A Kingdom's Worth
The stench of a bloody battle invades all senses. Whether fought on the flat plains, in the rolling hills, in the thickets and forests, or on open seas, whether in blazing heat, or numbing cold, the reek of mud and sweat and blood permeates the skin and muscle, fuses with the bone, and accentuates the reality of a soldier through pain and fatigue. Even if the odds are stacked unfavourably, warriors bathe in the stink, fight through the carnage and stand against enemies with a positive outcome in mind. That is, until they cannot, and the futility of battle is an overwhelming reality.
Surrounded by a dozen at least, and without as much as a single blow, Lorcan smelt the inevitability of defeat. The soldiers of the Veena, his soldiers, stared at him with black eyes, ignored his stern orders, and his roared aggressive protests. His once gathered hair fell loosely, and their firm grips triggered a change in his strategy. He used gentle pleas, saying their names in soft tones to negotiate his release, but as they led him through the streets, a deep despair sucked his defiance into oblivion, and he grew silent. It’s not cowardice to preserve strength and live to remember, to prepare, and improve the odds for the next battle. There’s always the next battle, he told himself.
By the time Lorcan reached the lower steps of the Dunbrayn dungeon, the din from the baying crowd had disappeared and he relaxed, his resistance succumbed to the apathetic but iron grip of his soldiers. No longer his but under the influence of the Druid and lost to his command. He turned his head in the flickering flames of their torches and glanced up the steps at the clear distant night sky. The usual black ceding to a star sprinkled purple haze. The shroud marking the change of season and an unprecedented change of ruler in Teernall. Darkness ushering a change steeped in death and treachery, heralding a dark future for Teernall, the Danaan islands, the eastern seas to Fomoria, and even the lands and atolls stretching beyond Dareg and the western horizon. The sinking feeling in his stomach added weight to his reluctant steps and he stumbled forward in the clutches of his men. Their dark empty eyes flashed in the torchlight, devoid of thought, under an influence of great power, under Tadhg’s control. They ushered him forward in the chilled air until they reached Dagda’s cell. The child’s eyes glowed yellow and his little voice giggled at the sight.
‘Welcome back Lorcan. Did you miss me?’
Lorcan’s eyes followed the bars of the cave cell as they sank into the stone floor. With a clang of metal on stone, he was pushed forward into the dungeon. He dropped to his hands and knees beside the grinning child and cut a forlorn figure; defeated with little dignity intact.
Dagda stood in front of Lorcan and looked down on him. ‘Fear of a child is unbecoming for a man of the Veena.’
Lorcan stared at small bare feet and gradually shifted his eyes up the little body to the shape-shifter’s face. Dagda smiled but his old eyes were laden with menace, and he folded his arms. ‘You had so much potential. Why did you not partake in the anointment of the sacrificial blood? You could have remained captain of your precious Veena.’ The child walked around Lorcan. ‘But maybe your story is not yet finished. There’s a mist in the future, a cloud of uncertainty like I’ve never seen.’ Dagda skipped to the cell edge and carefully tiptoed over the bars in the floor. He stopped and looked over his shoulder at Lorcan. ‘I need to get out of Dunbrayn, clarify my path, bring order to the chaos.’ He sucked at his teeth. ‘I’ve things to do…good luck, Lorcan of the knives.’
He walked away from the cell and the Veena soldiers stood aside to let him through. The bars hissed as they rose and locked in position with a clang. Gradually, the torch light and the beat of footsteps on stone faded as the soldiers marched away after Dagda. Lorcan shivered and blew warm breath into his hands. The blackness of his cell surrounded and pressed on him from all sides. He stood, and in his blindness, he managed to find the wall with his fingers. He leaned his back against the cold stone to still a wave of panic in his guts. Moments later torches lit the pathway outside his cell and the temperature in the dungeon rose to a tolerable level. The continued subjugation of evil was unnecessary. It was instead given access to the streets of Dunbrayn and blended seamlessly with the new regime.
