Morrighan's Champion

by C.S. Fanning

They are abominations that use black magic, and there are…”

  He never finished what he was about to say. Both of them reacted instantly to the sound of Fianna’s bow twanging once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Aeden didn’t know what threat Fianna had fired on, but he was certain that it was not feeling good about now.

  His sword had only begun to slide free of its scabbard when the door burst open. The black robed figure that crashed through it was not alone, but he was foolish enough to be the first. Aeden aimed his draw to end in a lethal arc, but before he could complete the attack his assailant’s face exploded in a spray of blood and bone. Aeden’s father, moving faster than Aeden could have imagined, had struck the man in the face with a hammer used for forging iron.

  Aeden was stunned by his father’s quick reaction, but before he could comment his father leapt through the open door with his hammer in one hand and a machete in the other.

  “Run now!” his father was shouting.

  Fianna’s bow hummed over and over without slowing, but she couldn’t keep firing forever. Aeden sprang through the door sword up and ready just as a crackling bolt of lightning caught his father’s shoulder, and with a scream of anguish Gareth the pig farmer was sent sailing.

  In the afterglow of the attack Aeden could see that at least three more of the black robed figures were down, arrows protruding from their bodies, but several more were advancing at a run and one was standing to the side holding a gnarled and blackened staff who Aeden knew instinctively to be the leader of the group.

  Arrows were bouncing off the empty air in front of the leader, and as he lifted his staff Aeden heard a crack as the old oak in which Fianna had hidden was sundered in two. Aeden, startled, glanced at the carnage that was once the great tree long enough to see Fianna fall, hurled from the branches of the oak like a leaf in the fall.

  Aeden had no way of knowing if his father or his friend were alive or not, and he didn’t have time to check. A white hot rage was consumed him and his blade ignited in a cold fire that gave his enemies pause. Charging straight at the leader, Aeden was intent upon destroying this unholy creature. Several of the remaining robed figures dodged into his path only to be struck down almost without effort. Aeden had closed about half the distance when some of the wiser of his foes struck from his flank. Their magic seared into him and before he knew it he was driven to his knees his flesh burning from the power that they had struck out at him with.

  Despite the onslaught he kept his blade between himself and the leader. He knew that this man’s power was the greater threat. Aeden tried to rise, but his strength was failing. It became a struggle just to hold his sword up, and for the first time since the Morrighan had enchanted his sword he felt the icy edge of fear. Aeden’s will was being drained away fast. He had failed Riordan, his father, and Fianna. This last disturbed him the most, yet in his current condition he had no opportunity to reflect on the meaning of that.

  Setting his teeth against the pain of the continued assault, he allowed his rage free reign and with it came a renewed desire to kill these foul sorcerers. Shaking with the strain, he managed to rise to one knee and finally to his feet. The half-smile on the lips of the leader faded as Aeden took his first halting step forward. The billowing robe whirled out and around him as his staff flared with magic of its own, which he brought to bear upon Aeden with a flourish. It was the man’s own theatrics that prevented immediate victory, for as the man released his magical power Aeden had time to place his blade between himself and the coming spell. Aeden was the one smiling now, despite his pain. His sword was absorbing the power of the dark wizards spell, glowing ever brighter as it ravenously consumed the power meant to destroy Aeden.

  Suddenly Aeden felt invigorated. He was drawing strength from the sword and though he could tell that it would be insufficient to save him from death it would easily give him enough to close the distance to his target and allow him to put an end to this one last menace. The leaders face showed his surprise as Aeden jumped forward the last few paces, and as quickly as it had begun his attack was ended. Almost immediately, the surge of energy weakened, and Aeden steeled his spirit, lunging forward. As he heaved himself forward with the last of his strength, his sword lit up like the sun for an instant as the razor sharp edge pierced the man’s throat, slicing through the vulnerable veins and severing his spine.

