Lords of Ireland II

by Le Veque, Kathryn

Lop sniffed the air then ran off, as if he understood there was food to be had.

  She chuckled. “This is comfortable, though we are camped amid the trees on a rocky plateau.”

  He kneaded his fingertips into her nape, sending tendrils of warm contentment flowing over her. “Someday, when Moqorr is defeated, we’ll sleep on soft furs and spend hours pleasuring each other. However, Lop had better not try to come between us like he did last night.”

  The memory returned. “I have a vague recollection of him slumping down behind me, then I must have fallen asleep.”

  “I’m glad you slept,” he replied, lifting his hips slightly. “And it’s as well he kept me away from you.”

  She yawned lazily, thinking on his promise for the future. For the first time she felt confident they would indeed defeat the evil High King.

  Excited shouts disturbed her reverie. Sibrán eased her off his body and helped her rise just as Iago appeared with a group of men. “Your pardon, my prince. Glas has discovered a cave not too far away. He thinks it is extensive and possibly a place to shelter until we can leave the mountain.”

  Aislinn expected Sibrán to be pleased with this news, but he raised an eyebrow and cleared his throat. To her astonishment, Iago slowly knelt before her. “I beg your forgiveness,” he said hoarsely.

  Her relief was for Sibrán as much as for herself. “You doubted me because you love your prince and wanted to protect him. I understand your hatred for Moqorr. We share the same goal—to rid this land of his evil rule.”

  The men cheered as Iago stood, bowed and led them away.

  Sibrán put his hands on her hips and pulled her to him. “You have a strength few women possess,” he murmured.

  She plucked a sprig of heather from his hair, then put her arms around his waist. “I draw my strength from you.”

  The Cave

  They broke their fast with roasted hare and fraughans. Sibrán basked in Aislinn’s bright-eyed admiration when he used the Tuathan word for the dark berries.

  Iago reported the seawater appeared to be receding, but it would likely be many days before the land was dry enough to traverse. He organized a scouting party to explore the cave.

  Aislinn wanted to accompany them, but Sibrán forbade it. “You are not suitably equipped for such an expedition. Ferocious beasts may live there.”

  “Griffins, mayhap?” she teased.

  He leaned close to her ear. “If our men weren’t watching I might punish you for that remark.”

  He instantly regretted the threat when his words stirred an arousal. He inhaled deeply. “I don’t want to leave you here, but I’ve assigned guards to keep you safe.”

  She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “Don’t worry. Farewell, my prince.”

  The scouting party followed Glas around to the other side of the mountain. The going was rocky and uneven and they were forced to detour several times around wide cracks in the earth he supposed were a result of the tremor.

  At last they came to the slope of a valley. Beyond loomed another mountain. Far below a large lake shimmered in the morning sun.

  Glas pointed to a clump of brush part way down the hill. “There.”

  Sibrán narrowed his eyes, at first seeing nothing but forest. Then he discerned a dark opening, almost completely concealed by the tree cover. He slapped Glas on the back. “You’ve a keen eye.”

  The young man thrust out his chest. “Thank you, my lord. I went only as far as the mouth and peered inside. Judging by the echo, I’d say it’s a large cavern.”

  Sibrán stroked his chin. “We’ll take a look, though I expect we’ll need torches to fully explore. The canopy is preventing light from entering.”

  “I’ll get the trees cut down,” Iago declared.

  His navigator was doing his best to make amends for his animosity towards Aislinn, but the branches might provide protection from wind and rain. “We’ll see when we get down there.”

  They began the steep descent, using clumps of heather and low branches as handholds.

  Aislinn climbed to the summit and surveyed the drowned land. The water was receding but Iago was right—it would be days before travel to Tara became a possibility. She wasn’t certain, but it seemed the flood hadn’t reached as far as the Fort of Kings.

  Lop accompanied her, but his gaze was fixed on the path the men had taken.

  “You love Sibrán,” she chided, “but I need you here.”

  The hound sat, licked her hand, then looked away again.

  She stroked his head. “Thank you for watching over me last night.”

