Swiping hair out of his face, Mac Roth watched the queen in the prow. The mighty cailleach of Connacht was once more keeping her own company, too high and distant to mix with the warriors. Thinking of those down in the belly of the ship, he was not surprised. Apart from Usnech, the guards were a sorry lot of misfits, only suitable for shoveling dung from the road when the cailleach’s mare lifted her tail.

Despite the calm seas, she gripped the figurehead so tightly they seemed as one. Mac Roth looked to the shore and wondered at Manannán’s motives for becalming them so close to their destination. Cursing his luck, he frowned. Captain of the Queen’s Guard was a thankless command. As a youth, he joined the guards craving the ornate sword, helmet, and privilege. Somehow, his father, Roth, earned a favor from her. Strapping on the sword and lifting the ceremonial helmet, Mac Roth felt his heart leap. The patina had worn thin—times long gone; his father long gone, too. The realities of a hard life in boiled leather in command of a troop of dung shovelers had replaced his dreams.

“Put your backs into it, lowlife bodaláin,” he called at the oarsmen, the weight of the helmet under his arm dragging his mood down. He could see the captain frowning at him but did not care. He paid good silver for the crossing, and if he thought they were slacking, he would tell them. They seemed to stay in place as they pulled, fighting the current.

“Pull bodaláin, pull. Earn the silver I paid,” his intermittent shout caused the ship’s captain to frown harder. By the middle of the afternoon, Mac Roth was pacing back and forth, impatience gnawing at him. The sun was nearing the horizon. He did not want to be at sea when night fell. A slight tang of salt stopped him mid-stride. He held his breath. The sail flapped lazily and then stilled; it flapped and stilled again. He stood frozen until he felt salt sting his eyes, sea spray whipped up by the freshening wind.

Sighing in relief, Mac Roth walked to the steering oar and asked the captain, “How long for shore?”

“If wind holds, we’ll be in soon enough. You land huggers help beach, and we should be in front of the pit warming our cockles before sunset.”

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Mac Roth nodded and looked at the queen.

She was still holding the prow, her hair loose and blowing, the flames of a burning figurehead. They were moving, and she was pleased with herself. Mac Roth did not know why because she had ordered him to wait outside, which was a foolish act of pride. Not knowing did not stop him from guessing her plans were finally coming to fruition. He had watched her struggling vainly against the Three Sisters for an eternity, which seemed to have passed.

Good. It was time for success to play a part.

“Mac Roth,” she called, which he just heard, the wind suddenly howling and whipping the tops off rising waves. Tuatha, how he hated the sea, he realized as he arrived beside her.

“My Lady?”

“What time do we arrive at Lúr Cinn Trá?”

“The captain said if the winds remain favorable, we will be on the beach before sundown. We can rest—”

“We leave as soon as the horses are prepared,” the queen interrupted. “There is a need for haste. We shall ride through the night.”

“Your will, Lady,” Mac Roth said, turning away so she could not see his frown.

“You have an issue, Mac Roth?”

“Is it necessary to ride—”

“You dare question me?” Her tone was quiet—ever a warning of the storm to come.

“I would never question you, Lady, I was just—”

“We ride as soon as the horses are saddled. That is an end to the discussion.”

“Your will, Lady,” Mac Roth said before returning to the ship’s guts to make the arrangements. The guards would complain from Lúr Cinn Trá to Crúachain, but that was the wont of dung shovellers. With Medb in the vanguard, they would whisper those complaints.

“Usnech, you lazy bundún, get your head out your hole and get the troop ready for disembarking. There is a need for haste when we beach. We ride through the night.”

There was an audible groan from the warriors seated in the belly of the ship. Mac Roth looked at the queen, surprised to see she was smiling.