Authors: Teresa Medeiros
Nimbus emitted a guttural growl. “Never thought the likes of ye would come to me rescue. Just where did ye garner that little gem of information?”
Mer-Nod scowled mockingly. “What? You have no faith in my powers of intuition?”
“None.”
“At least you are blunt, Nimbus. A childhood friend of Ó Caflin’s followed him one evening after Conn left.”
Nimbus scratched his head. “What do ye think he plans?”
“He bears close scrutiny because I do not know. Keep an eye on him, Nimbus. See if you can underhear his conversations.” Mer-Nod walked slowly back into the fortress.
“ ‘Tis overhear, ye oaf!” Nimbus called after him. He muttered to himself, “Never did like Ó Caflin. Shifty eyes.”
The hours passed, interminably shifting into another day. The air hung hot and heavy both inside and outside the fortress. The heat made a fire unendurable; the ashes in the fireplace grew cold. Farm work ground to a halt as families came one by one to join the vigil inside the great hall. Many slept, seeking to dull their worry in an unsound rest marred by muttering and tossing. The silence was broken only by the click of a dog’s nails resounding off the hardwood floors. The futures of the men of the Fianna, who had pledged their allegiance to Conn until death, hung in the air by a palpable thread, easily snipped and impossible to repair.
The soldiers who were present had formed a circle in the corner, heads bowed. Some of them offered prayers to the gods—Agron, cu Roi mac Dairi, and Behl. Others simply sat, eyes closed and minds blank. Only one of them prayed for Conn’s death, his golden head bowed in mock prayer and concern.
Sean Ó Finn felt his despair deepen as the sun rose high, marking the return of another noonday. Only he bore the burden of the words Conn had whispered to him the day he had departed to slay the monster. “Seven days, Sean. If I do not return in seven days, declare me dead and choose a king. Do it quickly or Eoghan Mogh will descend on this fortress within a fortnight.”
An iron band stiffened around Sean’s heart on the noon of this sixth day. His most fervent prayer had shifted, and his mind was unable to form the words that they be spared the sight of Conn’s mutilated body. So he simply sat in the gloom of silence, watching motes of dust sparking in the sun’s shining rays.
Sean’s eyes found the throne and began to sting. Nimbus sat there with his head lowered onto his arms, his posture one of abject misery. The hall had lost its air of expectancy. Hopelessness reigned. Even the court jester had succumbed.
Nimbus’s head flew up as a horn sounded a single golden note. Nobody stirred. Eyes met in disbelief, unsure of the reliability of their senses. A second note sounded, shrill and tense with vibrato. The hall exploded into action. Men and women fought to reach the door, bodies slamming into one another. Sleepers were rudely awakened by boots crunching over their hands and hasty kicks aimed at their backsides. The mass of bodies hit the narrow doorway, which nearly stopped the flow. Curses flew as those in the back began to shove. Nimbus crawled on hands and knees through the legs of the crowd until he emerged from the door, blinking in the bright sunlight.
Shielding his eyes, he stared up at the corner tower to see Mer-Nod conversing with the watchman. As the hall emptied into the courtyard, all eyes turned to the tower.
Mer-Nod lifted his arms in a plea for silence. “A rider approaches from the north. The steed is Conn’s.”
A single uproarious cheer rose from the crowd. Embraces were shared by strangers. Hats flew into the air, their owners not caring if they returned. The court musicians found their harps, flutes, drums, and mandolins and began to play a rollicking, if somewhat disjointed, tune. A rotund farmer stood, hat clutched in hands, silent tears coursing down his cheeks. Two young lovers shared a passionate kiss, their parents too excited to chastise them. Paying no heed to anyone else, Nimbus did three somersaults in quick succession, his twisting muscles expressing his joy in a way he could never verbalize.
As the wooden gates swung inward, the men of the Fianna gathered in the forefront to flank the entrance. The rider could now be seen in the distance as he slowed his horse to a walk to cover the final steps of his journey. The carriage of his head was unmistakable.
