Age of Druids

by India Drummond

  “She’s already going to rule Caledonia,” Joy said. “She was destined from birth to sit on a throne. The only question is will she rule one kingdom or the entire Otherworld?”

  A silence descended on the room. Joy sensed each man turning his thoughts inward. Aaron seemed ill at ease, but she detected a seed of growing determination. “It’s certainly something to think about,” he said.

  “If I might offer one more suggestion?” Fiyr asked, then continued without waiting for an answer. “The keepers have unanimously agreed to offer twelve of our number as the druid’s conclave. We each hail from different kingdoms, have a wealth of knowledge and experience we’re eager to share, and our aims align with your own.”

  “Do they?” There was a challenge in Aaron’s question, but his friendly tone took the edge away.

  “Yes, my lord druid. I can say so with confidence. We’re willing to swear loyalty. The ancient draoidh created our order. They created many of the artefacts we protect and study. Some even now believe they were the fathers and mothers of our race. You are their heirs. We need you, but we also have much to offer you. At least consider my suggestion?”

  “We will,” Douglas said. “But with Huck and Demi gone, Rory and Sheng in Danastai, and Munro in Caledonia, that only leaves the two of us and Lisle. Not exactly a quorum.”

  “The Kingdom of Ceòthan is rising and a new Age of Druids may soon begin.” Fiyr paused, and his aura shifted as he stood. “I will look into your question about this gate in The Bleak. It’s both a curious and disturbing discovery. I’ll let you know if we learn anything of interest.”

  “Thank you,” Aaron said. They said goodbye to Fiyr, and Aaron came and took Joy’s hand. She felt Cen moving away as Aaron took her aside. “I missed you,” he whispered. “Where did you go after you returned from the human realm?”

  She bit her lip, not wanting to tell him. After a long pause, she said, “Caledonia.”

  He sighed. “You went to visit Jago?”

  Raising her chin, she said, “Yes.” She wanted to be whole. There was nothing wrong with that, and she wouldn’t be shamed for it.

  He lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed her hands. “Okay,” he said.

  “You don’t approve.”

  “I think you’re perfect as you are.”

  “I can’t see,” she said a little louder than she intended. She felt the other two men in the room go quiet.

  “It’s nearly dawn,” he said gently. “Let me take you back to the Hall for the final meal of the night.” He guided her toward the door, then paused. “Thanks for all your work, Cen. It can’t be fun digging through the old man’s papers.”

  “On the contrary, my lord druid. Keeper Oszlár was a fascinating faerie. I only wish I had discovered more that was directly useful.”

  “You should call it a night. Come eat with us, if you like. Douglas, you coming?”

  “Aye,” Douglas said. “I’ll be ready to gnaw my own toes off if I don’t get some grub soon.”

  Aaron placed Joy’s hand on his arm and gave her fingers a squeeze before guiding her up the long stair to the surface and back to the Druid Hall. As they walked, she pondered, wondering if he was right about Munro and whether perhaps Aaron himself would make a better king. If he were crowned, would he name her his consort? The idea both thrilled and terrified her. On the other hand, most queens took mates to form political alliances as Eilidh had done with Griogair and Koen and Imena had with Tràth. Joy had nothing to offer Aaron. Would she be shunted to the side in favour of another? Her excitement turned to dread at the prospect.

  Chapter 6

  “Why are you doing this?” Eilidh hissed.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Munro asked. He occasionally puffed on the small flute like a two-pack-a-day smoker under pressure. Eilidh radiated power, her aura dwarfing every other in the room. The artefact revealed the flows of magic dancing around the large chamber. Strands of colour snaked toward him as she delicately employed her astral senses.

  The members of the azuri conclave who had gathered to meet with Munro remained silent. The elders watched with furrowed brows and calculating frowns. He wished he knew what they were thinking. If it came to it, would they back him up?

  “What’s clear to me is that your actions border on treason,” she said.

  “I’m not your subject, Eilidh. I never have been.” He tilted his head, watching the essences swirl around her. He was too tired for this fight, but if he didn’t act, who would?

  “Will you really force me to have my Watchers lay hands on you?”

  His first inclination was to dip into Eilidh’s power. He’d done so many times, but always with her permission. Now wasn’t the time to invade her and take what wasn’t his. Instead, Munro turned to Griogair. Although the prince might be unwilling, it was his skin being saved.

  The strands of air flows shimmered when Munro focused on them. As before, he gripped the power and directed it towards the six Watchers who’d entered with Eilidh. With a small push, he sent them tumbling backwards a couple of steps. Not hard enough to knock them over, but enough to make a point. “Would you really force me to fight them? To fight you?”

  “By his own admission, Prince Griogair murdered Prince Koen. That action cannot go unpunished.”

  “I believe he was manipulated into doing so.”

  Eilidh raised an eyebrow, then glanced toward Griogair. “You made no such claim when I questioned you. Do you do so now?”

  “No, Your Majesty,” Griogair said with a humble bow. “I make no excuse for my actions.”

