The Tuatha De Cycle: The Spear of Assal

[Rowan Finnegan]

The town had been silent since his mother had left.

News had come from Gorias that the Fomorians had a renewed assault upon their locally owned lands, but the rangers of the small town hadn’t paid it much heed. Indeed, there had been quite the Dire Bear problem as of late and Gobain almost had to get involved. Urd, the lovely foreigner that ran the town guard, had seen to squashing all of that.

It wasn’t until that fateful night, with Gobain working away in his smithery – coming up with some new, grand piece of machinery that would lessen the load from the farmers – that a Fomorian had burst into his house. Gobain’s wife and children had found themselves suddenly held captive with a circlet of silver metal upon their necks, as he worked away in his smithery. 

The man had a penchant for music and, as such, had a magical horn that played all of his favorite songs. He had been known for working so long - nights and days - that he did not hear the invaders over the horn until they burst down the door to his basement smithery.

The invader held a mechanical launcher made of iron and wood. Gobain made eye contact with the invader before opening himself to the Light and taking control of it with his force of might. Gobain wove fibers of Air, stripping the invader of his strange weapon.

Another invader stepped into his home, brandishing the same weapon. Gobain tried to strike out with Air, but the new invader had been too quick. The weapon he held shot out a silver ball that had exploded once it got close to Gobain. A black collar of a strange metal seemed to leap out from the orb and latched itself onto Gobain’s neck.

The Light fled Gobain and a flurry of sickness overtook him.

“That’s a good boy,” the invader’s voice sounded from above, “Heel. Don’t make me spank you.”

[Aiden Finnegan]

The Hamlet of Comrac north of the Great City of Gorias
The Isles of Erie
 

---

 
 
A number of Lecan’s personal guard and Lugh’s own bodyguards leapt out from the Doorway, fanning out – as usual – to take stock of the landing perimeter. Lugh bore it with grace, wishing to be back in Gorias with Lecan. Had there been no business at hand, the two would have likely endured the rest of the night with their cask of wine and Abcan’s bawdy songs on the lute while the servants did their best to soften the oncoming hangover with countless plates of food.

“Look, I’m not saying you were right, but,” Abcan started before Lugh held up a hand.

“Don’t. You can admit it when we know for certain,” Lugh answered with a devilish smirk. They would find Gobain this night and Lugh would woo him with his perfectly picked words and the three of them would be back under the Hill before daybreak. The High Council would sing Lugh’s praises on the morrow when they discovered that one of their long-lost brothers had finally come home to court. Gobain, of course, would then assist Lugh in tracking down Credne and Brigid. Lugh would then, of course, woo them as well and welcome them back to Nuada’s Keep with full honors and glory.

Lugh smiled over his premature victory.

The bodyguards made their way back to Lugh and Abcan, affirming the safety of the surrounding pasture; Lecan’s house guard proceeded into the cluster of homesteads that had made up Comrac. Lugh opened himself to the Light and took it by force, using the raging torrent to enhance his own senses. The dark of night did not seem so harsh and the things that seemed to be blurred off in the distance suddenly leapt into crystal clear view.

By Lugh’s own estimation, the Hamlet of Comrac sounded to be but a humble title – for surely there were enough buildings to call this a village? Although Lecan had not kept proper records of the surrounding settlements, his Spy Master had at least taken stock over the years. They had claimed that Comrac had been founded twenty years prior by three lower-ranking Dagda families that had been gifted in the arts of the Earth. Their talents for seeking metals had led them to this spot. Within a week of investigating the area, the group had located three deposits: two of stone and one of zinc.

Disaster eventually struck the settlement as an earthquake came to cause a cave-in. The three patriarchs and many of their relatives were lost and presumed dead. Efforts to clear two of the mines of rubble and debris proved to be fruitless. A single stone mine was all that had been left to the settlement. The remnants of the three families still practiced their arts within the mine, while outsiders continued to flow into Comrac and began to turn its rolling hills into pastures for flocks of sheep and the bovine.

Abcan had his pipe out and blue smoke rings were billowing up from his tight-lipped grin. Lugh brought out his own pipe and took a drag, not bothering to impress anyone. The bodyguards lead them down the hill and through a gate in the rough wooden fence that had enclosed the pasture they had landed in. Two of the house guard had come rushing back to meet them.

“Your Radiance,” the pair intoned before taking a knee and bringing fist to heart. They rose and the guard on the left spoke up first, “The village is empty. All homes show forced sign of entry. It’s as if someone came along and scooped them all up as they were going about their day. Dinners left abandoned on tables, beds emptied, sewing hoops dropped to the ground.”

Lugh and Abcan faltered in step with each other. Pipes were extinguished and put away. The two Dagda embraced the Light and nodded to the guards. Abcan went off into the night, disappearing from view before Lugh could say otherwise. Instead, he addressed the guard to the left, “At ease, soldier. Thank you for the report, Ser –“

“ó Broin, your Radiance,” he answered quickly.

“Ser ó Broin. Was there anything else out of place or remarkable? You do have a Dagda stationed with you, yes?” Lugh asked in a magnanimous tone.

“We do, your Radiance. Silver and black metal casings – that’s as best as I can describe them – were found in three homes. Don’t know what they’re for, your Radiance, although our Dagda has marked them out as potentially Light-forged,” Ser ó Broin spoke in quick, precise tones.