The Veena marched Dagda past the temple of Danu, avoided the reveling crowds in the Warriors courtyard and steered the boy up the steps of the rear entrance to the Druid’s quarters. Dagda entered the large living space, and the doors shut behind him. He walked slowly forward, glancing at the vaulted ceilings, the large empty bath house, and the fires burning along the walls in raised stone cauldrons. His eyes ran along a row of skulls arranged in order of size, a ram, a wolf, a bear, an elk and he stared at a large Gorgowan skull, gleaming enamel white. He imagined the hulking body, the tender giant steaks of meat and swallowed when his stomach growled. Dagda was distracted from his hunger when the eyes of the ram’s skull glowed with a pulsing blue light, and he spotted a decanter of wine on a table nearby. He hurried forward, ignoring the floating light blue orb in the corner of the room and poured a goblet of wine. A round shadow emerged on the white wall nearby, and it slowly grew and twisted into the shape of his host.
‘Hope you don’t mind. It’s been over a month since I had a taste.’ Dagda turned to face the source of the shadow while slurping and drinking, his eyes closed, the goblet pressed against his forehead and dribbles of wine spilt down his small chin. He finished and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. ‘The trouble with this size is while I can conserve energy, I can’t fit much more wine.’
Tadhg’s face was hidden in a cowl, and the tip of his staff glowed a soft pulsating blue.
Dagda tossed the goblet from his right to his left hand and placed it on the table. ‘You’re Ard-Ree now. Congratulations. I assume you didn’t get approval from the Druid’s Guild?’ He smacked his lips and briefly waited for a response to his rhetorical question. ‘In any case, I don’t pass judgment, it’s a development for druids and councils to debate. In time, the annals will record the victor’s tale.’
Tadhg slowly removed the cowl and the flames of his awen tattoo waved and momentarily rearranged on the side of his head. He strode by in silence and used efficiency of motion to emerge at the veranda. Dagda shrugged and skipped after the Druid into the open night sky. The shine from Tadhg’s bald head turned a purple hue in the haze from the shrouded moons and his pale eyes stared at nothing and everything at once. The night air barely whispered against the still trees in the garden of Danu and the furor in the citadel was lost to the loud chirping of crickets on their death beds. A flash and a rising flame in the distance accompanied by a unified faraway roar from an inebriated crowd drew Dagda’s curiosity. There was a sudden trimmer in the stone, which shook a sprinkling of dust on the veranda floor when Dagda’s giant hands gripped the wall. He towered over Tadhg, and both looked out over the garden to the city dwellings in the distance.
Dagda flexed his muscular arms and stretched reaching for the sky. His voice rumbled deep in his chest when he grunted in relief. He rolled his neck, took a deep breath of Dunbrayn air and wet his lips. ‘I could eat a Gorgowan bull, tail and all.’
He grabbed a fist full of his long beard and turned to Tadhg. ‘What do I call you? Lord Druid? Ard-Ree? Something greater than both?’
Tadhg’s pale eyes peered up at the giant from within rings of ash under a smooth white forehead and he spoke softly. ‘I don’t want this crown, but what choice do I have? The West is bent on destroying our traditions and won’t stop until they have Dunbrayn on her knees. I’m buying us time to shore up our defenses, and the Guild will understand and support my actions once they know the truth.’
Dagda turned away and stared over the treetops in the garden. After a month in the dungeon, his patience wore thin, and he folded his thick arms. ‘Am I a Dunbrayn sheep, Druid?’
Tadhg turned his head away and the gemstone on his staff pulsed a brighter blue. ‘A sheep or a wolf, it matters none. I’ve stilled the tongues of all manners of creatures, and you would do well to watch yours.’
Dagda leaned forward and sucked at his teeth ‘I’m Danaan and I see through your veil of invention. I’m curious but don’t care for your motives.’ The giant’s voice resonated deep in his chest. ‘I need no convincing, I just need confirmation. If I find this child Keeper, will you grant me my request? That which I made to Art and was refused before I was jailed?’
Tadhg nodded and Dagda smiled. ‘Next time we meet, you will have your Keeper, and I will have my kingdom.’