  A flicker of pain and grief darkened Eilidh’s expression, and she responded with a curt nod. When she saw her Watchers had drawn elemental swords, she waved them back.

  “Eilidh,” Munro said, “I don’t want to undermine your authority.”

  “Yet here you are, invoking your position as draoidh to interfere in a judicial decision.”

  “What is this really about? Pride?”

  She flushed with anger. “Is that what you believe?” She paused. “Never mind. Don’t bother answering. I know what you think.” With a sigh, she sent a thought to his mind. I could stop you. You may have power in that flute of yours, but without it, you are helpless. You don’t have the experience to take on me and my entire conclave as well as six Watchers at once.

  Still holding Griogair’s air flows, Munro stepped toward Eilidh and threw a shield of air around them. It wobbled but would serve his purpose. His words fell dead in the small soundproof bubble. “I can’t let you execute him. Not until I can prove he was manipulated by some outside force. Don’t you see I’m doing this for you? You can’t undo an execution, and you would regret it for the rest of your life. Grief would crush you from the inside out. You love him. Why are you so determined to believe he would betray you?”

  Her expression softened, and she touched the shimmering orb around them. “I’m impressed,” she said. “With your aptitude with foreign flows, not with your logic.”

  He saw her reaching for her own magic before he had the chance to react. The ground shook beneath their feet, sending him reeling into her. In a flash, a small elemental knife appeared in her hand, and she snipped the leather thong around his neck. Before he knew what had happened, she was twirling the flute in her fingers. The light of the flows around him began to fade immediately.

  They held each other’s gaze for a long time. Through their bond, Munro felt her weighing her choices. “You do not want to be the queen who defies the Druid Hall,” he said. Although his words were harsh, his tone was soft. He loved her deeply and hated challenging her. He waited silently and sensed her probing their bond.

  Shush, she finally sent to him. She turned to Griogair. “Prince Griogair, I hereby banish you from Caledonia. You are exiled from our borders. If you try to return, you will face justice for the murder of Prince Koen.”

  Elder Oron appeared relieved. “The conclave concurs with your decision, Your Majesty. We will draw up
the order immediately.”

  “Thank you,” she said with a tilt of her head in acknowledgement.

  Relief flooded Munro’s mind. He wished he had her power to mind-speak so he could thank her for making this easier than it might have been. “May I?” he said, indicating the Watchers behind her.

  “Of course, my lord druid,” she said with a slight bow. “Caledonia is at the service of the Druid Hall.”

  Addressing the head Watcher, he said, “Escort Prince Griogair to the Druid Hall. He is now my prisoner.”

  Eilidh nodded and beckoned the Watchers forward. “I charge you to the authority of Lord Druid Quinton Munro. You will not return to Caledonia until such time as he has no further need of your services.” She handed the flute back to Munro. I hope you are able to prove me wrong, my love. I’m infuriated beyond belief at your actions, but I will not contest that you have the right to take them.

  He leaned in close and whispered, “I love you. Don’t forget that.”

  She gave an almost imperceptible nod, then turned her gaze to Griogair. Munro knew she must be mind-speaking.

  The prince bowed low to her, his hand over his heart. A pained expression passed over her face and without another word, she turned and left the chamber.

  “I should thank you,” Griogair said. “Your challenge of our mate’s authority went better than I could have expected.”

  “Don’t thank me yet,” Munro said. “If I discover you lied to me, that you murdered Prince Koen deliberately, I will return you here to meet justice without any qualms. I don’t approve of murder, no matter how much I detested the victim. All I’ve done is buy some time.”

  Munro turned to say goodbye to Elder Oron and the other joint conclave members.

  “An interesting turn of events, my lord druid,” Oron said. “Her Majesty acted wisely to avoid a confrontation with the Druid Hall, but I cannot say I condone your actions.”

  “I understand,” Munro said. “Can I still count on you to look into the other matters we discussed?”

  “Of course,” Oron said. “I will be seeing the princess for her lessons tomorrow night. I will learn what Maiya knows about Lady Druid Demi and Lord Druid Huck. You can rely on my faithfulness where your daughter is concerned.”

  “Thank you,” Munro said, and he signalled Prince Griogair to walk with him as they left, followed closely by six Caledonian Watchers. His curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, “What did she say when she was mind-speaking to you?”

  “If you will permit, my lord druid, I wish to keep our mate’s words of farewell to myself. She expressed a private sentiment.”

  Munro let the question drop, instead turning his mind to what he was going to do with Griogair now. He needed to look for Demi and Huck, but he also had to find out what or who had induced Griogair to kill Eilidh’s third husband in cold blood. He had no idea how he could do either one, much less both. He only had to hope no new problems had cropped up in his absence. He didn’t think he could handle one more.

  ∞

  “So you’re not even going to tell anyone what you did?” Sheng stood off to the side, his arms crossed over his chest. He and Rory had argued the entire day and hadn’t seen Ewain and Flùranach again before they left.

  “I’m working here,” Rory said, hands shaking as he tried to copy Ewain’s runework into the Mistgate control panel at the Druid Hall.

