Another meeting, it seemed to Dagda to be all he did these past weeks. And each time the meeting grew ever more urgent, ever more important to their future. Dagda sighed, I hate meetings.
He had been awoken early to the summons of Ardgal and his mind still raced to take in all he had been told. The King had been deposed, armies were already on the move and a Milesian-Partholón alliance formed, all of which had happened within the space of a day it seemed. Though no doubt it had been months if not years in the making. A betrayal for many it now appeared as if it would be the Druaidíi which suffered the most. Already on the march from those Faeris sent to scout the combined force heading for Belvoir there numbered some 13,000 men.
Against that they could bring 1200 Druadíi warriors to the field, the others too old, too young or otherwise burdened for war.
Not favourable odds by any means. As Ardgal had pressed on him it was not just a mere matter of victory against the men they needed, they must also be mindful of the impact of any such success on their already small population. His father’s words echoed inside his head, focus on the present but do not forget the future.
The council room of the Druaidíi was full with each member present bar the two they were all waiting on, Michaél and Ardgal. Both busy readying scouts and defences. Dagda had offered to scout himself but had to be content with letting Rwua fly overheard, he was needed here. By Ardgal’s words at least. He began tossing his lann ciorcail in the air.
The make up of the Council was as it had always been, made up of 8 members with each generation represented at its meetings. Though Ardgal was leader and ultimately had the final say on matters the Council was involved in almost all decisions and had influence on all of Druaidíi’s affairs. In times past each Vault would have elected one of their own onto a Grand Council but for now the council was made up solely of those at Dún na Rí.
Seated to his left and right were the next youngest members present, both of generation 3, Fiona Ní Pobail and Conor Ó Briain. Dagda knew both well, Fiona particularly so. They were each eager, determined warriors willing to prove themselves in Battle having experienced their first taste of it during the Empire Wars. Fiona however preferred to use her Omen, Conor the claíomh.
Further on the table sat Darragh Ó Chiall and Maire Ní Droin of generation four, two seasoned warriors which had earned renown in the past and had proven themselves amongst the most powerful of the Druaidíi. Maire was the reserved more demure of the two, waiting only until she felt it important to give her say preferring usually to listen and take in the others thoughts then spout aimlessly. Though the day had long since past when she would be described as young, she had reportedly once been amongst the Druaidíi’s greatest beauties and retained an air of elegance and grace rarely matched to this day. She had oft told him how his mother had been like an older sister to her and had always treated him favourably as a result, caring for him often in his younger years.
For everything she stood for Darragh was the direct opposite. He placed little focus on appearance or style so much so that he had refused offers of rehabilitation for facial burns on his face suffered at the hands of Milesian pitch fire. Instead he allowed the wounds free for all to see, a reminder to him and others of War’s glory. He cared little for the younger Druaidíi and their talk of Battles and strategy though he himself had proven to be foremost of those in any Battles during the Empire War. Indeed he had led the assault on the Milesian Camp at Ferenriach on the day the Druaidíi had won a decisive victory for the alliance. Dagda respected him. As all Druaidíi did. Yet he did not like or would ever seek out his company for he seemed to crave argument and was seldom happy.
Finally at the end of the tabe to the left of the Rí’s seat sat Farda Yorvaigh, eldest of the council he along with Ardgal and Michaél was of generation 5.
He had been a part of the Druaidíi council for as long as Dagda could remember and retained still the air of one used to rule and leadership. He was one of the few amongst them that took an active interest in that of the outside world, not just Aileann, and had oft regaled the Druaidíi youth with fantastical tales of great winged demons, fearsome chimeras and crazed birds of flight. He was a paradigm of order and system and never seemed to have anything out of place, both in his appearance and his words. His closely shaved beard and hair were now streaked with grey but though an elder he still maintained a high standing amongst all Druaidíi. A legacy of his youth no doubt for he had once ruled as a leader in his own right. The destruction of Cluain Chainnigh had been one of the final deadly blows against the Druaidíi in the Land Wars and had robbed them of their last remaining refuge outside Dún na Rí. He had been the vault’s last ruler and had been forced to move along with all his people to avoid the knives of the men as they ransacked his home. He never spoke of it but Dagda knew it was not a topic he enjoyed speaking on. Some things never heal.
At the sight of Ardgal and Michaél entering Dagda caught his lann ciorcail casually as it spun in the air and smartly sheathed it from sight.
Ardgal gave a quick judge of the room nodding to each member as he did so. He took his seat at the table’s head and clasped his hands together.
“By now I am sure you are all aware of the circumstances we find ourselves in. Betrayal on betrayal the Partholóns have seemingly abandoned the alliance, lured no doubt by the empty promises of gold and glory of the Milesians. Breogan is either dead or as good as and an army of some 13, 000 men now marches firmly towards us.
“Taken all of this into consideration,” Ardgal continued. “It would seem we have a rather urgent decision to make. That is, to fight and repel the men and drive them back or, or to escape now while there is still time and leave Dún na Rí as guarded and hidden as we can until such time as it is opportune to return.”
Ardgal paused a moment to carefully look at each of them in turn.
“As for me. Though it is almost unbearable and unthinkable to any Druaid or Druaida, the idea of evacuating now and relocating to one of the abandoned vaults to regroup and evaluate our strategy must be carefully considered, as much as we may loathe and despise the thought.”
