In the Kingdom of All Tomorrows--Eirlandia, Book Three

by Stephen R. Lawhead

  Conor gave his friend and warleader a disgruntled look. ‘Anyone who imagined such a thing would be wrong. Might we have gained a better weapon? Aye, maybe—if Lenos delivered his part of the bargain. But it would have been at the cost of our faéry friends who are as much a part of Eirlandia as the Dé Danann. Any man who betrays a friend is no better than a rogue and, in this case, worse than a bloody-handed murderer. Where is the honour in that?’

  ‘Where is the honour of the grave?’ replied Fergal softly, almost to himself.

  ‘Ha!’ scoffed Conor. He slapped Fergal on the back. ‘Cheer up, brother, we are not dead yet.’

  ‘So, then, what will you tell Donal and the others?’

  ‘I’ll tell them what I told you just now,’ said Conor. ‘And I will tell the Tylwyth Teg as well. Rhiannon and her people should know about this and what we suspect of Lord Lenos’s intentions.’ He turned his face to Fergal and added with some force, ‘They have every right to know.’

  ‘Do you hear me disagreeing with you?’

  ‘Are you?’

  ‘Nay, brother. I think they should know—all the more since you seem bent on telling everyone else.’ He followed Conor’s gaze to the stern, then looked back at the glittering waves. ‘How do you mean to reach them with this warning?’

  ‘Easily done, that. I have only to whisper her name and Rhiannon said she would come to me in times of need.’

  ‘Well then?’

  Still looking out at the far horizon, Conor, barely lifting his voice above a whisper, said, ‘Come, Rhiannon. I must speak to you.’

  The two watched for a long moment, but nothing changed: no green sail appeared, no dark speck of a sleek hull on the horizon.… Conor repeated the summons and they waited some more, but the sea remained a wide, empty expanse stretching away as far as the eye could see.

  The remainder of the voyage, like previous sailings with the faéry, proceeded with the slightly unnerving quality of a dream and before either Conor or Fergal had time to mark the passing day the distant shore appeared; soon after, the ship came gliding into a secluded eastern bay. Judging by the sun, it was some little time before midday. With the help of the pilot and his two crewmen, the horses were led onto the pebbled shingle; the passengers collected their weapons and followed. Thanking their pilot and his men for their care, Fergal and Conor took their mounts and watched the sleek vessel immediately depart. As soon as the ship cleared the bay, they turned their horses and proceeded inland.

  ‘Do you know where we are?’ wondered Fergal. They had just gained the top of the bluff and had paused to view the low hills and woodlands rising before them.

  ‘Somewhere on the Volunti coast, I think. Tara should be just to the east.’ Lifting the reins, he started off. They reached the end of the moor and entered a pinewood and quickly found a game run to follow through the trees and undergrowth. A little while later, they came to a dell with a scattering of boulders large and small through which a fresh stream meandered. They gave the horses to drink, and stretched their legs.

  ‘Do you think we’ll reach Tara while it’s still light?’ wondered Fergal. ‘If we—’

  Conor held up his hand. ‘Did you hear that?’

  Fergal listened, then said, ‘Wind in the trees and water—that’s all. Why, what—’

  ‘Shh! There it is again!’ Conor glanced over his shoulder and looked back the way they had come. ‘Someone’s calling.’

  Both men stared into the wood. In a moment, they sensed movement among the trees. And then … ‘There!’ Conor pointed into the wood just as three mounted strangers appeared as if taking shape out of the shadows.

  The strangers moved closer and Fergal turned to his mount to retrieve his spear. Conor gave out a shout and started forward and Fergal turned back to see a lady dressed in a cloak and mantle the shimmering green of sunlit emeralds and, with her, two men in carnelian cloaks and breecs—all of them on fine black horses. ‘Rhiannon!’

  Smiling in welcome, the Princess of the House of Llŷr slipped down from her mount and extended her arms to Conor, taking his hands as he stepped close. ‘It is good to see you, Conor,’ she said, and then put out a hand to Fergal. ‘And good to see you, too, Fergal, my friend.’

  ‘You found us,’ said Conor. ‘After what Morfran said last time, I feared you might not come.’