  He ignored her.

  “And Sibrán.”

  Lop turned his big silver eyes on her and barked.

  “You love him more,” she teased.

  The long tail wagged furiously as he nuzzled her hand.

  She bent and put her arms around his neck. “Am I still your favorite?”

  Apparently resigned to his fate, Lop joined her as she once more surveyed the domain Sibrán would rule. Confined to Tara, she’d been unaware of the vast beauty of the land in which she dwelt.

  She spread her arms wide, the full reality of her new freedom dawning for the first time. “I am not the same person who left Tara,” she confided, “but Moqorr must have known this journey would change me.”

  Lop growled.

  “What was his purpose? Did he foresee, or suspect I would be drawn to the Iberian chieftain?”

  She looked up when the clouds parted and a shaft of sunlight burst forth from the heavens. She gazed in amazement as the light fell on Tara. Moqorr’s black heart was incapable of creating such wonder. Nor had he endowed her with the gifts she possessed. Sibrán was right. The High King wasn’t the omnipotent god he claimed to be, probably not a god at all.

  He sought to control her because her gifts had been bestowed by…

  She fell to her knees, awed and humbled by the notion a higher power than Moqorr had brought about the events that had led to the here and now.

  Nith’s murder, Iago’s escape, Sibrán’s voyage of revenge—all were part of a plan designed to…

  What?

  She closed her eyes and prayed desperately for a vision that might foretell the future. The bright sunlight penetrated her eyelids, rendering it impossible to see anything, except…

  She opened her eyes and stared at the pool of light surrounding Tara and knew what had to be done.

  Lop growled again.

  “There has been too much blood shed in Tara,” she whispered. “The gods have spoken. We must draw Moqorr out of the Fort of Kings.”

  After slipping and sliding on loose gravel, Sibrán and his men came to the opening and stared into the black hole. Once his eyes became accustomed to the darkness, he was dismayed to discover they stood on the lip of a deep cavern. “We’ll have to climb further down if we want to explore,” he said, trying to conceive of a way to lessen the danger.

  Glas pointed. “I noticed when I came before there seems to be the start of a rough path yonder.”

  Sibrán narrowed his eyes and espied the slightly worn rut. “Old,” he murmured, filled with an awesome sense that men had trodden this path ages before. “Folk used this cave long ago.”

  It was dangerous to contemplate following the narrow trail without torches, yet he was compelled to try. He recalled Aislinn’s mention of ancient kings buried in Cualu. “I’ll take Ebric and Amergin and we’ll explore as far as we can.”

  The twins stepped forward eagerly, but Iago protested. “They are mere lads.”

  Sibrán smiled. “They are young and agile, whereas you, old friend…”

  Glas spoke up. “And Amergin is favored by the gods; they sent the gryphon to save him from the mire.”

  Iago relented with a shrug.

  Amergin bowed. “My prince, I beg leave to lead the way into the cavern. It was for this the gods spared me. If aught happens to you, we are without a king.”

  Sibrán hesitated, reluctant to reveal who had actually
saved the lad’s life. “So be it. Glas, tie the rope around him and secure the end to yonder tree.”

  The sailor obeyed and soon Amergin was creeping sideways down the path, feeling his way with both hands on the rock wall of the cave. Sibrán and Ebric followed into the black depths.

  You Have Stolen What He Loves

  As they shuffled their precarious way into the unknown, Sibrán began to doubt the wisdom of his decision. Perhaps risking their lives was foolhardy. From what they’d encountered thus far the cave didn’t seem suitable for habitation.

  Yet he had to go on.

  The path gradually became less steep. He thought it might be growing lighter in the depths, but dismissed the notion. His eyes were merely getting used to the darkness.

  “I can see more clearly now than when we set off,” Amergin declared.

  Ebric agreed. “As can I and the wall isn’t as wet.”

  Gooseflesh marched across Sibrán’s nape. Mayhap the cave was home to spirit beings it would be better not to disturb.

  “The rope won’t stretch further,” Amergin said softly.

  Sibrán heard the fear in the boy’s voice. “You two stay here. I’ll go on alone.”