  As he fell to his knees Aeden wrenched the blade, which had the effect to severing the dark leader’s head completely from his shoulders. Their leader gone the remaining few sorcerers redoubled their assault, and Aeden’s strength gave out completely. He had accomplished this one last act, now all that remained was death. For the briefest of moments he thought to turn to face his slayers, but even that seemed too much to ask of his damaged body.

  Bowing his head, Aeden thought bitterly of those he had failed. Consumed from within by this grief as he was consumed from without by the magic, he didn’t immediately recognize the sound that seemed to carry with it a lessoning of his pain. When the almost rhythmic sound finally made itself known to his fuzzy consciousness, he wanted to cry for joy. Fianna lived! Only she could make the string of her god-forged bow hum so furiously. He wanted to scream “run, leave me and run Fianna” but all that came out was a wheezing noise and a froth of blood. The assault that had finished him abruptly ended. His attackers were either dead or turning their spells upon this new threat. With what felt like his last breath Aeden pitched himself forward rolling as he fell, to see what was happening.

  Fianna was on one knee firing her bow so fast that her hands were a mere blurs of motion. Only two of the black robed figures could be seen still standing. One appeared to be shielding himself and his colleague from the hail of arrows, while the other prepared to strike back at their plucky adversary. Aeden could not bear to witness Fianna’s death, but he could not look away either. Just when he thought she would be slain, the roar of a man putting forth his all sounded. Aeden’s father, hair smoldering and left arm hanging limp, jumped up from where he had crawled with his hammer in hand and struck the defenders arm. The strike landed at the elbow so hard that shards of bone from the shattered joint protruded from the gruesome wound.

  Almost instantly, a shaft of black blossomed from the other sorcerer’s eye, and his unspent spell died with a crackling pop that blistered and burned his hands as he crumpled to the ground, dead so suddenly his spirit likely had no idea it had crossed the veil. That was the last thing Aeden saw as the darkness closed in and veiled his sight. He wondered if a crow would wait to lead him into the lands of the dead. Time stood still and he knew no more.

  Caledonia

  Riordan was frustrated. He’d intended to sweep across Caledonia and Albion, cross the sea to Gaul, and return to Eire ready to evict the usurpers that were led by the agent of the southern goddess. He had expected that by this point he would lead the druids and be on his way to restoring them to their post as councilors, judges, and spiritual leaders for the four kingdoms. What he hadn’t counted on was that the druids in the lands not yet as torn by strife as Eire were loath to accept such a youthful leader, and felt that Finnis was attempting to perpetuate some sort of hoax.

  In the end it was decided that messengers would be sent to all of the surviving groves asking for each to send representatives for a conclave to decide the matter of succession to the seat of High Druid. Finnis had been beside himself, knowing that in terms of raw talent, no one alive could match Riordan, but the conclave would test more than potential, and even with all the traditional safeguards in place, political duplicity was a risk.

  Thus far, they had waited weeks to convene the process, as a legal quorum was required and without Gaul and Eire’s representatives there was a shortage of delegates. Riordan feared a deadlock and by the day he had grown more and more inclined to forego the old fools and set out with any that would follow. News of Eire, normally frequent, had come to a su
dden stop when the High King had conscripted every ship that made port in the south or east. As world of this conscription spread, traders sought less hazardous waters, essentially cutting off Eire from the other kingdoms.

  Riordan and Finnis were discussing the choices available. If they set out to do what they knew must be done without the mantel of High Druid upon Riordan they risked losing the support of the groves forever. On the other hand if they didn’t act soon the delegates that had arrived would begin to return to their homes, and the wait would gain them nothing. Even with Teagan, whom Finnis had named druid of Longford, officially replacing Liam, they needed two more delegates and each day that passed made the likelihood of more arriving seem ever more remote.

  “A ship from Eire is docking in the bay” the young druid assigned to serve Finnis announced as he came into the small room that Finnis and Riordan shared.

  Racing to the docks they arrived just in time to greet the landing party. The ship had come from Lord Donegal’s fleet, intent upon recruiting mercenaries to overthrow the High King. Among the passengers were three druids that Finnis knew well.

  “Aok, Gert,