Listening to the guard only drove home the fact that Lugh needed a proper blacksmith – Kerr’gan be damned. He really had no idea what the man had been talking about outside of the light-forged metals, but then that had been enough to perk his attention. The trail of Gobain seemed to be growing stronger, despite the absence of people in the hamlet.

“Indeed, take me to one of these ‘casings,’ Ser ó Broin,” Lugh commanded in a firm, yet benevolent voice.

 

The homestead they had come to was the only one in the hamlet that had been styled after those of the Great Cities; it was a tri-floored abode beneath an earthen mound. By the guards’ report, this home had taken the most damage out of the rest. Indeed, it was said that the most powerful Dagda of the hamlet lived here. Lugh could believe it just by entering the main landing of the home. The guards had taken him to the basement level where the ‘casings’ had been found. To his own delight, the basement had turned out to be a workshop.

They had found Gobain’s homestead, but they had not found Gobain.

Off on the opposite side of the workshop, a light-touched horn played songs from Lugh’s childhood. He moved into the room and bent down to inspect the black bits of metal upon the ground. The guard went on at length about the Dagda’s discovery and Lugh nodded along with half an ear. The shape of the metal looked almost as if it could be shaped into a ball, if picked up and rolled about. Lugh reached out to pick it up.

Blue light flashed across the room.

Lugh snatched his hand back with a loud cry as every guard turned his attention toward him. He brought his fingers to his mouth before waving them away with his other, uninjured hand. The black metal on the ground sat there taunting him; a thin trail of smoke puffing up from the space he had touched.

“Do be careful, your Radiance,” cried a familiar voice.

Lugh turned his head and plastered on a wicked grin.

The Druidess Tlachtga came striding down the stairs in a sleek white robe, her auburn hair in neat plaits laid across either breast. A crown of hawthorn sat upon the top of her head and an eye of indigo dye was painted across her brow. She wore a solemn expression as she made her way into the chamber.

Lugh twisted his lips in a playful manner and gave her a mock bow.

Tlachtga sighed loudly as Lugh played along. She batted away the attending guard as she made her way over to Lugh and dipped a knee to him in turn. Lugh bent even lower to the ground – forcing her to go lower. She grunted and complied. Lugh could not help but laugh heartily. He straightened and pulled her up into an embrace.

“It has been too long. I had heard you had gone off with Mug Ruith to study under the Olympians!” Lugh announced with a hearty chuckle.

“My father is on a fool’s errand, my King. I can assure you he knows all that they can offer,” Tlachtga spoke in an overly formal voice – one that did not match the expression on her face.

“Stop with that, Tlachtga. Call me by my name. We grew up together. I will not stand for formalities, and I am assured that your father does valuable work.”

Tlachtga relaxed visibly, taking a seat upon one of the benches that had been built into the curved walls. “Thank Danu for that. I can’t stand all this pomp. You know, working for your cousin makes me second guess my decision. The Olympians cannot be worse than High Prince Lecan.”

Lugh laughed harder and slapped his knee before joining his childhood friend on the bench, “There’s the ‘Lach I know. He’s having a bad time at it then?”

“Oh, far from it. We’ve spoken by Doorway. They’ve been teaching him loads. He should be back within the year. You’ll be wanting his instruction, I’m sure,” Tlachtga replied with a shrug of her shoulders.

“If they are as good as the rumors say, I shall insist and I shall pay what is appropriate,” Lugh said as his laughter died down.

“You don’t need to do that, Lugh. We are doing just –”

Lugh interrupted Tlachtga, “I shall pay what is appropriate. I cannot do what Nuada did. I cannot go to seek the knowledge of the other realms. Others will have to do that for me, and they will be rewarded for their service, Tlachtga. It would be a stain on my ‘honor’ otherwise.”

Tlachtga held up her hands in defeat, “If my King insists.”

“I said stop that.”

“Yes,” Tlachtga said, “My king,” before breaking into laughter.

Lugh rolled his eyes with a smirk before weaving of fiber of Air to try to pick up the black metal; it proved successful. The circular bits were carried up by invisible hands and brought to rest at eye level, just an arms span from the two of them. It slowly rotated and Tlachtga looked anywhere but. Lugh took note.

The silence stretched out between them before Lugh coughed and Tlachtga finally spoke up as if the silence had only lasted between breaths, “It is an alloy unlike any we have seen from our own smitheries. It appears to be made from chromium, lead, and zinc – there are traces of silver along the joints.”

Lugh nodded again as if he knew what she was talking about.

“Preliminary tests show that the metal is light-touched, but whatever its function remains unreadable. We have no specialist on hand for that. The metal configuration seems to have been a shell of sorts for another, larger piece of equipment – if that is to be believed. Also, we have reason to believe that it was made off Isle,” Tlachtga went on in a lecturing manner.

Lugh nodded for the third time, his gaze glazing over slightly as he stared at the metal bits revolving in the air. Lectures and tutors had rarely gripped his mind. Experience had always been the great teacher – not tomes, nor scrolls, nor lectures.

“I gave birth to a banshee,” Tlachtga said simply.

