1Chronicles of Kells and Temra
Chapter Ten
Kiaran bowed before his Queen, not bothering to look her in the eye, as he told her of his failure to kill the Princess. He kept his tale brief; he told the truth but he told it slant. He left out how he had broken the Princess's bonds and given her back her crossbow. But other than that, he told the truth. "I understand if you want to assign someone else to serve as your general," Kiaran said.
"No I do not," said Nemain. "I still have use for you yet. I have alliances to be made and you have men to train and prepare for battle."
"When and where do you intend to send us next?" Part of him knew the answer before Nemain said it, but still when she said, "The Heart," he shuddered. He knew exactly what she meant by that: she wanted him to strike at the Castle where the Princess of Kells and her father lived.
He had been in many sieges. Most of the time, a siege was a dull affair, simply surrounding the fort and trying to starve the inhabitants out, but he knew Nemain didn't have that kind of slow, torturous battle in mind. She wanted the castle and wanted it quickly. "I will begin working towards that end, my liege."
"Very well, you may leave and go to your men," said Lady Nemain.
As soon as Kiaran was gone, Mider appeared. "Do you honestly believe that story he told you about the knights and the Princess over-powering him?"
"Of course not," said Nemain. "You think me a fool? But right now, he is still useful to us, even if he's turning out to be too noble for his own good. "
She then rose from her throne. "I am leaving. I have alliances I need to forge." And she disappeared.
Kiaran massaged his temples. Studying by candlelight always gave him a headache, but he had work to do. He resumed looking over the maps, trying to imagine where his men would go on the field, but his thoughts kept returning to the Princess and her father. He wondered what would happen to them once Nemain took the island. "Probably put their heads on pikes." That was the way of war: it wasn't kind to losers. But their fate was his lady's to decide, not his. Whatever happened, he must remember that.
A cold breeze blew out his candle, enveloping the room in darkness. He looked around. How had the breeze gotten in; the only window was shut. Then he heard a voice, his dear sister's voice say, "Remember."
He rubbed his eyes. He was working too hard; he needed rest. But a good night's rest would not come; he spent the night tossing and turning.
Cathbad watched the men training in the yard. Kells was bracing itself for a tough fight. It was the deep of winter and if Nemain laid siege to the castle, they would have to survive on whatever rations they could. But maybe that was her plan: a war of attrition. If that was her plan, it seemed like it was succeeding. Kells was growing weary of this war. It meant shortages as everything was geared towards funding the war, but he knew the stakes were too high, the cost too great if the King should back down. Idly he wondered if the war would continue even when Deirdre ascended the throne.
The war had gone on for so long, he wondered if there was a generation on the island who could remember when it had not been. Kells had changed hands many times, occasionally being united under the iron rule of Temran kings, only for another generation to break free and reestablish the border. Occasionally Kells had ruled over Temra but peace in these situations was always tenuous at best. Both sides bristled at being ruled over by the other, so usually it didn't take long for war to break out again.
The King had called upon his allies to assist. Reged was sending soldiers to aid their Prince, as was Princess Lynette, and Ivar's land, while unable to send men, were sending much needed supplies. But ships are slow even in the best of times, let alone during winter when there's often ice on the waters. Besides the brunt of the fighting would still be borne by the Kellsmen who are increasingly growing weary.
He knew the prophecies about Draganta. He had spent many hours studying them and had gone to the docks, hoping to gain new information from travelers, but so far even his fellow druids seemed not to know how Draganta might bring peace to the island.
He sighed, feeling far older than his years. He could only hope that Kells hold out.
The great black dragon hissed, smoke streaming from its nostrils, as Kiaran prostrated himself before it. It was not the dragon the great King Ragnvald had rode in on, but he didn't care. Lady Nemain had sent him to bring a dragon into their alliance and that's what he intended to do.
He was a spiteful creature this dragon, hissing and spitting as Kiaran recited the incantation. It was a miracle really that the dragon hadn't already been slain; from what he heard, the people of this forsaken country made a practice of offering sacrifices to this beast, believing it to be a god of some kind. He could understand how they could see it that way: a dragon was a terrible thing to behold.
This was the first time he had seen one outside of the storybooks he and Lyanna used to read together and truthfully, he was terrified. Were it not for the vows he'd sworn, he would run, run far away back to his home country where dragons were safely dead. But he had sworn his vows.
As soon as he had finished the incantation, calm came over the beast and to Kiaran's surprise, soon the dragon was as obedient as a hound. But Kiaran was still worried: from what he had read, most dragons seemed to have a flexible morality. He only hoped that in the battle, the dragon, otherwise known as Malaris, harm only the red dragon and not harm his men, but that was a foolish thing to hope for. For no matter how this battle went, people on both sides would be harmed. War cannot exist without bloodshed; he was a fool to think it was possible.
Gods help him; he couldn't seem to escape from war. It seemed the only thing he was good at; he never seemed to know what to do with himself in a time of peace. But everything must come to an end sooner or later. Whether he takes the castle or not, this will be his last battle, he decided.
Aideen spent much of her time, flying to and from the castle, keeping them informed about the latest Temran movements. It wasn't easy—Nemain was playing her cards close to her chest—but all signs pointed to an attack on the castle. Nemain was moving her pieces into play, but so were the Kellsmen. King Conchobar had doubled the number of men stationed at the castle. Supplies were being even more strictly rationed than usual in case of a long siege.
Angus and Rohan too, had been called to the castle. Everyone knew an attack was coming and they wanted all the mystic knights in place so they'd be ready when it did. Sleeping in the castle was always a strange experience for the two of them. It was strange sleeping in a stone building and having servants tend to them, and neither felt very comfortable with the situation, but they were needed at the castle so they did their best to comply with the King's orders.
Maeve, meanwhile, rested in the King's dungeon. Were it not for the solid stone walls and iron bars that surrounded her, she probably could have escaped with ease. Most of the dungeon guard had been pulled away from their duties and sent to man the castle walls, so she was left alone, when she received a rather surprising visitor.
"My lady…" Mider gave a short little bow. But Maeve was not amused. "What is it?" she said through clenched teeth. She would have started hollering for the guards but she wasn't sure if she could call on them without having to explain Mider's previous visits, and if they found out about those…best not to think about that.
"My lady, please…" Mider said and now Maeve was curious. Was it just her or did he look frightened? Just what could frighten a fairy with as black a heart as Mider's?
He offered up a few trinkets: a bottle of a purple liquid and a magical key, before he left, leaving her alone in her cell. She studied the key carefully, wondering if it could open the door to her cell, but decided not to try it, not yet anyway.
It was the small vial of purple liquid that fascinated her the most. She sniffed at it; it had the distinct aroma of Dreamwine. Dreamwine, she knew freed the soul from its body, enabling one to travel great distances while the body remained behind. With this stuff, Maeve knew she could see everything on the island if she wanted to, but why would Mider give this to her. Was it poison? Maybe Nemain wanted to wrap up a loose end, but if that was the case, why now? Why not out on the open sea? But she remembered Mider and how frightened he looked when he had visited her. Just what was going on? She sniffed the vial again. It smelled like Dreamwine; perhaps it was safe for her to drink. She wished she had a rat or something to test it on, but there wasn't time for that. She looked at the purple liquid sloshing around in the little vial, pinched her nose, and quaffed the contents.