They walked back into the clearing hand-in-hand. Conall and Bradán were pretending to be busy packing away the camp and vainly trying to suppress their smirks.

“What are you two grinning at?” Genonn demanded, unable to stop his own grin.

“Nothing, bundún. We were going to send out a search party…”

“Truth now, Conall, you were going to send out a search party,” Bradán scoffed. “I already knew where they were.”

“No need to boast, lad. Besides, I’d be wary of telling lovers I knew where they’d been. Gives the wrong idea.”

“All right, old man, it’s a well-made point. It doesn’t change the facts, though.”

“Enough.” Genonn held up a hand. “Let’s just agree we all know where and what and talk about something of more import. I have news.”

“You’re about to say you’re going to Caer Leb,” Conall grinned.

“And how, Old Bull, do you know that?”

“Doesn’t need genius to work out. The lad already told me Fedelm’s news. You’ve to confront her with it. Could be Biróg knows who killed your father. I’m guessing she does. She’s in it up to her slightly greying hair, so she is. Never did trust that woman.”

Fedelm pouted and turned away. Genonn knew she was still finding the idea difficult to accept. Biróg had been like a mother to her for the years she was studying. They had a bond. The words of a dying boy did not do much to shatter it. She could not accept the words were anything but the ramblings of one on the verge of death. But Bréannin had said it was a woman who hired the warband to kill Genonn’s father. Not the queen, but a woman. Fedelm said the captain of Leinster was about to walk away but stopped and gave the news. He could have just kept walking. He was not obliged to elaborate, which lent it an air of authenticity. Of course, it could just be a ruse. Who could say? The only thing to do would be to go to Caer Leb and confront Biróg.

Despite all the evidence, he hoped Fedelm was right.

“You know Biróg?” he asked Conall.

“Know everyone, me,” Conall said with a snort. “I’m not coming to Caer Leb.”

“No, what are you going to do?” Genonn asked, despite knowing the answer.

“I’ll continue my hunt for the Red Branch and then head over to Crúachain for the Cailleach. She might not have been involved in your father’s death, but she was involved in the ambush of Cú. She owes me a head.”

“I’ll be stopping with the old man,” Bradán said, surprising Genonn. He caught a glance between Fedelm and the youth. It was the same he had been suspicious of for so long. After Fedelm’s news, he no longer wondered at it.

“I don’t need no bundún holding me back.”

“No? How’ll you get into your saddle, old man?”

Genonn shook his head. It seemed he had lost Conall to the youth. But that was more acceptable than the youth having Fedelm while Genonn glowered at them from the other side of the fire.

“When’re you going?” Conall asked.

“As soon as we saddle the horses,” Genonn replied, picking up his saddle.

***

With a stretch of his aching back, Conall watched Bradán across the crackling flames. Superficially, the young warrior seemed content. Almost happy. But Conall knew it to be a front. The young man did not create a good impression of someone uncaring. Despite the rugged exterior, his feelings were obvious, even to an aging warrior. The occasional surreptitious peek when he thought Conall was otherwise occupied. The wringing of his hands. All signs of the stress he was feeling at the loss of Fedelm.

Not aging, old. Gods, he was as tired as could be. He was not yet ready to meet Donn, but not far from it. He pulled off his boots and wriggled his toes in front of the fire as he checked the soles for damage.

“Your boots are older than you,” Bradán said with a chuckle before placing his stick back in the corner of his mouth.

“Aye, not far wrong. Why’d you let her go?”

“I’m not following, Conall.”

“You can’t fool me, bundún. I’ve seen your doe eyes, full of love. I thought you’d spur your horse after them when they were riding for the longship.” He cracked his knuckles to ease his aching hands and grinned as Bradán gave an involuntary shudder.

An owl hooted. Conall watched Bradán for a reaction, but the lad was not interested in portents of doom, unlike warriors of Conall’s generation, who’d be grabbing amulets or other tokens to ward off evil.

“I’ve no idea what you’re saying, old man.”

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“It wasn’t a craving for the sea I saw on your face this morning.”

“You want rid of me, is that it?”

“Aye, young warriors like you are dangerous. Leap before giving due consideration.”

“At least I’ve the legs for leaping.”

“There’s no denying your legs, lad. But seriously, why didn’t you sail with them to Caer Leb and fight for her?”

“You mistake me. Love isn’t my thing.”

“Love’s everyone’s thing.” Even if their life doesn’t allow them time to act on it.

Conall rubbed his chin with an audible rasp. He could see the indecision on the young man’s face. Bradán was unsure what to say, clearly keeping some sort of secret. Conall had kept enough love-related secrets in his time and did not begrudge the young man for having them.

“Maybe. What you saw wasn’t love,” he said so softly that Conall only just heard over the noise of the fire.

“No. What then?”

“You were there on the gatehouse overlooking Mag nAí when Fedelm forecast the bloodletting. Three armies were enthralled by her. Even the queen was mesmerized. She rode away from that field, taking a piece of the warriors’ courage with her. Her words that day gave Ulster the edge.”

“Aye, she has a strong presence, so she does.”

“I’ve never seen power like it. After the battle…” he paused, apparently thinking about how to mold his thoughts into something that made sense. “I tried to understand how her armies were defeated.”