“And that is what made this metal and kidnapped the villagers?” Lugh asked with raised eyebrows.

“You don’t understand anything I’ve said,” Tlachtga shot back, raising her own eyebrows.

“Not a damn word.”

Tlachtga sighed and made a hand motion towards one of the guards. Lugh followed it curiously before the guard went back up the stairs. Lugh looked back to Tlachtga and asked, “And what was that about?”

Before Tlachtga could open her mouth, Lugh heard the unmistakable sound of a child’s voice.

“Is Father back? Why can’t I take this off?”

The guard quieted the child before they stepped out onto the landing; the guard took a knee for Lugh and all but forced the child to do the same. She was young and clearly had not seen her first moon cycle. A crest of red hair fell down around her shoulders, all but framing a silver metal collar that rested upon her neck. The girl looked up at Lugh with a defiant expression, “Where is my father!? Where is my mother!?”

“Your radiance, may I present to you Áine, daughter of Gobain,” Tlachtga announced in a mock-ceremonial voice.

[Aiden Finnegan]

“I knew it!” Lugh exclaimed with delight, looking about. Abcan had not wandered back in yet, and so the victory had been spoiled. Tlachtga looked at Lugh questioningly. He waved a hand at her absently before signaling the guard and Áine to rise. The little girl looked absolutely affronted at the treatment. Lugh had to stifle a laugh. He had seen his own daughter wear such an expression countless times before.

“Where is my father!?” Áine screeched once more.

“Are you sure this isn’t the banshee you gave birth to?” Lugh whispered jokingly to Tlachtga before taking a knee so that he was eye to eye with Áine, “My name is Lugh, Áine. I am the High King. We are trying to find your father. Do you remember what happened?”

Áine glared at him, her fists clutching at her skirts. She said nothing.

“She has not been very forthcoming, your grace,” Tlachtga volunteered. Lugh glared at her over the title.

“That’s because you don’t know how to talk to kids,” Abcan called down from the top of the stairs. He wasted no time in joining them. The bard appeared to be carrying a large jute sack under one arm and a steaming pie in the other. Lugh did not have to guess at the purpose of the pie – although he was fairly certain that the current purpose did not match up with Abcan’s original intent.

Lugh said nothing as his friend moved to stand near them, dropping the jute sack with a metallic clang. The little girl eyed the pie with wide eyes. Abcan had clearly embraced the Light, as invisible hands seemed to cut a perfect slice from the pie and brought it to float just out of the girls reach. Áine tried to lunge out for the piece, but Abcan brought it up higher – just out of her reach.

“Now, I happen to know two things, little Áine,” Abcan started as he moved over to a bench and started to cut another piece of the pie, “First and foremost is that nothing in this world comes for free – you understand me?”

Áine was now attempting to leap for the pie, not even looking at Abcan. Despite that, she nodded at his words.

“Second is that good children listen to their elders. Your elders – your High King – have been asking you for help. They cannot find your father without your help,” Abcan kept at it, teasing the girl with the pie, “Oh my this is divine.”

Áine looked over to Abcan, her eyes wide as he took a giant bite out of the second slice. She bounded towards him, her hands reaching out for the confectionary. Abcan shook his head at her and she seemed to freeze in place.

“Let go of me!” Áine cried, her head shaking from side to side.

“I think that’s enough, Abcan,” Lugh said seriously. Even he had not used the Light to handle his children. Then again, Áine was taller than Abcan.

“You can have the rest of this pie and more if you answer your High King’s questions,” Abcan told her, completely ignoring his High King, “Can you do that for me, Áine?”

The girl glared at Abcan for a lifetime before finally nodding. He released her and she closed the distance, grabbing the pie from the bard. Lugh sighed before going to sit by her and asking once more, “Do you remember what happened, Áine?”

[Aiden Finnegan]

The testimony of a child could be a very simple and straightforward thing; Lugh had been thankful for that as Áine began to recount her tale between large bites of pie. Gooseberries quickly covered the lower half of her face as the first slice disappeared into her gullet.

According to the little girl, a horde of men burst into their humble home just after she had been tucked into her bed for the night. The men were ‘large, hairy, and wearing funny skirts of pretty colors.’ They had carried large wooden tools that shot metal balls at her and her family; those balls exploded before reaching their targets and ‘silver spiders’ jumped out of the balls. One of those ‘silver spiders’ had fixed itself to her neck and would not let go. Her mother was able to put up enough of a fight for Áine to run out of the house and hide in a nearby hedge, where she was later found by Tlachtga and the guards.

Áine quickly settled into another slice of pie as she finished her story, taking a seat next to Abcan who looked at the girl with a troubled expression. Lugh looked from her to Tlachtga, a question on his lips. The Druidess had seemed to read his mind as she shook her head silently. He shrugged in turn and walked over to Áine.

“Don’t mind me, my dear,” Lugh said soothingly as she looked up at him with an alert expression, “I simply wish to see if I can take the ‘spider’ off of your neck. You’ll let me do that, won’t you?”

Áine considered this for a moment before nodding and grabbing a third slice of the pie from Abcan’s open palms. Lugh opened himself to the Light and used his enhanced senses to examine the silver collar along the girl’s neck. His sight seemed to zoom in as if under a lens, the details of the metal becoming clear and distinct. Under such scrutiny, the collar no longer appeared to be made of silver; instead, Lugh saw three different shades of color: black, silver, and gray – but mostly silver. He looked to the casings that still hovered in the air and noticed that the same three shades of colors were present in its making – although the black was more prominent.

