by P. C. Cast
Brighid snorted a laugh. “I’ll have to remind him that he was the first meeting with the warriors.” Before she left the boy’s side she leaned forward and brushed the hair from his face. She didn’t know why she did it, she just knew it felt right to touch him—to reassure herself that he was warm and breathing and living.
How could such a small boy cause her such a large amount of worry?
Children…little wonder parents, who were otherwise young and healthy, could appear so haggard and distracted.
She took one last look at Liam before trotting away to join Cuchulainn. She studied the mixture of warriors and children as she wound her way to the front of the group. All around her children chattered endlessly. They had been traveling through the pass escorted by the Guardian Warriors for the past two hours, and the children’s questions had not slowed. They were like bright balls of impetuous curiosity wrapped in wings. Brighid thought the sound of their happy voices mixed with the warrior’s much less exuberant answers was highly satisfying.
These warriors would not take up arms against the children. Not after marching with them and seeing them as living, breathing individuals. True, she thought, stifling another smile, they might run from him if they came upon a winged child in a dark passageway, but they definitely wouldn’t shoot him.
“Brighid!” Cuchulainn called again, gesturing for her to join him.
The Huntress increased her pace, overtaking Cu’s gelding easily. Brighid noted with a new wave of amusement that Fagan and Cu had pulled far enough away from the main group that they had outdistanced the questioning children.
“Guardian Castle is just around this next turn. Fagan sent runners ahead to prepare the castle,” Cu said.
“Cuchulainn described the unique shelters the hybrids carry with them. The courtyard of Guardian Castle should be a more than adequate place for them to set up camp tonight,” Fagan said.
All vestiges of Brighid’s humor fled, and she gave the Swordmaster a disdainful look. “Are you so unwilling to allow the New Fomorians into your guest quarters that you would leave children out in the cold?”
Cuchulainn started to answer her, but Fagan’s raised hand stopped him. “You misunderstand, Huntress. Guardian Castle has no luxurious accommodations for guests. We are a military castle. Our sole purpose is the defense of Partholon. I simply thought the children would be more comfortable within their own tents, which they could erect inside the safety and warmth of the inner walls of the castle. My offer of sanctuary was genuine.”
“So was the arrow that sliced through Liam’s wing,” Brighid snapped.
Instead of reacting to Brighid’s words with anger, the Swordmaster gave her a long, thoughtful look. “Your anger is understandable, Huntress,” he said. “The children are fortunate to have found such a fierce protector.”
Brighid’s hard gaze didn’t waver. “They are just children, Master Fagan.”
“And you are pledged to bring them safely to your Chieftain.”
“We are pledged to do so,” Cuchulainn said firmly.
“Understood,” Fagan said. “No matter what the two of you think, I respect your pledge and the diligence with which you are fulfilling it.”
The Swordmaster looked over his shoulder at his warriors who were still marching in formation, even though small groups of talking, laughing, question-asking children were sprinkled throughout their ranks. Fagan’s rough voice rumbled with a dry laugh, which he quickly cleared from his throat.
“When word came that descendants of the Fomorians had survived the war and had been discovered in the Wastelands, I instantly called the Guardian Warriors to high alert,” he continued. “Warily, we waited to see if Partholon would need our arms. Then the murderess, Fallon, arrived at our castle.” His jaw clenched as he carefully chose his words. “She is quite mad, a vile creature filled with hatred. You know her mate chose to join her in her imprisonment. Keir is not mad, but Fallon has poisoned him. He is a sad, withdrawn creature who cannot be trusted. The two of them were our introduction to what you call the New Fomorians. How could we expect anything except more creatures like the two of them? But these winged children.” Fagan lifted his hands and let them fall back to his sides. “Their gentle Healer—” he shook his head as if in disbelief and wiped a hand across his brow “—and the beautiful winged Shaman.” He shook his head again. “We did not expect such as them. I believe Partholon will be just as surprised as my warriors and I have been today.”