As Silent Thunder carried Conn into the courtyard, cheers arose from all sides and arms waved in jubilant salute. Buttercups and rhododendron flowers were strewn in his path. No one paid any attention to the limp bundle on his lap until he lifted his arm to wave and the cloth fell back to reveal emerald eyes set deep in an ashen face.
Gelina peered over the top of Conn’s arm in awe at the emotion she sensed in the huge crowd. Adoration, respect, joy, and now amazement played across the blur of faces that bobbed in her vision. She felt overwhelmed in the presence of such an overflow of emotions. The world had revolved around her and her brother for so long that she felt herself fading in the presence of so many. She leaned against Conn, pressing her back into his chest, and fought against terror as faceless hands brushed them.
Gasps of amazement traveled the length of the crowd as her face was revealed. Cries rose into the afternoon sky.
“Who is it?”
“Where is the monster?”
“Has he killed it?”
“We want its bloody head!” This voice came from the corner where the MacRuaircs had set up camp.
“ ‘Tis a child!”
“Be it a girl or a lad?”
“More ale! More ale!” This cry came from a drunk farmer who was so far in his cups that he was oblivious to the scene around him. The man standing next to him soundly boxed his ears.
Gelina stared straight ahead as Conn halted the huge stallion in front of a narrow flight of outer steps leading to the watchtower. Looking up, she could see an armed man and for a brief instant, with the sun glinting in her eyes, a giant eagle perched beside him. It took her eyes a long moment to translate this into a tall man in a feathered cloak. She blinked and stared at the ground. The last three feverish days had passed in a blur, and she feared the tricks her mind might play upon her.
Conn dismounted and turned to pull her down with him. Her height became apparent as she slid stiffly down, causing some to speculate again on her sex.
To the crowd she appeared a frightened gremlin. Her hair glinted red in the bright sunlight and stood on end, tousled by the wind and the hood that had covered it. Dark circles lay beneath her eyes, emphasizing their wide, terrified dominance of her thin face.
She balked as Conn inexorably pulled her toward the steps. Their eyes met, and his hand tightened around her wrist, gripping it in silent warning until the skin around her lips blanched. His eyes were unreadable, their only message a tense warning. Gelina bowed her head in submission but could not hide the subtle straightening of her back as she followed him up the stairs. He inwardly shuddered, knowing if she tried anything, it would destroy his plan. Running a hand down his leg, he felt the familiar contours of the dagger strapped above his knee and breathed a sigh of relief.
They reached the top of the tower, Mer-Nod stepping aside to let them pass. The cheers built to a new crescendo as Conn stepped forward and raised his arms.
He surveyed the crowd until silence prevailed and every eye was on him.
“Your king has returned in triumph!” he cried. A fresh round of cheers cut through the crowd.
“What of the creature?” a woman’s voice cried out.
Conn nodded. “When I left here, I promised to return with the murderer’s bloody head.” The crowd nodded approvingly.
Gelina closed her eyes, waiting for the moment when he revealed her, beheading her in front of them all. She could envision her head flying from the top of the tower, mouth opened wide in surprise as it smashed on the cobblestones below like a bloated pumpkin.
Conn continued, hearing a quick intake of breath behind him. “Yes, I slayed the creature who defeated our men. I am here to tell you that when the creature drew its final breath . . .”—his voice lowered dramatically although it was still audible throughout the courtyard—“I went to where it had fallen and found only this!”
His voice rose and Gelina shrieked as he reached behind him only to whip the huge, black cloak from his pack and loose it from the tower, sending it floating downward on the wind.
A woman screamed and the crowd drew in its breath and gave the cloak a wide berth as it landed. Two soldiers of the Fianna drew the cloak out to its full length; the poets ran forward to measure it. Mer-Nod stepped forward just in time to put a steadying hand under the girl’s arm as he saw her weave.
With attention diverted from Conn, Mer-Nod hissed, “Surely you are not given to fantasies of cave fiends melting in thin air. It is not like you.”
Conn turned to face Mer-Nod’s questioning frown, eyes guarded. “Perhaps I only choose to give you food for your meals of poetry.”