Lugh was openly commenting on this to Tlachtga as he performed his inspection. She nodded along, “If you check the front of the collar, you will find two raised sections along the edge of the center. I believe that to be the key to opening the thing.”

“Then why have you not freed her?” Lugh asked incredulously, turning his head to stare at the Druidess.

“Well, your Radiance, I only discovered that just as you arrived,” Tlachtga replied in a crisp tone.

“I could have waited another moment, ‘Lach,” Lugh said seriously, “I already told you I don’t expect special treatment from you.”

“With all due respect, I disagree.”

Lugh’s brow furrowed and he opened his mouth to protest, but Tlachtga held up her right hand and he closed his mouth.

“You cannot treat me with such familiarity – nor anyone else you have personal ties with, my King. We are your subjects. You are above us – whether you like it or not. That is the sacrifice that was demanded when you accepted Nuada’s throne. In turn, I must treat you with respect – as does everyone you have personal ties with – to do less would demean your station and reduce your legitimacy in the eyes of your Court. You are our High King. You are no longer the rambunctious youth being fostered by your Uncle,” Tlachtga finished with a deep exhale, her pale face growing flushed. A few of the guards had stopped to listen and gawk, but two well-timed glares from Tlachtga had straightened their spines and sent them scurrying off to tend to their duties.

Lugh knew that she was correct, of course – still, that did not mean that he had to like it. Oh, he had asked for the crown he now bore, but he had not known what it had meant at the time. It was no secret around the Hill that Nuada had been grooming Lugh to take the throne as his successor. The late King had fathered numerous children, but all thirteen had seemed to have fallen off the earth – some due to assassination, others killed by the Fomorians, and the rest had simply left the Isles never to return.

After Nuada had reclaimed his throne from the Regent Bres, he had focused all of his efforts on solidifying his hold on the Isles and ensuring its strength against outside threats. He never married again, and it was said that he had never taken another woman to his bed. With no Heir Apparent, Nuada had to search amongst his Dagda for an heir – lest the Isles fall once more to the Fomorian hordes.

Lugh had caught his eye immediately if the court gossip was to be believed. But then, how many Dagda had entered into Nuada’s court with the claim that they could do anything better than any Dagda currently living under his roof? Lugh had not disappointed in those early years and because of that he now bore the Crown of Maeve upon his brow.

For better or worse, Lugh was High King of the Isles of Erie and he had duties to attend to and a people to shepherd through the Ages. His back stiffened slightly, and his chin raised a hair. Tlachtga noted the slight change in posture and nodded approvingly. Lugh affected no notice before he swept his eyes across the room, fixing each of his subjects with his gaze. They all seemed to respond to the change, the soldiers taking a knee and even little Áine dipping her head low as she finished the last of the pie. Abcan was all smiles as he bowed to Lugh.

“Right,” Lugh said simply before marching over to Áine. He had a people to protect, and they would not suffer ‘silver spiders’ upon their necks.

Lugh reached out for the two buttons and rested his hand upon the collar. Immediately, he felt a jolt that nearly numbed his arm; for an instant, his calm shifted, and the Light raged through him like the snowstorm a thousandfold. Áine’s short blonde hair flailed as she convulsed at his touch, screaming, and her face going white. The girl flew back from his touch and crashed backward into the ground – Abcan yelling in horror as he tried to catch her.



A cacophony of voices flooded Lugh’s ears as he opened his eyes. It seemed that he too had been thrown back, as he found himself lying on the ground with a dozen soldiers and a worried Abcan standing over him.

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” Lugh quickly said as his vision cleared, “How is Áine?”

“Sure as shite, she is Gobain’s ilk,” Abcan all but laughed, “She was back up on her feet before her back touched the ground.”

“Right,” Lugh sighed, “How long was I out?”

“Long enough for Tlachtga to get that collar off her,” Abcan replied as he looked from Lugh and off past the soldiers, presumably at Áine.

“She was able to touch it?” Lugh asked surprised, shooting back up on to his feet. His head felt light, and his step wobbled, but a guard quickly steadied him.

“She used Air,” Abcan said with an tone of respect, “You might want to exercise such caution in the future.”

Lugh looked past Abcan. Sure enough, the casings were still floating along on Lugh’s own fibers of Air. He stifled the groan. Of course, he had always been careful with objects of the Light – and of course – the one time he had not done so, he had found himself reprimanded.

Abcan held up a wineskin to Lugh, who uncharacteristically waved it away. Tlachtga’s words had struck a nerve. He would remain clear-headed for these people – his subjects – at least until everything had been sorted out. No matter the pounding in his own head, whether from the fall or the lack of wine he could not be sure. The guards parted as he moved past them to find Tlachtga. She sat on the bench, examining the collar with her own two hands. Áine was absent.

“Are your fingers that well moisturized?” Lugh joked as he came to sit next to Tlachtga, “I always assumed them calloused – what with all the herbs you Druids are said to pick.”

Tlachtga flashed him a look as she examined the opened collar. Not a word left her lips.

