Treoir Dragon Hoard: Belador Book 10

by Dianna Love

  Still off to the side, the druid said, “You need a squire.”

  Adrianna quipped, “I feel like I’ve fallen back in time with words like bairn, carryin’ and squire.”

  “’Tis the language of all ages,” Garwyli told the witch.

  She sent him a nod of appreciation for his instruction.

  Daegan asked the druid, “Can we have that discussion again later?”

  “Aye.”

  Returning to the tomes, Daegan said, “I have only had time to review the last entries, which shed some light on the Dragani Wars. In my father’s treasure pile was a sword that may point toward those behind the greatest bloodshed of his time.”

  Tzader asked, “What sword?”

  “It’s called Lann Saoirse and belonged to an ice dragon. That sword should still be with her family.”

  “Her,” murmured through the crowd.

  To end the immediate speculation, Daegan said, “Sadly, the dragons are all dead now.”

  “You be livin’,” Garwyli argued.

  Every gaze watched for Daegan’s reaction.

  He told Garwyli, “I was captured in a realm.”

  “What of that silver one?”

  Don’t teleport the druid away from here, Daegan told himself. “Again, we will discuss this later.”

  “Aye.”

  That’s what the druid said last time.

  Returning to his point, which was not to make everyone sad about no potential mate for him, Daegan told Brina, “This is the history of your family. When you have need to access it, you must simply call up this library by name, but always keep that name secret until you are ready to share with your own children.”

  Silence fell gently over the crowd as Daegan telepathically gave the ancient name to Brina and Tzader.

  Brina smiled and stood to hug him.

  Family was everything.

  He gave thanks again to have what he’d gained since leaving Maeve’s clutches. He could have escaped to be more alone in today’s world than in her tower realm.

  Once Brina sat again, Daegan explained, “The history of our family is written in the Treoir language, which you should have been taught just so you could read these books. It’s similar to Gaelic, but with changes intended to protect details about family treasure, for example. Garwyli and I have spoken of this language. He understands enough to help you read these tomes when I am not available.”

  Daegan pointed at the turning disc and it paused. Then he gave a finger crook to a specific one that looked new and had no writing on the spine. The thick book had been covered in rich green leather. Gold trim floated above the cover in a three-dimensional design.

  Daegan angled the book back so that it opened to the middle with blank pages.

  Placing his hands under the open book, he carried it to Brina, who accepted the offering. Daegan explained, “Once this library is passed down, a blank tome appears for the next line of descendants to record their history. This one is yours and Tzader’s. I don’t know how much we’ll recover from the missing years when I was imprisoned, but Garwyli and I will do our best to record information in a separate volume.”

  A tome in the library trembled.

  Brina said, “Uncle, one is shakin’.”

  Daegan turned to reach for the volume he had not noticed the first time he’d found the library.

  The tome jumped into his hands before he could grasp it. Pages flipped fast, fanning his face, until pausing on the last page covered in images and text.

  “This is in my father’s writing,” Daegan said, murmuring to himself, then he read out loud. “The day you read this, you will know I am gone. I fear I’ve made errors in trust even within my own kingdom. I placed a spell upon this library to open only for you. You will have the power to make it available to others, if you survive as I pray you will. I had hoped to mount an attack against the Medb and gain your freedom, but I have failed. We have a traitor who started the Dragani War, placing all dragons in conflict. I feel I can no longer depend upon the squire family we have relied upon for generations, as they grow more afraid each day that I cannot protect them. I leave you with the only name I trust and pray that you will find her or her descendants.”

  Daegan read the last sentence silently to himself.

  Her family name is Luigsech.

  CHAPTER 34

  County Galway, Ireland

  Casidhe stretched to put back the heavy book of records she’d been reading. She’d been hunting a thread of connection for a customer from Scotland who had too much money. She intended to give him good reason to spend some with her family.

  Those customers were fun for her. Tracking their ancestries turned up fascinating trivia and sharing that information brought smiles all around.

  Who wouldn’t love her job?

  The bell on the shop door tinkled, but she didn’t go running to see who might be their next customer.

  Fenella handled the front desk. She had the perfect personality, where Casidhe preferred working behind the scenes. Her expertise lay in digging up details not often found in the usual genealogical searches.

  She had a gift for it.

  When a smooth male voice began speaking with a mild Irish lilt, Casidhe’s sixth sense nudged her to listen in. Another of her gifts was being an exceptionally talented snoop.

  He said to Fenella, “I understand you are a historian of County Galway families.”

  Moving down a long aisle, then hanging a right into another one that headed toward the front of the building, Casidhe found her favorite spot for observation. Now she was in line with Fenella’s desk. Casidhe moved the book that allowed her a nice view from where she hid in a dark space. She made less noise than a shadow when need be.

  A sweet, round-faced woman with shamrock green eyes and a pleasant disposition, Fenella smiled up at the attractive couple. “Aye, we keep a fair number of records, but not for all who have lived here. For that, you might need to be lookin’ to Connemara Heritage and History Centre. If I can help ya, I will. My name is Fenella. Who might you be?”