  ‘Please, forgive my tardiness,’ she said. ‘It is because of Morfran that I thought best to bring an advisor with me.’ She turned to the gaunt faéry coming up to stand at her right shoulder. Like her, his hair was black as a raven’s wing, and like her he wore a green-and-white-checked cloak that glistened with a gentle radiance in the dim forest light; but where Rhiannon’s gown was green as pine needles, his siarc and breecs were blue as the ocean deeps, and studded with tiny silver stars.

  Conor gaped openly at the tall, dark faéry, taken aback by his uncanny resemblance to the dead Lord Gwydion. If Conor had not seen the faéry king die and his bone-white ashes scattered to the wind like so much snow, he would have sworn it was his lordship healed and restored to life.

  Taking the dark faéry’s arm and pulling him forward, the princess said, ‘Conor, I want you to meet Lord Gwyddno, he is my uncle. I asked him to come with me.’

  Conor, still slightly unsettled by the apparition before him, nevertheless professed himself happy to meet another member of the House of Llŷr. Fergal echoed the sentiment and observed, ‘I thought Morfran was your uncle.’

  Rhiannon smiled at the mild confusion. ‘My father had two brothers.’

  ‘I am the youngest of the three,’ said Gwyddno. ‘And it is an honour to meet the renowned Conor mac Ardan, and is this Fergal?’ He put out a hand and gripped Fergal by the arm. ‘Rhiannon has told me so much about both of you, I feel like I know you already.’

  ‘You might have met sooner,’ Rhiannon explained quickly, ‘but not all our kinsmen live in Ynys Afallon. Our realm extends to places on the mainland to the east as well and it took a little time for Gwyddno to join me.’ She turned and gestured for the third faéry to join them. ‘You will remember Eraint, I think. When he learned I would sail to Eirlandia, he wanted to be included.’

  They welcomed the ship’s pilot, who came with a bag of food and drink. At Rhiannon’s insistence—and to Conor and Fergal’s great relief—they sat down among the trees to refresh themselves and talk about all that had happened since the last time they were together following King Gwydion’s death. Conor told about establishing a settlement at Tara Hill and the birth of his infant daughter; Fergal described their growing warband and the work of their training. Rhiannon told how her uncle, Lord Morfran, had moved the royal residence from the cave of the waterfall to a more remote, less accessible cavern farther away from the coast. ‘Though it pleases me to see you both and hear of your latest achievements,’ the princess concluded, ‘I know you would not have called me unless it was a matter of some importance.’

  She reached out and touched Conor on the arm; Fergal noted the gesture and recognised the natural intimacy behind it. ‘We are here, my friends, and I sense there is trouble in your hearts and minds. How can we help?’

  Conor thanked them again for coming and told them that it was not for his benefit alone that they had been summoned, but for their own as well. ‘I fear that you and your people are in grave danger,’ he told them, and went on to explain about their recent visit to the Aes-sídhe in Albion and what was revealed to them there. ‘The Kerionid have smiths who are perfecting a new metal that is compounded of iron and other materials. They call it haranbar, or “strong iron,” for it is all that and more.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Fergal, ‘strong enough to break bronze and cut ordinary iron weapons. We saw them do it, and even tried it for ourselves. It is superior in every way.’

  ‘But I don’t understand,’ said Rhiannon. ‘The Kerionid have the same vulnerability to iron that we do.’

  ‘That is true,’ Fergal replied. ‘And that is why they need mortals to supply the raw
iron and to work it. Once the iron has been combined with other materials and refined in the forge, the stuff is no longer any danger to them. They can handle it with ease.’

  ‘Lenos and his smiths are making weapons of the stuff to wield against their enemies,’ Conor told them.

  The faéry were not slow to recognise the implications of the new material. ‘Weapons to wield against us, you mean,’ said Gwyddno.

  ‘That is my fear,’ said Conor. ‘We have seen what these weapons can do and, believe me, the threat is real. They have named it Destroyer.’

  ‘The Aes-sídhe are preparing for war,’ mused Gwyddno. He turned a stricken face to his companions. ‘Grave news indeed.’

  ‘Grave, aye,’ agreed Conor, ‘but not yet desperate. These craftsmen Lenos has found—men of the Hatti race from the east—they have made a few swords in order to test the strength of the metal and such—a sword or two only, and that is all. And now that the smiths have delivered the secret of making the haranbar, they will be going home. Lenos wanted us to supply the raw iron and men to work it and make the weapons. We refused. So, we still have time to act.’