Lugh remembered himself and went on in a more agreeable tone, “Compliments to your ingenuity, Druidess Tlachtga.”

The Druidess flashed him another look. Too formal.

“Where has Áine gone off to? She is well, I trust?” Lugh asked simply, yet firmly.

“She has been sent along to the Hill. No doubt, Brigid or Credne will have to be found to care for her. The High Council will see to a Ward in the meantime, but then, you should already have known that,” Tlachtga said with pursed lips. She kept her eyes fastened upon the collar, a finger tapping at her full lower lip. Despite her tone, her face seemed to be the picture of serenity. Lugh had often seen that expression on the feminine Dagda of the court.

“Thank you for seeing to that in my absence,” Lugh kept on in the simple, firm tone.

Tlachtga nodded, “It was a pleasure, your Grace. In truth, Áine was mostly agreeable once I removed this thing.”

“Do you know what it is? Were they going to chain her?” Lugh asked more seriously, his own gaze now settling upon the collar. It had flown up from her left hand and began to revolve silently at eye level. Lugh felt a sudden wave of despondency wash over him; the collar revolved silently. He all but shook himself to break his gaze away from the collar. It revolved silently. Tlachtga made a sound with her tongue as he did so; her entire demeanor unaffected by the metal she expertly handled.

“Embrace the Light, your Radiance, lest the aura of this thing crush you,” Tlachtga offered him in a lecturing manner.

Lugh quietly did so before looking back to the collar. True to her word, the strange feelings of despair did not seem to take hold as he now looked at the thing. “How strange,” Lugh breathed as the realization settled upon his mind.

“Indeed, your Grace. I’ve handled many a Light-touched object, but this is the first to imprint such a,” Tlachtga paused as she searched for the words, “Negative feeling. Even the weapons of war that I have examined have never given off such… darkness.”

“But what is it for?” Lugh asked more seriously.

“I cannot tell you, your Grace. I haven’t that talent. Reading the energies of a thing is quite different than reading the intent. You’ll want to have someone back at the Hill examine this if you wish to know,” Tlachtga said as she finally turned to look at Lugh. Her eyes were set and determined. It had almost felt as if she was trying to urge him to do so. Of course, she would – this collar and abduction presented a puzzle to them both. Lugh was simply more interested in Gobain’s whereabouts. What good was the collar if it did not point them in his direction?

To Lugh, the collar was more of a passing fancy. He could make Light-touched objects, yet he could not read what the unknown did. If he understood this collar’s purpose, he could replicate it through his own intuition and the Light. The fascination was just that, however, a passing fancy. Lugh could examine the collar at a later date. For now, he had to find the son of Brigid – and one thing Áine had said struck a chord in Lugh’s mind.

“Take it to court in my stead, Tlachtga, I shall send word to Lecan that you are acting in my interests. Take as much time as you need to analyze the thing,” Lugh spoke seriously as he held her gaze with an intense expression. She brightened at this – of course – fighting the urge to rise then and there to leave the Gorias territory for the Hill of Tara.

“It would give me pleasure to do so, your Grace. Are you not returning to the Keep then?” Tlachtga asked with a genuine expression of curiosity.

"No. There is one more place I wish to visit before I return home," Lugh said before his gaze shifted over to Abcan's smirking face. Áine had mentioned ‘funny skirts of pretty colors’ when she had spoken of the invaders, and there had only been one group of skirt-wearing invaders that Lugh had known about: the Fomorians.

[Aiden Finnegan]

“If you think I am addressing you by anything other than your name, then you’ve got another thing coming, my friend,” Abcan said between clenched teeth, his pipe dangling precariously. After leaving Lecan’s territory, they had ended up on a small ferry; its hull painted bronze and its sails made from some Light touched fabric that reminded Lugh of tin. Abcan was sailing the thing, much to Lugh’s surprise. The boat had apparently belonged to Abcan’s grandfather, a fisherman that had lived in Gorias after leaving the Dwarven kingdom that lay beneath the Isles of Erie.

“The Morrigan take your soul if you think to do otherwise, my friend,” Lugh shot back with a smile. Tlachtga wasn’t wrong. Lugh had to be seen as High King, even by those that he had held close. For better or worse, he had to worry about the Court’s approval – that was not to mention the High Council. Abcan was now the Court Bard, however, and the rules could be bent slightly for one that would bring joy and laughter to the Dagda.

“You sure about leaving the guards behind? I know I complain about them, but we don’t know what we’re walking in to here,” Abcan went on, blue smoke wafting up from the bowl of his pipe on the salty air.

“We would have needed a barge if I were to take them. It’s already a risk bringing this vessel in. You just said it. We don’t know what we’re walking in to,” Lugh replied as he looked off into the dark distance. Lecan had urged them to hold until morning – it would not do to sail into the darkness of night. Lugh had insisted, however; if they were to go in to rescue Gobain, stealth would be needed. It would be far easier to use the Light to transfigure Abcan and himself into poor fishermen; they would be hard-pressed to explain away an entire legion of old fishermen, should the Fomorians stop their ship. “Just get us as close to the shore as you can.”