  “Nay, my prince,” Ebric protested. “I’ll untie the rope from my brother’s waist. It’s our duty to accompany you.”

  Sibrán had been of the opinion these lads would be a liability on the voyage, but they had obviously inherited their father’s courage. “Lead on then,” he commanded.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the path eventually took them to a large chamber. Spikes of rock, many taller than the twins, rose here and there like giant tapered candles from the uneven floor. Sibrán called a halt. “There is definitely more light here, though there appears to be no opening to the sky.”

  As they surveyed the eerie scene, a drop of liquid slowly dripped from the jagged ceiling high above and landed atop one of the spikes on the ground.

  “It’s how they came to be,” Ebric whispered.

  “Handiwork of the gods,” Amergin confirmed. “Rock formed from water.”

  The twins seemed filled with the same reverence that swept over Sibrán. It must have taken hundreds of years for only one of the pointed towers to grow to its present height, and there were scores of them. “We have entered a sacred place,” he agreed. They spoke in hushed tones, but their voices echoed. Strangely, his foreboding drained away. “We are meant to go on,” he said.

  They explored the chamber, wending their way in and out between the pointed rocks, but could find no passageway leading into another part of the cave. Yet Sibrán was certain there was more to discover.

  Ebric squeezed through the narrow space between two rock formations that joined floor to ceiling. “Here, my lord,” he shouted. “A larger chamber. Lighter yet.”

  Sibrán heard his voice, and watched Amergin scrape through sideways. Disappointment flooded him. He was too big for the opening.

  Aislinn stared into the distance for a long while, plotting how to lure Moqorr to Cualu. The mortal king had never left Tara. When she believed he was the immortal ruler of the Otherworld, she supposed he visited that kingdom in another guise. Now she knew the truth. He had used her powers to his advantage. The desire to make amends to her oppressed people outweighed the thirst for revenge.

  Praying for a sign, she narrowed her eyes and looked up. A lone bird with a wide wingspan glided high above her, a dark shape against a cloudless sky—but she recognized it instantly.

  She knew something of the High King’s weaknesses. He successfully hid many things from her, but actually vaunted his pride in his hunting birds. He spent hours with his merlins, falcons, goshawks, and kestrels. His favorite raptor rode on his shoulder wherever he went. He was fond of boasting he alone had learned from the immortals the secret of taming a great horned owl and teaching it to hunt.

  But it infuriated him there was one bird he had never succeeded in capturing. He thirsted to ensnare the red hawk with a forked tail—the bird floating in lazy circles above its nest in Cualu.

  Lop barked furiously as feathers sprouted on Aislinn’s arms. “Don’t worry,” she called to her hound as she soared into the sky. “Tell Sibrán I have gone to fetch Moqorr.”

  Wedged tight between the two pillars, Sibrán closed his eyes and wished for Aislinn’s ability to transform into whatever animal she conjured. He’d turn into a mouse and scurry through the impossible gap.

  “My prince, my prince,” Ebric shouted hoarsely from beyond where Sibrán strained to extricate himself. “The light.”

  You will never be king if you cannot pass.

  He held his breath. For a moment he thought it was one of the twins who had spoken, but an eerie silence reigned.

  Exasperated, he pushed hard, wrenching his sore shoulder, but still he was denied entry.

  Naught for it but to remove his armor and sword and try again.

  He unbuckled the belt of his scabbard and impatiently stripped off the leather chausses and gambeson. Clad only in his linen chiton and boots he called on Aislinn to aid him, held his breath and eased his bruised shoulder into the gap.

  In an instant he was standing in an enormous chamber. He shielded his eyes from the intense light glowing from within a gigantic monolith that dominated from floor to ceiling. The wide stone towered over him and the prostrate twins.

  Awed by the terrible power and beauty before him, he fell to his knees, spread his arms wide, and waited.

  Aislinn spotted Moqorr’s falconer slouched against the perimeter wall behind the mews, chewing leisurely on an apple. She swooped low over his head several times, but her actions produced nothing but an uproar from the captive raptors. He snarled at them to hush without looking up.

