In Athlethan, Cathabad watched Tuatha leave from the balcony, till he disappeared north, between the hills.

He shook his head worryingly, his forehead etched with lines. He turned back into the dark halls of the Palace of King Ailell.

A servant rushed over to him. “The king wants to see you.”

Cathabad quickly made his way to the throne room and pushed open the great oak doors, which swung closed behind him.

“Come here my friend,” said the king.

King Ailell Findabair looked old with worry. News of the rise of the armies of Amerghin had reached his ears. Cathabad knew if he, the chief advisor looked worried about it, the king would have more pressure than he could bear, and it would affect the decisions he made for the kingdom. Decisions that could affect the whole of the Deep Lands.

Cathabad bowed his head before Aillel.

“Tell me all you know.” Aillel commanded. “Why did you send Tuatha away? I need him here.”

“My King, the time has come. We had to make haste, or it would be too late. Riangbra requires Tuatha to go now and prepare our defence.” said Cathabad.

Aillel looked frustrated; he was trying to make sense of what was happening. He no longer had the sword near him, and as a result his thoughts were clouded.

Cathabad felt he needed to direct the king to the more pressing matters.

“As much as I dislike being the bearer of bad news, my king. I have seen Ruad leave to go over to Mac Roth. He was trained in Riangbra and so he is a threat to us. Amerghin has been demoted and Mac Roth plans to use Ruad against us. He has taken half the army by subversion, and they have been subjected to the Triune gas. Ruad is planning to take Enna Aignech first, I am sure of it. Your sole focus, my king, needs to be preparing our armies for King Magach’s defence. Tethra, son of Rigdond is already there. He will be their General as he has training in Riangbra tactics.”

On hearing this update, the king’s face grew ashen.

“Make ready the army, we must not let this happen. Send messengers to Muirthemne, Esclarmonde and Muinremar, they rallied to our aid before. We need them again like in days of old. Send them the strategy we have planned. Make sure the message is destroyed before it is captured.”

“My king, that is not our concern, I believe Riangbra is guiding your son to do just that. He will unite the countries of the Deep Lands once more.”

Aillel nodded, looking relieved.

“You have done well, Cathabad, my mind is at rest once more.”

***

In Sennol, at the base of Mount Triune, Ruad smiled to himself. Ten thousand men at his command, he had the strength of Mac Roth and the remedy for Caer Omaith. Taking Muirthemne would be easy, but Caer Omaith’s heart, that would be harder. He clutched the vial in his pocket and grinned. The first great victory of General Ruad Sub Lord of Sennol Uathach would be soon. He relished the idea of his new title and felt powerful and immortal. Calling Athlethan home was far behind him now, as was the weakness he felt around Tuatha, and Cathabad’s unfair treatment of him.

Ruad looked up at the walls of rock and felt awed by its imposing grandeur. He felt the mountain rumble, it made him feel powerful.

All the soldiers milling around him had received the brand of Sennol on their armour. In the Triune gas-filled air the brass in their armour had become as black as night. They were now the Black soldiers of Mac Roth. Their minds corrupted and numbed by the Triune gas they acted purely on instinct, unable to live the life they normally lived. With the fears and doubts wiped away, they were an unstoppable force, now totally in subjection to the commands of Amerghin, Ruad and Mac Roth.

Later, deep in the roaring tunnels of Mt. Triune, Ruad relaxed back on a soft couch. He thought of all the men still outside, but nothing of their discomfort entered his mind. His own power and self-importance seethed in his mind, blocking out all compassion and love.

“The Dark Lord calls for you now,” said a servant.

Ruad leaped up. Thoughts of promotion or honour filled his head. He would be commended maybe.

As he entered the huge black hall of The Dark Lord, he suddenly felt small. The power he had felt drifted away like a cloud of coal dust.

Thunderous roaring continuously poured out of the centre of the mountain. Mac Roth, covered in a black shawl and hood, sat on a black basalt throne with skulls on the arm rests. One wall was a continuous flow of lava from which emitted tremendous heat. It was quite a distance away on the far wall, so the room was bearable, although humid, and the smell was sulphurous.

Mac Roth spoke. “Ruad, your test is now. In the wall is the sword I showed you, of my father Sennol. It is called Mac Roth; from it I received my name. It will be yours to lead a victorious battle if you can retrieve it.”

Ruad looked at the walls around him. They looked as hard as flint.