  ‘Aye,’ said Fergal, ‘a little time, perhaps…’ He paused and added ominously, ‘That is, until the Aes-sídhe find someone else to give them raw iron they need and supply workers to fashion it into the weapons they need.’

  ‘We must act quickly,’ said Rhiannon. She looked to her uncle, searching his face. ‘But what can we do?’

  Gwyddno only gazed back, trying to fathom the enormity of the threat. But Conor was ready with an answer. ‘Join us. The Tylwyth Teg and the Dé Danann—together we can fight the Aes-sídhe, and the Scálda. Together we can free both Albion and Eirlandia from any who would threaten us forever.’

  The faéry lord appeared doubtful. ‘You know Morfran wants nothing more to do with mortals or their wars.’

  ‘The war has now come to you,’ Fergal told him. ‘It cannot be avoided.’

  ‘If the Scálda defeat us,’ Conor said, ‘the Tylwyth Teg will be next. They know of your existence and they will hunt until they find you. That is, if Lenos does not slaughter you first. Either way, the danger will only grow. As Fergal has said—war has come to you and there is no way to avoid it.’

  Gwyddno shook his head slowly. ‘Morfran will not be persuaded—and he has history on his side. Every time our race has become involved in the affairs of men, we suffer the hurt and it is everlasting.’

  ‘That may be so,’ agreed the princess. ‘But I also know that the world has changed. We must act if we are to save our people. If we cling to our ancient ways, we will be destroyed. But if we adapt and unite, we can hope to survive.’

  ‘If Morfran will not be moved,’ Conor said, ‘then it is for you to make the decision for him. We are willing to help in any way we can. If you like, Fergal and I will return with you to Tír nan Óg and speak to him. Perhaps when we tell him what we have seen and what the Aes-sídhe intend, he will be persuaded.’

  ‘That, I fear, would only make it worse,’ Rhiannon said. ‘He holds you responsible for Gwydion’s death.’

  ‘Me!’ Conor exclaimed.

  ‘Morfran believes that if you had not appealed to Gwydion for aid, then Gwydion would never have embarked on the mission that killed him.’

  ‘It was Scálda that captured him,’ Fergal said. ‘If Morfran would blame somebody, it should be Balor Evil Eye, never Conor.’

  ‘I know it,’ Gwyddno said. ‘But that makes no difference to Morfran. He believes that death and destruction are the inevitable consequence of dealing with mortals.’

  ‘I understand,’ replied Conor. ‘Yet, one way or another, you are already involved in mortal affairs. Better to join us who offer friendship and hope, than deal with Lenos or Balor, who only seek your destruction.’

  ‘Conor is right,’ Rhiannon said. ‘The time has come to join the fight. Now—before it is too late.’

  ‘I need no persuading. If it was my place to decide, I would make that pledge even now. But Morfran is king and he alone commands the warhost of the Tylwyth Teg. We can do nothing without the king’s support, or at least his approval.’ Gwyddno rose from his place and, turning to Rhiannon, said, ‘We must go to Morfran at once. He must hear that Lenos is plotting our destruction.’

  ‘Will that be enough to convince him?’ wondered Fergal.

  ‘I cannot say,’ replied Gwyddno. ‘But we will have to find a way.’

  Conor rose slowly to his feet. ‘You should know that the Scálda have a new weapon, too—war carts that allow them to strike with great speed and fury. And if they succeed in defeating the Dé Danann, there will be no one left to help you.’ Conor fixed Gwyddno with a firm and steady gaze. ‘You must make Morfran understand.’

  Rhiannon stepped close and, taking Conor’s hands in her own, said, ‘Thank you for your timely warning. We will leave at once in the hope that when we meet again it will be in happier times.’

  ‘Hear me, my friends, there may never be happier times for any of us unless we unite.’

  22

  Daylight was already fading by the time Tara Hill came into view over the treetops. A short while later, the travellers emerged from the wood at the edge of the plain and entered the rising expanse of Mag Teamhair. They were halfway across when they were met by a welcoming party made up of Donal and Médon. Donal greeted them and said, ‘All went well? Médon said you would be coming along right behind.’