“No one expected the children, Fagan,” Cuchulainn said. “And the adults—they are honorable beings, who only wish to return to the land of their foremothers and live in peace.”
“The future should prove—” the old Swordmaster paused as a torrent of giggles erupted from behind them “—interesting.”
They followed the curve in the pass and pulled up short as Guardian Castle loomed before them. In the fading light of the setting sun it looked like a great gray ghost. A massive iron gate sealed the pass, and the thick walls of the castle, carved from the mountain itself, blocked the final entrance into Partholon.
“Ooooh! It’s so big!” Kyna’s exclamation carried easily across the silent crowd. Several of the warriors couldn’t help chuckling in response.
“I like the color,” another young voice said. “It reminds me of rainy days.”
“I don’t like rainy days. It would be prettier if someone painted nice pictures on the walls. Maybe flowers and girls,” Kyna said, and her idea set loose another avalanche of childish jabbering.
Fagan quickly raised his arm, motioning for the gate guard to lift the iron barrier. His men began ushering the children inside the castle walls.
Once within Guardian Castle, Brighid and Cuchulainn stepped aside, encouraging the children to move between the rows of dark warriors and into the inner courtyard. Fagan took temporary leave of them so that he could gather the other Masters of Arms. Cuchulainn explained to Brighid that Guardian Castle’s management was not set up like a typical Clan castle. The position of chieftain was divided between the various Masters of Arms, as the castle’s function was solely defense and training. Brighid listened to him, but kept a watchful eye on the archers who lined the walls of the castle. She’d felt their oppressive presence the moment she stepped past the iron gate.
“Fagan is trustworthy,” Cuchulainn reassured her. “He has offered us sanctuary. He will not break his oath of protection.”
“I’m not as worried about Fagan as I am about them.” She jerked her chin up at the silent wall of warriors.
“Look more closely. Read their faces.”
Brighid shifted her attention from their bows and swords to the warriors’ faces, and felt a jolt of surprise. The men and women of Guardian Castle were staring in unblinking fascination at the children.
“They’re intrigued by them,” Cuchulainn said under his breath.
“Because they thought they’d be monsters,” she retorted defensively.
“Isn’t that what we both thought before we knew them?”
The Huntress opened her mouth to deny it, but found she could only snort her displeasure.
“If a jaded Huntress can accept a winged child as her apprentice, perhaps the warriors of Guardian Castle can see more than enemies within them, too,” Cu said.
“You sound like your soul is feeling better,” she grumbled. She didn’t like being reminded of her very public proclamation that had officially made Liam her apprentice. She was sure that was going to come back to bite her.
“I’m better. Not whole, but better.” His eyes swept over the crowd. “You didn’t ask how I knew to come to you today.”
“There hasn’t been time. I assumed you weren’t far behind us, and you heard me or Liam, and knew something was amiss.”
“I did hear you, but only in my head.”
“Your head? I don’t underst—” But she did understand. “You were touched by the spirit world. It sent you a premonition.”
His lips twisted in
the parody of a smile. “More specifically than that, I believe the part of my soul that has been visiting your dreams touched me, and gave me what amounted to a friendly but firm shove down the pass.”
Brighid’s brow shot up.
“It…he…me.” Cuchulainn blew out a hard breath. “Whatever I’m supposed to call that other part of me, didn’t stay. And I don’t understand why he didn’t. It would have been so much easier if he had. You wouldn’t have to make any journeys to the Otherworld, and you could be rid of the burden of being responsible for my spiritual health.”
The Huntress shrugged. “It’s really not a burden, Cu. Actually I’ve come to think of it like hunting for unusual prey. I just have to find the absent part of your soul, and then bring it back.”
“So you’re tracking it?”
The amusement that glittered in his blue-green eyes reminded Brighid of the carefree Cuchulainn who came to her dreams. He’s going to heal! She suddenly believed it with a fierce surge of happiness. But it wouldn’t do to let Cu know just how worried she had been about him—she didn’t want him to look back and get trapped in a web of second thoughts and gloomy remembrances. So she kept a tight rein on her pleasure, and arched her eyebrow at him.