“No, Ruad,” laughed Mac Roth. “That wall.” His cloaked arm lifted towards the wall of slowly falling magma. “You have to find it, bring it forth.”

Ruad was stunned. No man could do this thing, he thought. He could think of two options. It was a trick to evaluate him, and he would do it and not be harmed. But this would mean he had to trust this man. Or he was being destroyed because Mac Roth had grown tired of him.

As Ruad walked over to the wall, the heat began to be unbearable. He could see the cavernous area below his feet where the lava flowed to. The gap from the floor to the base of the wall was only a few feet.

The heat began to blister his face. He cried out in pain, but the glory beckoned, and his arm reached out.

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“Stop,” commanded Mac Roth.

Ruad breathed relief and stepped back.

As he did so the heat began to subside and the wall began to darken. Within a few seconds the wall was no longer hot. Ruad reached out and touched the wall. It was cold to the touch. Then he saw it, the outline in rock of a sword-like shape.

“You must be quick,” said Mac Roth. “Now while it is visible.”

Ruad picked up a rock and began striking the sword-like shape. Rock broke away and he saw the glistening of dark steel. A few more hits and he could pull the sword from its rock-encrusted grave.

As he did so the walls shook, thunder echoed, and a wall of lava fell as though from the sky.

Ruad pulled back, the sword in his grasp, but a small amount of the molten lava splashed out and hit him in the side of his already blistered face. Ruad grunted with the pain.

“Well done,” said Mac Roth, “Once you have the sword, the pain will go.”

The side of his face felt tight and painful, but it was already receding. Ruad lifted his hand to his face and shuddered. The lava had hardened onto his face and stuck there.

He admired the sword. It was well made and balanced, of black steel.

Mac Roth left, and Ruad placed the sword on a stone table in the middle of the room, before returning to his quarters for sleep.

Next morning he went back to the throne room.

The throne was empty. By the throne he could see the sword of Mac Roth, glowing black and red from the lava flow at the other side of the huge room.

He felt a presence behind him and turned to see that Mac Roth had entered. “You have done well,” Mac Roth said. “The sword is once more revealed, time for battle is at hand. I suggest you and Amerghin depart and get our army organised.”

The sword of Mac Roth was known of in the Chronicle Prophetica as the black battle sword. If it reappeared, then the times of evil will have remerged.

When Mac Roth had been defeated nine hundred and forty-two cycles ago, the sword had been thrown into the top of the erupting Mt. Triune. The battle of Sennol near the swamps of the dead had destroyed many lives, but many cycles of peace had ensued. Mt. Triune was silent for a long time. However, Mac Roth had survived. He had found the sword and placed it in a lava flow to protect it. The lava flow would stop for a few minutes every twenty-five cycles, enough time to find the sword and remove it from its prison.

Now it had been removed and in Ruad’s hand it made its way along the roads to Enna Aignech, followed by the ten thousand strong Black Army of the Dark Lord.

Muirthemne was the first of the Deep Lands to fall. And the city of Enna Aignech would fall as easily as a nail bends beneath a bad blow from a hammer. Ruad had planned to capture the small farming communities, turning them forcibly into soldiers. And making their families work to grow food, or face death if they did not. The young men and women joined the army, and the older men and women were left to work and provide food for the growing forces of the Dark Lord. This new general and Sub Lord of Sennol Uathach was feared by all. His reputation grew for his fierceness. Men who had seen him said his face was that of a demon, hard and ruthless, indescribable. His sword black and huge, with the blood of many men on its blade.

Tethra feared that the battle could not be won by the army of Enna Aignech. If they were driven back by the overwhelming dark forces. They would need to retreat to Rochad.

***

But not all of Muirthemne would fall beneath the hammer blow. Deep in the gardens and forest were the warriors of Rechrainn, ruled over by Findtain. They were the Rochad riders, the secret defence force of Athlethan.

The Rochad horsemen were legends of the Deep Lands. Their courage in battle, their justice and kindness. They had done more in Athlethan to stop oppression and hatred than any other people. These warriors were feared by any foot soldier. The horses were no exception, with speed unsurpassed and training that only their riders had more of. These horses could fight as well as the men on their backs. If a rider was dismounted or died, the horse would fight on with its hooves and with spikes on its chest and head. According to history, Rochad was a man who had befriended the wild horses of Fernmaige Island and formed an alliance with them. They came over to the mainland, creating a formidable force in service of the house of Findabair. Ten horsemen had survived the last great battle. From these ten men and horses, the legend of the Rochad horsemen began. Now there were a thousand horses and men, the maximum allowed under the Rochad creed of times one hundred of the ten legends. The captain was Findtain, the eighth son of Rochad the eighth. They lived in a city called Rochad which sat between Enna Aignech and Athlethan.