“There’s no mystery, lad. They were opposite the Red Branch in the shield wall.”

“It was more than that. I agree that the Ulster warriors are better man-for-man, but not enough to negate two-to-one odds. There had to have been more. I guessed the difference to be the arrival of Cú Chulainn on the battlefield…” Bradán paused again. Conall couldn’t stop his mouth from tightening. “When he arrived, it was like our shield wall stepped back. I was in that wall. Warriors were looking at each other nervously. I felt his arrival leach the fight from them. From me, too.”

Conall gritted his teeth and held his arms under his chest, staring into the flames. The pain of Cú’s death was still raw, and he was finding Bradán’s words difficult to hear. Cú had been the greatest hero Ériu ever knew, and talking about his feats so soon seemed almost disrespectful. Or was it because he was in too much pain? Whatever the reason, listening to the young man was making his chest hurt and his mouth dry.

“Sorry, Conall.” He glanced up to see Bradán’s head at an angle, eyes questioning. “I’ll leave it for another day.”

“No. Go on. It’s hard, won’t deny it. He died fighting, so what more could a warrior want.” Conall scowled as the young warrior turned away. Was that a grin? But when he turned back, Bradán’s mask was once more in place. Conall wondered if he’d imagined it.

“Cú Chulainn was the difference, but Fedelm’s words made it so. Even on Mag nAí, I could see warriors clutching their talismans when they heard what she said. They feared her words and so were lost. An army in fear because of a forecast, no matter how accurate the forecast might be, how real or imagined, is a defeated army before the battle begins.”

The lad was on edge, fingering the hilt of his dagger, a strange figary for one who professed to be disillusioned by it all. He had the demeanor of one about to explode into violence. Conall shook his head and was about to tell him to relax when someone called, “Hallo the camp.”

“We can offer you meat and ale if you come in peace,” Conall said, glancing at Bradán, who shrugged.

“If I didn’t come in peace, Conall Cernach, you’d already be dead,” a warrior said as she walked into the firelight. Conall laughed at the sight of her, a rangy member of the King’s Guard of Connacht. They’d enjoyed many drinking sessions in hostels all over the Five Kingdoms.

“It’s good to see you, Liath. You know Liath?” Conall asked Bradán as the warrior walked up to the fire and stabbed her spear into the loam.

Bradán’s frustration at being interrupted was etched into his forehead. “By sight and reputation. I’ve not had chance to share a flagon with her.”

“Aye, well, don’t worry. Most warriors who share a flagon with Liath wake up under a bench with their magairlí aching for no apparent reason and a taste of the midden on their tongue.”

“You included, old man?” Bradán asked with a chuckle.

“No. I’m far too old to be ball-broken by young warriors. How come you don’t know each other?”

“Bradán was Queen’s Guard,” Liath explained. “Something Medb dreamed up after she decided her husband wasn’t good enough to be king.”

She spat into the fire and watched the spittle dance and hiss on a log before evaporating, then elaborated, “Not much call for us to cross paths.”

“Food or mead?” Conall offered.

“I’ve a thirst, for sure.” Conall threw her his flask, which she unstoppered and drank until it was empty.

“Why are you here, Liath. I’m sure this is not a chance meeting.”

“No, king sent me. I’ve been searching for you. Been all over the Five Kingdoms since you found Cú Chulainn. Ended up in Inbhear Scéine. A midden trench if there ever was one. Nothing but cúl an tí. What brought you down so far?” She shuddered.

“I needed to get my head around some things. What’s the message from the king?”

Liath tossed him back his flask as she said, “No message. Seems it’s too important for messages. Something’s to be said face to face. He wants you to meet him in Átha Luain.”

Conall hesitated, which was not something he would typically do when a king requested his presence. He would have responded to the call even as recently as the eve of the battle. Now, after Gáirech and his surety Medb ordered the death of Cú Chulainn, he worried it might be a trap. The king and queen acted like a couple who were estranged. Ailill appeared to be as sick of his wife as the rest of the Five Kingdoms. But that might just be an elaborate ploy. She was not beyond such wiliness.

“What assurances can you give me?” Conall asked.

Liath spat into the fire and said, “None. If you don’t accept my word, no assurances will change it. That aside, the Red Branch is in Átha Luain, and I assume you want to be reunited with them?”

Conall could not keep on hesitating. She was right. The queen had her wiles, but he was not sure the same could be said for the king. They’d spoken often before the battle. Ailill always came across as an open and honest man. And, as Conall thought about it, he remembered how misplaced his rage had been. The king did not deserve it. As she was an honorable warrior, Conall would trust Liath with his life. That the Red Branch was in the settlement only added to his incentive.

“When?”

“If you agree, I’ll ride for Crúachain now, and the king will leave as soon as he hears. We could be in Átha Luain the night following next.”

“You’ll have to walk fast to meet that deadline.”

“Walk. You take me for a farmer? I left my mount with my company, a league or so back up the road.”

“You think the Red Branch will still be there when we arrive?”

“They’re waiting for you.”

Conall smiled at her. “The night following next it is then. Don’t be late.”

“I’m never late, Conall. It’s old ones like you who are always late.”