“A well-trained Huntress will take on any tracking job for her Clan, no matter how hideous or distasteful,” she began in her best long-suffering voice. Thankfully Fagan interrupted them before Cuchulainn could work up a properly annoyed reply.
“The Masters of Arms would like to meet with the two of you and the leader of the hybrids,” Fagan said.
“In the Great Hall?” Cuchulainn asked.
Fagan nodded.
“I’ll get Ciara and meet you there,” Cu said.
Of course he’d volunteer to get Ciara. Brighid frowned as she watched her friend weave through the crowd of children and warriors to find the Shaman. He’s healing, and to Cuchulainn life isn’t truly whole without a beautiful woman. The thought should please her—it was more proof that Cu would be himself again.
“Huntress?”
“I’m sorry, Master Fagan,” Brighid said, quickly jerking her thoughts back to order and following the warrior’s lead along the edge of the courtyard. “This is my first trip to Guardian Castle. I find myself distracted by your—” her gaze traveled up to the silent line of archers stationed along the castle’s outer wall “—architecture,” she finished.
“Ever-vigilant, Huntress. We are ever-vigilant,” he said with a craggy smile.
When the centaur didn’t respond with a like smile, the Swordmaster stopped and met her eyes.
“I give you my word that if your New Fomorians are what they seem, none of them are in any danger from the Guardian Warriors.”
“They are exactly what they seem, but they aren’t my New Fomorians,” Brighid said.
“Well, one of them certainly is.” Fagan’s weathered smile was back, and he chuckled as he led her along the courtyard wall again. “A centaur Huntress taking on a male child as her apprentice, and the boy has wings.”
Brighid clamped her lips together and said nothing. The damned Swordmaster was right. Her infant apprentice did have wings—and only one of them was currently in working order.
And she’d thought her life was going to get easier when she joined MacCallan Castle.
21
THERE WERE THREE other Masters of Arms awaiting them in the Great Hall. They sat in three of the four thronelike chairs atop a raised stone dais. Fagan left Brighid to take his place in the chair with the likeness of a claymore carved into its tall, regal back. Cuchulainn and Ciara joined her then Fagan began the introductions.
“Let me present our Masters of Arms.” He gestured first to a thin, sharp-featured middle-aged woman who sat in a chair decorated with plunging horses. “Glenna is our Horsemaster.” The woman nodded, her intelligent eyes curious and sharp on Ciara.
“Bain is our newly appointed Master of Combat,” Fagan said. Powerfully built, Bain was clearly the youngest of the four. His thick black hair was untouched by any hint of gray.
“And Ailis is our Master Archer.” The woman nodded briefly in acknowledgment of Fagan’s introduction. She was of indeterminate age—her skin was weathered, but her body was firm and muscular. Her blond hair had been cropped short, accentuating the strong line of her jaw and her high cheekbones. All of the Masters were dressed in black like the warriors, only the air of command that clung to them differed.
Cuchulainn stepped forward, and bowed formally.
“It is good to see you again, Cuchulainn MacCallan.” The Horsemaster’s voice was pleasingly feminine and filled with warmth. Brighid found herself studying Glenna more carefully, and wondering just how well she had gotten to know Cu while he’d studied at the castle.
“Well met, Master Glenna,” Cu said smoothly, then he bowed to each of the other two Masters in turn. Though the Masters were carefully polite, it was obvious everyone’s attention was focused on the winged woman who stood silently at Cu’s side.
“I am pleased to introduce MacCallan’s Huntress, Brighid Dhianna,” Cuchulainn said.
Brighid bowed formally to each Master.
“And I would also like to present to you Ciara, Shaman of the New Fomorians and granddaughter of the Incarnate Goddess Terpsichore.”
Ciara stepped forward and sank gracefully into a deep, formal curtsy. “I am honored to meet each of you, and I thank you for offering sanctuary to my people.”