  When he threw away the apple core and settled down to doze, she lighted on the branch of a nearby tree and pondered her options. His loud snoring soon grated on her nerves. Naught for it but to drop an unmistakable message directly on his face.

  He sat up abruptly and wiped the excrement from his nose, cursing the birds in the mews.

  She called out to get his attention and he finally espied her when she lighted once more on the limb. He scrambled to his feet, disappeared into the mews and came out minutes later struggling to untangle a net with heavily gloved hands. She marveled he had ever succeeded in capturing a bird. A wild hawk would have already made its escape. She’d worried he might grow suspicious at her unusual cooperation, but she was evidently dealing with a dullard.

  He cast the net two or three times, only succeeding in ensnaring her when she deliberately flew into it.

  “Got you confused at last,” he crowed, nigh on squeezing the life out of her lungs with the heavy gloves as he slipped a leather cap over her head.

  She lay still as he fastened leather jesses to her legs. Chuckling, he released her from the net and tucked her under his arm. “The High King will be pleased,” he crowed as he made his way into the Royal Enclosure.

  She protested and flapped her wings with what was hopefully sufficient protest when they were admitted several minutes later into the throne room. The stink of corruption that clung to Moqorr confirmed she was in the High King’s presence, but nevertheless her heart raced when he spoke. “What have we here?”

  “A red hawk,” the proud falconer declared. “The bird Your Highness has coveted.”

  She cocked her head to one side and quieted, hoping the hunter hadn’t put their lives in jeopardy by revealing a minion had discerned his emotion.

  The squawk of annoyance when Moqorr lifted his pet falcon off his shoulder came as a relief. The falconer handed her jesses off to the High King. Trying to remain calm, she sank her talons into the leather on Moqorr’s wrist, opened her wings, and waited.

  A commanding voice broke the silence in the cave.

  More bloodshed is forbidden within the sacred precincts of Tara.

  Sibrán risked a glance at the twins, but they remained on their knees, foreheads touching the rough flo
or, showing no sign of having heard the mysterious edict.

  His heart lurched. Did this mean his quest to slay Moqorr was doomed? Or was he losing his wits? Men were rumored to do strange things when they spent too long underground. Mayhap the constant, echoing drip, drip of water and the frustration of being stuck in the narrow gap had brought on lunacy.

  But then why had he been led here? Was this to be his tomb? His deepest regret was he might never see Aislinn again. He inhaled deeply and spread his arms wider. He’d always believed he would die with his armor on, but if the gods wished to strike him down…

  The Usurper King will come to Cualu.

  Relieved he hadn’t been struck dead, he nevertheless strove to banish doubt from his thoughts. Why would Moqorr come to the mountains?

  You have taken what he most desires.

  “But I haven’t yet won the kingdom,” he rasped.

  Ebric glanced at him only briefly, but in the boy’s frantic gaze he saw the truth.

  “Aislinn,” he whispered.

  To free our land of tyranny, you must kill Moqorr thrice.

  Now he was certain madness had taken hold. Fearing this might be a nightmare from which he’d never awaken, he peered into the shadowed recesses and for the first time noticed curious piles of rock that could only have been placed there by reverent human hands.

  “Tombs of ancient kings,” Amergin said hoarsely.

  Sibrán looked back at the twins who both now sat on their haunches, gazing around.

  Ebric frowned. “How can Moqorr die three times?”

  Sibrán breathed again. He wasn’t the only one who had heard the voice.

  You’re a Beauty

  Perched on the High King’s wrist, Aislinn had a momentary notion to gouge out his eyes as soon as he removed the cap from her head. However, such an act would likely result in her neck being wrung by one of the guards, and a sightless Moqorr might be even more bitter and oppressive.

  Her heart pounded as he slipped off the leather hood. She feared he might sense she had transformed into the prized bird, but clung to the truth Sibrán had revealed—hers was the greater power.

  Their eyes met. For the first time she saw a glint of contentment in the black depths. Perhaps there lingered a shred of humanity in the monster.