“I remember my journey here.” He speaks absently as we are brought before him, gaze fixed on the motionless surface of the lake. He’s holding the engraved silver arm I returned with, the thing looking small and light in his hands. “Thegafaand their bargain. Me choosing my spear. I was so proud, when I left Fornax. So confident that I was destined to be a Champion for the ages.” His gaze finally slides to us. Bitterness in his expression. “I thought that for fifteen years.”
When neither of us respond, he stands. Towering, even over the other muscular warriors under his command. “Why was he different, Druid?” He addresses Lir and points the silver arm at me. “Why did he receive this instead of a weapon, and why did thegafafollow him like that?”
“What befalls each of us in Fornax is not to be spoken of. You arenasceann. You know this.” Lir says it calmly, but I do not miss the meaningful glance he gives me. He doesn’t know either. And he’s warning me not to tell anyone.
I’m gathering the way I got out isn’t the way it usually happens for druids, then, either.
“And yet here I am. Speaking of it.” He tosses the metal arm into a nearby pack, and comes to stand in front of Lir. Slightly higher on the hill, making him loom even more than he normally would over the white-cloaked man. “I would know what makes him sospecial.”
Lir smiles tightly. “There are some things that are impossible to explain to men like you, Gallchobhar.”
Gallchobhar’s smile is slow. He finally looks over at me. “He tried to protect you, you know. Lied to me. Said you had already failed,” he chides, shaking his head as he gestures to Lir. “Can you believe that? One of thedraoi. So high-and-mighty in their neutrality.” He spits the words.
Steps forward and with one smooth motion, drives his spear through Lir’s unprotected stomach.
I shout in fury and horror as the druid moans and sags, kept upright only by the men on either side of him holding his arms; I thrash against my own captors, roar for the massive man to stop, but it makes no difference. There is a manic light in Gallchobhar’s eyes. Something wild and feverish.
With a muffled groan, somehow, Lir manages to get his legs under himself again. The spear jutting from his stomach, bright blood soaking the white of his clothes. His eyes are black. He stares at Gallchobhar, meeting his gaze. In evident pain but unafraid. Proud and defiant as he holds his staff.
“Maybe you are right, Druid,” says Gallchobhar, his lips bared back into a rictus of a smile. “But then, there are some things men like me do not need to know.”
He rips the serrated spear from Lir’s flesh, eliciting a gargled scream from the man, before drawing his iron dagger, grabbing the druid by the hair, yanking his head back and slitting his throat.
I am light-headed with shock and rage, flail futilely against the hands keeping me at bay. Lir slumps to the ground, both light and dark fled from his eyes, his staff clattering away down the hill. Blood pulses onto the grass and is drunk by the dirt. Gallchobhar barely notices, stepping over the body and moving on to stop in front of me. Examining me with disdain.
“King Fiachra besieged Caer Áras two days ago. I half expect when we get there, your king’s head will already be on a pike.” Still examining me as if trying to find some great secret hidden somewhere on my person.
I barely hear him. Can’t take my eyes from Lir’s motionless form. He wasdraoi. Sacrosanct in a way I don’t think anyone in the Republic ever was. Even having witnessed Cian’s death previously, my mind can barely process the reality of it.
“So you are Fiachra’s man,” I eventually say bitterly.
“I am his Champion, once I deliver you.” He sounds angry again. “Ruarcknew you would be taken to Fornax, so Fiachra sent me to collect you. You are his price, and your death is Ruarc’s. One I am more than happy to pay, but still.” He walks up and stops directly in front of me. Face inches from mine, breath stinking of old mead and meat. Inviting me to struggle, to do something to provoke him. Even through my rage, I know better than to give him the satisfaction. Men like Gallchobhar thrive on such displays from their enemies. “No quiet grave for you, Leathf hear. You are to be sacrificed in Lake Áras upon our return. I would say …” He glances at the sun. “Dawn in two days?”
He produces what looks like a stone brooch, the pin on it impossibly thin and sharp-looking. Its body shows an intricate carving of the three joined whorls, same as on the entrance to Fornax.
“A gift from Ruarc,” he explains to the question in my eyes.
Then the man on my left is grabbing my chin with force, holding my head still despite my suddenly panicked efforts to shy away. Gallchobhar holds the brooch like a dagger. His eyes gleam.
He stabs the stone needle into the base of my neck, and all I can see is bright, quivering pain.
It’s not the wound that hurts worst, though it certainly does hurt. It’s my head. Like I’ve been in utter darkness and emerged into the midday sun, except my eyes cannot adjust and I cannot shut them. I moan as agony ricochets through my skull.
And I realise through it all that my father’s pulse, strong moments ago, has vanished. I cannot sense him. That small feeling of security, however false, however childish, is lost to me.
I’m jerked to my feet. Bound, and slung unceremoniously over horseback.
We start riding.
We travel hard and rest little, breaking only for a few hours in the evening before pressing on. Gallchobhar, for his part, largely ignores me. My legs stiffen and ache awfully from my uncomfortable positioning. The pounding of my head is unceasing.
The sounds of the siege reach us long before we see it.
It is night again as we draw close to Caer Áras. Cold and recently wet, the angry glow of fire highlighting low, racing clouds. The same wind that hurries them brings us the cacophony of battle. The guttural snarls and clashing of steel as warriors smash together. Screams and cries and moans cut frighteningly short. A hollow wail of death.
We crest the final rise and though I am weary, and sore, and shivering, I wrench my head up enough to take in what lies beyond.
The Caer is surrounded.