  “We are the Cavans,” the man said.

  Having an Irish surname did not constitute Irish heritage any more than did a lilt to his words. Casidhe had heard many versions, some of which were bogus, but this man had sharp eyes and a handsome face that looked to have some true Irish blood. He wore a fine suit that had cost a few pennies at a posh shop. His gray beard had been perfectly trimmed, and some might put him in his forties, but she didn’t think so.

  Yes, she had a suspicious streak about every stranger, but it had served her well more than once.

  Her gaze moved to the woman at his side, who was almost as tall as he. She wore dark sunglasses, electric-blue gloves, black pants, black boots and a white, knee-length wool coat with a silver scarf over her head.

  Why did it seem she was hiding her identity?

  All Casidhe could make out about the woman’s face were beautifully shaped cheeks and a fairly nice mouth, though it appeared to have no idea how to smile.

  “So nice to meet you, Mr. and Mrs. Cavan. Would that be the family name you’re lookin’ to trace to ancestors?”

  “No. I have my family tree, but I have been hired to locate the history of a family that lived in this area many centuries ago.”

  “Oh. There is not so much of the very ancient history to be found sometimes, but I will find out what I can, dependin’ upon what you can tell me. Let’s have the family name and we’ll start there.”

  Casidhe stifled a snort.

  That Fenella could lie and no one would question her. She had that gift, but it was more that she looked to be someone’s plump grandmother.

  The Cavan guy smiled, “Wonderful. I’m interested in the Treoirs. They lived here a very long time ago.”

  The spit dried up in Casidhe’s mouth. She waited to see how Fenella would handle it.

  Fenella sat back. “But you are not a Treoir descendant?”

  “Sadly, no. What little I’v
e heard of them sounds truly fascinating, though.”

  “What would that be?”

  Cavan paused as if he hesitated to share anything, but he said, “As I understand it, they lived during the time of a King named Gruffyn. My client was told as a child that his family hailed from that lineage and the records were kept by ... squires. He hopes, if nothing else, that you might point us toward the names of squire families of that era.”

  Now, Fenella took her time answering. When she did, she no longer sounded like anyone’s sweet grandmother, but more the guardian she could be. “Your client must know that families of squires who kept records of royal families from two thousand years ago are not so simple to trace.”

  Casidhe watched the couple more closely.

  If Cavan’s client were truly related to the Treoirs ... forget about it. That wasn’t possible. But just to play devil’s advocate, if he were, that client would know he couldn’t just send a stranger here to ask about such things.

  Cavan tilted his head as if he found Fenella’s words hard to comprehend. “Are you sayin’ you aren’t interested in my inquiry?”

  Sitting forward again, Fenella replied in a sugary voice that hid her razor-sharp mind, “Oh, no. We never turn down good coin. I am only sayin’ it takes a while to reach a squire family. They’re a reclusive lot. I will be happy to send word once proper incentive is provided.”

  Mrs. Cavan finally said something. “An incentive?”

  She asked the question with a bite in her voice. Her husband reached over and patted her hand, as if telling her not to speak.

  What had the wife so jacked up?

  Fenella gave the couple a wary frown. “Surely ya know I don’t speak of money. I suggest ya talk to your client. He, or she, should know what is required to approach those families.”

  “You don’t possess any records here?” Cavan pressed on.

  Fenella’s eyes twinkled. “Your client should know much of that history be spoken rather than written.”

  “I see,” Mr. Cavan said and did not sound surprised. “This Treoir family intrigues me more and more. I shall contact my client tonight to convey our conversation. I will surely be in touch soon.”

  Smiling as if she’d made every wish they had come true, Fenella said, “That would be wonderful. Top of the day to you both.”

  Mrs. Cavan’s lips had yet to change from the stern line.

  Casidhe waited until the couple had been gone a full minute before exiting her hiding place. When she made it to the front, Fenella had closed the door and pulled the shade down over the window. The heavy furniture crafted by hand had been placed in here over seventy years ago, and only to update the furnishings then. Casidhe’s family preferred to remain a bit in the past, surrounded by the wonderful scent of aged tomes she loved like children.

  Walking to her desk and sitting down, Fenella asked, “What do you think, Cas?”

  Casidhe carefully moved a small stack of books, and sat. She leaned back, thinking. “The man is old ... and powerful.”

  “How old?”

  “To be honest, I have no idea, but he is not what he presented to you.”

  “I suspected as much,” Fenella mused. “What of the woman?”

  “She bothers me more than he does. She is old and powerful, too, but not in the same way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Casidhe lifted a foot to the bench and wrapped her arms around her bent leg. “It may not make sense, but she stood too still for my likin’. That she did not know what incentive was expected did surprise me, but Cavan clearly knew what you meant. He seemed to be keepin’ her calm, but why? Her two words came out with the force of an order, not a simple question.”

  “Foolish woman to think she could order me to do anything’,” Fenella muttered.

  Laughing to agree, Casidhe said, “But it has been a long time since we’ve encountered anythin’ like that pair. It does prick my curiosity.”

  Fenella swung a serious face to her. “Doona go lookin’ for trouble.”