The Isle of Tory lay due east from Gorias and its coastline. The small island had once served as a base to Regent Bres and his hordes, but Nuada had seen it all but ground to dust. The island had long since been abandoned – although the occasional reports of brigands and bandits inhabiting the island seemed to crop up every few years.

Most Dagda at Court had assumed that Nuada had not actually destroyed Bres’ old fort; why else would so many criminals take up residence on the island? Had any of those destitute men actually gathered a respectable force, the Dagda would have descended upon them with the full might of the Hill and any architectural remains would have been utterly obliterated. That never came to pass. Any criminals from the island were slain the first time they tried to raid any of the Great Cities. Perhaps that had been Lecan’s reasoning for not alerting Lugh to the incursions along the coast – it was all business as usual. The problem Lugh had was the fact that it was now Fomorians raiding and not disgruntled criminals from the Isles of Erie.

“Well, that’s as good a sign as any,” Abcan announced.

Lugh looked back to his friend and asked, “What are you referring to?”

“Embrace the Light. The island is within sight and I cannot see a single light. If the Fomorians have claimed Tory again, they have not spread so far as the shore. I see no other crafts on the waters, either,” Abcan said as he looked past Lugh and into the darkness. Lugh did as he was told and true to Abcan’s word, Lugh only saw dark waves and a long, black coastline off in the distance.

“Thank the Light for that. Bring us in, Ab. I’ll freeze some of the water so we can leave the boat and walk the rest of the way,” Lugh replied in that firm tone he had used with Tlachtga.

Abcan said nothing and did as he was told.

 

 

It had not taken more than an hour for Lugh and Abcan to make their way through overgrown brush and weeds to find their way through the small island. Flickering lights shimmered off in the distance as they came to the edge of a copse. Lugh had held on to the Light since freezing their small boat into place, making it easier for him to see into the distance. The lights in question seemed to flicker from broken apertures in a tall, slender tower that sat at the edge of a cliff. Shadows regularly passed over the lights, signaling to Lugh that there were indeed men wandering about the ruins that lay before them.

“Call me crazy, but I really did believe King Nuada when he told us that Bres’ seat of power had been destroyed,” Abcan murmured quietly. His pipe had disappeared long before they had come to the shore. The dwarf now held a crossbow in his hands, loaded and ready for any unfortunates that would dare stray upon their path. Lugh had often chastised Abcan for the reliance on weapons, but the taunts had died away when Abcan taught Lugh what a ‘Shield’ was. Since that day, Lugh had often insisted on carrying his own weapons. It had been a spear until he had assumed the throne – since then it had been hidden knives up sleeves and down boots.

“Aren’t you the same man that has insisted that I add more ‘embellishments’ to my stories?” Lugh asked, his lips twisting up into a smile.

Abcan was silent for a moment before replying with a tone of admiration, “Well that was just silly of me, wasn’t it?”

“You should know better. You’re the ‘master,’” Lugh continued to jibe at his friend.

“Ah, but then it appears that the teacher may have become the pupil,” Abcan laughed under his breath.

“You give me too much credit, man. I’m just trying to avoid what’s to come next,” Lugh went on, his tone growing more serious.

“And what would that inevitability be?” Abcan asked, turning away from the ruins and looking intently at Lugh.

“The inevitable slaughter. I’m sure we can sneak in – what with your own talents – but getting out will be tricky. I’d rather not waste the time learning the space so we can Doorway right back to the Hill,” Lugh said with a firm upper lip, his eyes fixed upon the horizon.

“Ah,” Abcan answered as his shoulders slumped slightly.

“But then, we can just Coast back. I can summon the Barge like before. I just hate that Void that we pass through,” Lugh went on babbling as his gaze fixated upon an opening at the base of the tower ruins.

“You know, that’s a good idea. Let’s go with that,” Abcan said quickly, snapping Lugh’s attention back in line. “Let me handle the misdirection and the subterfuge – you be ready for trouble.”

 
 

Lugh had regretted their decision as soon as they had come within the bounds of the torchlight of the tower ruins. He had counted no less than thirty men roaming about the half-exposed shell of a keep. Only two had stood guard at the mouth of the ruins, the rest of the silhouettes passing behind the many openings that dotted the tall walls. The plan had been simple enough: pose as two old fishermen that had washed ashore and beg shelter for the night.

Abcan had seemingly changed the plans on a whim, for as they approached the guards, Abcan suddenly clasped Lugh’s hand and disappeared from view. After a quick, hushed panic on Lugh’s part, Abcan had told him that they were both rendered invisible by his own weavings of the Light. Indeed, Abcan could not see Lugh, just as Lugh could not see Abcan – thus the need to hold hands through whatever invisible cocoon that now encased them. The bard lead Lugh up several flights of stairs and past four stations of guards before they had come upon a large oaken door with an enormous iron lock.

“You were always better with Earth,” Abcan whispered to Lugh, “Why not have a go at picking it?”

“Well, Uncle Cethen always said there’s a first time for everything,” Lugh joked as he embraced the Light and pulled out Fibers of Earth to feel out the iron lock.

Abcan groaned.

“You sure that he’s behind this door? How do we know its not the soldiers quarters?” Lugh asked as he starred intently at the lock.