  ‘We only got back at midday,’ Médon told them. ‘Vainche didn’t give you any trouble?’

  ‘Vainche?’ wondered Fergal. So much had happened in the last days, it took him a moment to cast his mind back to Aintrén. ‘Nay, nay, no trouble. We weren’t followed if that’s what you mean.’

  Donal noticed Fergal’s momentary confusion. ‘But there is something else—besides faéry time, that is.’ Donal glanced from one to the other. ‘Not good news, I’m thinking.’

  ‘I could wish for better,’ replied Conor. ‘Go to the hall and pour the welcome cup. I want to see Aoife first, then I’ll join you at the board. There is much to tell.’ Conor said this last while flicking the reins and sending Búrach into an easy trot.

  ‘I expect they have much to discuss as well,’ observed Fergal. ‘As for me, I will happily make do with a welcome cup.’

  ‘Then let us get that cup in your hand, brother,’ Médon replied.

  The three rode on, climbed the steps of the hill, and entered the yard, where they were met by some of the fianna, who put down the weapons they were repairing to welcome their battlechief home. Fergal dismounted, greeted them, and commended them to their work; Médon delivered their horses to the stable master, and Fergal followed Donal into the hall.

  The two had finished the first welcome cup and were well into the second when Conor arrived. Bearing his infant daughter, Ciara, in his arms, with Aoife at his side, he took his place at the board and Dearg refilled the cúach and handed it to him. Conor lofted the cup, took a long drink, and then passed it to Aoife, who sipped politely and then moved it along to Fergal.

  As the cup circled the little group, so, too, did the talk around the board as both Conor and Fergal explained what had taken place—sometimes talking over one another in their eagerness to relate all that had happened. They told of Lord Lenos’s surprise appearance and their visit to the Aes-sídhe on Eilean Ceó; they described the Hatti smiths and the discovery of the strange new metal, the silvery haranbar, and how they had tested the strong iron. They spoke at length of Lord Lenos’s offer and how, once they realised his intent to make weapons to wield against the Tylwyth Teg, they had refused the offer. Lastly, they described summoning Rhiannon, and warning her and Gwyddno of the impending threat to their people.

  After hearing all that was said, Aoife asked, ‘What will happen now?’

  Conor glanced at Donal, sitting at his left hand, and said, ‘Sooner ask Donal See-Far. I have no idea. We offered to help them, to be sure. We also asked the House of Llŷr to join wi
th us in forming an alliance to fight the Scálda. But, in the end, Lady Rhiannon thought it best to return to Ynys Afallon and put the matter before King Morfran. They can do nothing without his assent.’

  ‘What you propose is for the good of everyone,’ said Aoife. ‘Morfran must see that.’

  ‘I’ll not be holding my breath waiting for that to happen,’ said Fergal, reaching for the cup. ‘Morfran will be difficult to persuade. He wants nothing to do with us.’

  Aoife, cradling the infant to her breast, said, ‘I do fear for those people. This strong iron could be the ruin of that fair race. And if they go, much that is beautiful and magical in Eirlandia will go, too. All the world will be the worse for it.’

  ‘Then we must make sure that never happens,’ Conor said. He raised his hand and stroked the hair on his daughter’s tiny head. ‘For Ciara, and for all our children now and yet unborn, we must do all we can to help the faéry.’

  The thought of a world without the faéry settled as a cloud of gloom over the group. The annihilation of the source of much of the beauty and wonder from which they derived so much pleasure and inspiration was not to be contemplated. Aoife was first to leave the board and Médon departed a few moments later, leaving only Donal, Fergal, and Conor alone with their thoughts—but not for long: Dearg, the hearth master, burst into the hall to announce that a rider had come with a message for Lord Conor. ‘Bring him in,’ Conor said, ‘and fetch food and drink. We will see him here.’

  ‘He is gone again, lord. It seems he has others to see and could not stop. He said the message comes from Rónán, who wishes to inform you that the Ard Airechtas will be held here at Tara.’

  ‘Here!’ exclaimed Fergal. ‘They’re coming here? Why?’

  Dearg shrugged. ‘He didn’t say.’

  ‘What did he say?’ asked Conor.

  ‘Only that a summons has gone out to Vainche and many other lords who might have an interest in attending such a gathering.’