  Casidhe loved to tweak Fenella’s nose. It brought out her brogue. “I did not open the door and call them in.”

  “What will you do?”

  “We must inform the others.”

  Fenella suggested, “You may want to wait. They did not ask about King Eógan’s family.”

  “Askin’ about the Treoirs could be sincere ... or a ruse to find information on the other families.” Casidhe shook her head. “No. Those two were here to snoop around for more than harmless ancestral information, because there is no such thing when diggin’ into these families. Mark my word, they have a greater plan afoot.”

  “For one not even thirty, you’ve a good eye and ear for these things even without your gifts,” Fenella admitted. “Keep me informed and I will send word if I learn more.”

  “Good. I doubt the man is truly a Cavan any more than that couple bein’ human as they pretended. We both have our duties and now is the time for me to do mine.” Casidhe considered just who the Cavans could be. Friend or foe?

  If they be friend, they would have given a sign, which she and Fenella would have recognized. That put them clearly as the enemy. Casidhe curled her hands into fists, feeling the heat of anger pour into them at the potential threat to the family.

  “Casidhe! Your eyes are glowin’!”

  Shaking off the moment of anger, Casidhe calmed her energy. “I am fine.”

  “Not so fine if you lose control. How am I to keep ya hidden if anyone senses your power?”

  “No one has discovered me since I came to be with ya,” Casidhe said to keep Fenella calm. In truth, she had serious concerns about those two returning, because Cavan had a wily look to his eyes.

  If she was correct about how old he might be, and she knew better than to doubt her instincts, he could pick up on her presence.

  Standing, Casidhe said, “I believe they’ll be back soon. I can’t be here when they do show up again, not until I have more information. I will return when I do.”

  “I will do my best to keep them busy until then, but the family needs to consider moving again.”

  That pissed her off. Casidhe was the first line of defense for her family. She would not let some old being come in here and upend her people.

  “Casidhe,” Fenella said in a warning tone.

  “I know.” Casidhe closed her eyes, gave it a minute then opened them again. “Better now?”

  “Ya canna make a mistake. Not now.”

  “I will not allow anyone to harm the family,” Casidhe vowed and walked off. She wove her way to the rear of the building and down a set of stairs to a musty smelling basement cluttered with crooked piles of books and boxes.

  Careful not to disturb cobwebs, she squeezed between two stacks and pushed a book that slid into the stone wall with no resistance. Once she entered the tunnel, she moved a rock with her foot and the entrance vanished. How long had it been since she made this walk?

  Counting mentally, she came up with ten months. The last time she’d come this way had been only to visit for her own benefit after sending word to expect her.

  Showing up unexpectedly would put everyone on edge.

  It couldn’t be avoided. They had known this day might come.

  When she found the ladder to the surface, she climbed up until she reached the inside of a tree older than most living things in the human world. Once inside the tree, she had enough room to move her arms straight out away from her body.

  Light flashed from the silver and metallic-blue sword standing against the curved inside wall.

  That sword had been created for a female warrior her size.

  There had been two others made of similar design.

  One had belonged to Brynhild, the first daughter of King Eógan.

  That sword had been named Lann Saoirse, Blade of Freedom.

  The third daughter’s sword carried the name Lann na Fírinne, Blade of Truth.

  The sword now flashing with energy in fron
t of her was hers by right, or so she’d believed her entire life. The Lann an Cheartais, Blade of Justice, had been made for the king’s second daughter, his favorite.

  Her heart raced.

  There was only one reason this sword would be churning with power. It sensed her need to protect the family and stood ready to do its duty as it had two thousand years ago.

  Or ... it sensed an enemy coming to claim it.

  Her father had told her this day might come, though he hoped it would not. She lifted the worn leather scabbard lying on the ground and fitted the harness onto her back. She had another sheath for battle, but this one would lie closer to her body, and be easier to conceal as she traveled.

  With her gear in place, she stepped back and crooned, “Come to me Lann an Cheartais so we may do our duty.”

  If the sword did not come to her, she had failed to prove worthy. Her father had warned her to never call it to her unless she was prepared to take control of its power.

  The sword quivered, then slowly lifted upward. Turning in the air, the blade glided up and over her shoulder, where she waited for it to swing around and insert smoothly into the scabbard.

  Or stab through her heart if it found her lacking.

  Hard to know what something that old would do when she had never truly known if this was her sword to wield.

  Until now, she’d been only the caretaker.

  Deep in her heart, she’d always questioned whether she deserved the position she’d been given as a child, but she never doubted her commitment to the family.

  When the sword slipped into place on her back, Casidhe released a sigh of relief and reached over her shoulder to feel the hilt. A hum of energy flowed through her arm and buzzed her body with a soft vibration she welcomed.

  Patting the jeweled handle, she said, “We will train soon, but for now we must travel to see my father and the family.”

  Lann an Cheartais sizzled with a push of energy.

  Her sword knew she was not talking about the wonderful Luigsech family, which had raised her.

  Cathbad walked Brynhild down the street toward a park in County Galway. So much had changed since his last visit.