The edge to his voice was sharp enough to wound, and Mer-Nod watched him through narrowed eyes as he drew the girl in front of him on the dais. She moved as if sleepwalking, her eyes glazed.
As the mysterious stranger reappeared, the crowd grew quiet again, all eyes fixed upward. Conn’s hands flexed on Gelina’s shoulders as if daring any man to dislodge them. His broad fingers traced her collarbone in a gesture as strangely tender as it was protective. Fighting exhaustion, Gelina leaned her head against Conn’s shoulder and waited for the denouncement she was sure would follow.
“I found something else on this journey.” Conn’s voice carried through the courtyard. “Trapped in the cavern with the monster and kept a prisoner was this young woman who was stolen from her murdered parents.”
Murmurs of sympathy echoed from below. Gelina turned to Conn, the disbelief in her eyes meeting only compassion in his. She turned back to face the crowd, tears streaming down her face.
Conn placed a strong arm around her waist and continued, “We will make her welcome here.” Mer-Nod frowned, hearing an almost defensive note in Conn’s voice. “The enemy of the people is dead! Let the celebration begin!”
As the crowd dispersed with a steady hum of joy, Conn pushed open the door and called to the plump woman who stood wringing her hands within the chamber, “Moira, fetch some broth.” His eyes avoided Mer-Nod’s as he swept up the girl in his arms and disappeared into the fortress.
There had been a warning in those eyes. Mer-Nod stood, his brow furrowed. Nimbus came racing up the stairs, and Mer-Nod put out a knee to block his passage.
“Get yer bloody leg off me, ye wretched owl! I’m going to see Conn.”
“I think you should wait, Nimbus.” Mer-Nod’s eyes gleamed in speculation. “Let him be for a while.”
Nimbus crossed his arms and leaned resolutely against the door, glaring at Mer-Nod. “Then ye’re going to let him be, too.”
The poet nodded his head ruefully. “I think I would rather.”
Gelina mumbled in her sleep as she tried to pull the coverlet wadded at her feet over her shivering body. It resisted her pull until she opened her eyes in vexation. She swallowed a shrill shriek as she met the twinkling brown eyes of a leprechaun with an equally strong grip on the thin linen. Coverlet twisted in his hands, he crouched at the end of the bed, a sly grin on his little face. Gelina could not say how much this upset her.
Gritting her teeth, she sank her nails into the coverlet and gave one immense jerk, sending it and the leprechaun flying over her head into the wooden headboard. She pondered the wisdom
of
her action as muffled curses arose from underneath the blanket and a small fist punched out to wave threateningly in the air. She crawled to the foot of the bed, fists clenched to bash the top of the squirming bundle if the need arose.
The waving fist became an outstretched hand as the coverlet was pulled back from the leprechaun’s face, leaving a thick hood to ward off further attacks.
“And how do ye do? I am Nimbus, jester extraordinary. Pleased to make yer acquaintance.” The words were spoken with great caution and more than a touch of sarcasm.
She was surprised to find the voice deep and pleasant. She took the outstretched hand and shrugged an apology.
“I thought you were a leprechaun seeking to do me mischief.” She found her hand raised to the dwarf’s lips and a genteel kiss planted upon it. She jerked it back. “Now that I think upon it, you were doing me mischief. Why wouldn’t you let me sleep?”
It was his turn to shrug. “Ye have been sleeping for hours.” He pushed the blanket off his head. “I wanted ye to wake up and talk to me. Did ye know ye drool in yer sleep?”
Her mouth opened in an enraged circle. “I beg to differ with you, sir. I do not!”
“ ‘Tis quite charming really. I drool sometimes when I’m awake.” Nimbus patted the area beside him on the feather pillow. “Come sit with me. We can talk.”
Eyes narrowed in mistrust, Gelina yawned and crawled to the head of the bed to sit beside the intruder. Her hands plucked at her woolen shift.
“It’s too hot for wool. Perhaps he put it on me for punishment.”
Hearing her mumbled words, Nimbus asked, “If ‘tis too hot for wool, why were ye trying so desperately to get the blanket? And who is this cruel tyrant who would imprison ye in wool?”