“Are you leader as well as Shaman of your people?” Glenna asked.
Ciara raised herself and turned her brilliant smile to the Horsemaster. “No, Master Glenna. The leader of our people is Lochlan, who is now mated to Elphame, the MacCallan Chieftain. I only stand temporarily in his position, and will be pleased to abdicate it to him when we join him at our new home.”
“Where are the rest of the adult Fomorians?” Bain’s voice, though flat and carefully emotionless, made the question sound like an accusation.
Ciara’s smile did not falter, and she returned the young Master’s gaze steadily. “The Fomorian race no longer exists, Master Bain. The last of them perished more than one hundred years ago. My people call themselves New Fomorians because we have broken from the ways of our demonic ancestors.” Her gaze moved to each of the Masters of Arms, and her voice took on a musical quality. “Think of it, Masters. We exist because of love, the love our foremothers felt so deeply for us that they were willing to live outside of their homeland. And because of faith, the faith they had in our mothers and grandmothers—their winged children were more human than demon. And hope that Epona would some day allow us to be called home. How could a race born in love and faith and hope not be different than the demons that spawned it?”
“That may be so,” Ailis said, “but our experience with your people has shown us there is little difference between the ‘new’ and the ‘old’ Fomorians.”
Ciara’s smile faded, but her expression remained open and utterly nondefensive. “You speak of Fallon and Keir. They are not representative of my people, as Cuchulainn and Brighid, and even, I think, Master Fagan would tell you. Fallon chose madness, and not even Elphame’s sacrifice could wipe the demon stain from her soul after she embraced it. Keir is her mate. He cannot help but be touched by the darkness within her. They are sad, twisted versions of what our foremothers dreamed for us.”
“Do you ask us to ignore that they are your people?” Bain said, his voice flintlike.
“I ask only that you do not judge us based on their mistakes.”
Before Bain could respond, Cuchulainn spoke. “Fallon murdered the woman who was my betrothed. I have every reason to distrust Ciara and her people, but over the past two moons I have come to know—and to trust—them. Give them the opportunity, and I believe you will agree with me.”
The Master Archer turned abruptly to Brighid. “Huntress, I hear you have accepted one of these New Fomorians as your apprentice.”
Brighid raised her chin. “I have.”
“They are a most unusual people, Master Ailis,” Brighid said.
“We shall see…” the Master Archer murmured.
“Fagan tells us that there are far more children with you than adults. Can you explain this?” Glenna fired the question to Ciara.
Again, the winged woman did not hesitate in her response. “The other adults are dead. Some of them chose to end their own lives when the madness that lurked within their blood became too much to bear. Some, like Fallon, accepted the madness willingly. Those we drove from our settlement. They perished in the Wastelands.”
“And you say that this madness has been cleansed from your blood?”
Brighid heard the disbelief in the Master Archer’s tone, and she felt her own anger stir. Ciara needed to keep calm and oh-so polite. Not so with the Huntress. “My Chieftain’s sacrifice washed the demon from their blood,” Brighid said. “You know this. I believe you received word of it from Epona’s Chosen herself. Are you questioning the word of Etain?”
“We do not doubt the word of The Chosen,” Ailis said quickly.
“Then is it my sister’s word you question?”
Brighid was pleased to hear the challenge in Cuchulainn’s voice.
“Your sister’s veracity is well-proven. She was touched by Epona before her birth,” Ailis said, her tone much more conciliatory.
“Then there should be no more questions about the madness remaining within the New Fomorians blood. Question that and you question the honor of my mother and sister.”
“And the rest of Clan MacCallan,” Brighid added.
Fagan, who had been silently watching the interaction between the other Masters and their unexpected guests, finally spoke into the tense silence that followed Cuchulainn’s and Brighid’s words. “How long do you require our sanctuary, Shaman?”
Ciara answered with a soft smile. “This one night only, Master Fagan.”