“Why would they lock their own troops in? This is the only door we’ve seen with this kind of lock and it’s the highest floor we can reach in the tower. Why wouldn’t Gobain be in here?” Abcan whispered back furiously as he waited for Lugh to pick the lock. It would only take one Fomorian God or Goddess to find them.

Click.

True to Abcan’s intuition, Lugh had found the latch to the lock – not coincidentally after Abcan had grown quiet. They both jumped a little as the door swung open on its own accord.

[Rowan Finnegan]

Gobain looked up from the ground. He had not eaten in days and sleep was hard to come by. His vision swayed slightly as fine-dressed Dwarf came striding into the room, followed by a very tall man wearing fine silks and leathers in a golden hue. The High King had, unfortunately, come for him.

“They’re here. Just behind the tapestries,” Gobain managed to croak out in a hoarse voice as lightning streaked from behind him – the High King and his bard dodging off to separate sides.

The tapestries seemed to ripple on an unseen wind as four Fomorian guards materialized from nothing, appearing beside the woven cloths. The one in red armor held up a familiar device – two metal orbs flying from its top bracket.

The balls landed with a thud and two silvery lashes leaped from the casings. The things seemed to have a mind of their own as they flew threw the air – seeking out their prey. High King Lugh danced back several strides before throwing up an invisible wall, causing one of the silvery things to clang to the ground with little fanfare.

The bard disappeared entirely – much like the Fomorians – but the other silvery thing seemed to see past the trick as it sailed through the air. Abcan appeared at the last moment before firing his crossbow at the thing – knocking it from flight and sending it crashing to the ground.

Gobain felt the urge to rise up and strike out against the one that held the wooden instrument. The thing around his neck held him in check; he could no more rise up than he could remove the thing. His eyes flashed to the one with the instrument and a flickering caught his eye. The stranger with the instrument wore a bracelet much like the thing around Gobain’s own neck.

Two more balls of metal shot out from the instrument as the stranger cursed, “By Bres, why won’t you fail!?”

“He gave the goat away. I’m afraid you were right this whole time, Ab,” The High King announced as he danced away from one of the orbs, presumably using the Light to nullify the orb before it could launch – as it sat dully upon the ground.

“Well, I didn’t want to be the first to say it. Grab him and summon your Barge,” The Bard replied.

High King Lugh smirked before Gobain felt the pressure release from around his neck.

The thing had clattered to the ground and footsteps sounded in the doorway.

“I see more dogs have shown up to break you out of your kennel,” called a familiar voice. Shivers crept down Gobain’s spine.

[Aiden Finnegan]

Trigger warning: Rape threat
 

 
Lugh’s head whipped around at the sound of that voice. Rage filled him to the brim as his eyes fell on the familiar, slender figure that now filled the doorway.

“You know, Lugh, I always thought that we would meet on the field one day,” High Prince Uscias spoke in an infuriatingly casual tone, his hand resting on the hilt of Nuada’s sword, “I honestly did not expect you to come for Gobain yourself. What a pleasant surprise.”

Lugh snarled as he wove Fibers of Spirit and slammed a shield upon Uscias. The High Prince’s laugh was light and gay as he drew the Sword of Light and cut away the Shield. Lugh felt a sudden jolt of the Light rebound back upon himself as the weave fell apart. He sucked in air as if taking a punch to the gut, steadying himself quickly and readying another weave without thought.

Barbs of blue flame suddenly shot forth from Uscias’ other hand, reaching for Lugh. The High King formed a razor-sharp blade of Air, Earth, and Spirit – cutting away the fatal fire that arched threateningly close to his face. It was Uscias’ turn to gasp as the Weave rebounded back. Lugh altered his weaving and split the flows several ways – arrows of flame shot out from Lugh’s palms and Uscias skillfully deflected every last one, sending them off half-hazardly into the room. Abcan yelped as one grazed his arm.

“I thought you said he was a pitiful swordsman, Ab!” Lugh hollered over his shoulder as he readied another weave of Air.

“I haven’t seen him fight since Nuada’s last days!” Abcan called back, “Duck!”

Lugh dropped to the ground as his weave formed around Uscias’ head. Crossbow bolts sailed over Lugh’s own head as a thunderclap reverberated through the room, Uscias doubled down slightly as the bolts missed their mark. His eyes squeezed shut as his hands came up to shield his ears. Even Lugh felt disoriented as the echoing died out.

“Don’t just stand there, you Fomorian asses! Collar them!” Uscias hollered as he straightened himself and began to advance on Lugh with the sword held at the ready.

Lugh regained his composure as he slid two knives from his sleeves. Abcan wove Water and Air as the four guards advanced on him. A thick sheet of fog quickly enveloped the room as his weave fell into place, blinding everyone. Holding on to the Light, Lugh was able to feel the currents of the air despite the fog and deflected Uscias’ oncoming assault. The two began a deadly dance, sword coming down and around as Lugh’s two short knives pushed him back. Uscias gave Lugh no room to rest as the sword came down left, right, and left again. Abcan exclaimed in excitement just as Lugh heard the loud thud of a body falling to the ground.

“Give me the Crown of Maeve and this will all be over, Lugh,” Uscias went on in that sickeningly pompous voice as the sword came crashing down upon Lugh’s knives once more. The blade in his right hand shattered as Uscias laughed and Lugh cursed under his breath, “I promise you and your dwarf will have honored places under the Hill. You will both be the crowning jewels of my harem, right alongside Morfessa and Semias. The collar will fit exquisitely around your supple neck. It will be a pleasure to fuck you every single night as you beg me to stop.”