King Magach had escaped and fled to the forests with his daughter Devorgill. His three sons, Fernmaige, Uthecar and Dubthach, had stayed behind in the city to defend it.

Deep in the forest, Findtain bowed before the king. “Such a time we are in does not allow you to humble yourself before me,” said King Magach. He offered his hand and pulled Findtain to his feet. “You are my friend.” He pulled Findtain to him and hugged him. “You are our people’s strength and help in time of need. I have news from all over. And I have someone with me who has been a great help in the battle thus far.”

King Magach turned and beckoned to Tethra, standing in the tired crowd of warriors. Tethra stepped forward, bowing to the ground.

“Stand, a brave man like you ought to stand proud and tall. Who are you? Where are you from?”

“I am Tethra, son of Rigdond of Athlethan, companion of Tuatha, son of Aillel Findabair the king.”

The men gasped and Magach’s eyes widened.

“Why you are here?”

“Tuatha, my lord, told me to go to Muirthemne and make an alliance with you and your people. Alas, that is all I can tell you. Other than blocking the plans of Ruad to destroy Muirthemne, I feel we must be here to strengthen your forces against this thing that threatens us all.”

“I agree, we welcome your help,” said Findtain. “We stand no chance against ten thousand. With the forces of King Magach, we may only just stay this wretched evil.”

Magach was relieved. Athlethan was a powerful ally. The nations of the Deep Lands would need to come together.

Devorgill stood spellbound. She had never been affected this way before. Devorgill had grown up a warrior herself and lived among sword fighting and battle plans, fighting alongside many other boys, but nothing had stopped her heart like it had been stopped in this moment. She had heard her father’s words. Tethra, a noble and valiant name, and even better, of Athlethan, legendary place of great warriors and the home of the founders.

The man that had Devorgill spellbound was left standing alone, as the men dispersed into the camp. Suddenly she felt vulnerable and then ashamed for staring. She began to turn away and glanced at Tethra one more time. He was standing, looking at the ground. He wanted to be alone, it was clear. She saw fear and sadness in his posture. He fell to his knees and brought his hands up to his face. This great warrior was crying. She went over to Tethra in a sudden burst of compassion. She knew he had travelled far. He was a stranger in this place, much admired, but with no friends in this part of the world. And he had fought battles long and hard. This warrior was brave, strong, and yet just a man.

Devorgill went over to him and placed her hand on his shoulder.

“My prince, can I give you a place to stay, eat and drink?”

Tethra started back and got clumsily to his feet.

Before him was a dazzling warrior, like he had never seen before. A woman, with golden hair and dark blue eyes, even in blood-stained battle armour she looked noble and striking. He forgot he had been staring at her for a few moments. She smiled and looked questioningly at him. A look he could have stood and stared at forever. She didn’t seem to notice.

“I am Devorgill, and King Magach is my father. I know your name, Tethra. Follow me, it grows cold. Come and get warm, you must be hungry.”

Tethra felt ashamed that she had seen him in an emotional state, but not for long. She made no show of having noticed, in fact she seemed to be treating him with respect.

That night he fell asleep feeling a lot less lonely since he had left Tuatha his friend all those weeks ago. The weight lifted from his shoulders as he realised, she had offered to share his burden. It was good to have a friend, but he hoped one day he could get to know her better, and perhaps be more than friends. Devorgill felt care for this warrior but had no idea how he felt. She was just being kind as was her nature.

***

King Aillel spoke to his advisor, “Cathabad, our plans need to change with recent events. To go now in aid of the remainder of the people of Muirthemne with our entire army would leave us vulnerable. We will send more Riangbra warriors to aid them and to bring us reports of the battle. Meanwhile, we will have to await help from Esclarmonde and Muinremar. I hope Tuatha will do as you say he will.”

He had no idea what was happening far in the north, in Dun Emain.

Cathabad nodded, the king’s decisions were sound, and were as Riangbra anticipated.

Time was short, and events were moving fast.

Some hope lay in Tuatha, the one who had been prophesied and who would give all people a chance of a better future.