always lying about me?

The Captain hummed. "I want to see her face."

"Why? Like scaring little girls?"

I had to bite my lip to stop from sniggering as the captain spluttered and choked. "Your insolence, sir, is deplorable! Move along quickly before I move you along in manacles. Expect to be brought up before your General for disciplne before my men leave for Baille Tuath."

He clanked furiously away, roughly shoving away anyone who got in his warpath as he did.

"That'll teach him to try and get a look at his next bed warmer," Eamonn muttered, but tension lingered around the creases of his eyes as he urged us to keep going.

"Who do you think they're looking for?" Jareth asked, not questioning Eamonn's tale about my being his sister.

"Probably some thief," Eamonn replied, and no sooner had he when the long drone of one of the horns mounted to the watchtowers around the city walls, and in the city itself, sounded out.

The entire street stopped moving.

Confused faces looked around while people pondered on what would cause them to blow the horn. They were normally for attacks, or the rare occasion the river burst it's banks, and I was certain neither of those had occurred. The warning bells too began to ring, and together they formed a deafening sound that was as uncomfortable as the thickening tension. One long blast, alongside the bells, was an order for everyone to get inside.

"They're looking for someone," I heard a woman whisper. "One of the rebels stole something from The Keep they say. I don't want to be caught out in this. Best get home and shutter the windows."

"Home. Now," Eamonn instructed, shoving Jareth and I roughly to startle is into moving.

Bellowed orders were shouted from distant parts of the city, the voices bouncing off the walls so it was impossible to tell from where they came from.

Panic imploded. A wave rushed through the crowd, crushing everyone forward as people began to run. Eamonn moved quickly, grabbing me by the hand, and me in turn grabbing Jareth's, before he dragged us against the flow.

A yank nearly pulled me from my feet, and Jareth's hand slipped from mine.

"Lèan!" He reached out as I did, his dark eyes wide and desperate, but Eamonn either didn't feel me trying to get him to slow down or he ignored it.

"Jareth!" I screamed. But he'd already been dragged away by the crowd, disappearing into the crush of bodies.

All I could do was cling onto Eamonn in the hopes I wouldn't trip and be trampled on, and pray Jareth did the same.

Screams echoed in the night, and more than once we saw soldiers rushing down alleys, shoving young boys and girls against the wall to tear down their hoods before moving on with growing frustration. The streets grew quieter as everyone barred themselves in their homes and inns. Soon it was as if we were the only ones around.

We abandoned the main streets for the smaller alleys, only to run right into a group of soldiers. These men weren't outfitted like the Captain had been. They wore no glinting armour, just boiled leather under a faded tabard with the King's sigil barely visible.

"It's her!" The shortest barked, pointing a long bladed dirk at me. "That's the girl from The Keep they wanted, I'm sure of it!"

My eyes widened as the three young soldiers crouched with blades at the ready. Me? Why would anyone want me?

Where were all the City Watchmen? They should have been patrolling the streets and making arrests, not King's men.

"You're mistaken," Eamonn said slowly, his hand sliding beneath his leather jacket where I knew his short sword hung from his belt. "Continue your search."

The short soldier smirked. "Then you won't mind if we take her to our Captain."

"I do mind, actually." Eamonn pulled his sword free, then slashed at the rope holding a bundle of barrels together. With one heavy kick, they began roll towards the startled soldiers.

I ran before Eamonn commanded me to, adrenaline rushing through my veins as my feet pounded against the cobbles.

"This way. The South gate isn't far." Eamonn said.

"No!" I threw my body into him, shoving him down Sràid Gobhann, the street where most of the blacksmiths and metal workers were, all the while hearing the eerie echo of the old seer's voice in my head. "We need to go to the East gate."

"What? No, south is faster. The East gate is too far away."

"But it's not as well guarded."

Eamonn peered down at me but kept moving in the direction I led us. "How do you know that?"

"I. . .I just do."

I wasn't sure why I lied, why I didn't want anyone knowing of my run in with the old man and his prophetic words, nor even why I trusted his words in the first place, but I did.

"Wait! What about Jareth, we have to find him. He could be hurt or lost or the soldiers could have gotten him. I should have held onto him tighter. . ."

"They aren't interested in him," Eamonn assured me, giving my arm a squeeze as we slowed down. "He knows these streets better than you. He'll be fine."

That didn't mean he wasn't hurt. The way he'd screamed my name, the way his wide eyes had held mine as he was forced back by rushing bodies. . .

A night of celebrations ruined. Had the bonfire been equally interrupted by soldiers? All because of one thief?

Finally out of breath, my words were ragged and hoarse with emotion as I promised, "I didn't steal anything, I swear."

"I know you didn't."

"Then why do they think they're after me?"

He didn't answer.

Stopping at the end of a narrow deserted street, he leaned forward to make sure the way was clear. The East gate was across from us, but there was nowhere left to hide. Farmers used this gate more often than most, so the expanse of space between tall stone and wood houses were often used for market day. A few sheep lingered in the pen furthest away. Voices echoed from above the gates, along with the shuffle of steps. Not well guarded, but guarded all the same.

"It's because of the blanket, isn't it?" I murmured as Eamonn cursed and pressed flat against the wall again. "They found out it's mine?"

Again he ignored me, dark eyes scanning our surroundings.

"Because of Lann?"

He crouched down and picked up a dark grey rock about the size of his fist.

"My parents?"

He stiffened. Then cast a glance in my direction before he stepped away from the wall. He drew his arm back and launched the rock at a metal pale. The clatter made me jump. It made the City Watchmen jump too. Their footsteps thundered down the wooden stairs in the direction of the noise.

"Show yourself!" one demanded as they disappeared in search of an intruder.

Eamonn chuckled. "Amadain." Lugging my newly bought clothes back under his arm, he jerked his head in the direction of the gate. "If you can still talk, you haven't been moving fast enough. Hurry. We need to get to home, preferably before they realise we've left the city."

I nodded, but my teeth ground together in irritation. Whatever was going on, it definitely had something to do with me, and I deserved to know what. However, I wasn't going to risk being caught even if I was innocent of whatever accusations had been pressed against me.

Together we bolted from our hiding spot.

We nearly made it out the gate when a hand latched onto my braid and yanked my head sharply back. Fear struck me like lightening. On instinct, I tore a pin from my dress and span around, stabbing my attacker in the arm.

He screamed.

Loud.

And my eyes widened in amazement as the metal pin started to glow a bright orange, then white at the tip, as if it had just been pulled from a hot forge. The man's skin sizzled, and a smell like cooking pork filled my nostrils. I gagged, immediately releasing the pin, except I hadn't been burnt. There wasn't so much as a red mark on my fingers or a slight sting.

Staring at my hands in disbelief, I didn't notice Eamonn's cajoling for me to start running.

"Lèan," he hissed, but I was numb with shock.

How had I not been burnt? How had the pin gotten so hot in the first place?

With a huff, Eamonn scooped me up by the waist and hoisted me over his shoulder, running for the smaller dirt tracks that led towards the fields rather than the bridge we'd need to cross to get to Dùn Ceò.

Breath stuck in my constricted chest, I watched the fallen soldier lying unmoving in front of The Eastern Gate until I couldn't even make out the walls of the city anymore, then until the sound of the bells and horns drifted into a mournful hum.