Lugh screamed in a rage as the idea of being Uscias’ plaything ran through his head. The second knife came down and shattered upon the sword. Uscias laughed maniacally as he raised the sword once more.-

[Rowan Finnegan]

Gobain
Court of the Tuatha De wiki page

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Gobain shook his head as the thunderclap cleared the room. The stress of captivity had taken a toll on his body and mind, but the on-going battle had been enough to pump the blood and get his mind working in the right direction. Despite his attempts, the Light would not come to him. He was too weakened to wield it. With a groan, he shoved up and stood uneasily on his own two feet as the fog swirled around him.
 
Collars. There were countless collars strewn about their feet. If he could not embrace the Light, the collars would be the only weapon in which to fight back. With the fog that now permeated the room, it would be a simple thing to incapacitate the guards – so long as he could collar them without notice.

Despite his own revulsion, Gobain bent down and began to fumble about for the discarded collars. He recovered several of them as the fight raged around him. A thud sounded off to his right as the Bard hooted in triumph. Gobain involuntarily jumped at the noises. He took a deep breath once he realized what had happened – searching for the Void within himself.

It seemed a firefight was happening all around him as he breathed in and out. In and out. In. And out.

The Void came and all emotion drained away from Gobain.

It was as if an invisible web had sprung up from Gobain – latching out to every breathing creature in the room. He felt all of them – knew all of them; the guards off to the right as they tried to capture the Bard, Lugh and the High Prince, to the left, dancing to and fro with blades bared.

The guards would have to be taken care of first and foremost. They clearly lacked originality – their moves being repetitive and clean; Abcan, on the other hand, seemed to be toying with the other three. He wove bolts of ice and fire along with the iron bolts fired from his crossbow – but they never really struck home. The guards, by contrast, seemed to be a mess of blisters, bruises, and frostbite.

Gobain moved silently through the fog, three collars in hand.

[Rowan Finnegan]

Brigid Aigit
Brigid Aigit wiki page

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The body dropped like a sack of potatoes and Brigid moved past it. So very little Light was needed to end a life – should one know where to look. It was a disgusting bit of knowledge that she had learned during a particularly dark period in her life. It had been necessary then. One never knew which was to be the assassin lurking behind the corner.

Brigid shook herself before carrying on up through the tower. She had not thought of Bres in ages. She had tramped down all thought and memory of her rape and captivity. She would not relive it. She would not let it weaken or stifle her. She was her own person – her own Goddess. She was Brigid Aigit, bearer of the Cauldron and mother to the Trí Dé Dána. She would reclaim her son and see the last of these savages ripped to shreds.

Five guards came screaming down at her as she ascended the steps to the seventh floor. The Light flowed through her every limb and the elements were at her command.

Earth, Air, Fire, Water, and Spirit came together in a complex tapestry of the Light at Brigid’s beckoning. White-hot light streaked across her eyes, blinding her momentarily as the thick bolt of lightning shot from her open left palm.

The lightning connected with the first guard and then linked to the second guard, and then the third, before all five were joined by a powerful surge of energy. Their bodies vibrated and teeth began to chatter before they were cooked alive from the inside out.

The five bodies fell in a charred heap as Brigid took a moment to compose herself. She ascended the stairs and came to a large oaken door that had been swung open. With a quick glance, Brigid could see that a small hallway lay beyond, and a familiar silhouette lay at the end.

Uscias, you Light blasted son of a bitch, Brigid thought as she wove Fibers of Air, Fire, and Spirit to mask the sound of her movements as she crept up upon the High Prince.

[Aiden Finnegan]

Lugh Samildánach
Lugh Samildánach wiki page

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The blade came down as Lugh forced himself to roll backward, away from Uscias’ swing. Both knives had shattered upon Nuada’s sword and Lugh doubted he would be able to make much more of a dent with the pair in his boots. His side pouch flapped against his hip, reminding him of the other blade he carried.

With a thoughtless turn of Air, Lugh raised a solid wall to ward off Uscias. He brought the sword down upon it, of course, and dissipated the barrier. Still, it had given Lugh just enough time to dance back and pull out the spearhead. He wove wrist-thick fibers of Air around the base of the thing if only to ensure that Uscias could not wrest it from his grip.

Uscias leapt back quickly as Lugh swung the spearhead from up high. Back and forth they began to dance – Sword of Light deflecting off a spearhead of Heartstone.

“Ah, the clunk of white metal you got from your ‘contacts.’ How quaint,” Uscias began to mock again as Lugh pushed twice as hard – aiming to get the High Prince into a literal corner. Uscias rolled to the left, away from the doorway, throwing out a mass of fireballs.

Lugh threw out Fibers of Air, Fire, and Spirit – seizing the fireballs midair and launching them back towards Uscais. The fog seemed to fade away along the path that the fireballs took, the surrounding fog beginning to thin. The High Prince dodged back away from the fireballs, getting all the closer to the corner. Lugh smirked as he dashed forward, spearhead now affixed to a shaft of air held in his right hand.