Kathvar liked to work in the sacred glade and watch the sun as it set. Finicky, he liked to mix his own herbs, as he was doing on this warm evening. He did not lack trust in the sorceress Biróg, who was skilled in herb lore, as her position demanded. He just had more faith in himself—herbs, killing, counseling, no matter, better trusted to no one. For Kathvar, it had always been so.

The words, “They are hearing a petition,” startled him out of his contemplation. They were followed by a sneering toned question, “Without you, Kathvar. Does it not upset you?”

Withdrawing his hands into the sleeves of his robes, where he felt the hard iron of his bodkin, the druid looked over his shoulder. The sneer belonged to a man leaning against a standing stone, face hidden in shadow, the tilt to his head evident, nonetheless.

“And you are?” Kathvar asked with a frown.

“No one of import. Just a lowly retainer.”

“Petition from whom?”

“I arrived from Ériu with the lofty Queen of Connacht. Her husband is not here, so I can only assume it is she who petitions.”

“Again? Why was I not informed?” Kathvar only just kept his anger under control. The stranger stood and walked into the light, throwing back his hood.

“Oh, it is you.” Kathvar relaxed and brought his hands out from his sleeves, repeating his question, “Why was I not informed?”

“If I knew that, Kathvar, then I would be the druid, and you would be the retainer,” the man smiled, taking the edge off his insolence.

“Some retainer,” Kathvar shook his head. ‘How long has she been here?”

“She entered the hall at the turn of the hour.”

“What in the name of Dagda’s cauldron took you, man?”

“I have been searching for you. Although my sight is good, I cannot see the future, nor can I see beyond the limits of my eyes. I was forced to find you by natural means, and it took time.”

Kathvar frowned, unsure whether the excuse was sufficient, before another question came to him, “Why are you here?”

“I came to tell you the cailleach is here.”

“No, I mean, why are you in Caer Leb?”

“I volunteered to be part of the queen’s guard. Always willing to help out.”

“And what is it you want?”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“I am in the heart of her retinue. I think I can serve Ulster in the coming conflict.”

“You are sure there is a coming conflict?” The man shrugged and picked up a blade of grass to chew. “Very well, attend me in my roundhouse later, and I will tell you how you might be able to help.”

The man nodded and made to leave. “Be sure, though, I will need you to keep control of your baser predilections.”

“Always, Kathvar, as you know,” the man chuckled as he left.

***

Entering the hall, Kathvar stood at the back, allowing his eyes to adjust to the light. The council was in deep discussion with the annoying queen of Connacht. He knew Mac Nessa should have punished the woman when she ran away all those years before. If the king had done as Kathvar advised, it would have averted much of the Five Kingdoms’ woe.

He crossed his arms and listened to Medb’s words.

“And you trust what Kathvar says?”

He smiled and allowed Dornoll to respond before speaking from the shadows, “That is well because if I thought this council would hold meetings and exclude me for any other reason, the consequences would be dire.” He felt a jolt of satisfaction as the shock registered on everyone in the hall.

“What I failed to catch from the little I heard is what the petition is about,” he said as he approached the table. Medb dropped her eyes.

“Medb is once more against Mac Nessa. I thought you would have been able to intuit that, Kathvar, a druid of your renown,” Dornoll said with a tilt of her head and a knowing twinkle in her eyes.

“Against the king of Ulster, how?” he asked, frowning at Dornoll.

“She wants the council to oppose his election as high king.”

“She is probably right,” Kathvar said, causing Medb to look up sharply.

“Probably right?” Dornoll asked with a frown.

“I am no longer sure the son of Nessa is capable of ruling the Five Kingdoms.”

“And why your sudden change of allegiance?” Medb asked.

“Allegiance? I have not changed allegiance. I am still the druid of Ulster. It is Mac Nessa, whom I doubt. I was already beginning to question his sanity, but when he appointed The Hound as Captain of the Red Branch warriors the day after the boy massacred the women of Temuir, I knew for sure. He is not fit to rule a midden trench.”

Medb was not alone when she audibly drew in a breath, increasing Kathvar’s satisfaction. The druids around the table were all surprised by his words.

“We do, however, have an issue,” Kathvar continued, feeling a surge of excitement at the start of the game, despite the usual misgivings, before dismissing them with a frown. He would not allow indecision: not in others, not in himself.

“And that is?” Dornoll asked.

“The other kings of Ériu support his claim.”

“By the other kings, you mean Mesgegra and Daire mac Dedad?” Medb scoffed.

“Who else?”

“There are many kings in Ériu. Those are but two. Not all the others support Ulster.”

“But they owe their allegiance to one or other of those who do. Am I right?” Medb nodded. “So, they do not count. To successfully oppose Mac Nessa’s claim, the kings of Leinster and Munster need to be in alignment with Connacht, which I fear, Lady, will never happen.”

“But if I could make it happen?”

“Then I think this council would back whatever course of action you adopted.” And let us hope the sycophants are not as gullible as their reputations suggest.