  Sheng had been so annoyed once it became clear Rory wouldn’t see reason that he had gone to explore the city and left the Scottish druid to brood alone. She said she wanted to stay, but how could they be certain Ewain wasn’t influencing her? He had the ability to take fae powers and use them for himself. Rory was so wrapped up in his own misery that he wouldn’t admit the possibility. Selfish prat.

  As Rory worked, Sheng considered. What should he do? Leave Rory to go to this unknown location in search of Ewain’s artefact by himself? He hated the idea of being that guy, the one who ran to the others like a tattling kid. Besides, he was the new guy. The Scottish boys all kind of stuck together, leaving him mostly to talk to Lisle. Oh, Rory had taken the time to teach him things like how to read and craft runes, but the other druid spent most of his time sulking about Flùranach and feeling sorry for himself. Lisle was much more generous with her time, which he considered even more remarkable taking into account that with her granddaughter missing, she had real worries.

  On the other hand, Sheng did owe Rory. If it weren’t for Rory and Flùranach, he’d still be working as a Chinese translator, one of those jobs that sounded exciting to other people but in truth wasn’t. He’d mostly worked on technical and instructional manuals. It was good work that paid well, but even though he liked most of his colleagues, Sheng found the work was soulless and unfulfilling. When Flùranach had approached him in the duty-free London Heathrow airport, everything about his life changed for the better.

  By the time Sheng decided he would stick with Rory for the moment, the other druid was nearly finished inscribing the destination rune into the Mistgate. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow. Runework drained the creator if done right, and Sheng had to admit he couldn’t have done what Rory just did. The intricate symbology Ewain used was way beyond Sheng’s limited experience.

  The Mistgate filled with a watery essence when Rory placed his fingers in the hand-print on the pedestal. “You coming or not?” he asked.

  “I’m in,” Sheng said. He might not approve of Rory leaving Flùranach behind in Danastai, but the others would find out soon enough. It wasn’t his place to rat Rory out. Besides, for all he knew, they might agree that Rory had done the right thing. These druids were nothing if not loyal to each other.

  “Good.” Rory nodded. “Got everything?”

  “Yep.” In addition to the kit they’d taken to Danastai, they’d packed extra food, a blanket each, knives, and several talismans.

  Rory turned to the Mistwatcher on duty. “This gate stays open for a half hour. Make sure no one moves the destination until we come back.”

  The Mistwatcher saluted in response. “As you command, my lord druid.”

  Although Rory had already given the same instruction several times, the Mistwatcher didn’t complain. Sheng understood Rory’s caution. They had no idea where they were going, and neither of them trusted Ewain. He might be ancient and admittedly brilliant, but he had his own agenda. Still, Ewain clearly wanted them to succeed in getting this Cup of Cultus, so he wouldn’t gate them into a pit of fire. Probably.

  Rory exhaled loudly, steeling himself. “Right.” With a glance over to Sheng, he nodded, then strode through the gate.

  Hesitating only a moment, Sheng followed. When he reached the other side, a wall of resistance hit him and he gulped in a mouthful of water. One of Rory’s limbs lashed through the water and smacked into him, nearly knocking him back through. They weren’t just underwater, they were somewhere deep and dark. The only light came from strange, distant spots of glowing plant life on corroded ancient pillars and tall, flowing seaweed obscured their view even more.

  Just when Sheng thought their situation couldn’t get worse, something scaly slipped by his leg, bumping him hard. Rory thrashed in the water, trying unsuccessfully to return to the gate. Sheng managed to grasp one of his arms and yank him back, closer to where they came from.

  Rory’s eyes were wide with panic, and whatever creature had passed Sheng before did so again, this time with even more of a thud. After what seemed like an eternity, he finally managed to pull Rory all the way to the gate. It took all his strength, but he tugged Rory to the Mistgate and yanked him through.

  They tumbled to the ground together, both coughing up seawater and gasping for breath. Rory rolled onto his side, clenching his hand into the ground as though terrified something might drag him back underwater.

  “Close it!” Sheng shouted to the Mistwatcher, who obeyed immediately, then called out for help. Within moments, more Mistwatchers appeared with swords drawn.

  “We’re fine
,” Rory said through the coughs, although he didn’t look fine. His ginger hair was plastered to his face by the water, his skin had gone a pale shade of green, and his eyes had a haunted look.

  “You can’t swim, I take it,” Sheng said.

  “I’m from Scotland, ya daft git. Of course I don’t swim. You ever seen the North Sea? Bloody hell,” he spluttered.

  Sheng assured the Mistwatchers they were all right, but they retreated only after he stood and helped Rory to his feet. Their bags and all the contents were soaked through. Sheng dropped his pack with annoyance. “Looks like we need a Plan B.”

  Rory tried to wring out his shirt, but it was sodden. “Aye. You could say that.” He glanced at the gate with mistrust.

  “So we wait and talk to the others?” Sheng kicked off his ruined leather shoes, trying to avoid stepping in the deep puddles of seawater on the garden floor.