Valerien took in a deep breath when they left the stench of the market behind and made their way up the hill towards Owain's quarters, leaving a trail of strawberry tops.
The horse trotted slowly behind them. Valerien glanced at the short, stocky beast. He was just about to ask the bard if he couldn't have found a better one, but Kirin spoke first.
"What did you mean when you said your blood is tainted too?"
He sounded so shy and hesitant that Valerien knew his bait had worked.
"You are not 'tainted'. People just always fear what they don't know," he said gently.
The young man blushed. "It's all right if you don't want to answer, but don't patronise me."
"I wasn't. But you can't make yourself dependent on the judgment of others. Especially when everything you feel and think shows in your face. You are making yourself an easy target."
"Easy for you to say. No one ever looks down on you," the bard grumbled.
Valerien smiled. "When I was as young as you, there were quite a few people who whispered behind my back that I was a tainted creation of a mad witch. It was like they constantly expected me to spontaneously combust or do something outrageous."
"And what did you do?"
"At first, I tried to prove them wrong, but then I realised they didn't matter and did whatever I liked."
"And they stopped when you ignored them?" the bard asked hopefully.
"Well, at least they became much quieter about it. It could, of course, also have had something to do with my older brother breaking a few noses and limbs. He was even more hot-headed than you when he was young."
The bard pondered that for a while, then said, "When I was a boy, I wanted to become a warrior like Owain, so no one would dare disrespect me again. He said he would train me properly when I learned to keep a cool head."
"I see that worked out well," Valerien said with a grin.
Kirin sighed and said, "He only trained me in archery because that is one weapon one cannot use so easily in the heat of the moment."
"So you became a bard instead to fight people with pointed verses?" Valerien teased.
"No. But I am good at memorising verses, and all our history is kept in tales and songs."
"And you don't write anything down," Valerien remembered.
To his surprise, the bard said, "The High Warlock taught me how to read and write Latin, so I can read Roman records. But what use would it be to write laws and history down if no one else can read it?"
Valerien glanced up at the fort atop the hill. It must have been a solid construction once, before it was left to crumble.
"And those Romans built that fort up there and wrote things down? In a different language?" he asked with interest. "Where are they now?"
"They went home across the seas. Did you think that this island was the whole world?" the bard quipped.
Valerien knew he was joking, but a terrible thought struck him. If there were humans with more advanced technology than the primitive people on this island, maybe there were others among them like Kirin.
And even if only one of them could open the Veil, it was enough to let through hundreds of thousands of those barbarians, all armed with iron and eager for gold. The Fae rebels' plans seemed trivial compared to such a threat.
The bard interrupted his dark thoughts by tugging at his sleeve. He pointed eagerly across the narrow sea channel.
"That is Ynys Mon," he said, puffing up like he owned it.
Valerien forced himself to smile at his troublesome companion and said, "And that is where your king of witches lives?"
"Myrddin Emrys is the High Warlock of Britannia, not a king," the bard corrected. "He is mightier than any of them, and all witches are under his rule. He punishes the rogue and takes in the abandoned. His wisdom is beyond any mortal's…"
"Yes, yes. Can you just give me the non-bardic version?" Valerien interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Kirin's shoulders slumped, and he said somewhat sheepishly, "He is the most powerful being in Britain. I was thinking we should send him a message and ask for his help. He can raise a whole army of witches if need be. The three of us cannot beat so many people alone."
The last thing Valerien needed was more delays and obstacles. This one was so trusting that he would be easy to dispose of, but a whole army of witches was a different matter.
"We cannot wait that long. You just need to find them. Leave the rest to me," he said.
Kirin lowered his eyes, then turned to the sea, his lips pressed together as if trying to hold back words. He raised his burned hand and gripped his upper arm where the sleeve hid the mark.
So that was it.
Valerien stepped forward and put a hand on his shoulder.
"I promise I won't let them take you," he said.
Kirin whispered something into the wind, then shook his hand off and turned around.
"Promise you will kill me first. I would rather die than be a slave again," he said, the wide blue eyes earnest and pleading.
"Don't be so melodramatic, bard. We won't…"
"Promise me!"
Valerien regarded him for a moment. The young fool was entirely serious. It should have been easy to promise him what was inevitable anyway. Still, a twinge of regret mixed with the words.
"I promise."