Darragh scowled, loudly. “As we should. Dún na Rí has never once been seen by enemy forces, how many armies have came to Belvoir’s embrace proud and powerful only to be crushed without a trace by our ancestors. If we have done it before we can do it again.” His hands were clenched and animated as he spoke. “We should not flee like cowards forgoing all our people built and worked for here at Dún na Rí, the last and greatest of our Homes.”
No matter what Ardgal would have suggested Darragh would have argued against it, he had never forgiven him for not granting title of Commander of the army on him. A title he believed he had both earned and richly deserved. Michaél however was not one easily cast aside and it seemed to Dagda that he had never given Ardgal cause to doubt his ability or prowess in the role. Another claim Darragh would likely bitterly refute.
Ardgal regarded Darragh coolly, “The last army of men to enter Belvoir’s forest confines was over 500 years ago, then it was an attacking force of only 12,00 men and our own numbers were three times as many as we have now. If that were our pretext then our decision would indeed be clear. However it is not. Have a care for our current situation not for past events when next you speak. Do not talk of cowardice. This is no petty dispute from which to score points, this is the life and future of our people we discuss.” Ardgal's voice never rose nor decreased but the conviction in his voice did. With every word.
Darragh didn’t remove the look of reproach on his face but neither did he speak.
Farda gave Ardgal a curious look. “And if we were to move, is there a place readily available? Were not all the vaults destroyed or abandoned many years ago now? Where is it we would go.”
Michaél was the one that responded to the query. “Our Ancestors built these vaults to last, each one equipped with technology which far surpasses our own and we yet struggle to fully comprehend. I have in years past been to one such surviving vault, Imeall Uiscí. It is not perfect no, nor is it Dún na Rí, but it could, if needed, serve as a new home for our people. For a time.”
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Looking around, Dagda saw the confusion on the other members' faces, all save for Farda. Dagda too would have been similarly confused had he not been told prior of Michaél’s excursions over the past two years, a precaution of Ardgal’s that seemed now to have been more than just a cautious afterthought.
Fiona cleared her throat to ensure she had their full attention, something a Druaida of her beauty was not unfamiliar with, though she did not oft seek it. “In truth neither option offers us much chance for hope but at least if we stay we may ready our defences and meet the men’s army on our own terms. Our People have never been known to run from a fight before, why then should we start now?”
Darragh grunted his approval at her words but Farda peered at her with a look of tired familiarity with such rhetoric. “It is true our people have never ran from any Battle, both great and small, yet now look at us. Our numbers so few that we face our lasting demise at the hands of mere Men, who so boldly march on our final refuge and sanctuary from the outside world. We must not be foolish or burden ourselves with youthful pride and ambition. This is a force sent to wipe us out, completely. ”
He stressed the last word and left no doubt who’s ears it was meant for, the younger members of the Council, those full of youthful pride and ambition.
“As Ardgal has said,” he pressed on, “we must not allow our judgement clouded by our present woes alone, one eye must be kept on the future and the generations to come. We must consider all options, no matter how strange or unseemly they might be.”
He sat back in his chair, content for now his thoughts given.
Conor shifted forwards, his face twisted in concentration.
“I recall now the tales told by my parents of Imeall Uiscí, and if I am not mistaken it was amongst the first to be abandoned during the Land Wars was it not? It was one of the smaller vaults deemed less suitable than the others, if so it has been abandoned by my mind for some 1000 years now? Yes it may all still work and provide the basics we need but here at Dún na Rí we have the entire legacy and history of our people inside these walls. To abandon it would be to abandon ourselves. I say we fight. Let the forest take them as it has done to so many before. We will prevail.”
“But at what cost?” Michaél’s gaze never moved from the table but his voice was hard and resolute.
Ardgal nodded at his words and cast a sympathetic look to Conor.
“Do not for a moment believe I do not think us capable of defeating the Men, for I do, with all my heart. However to do so, against such numbers, no matter our skills, our abilities, our strategy, cannot be done without significant loss of Druaidíi life. I would gladly give my life to protect Dún na Rí but if it is a choice between that or the future of our people then I choose our future.”
A pained expression came on his face, an expression Dagda rarely saw on his features. Save for when mother’s name arose.
Ardgal tapped his finger down on the table. “I know your mind and I understand why to stay and fight is also the right and proper thing to do. Yet still…I do not hold that the Milesians wish to destroy Dún na Rí, rather they wish to control it, learn from it. In all my dealings with them both past and recent they have always been most focused and interested in our technology and infrastructure we have here. The legacy of our forefathers. For what reason I cannot say but I know that they value what it is we have here, for a nation so engulfed in the thought and idea of war to have vaults which could survive any attack, no matter the size or strength would no doubt be of some import to them. If so then we would have the prospect to return and reclaim our land at a time which most suited us and likely against a much reduced force. With our knowledge of the land we could easily take advantage and keep our people safe whilst winning back our home.”
The room was silent as all pondered his words, Dagda heard the wisdom in them, and yet, he could not deny the desire he too felt to stay and fight.
Darragh threw his hands up in the air indignantly. “So what then? That’s it? We just leave our home and city to the mercy of the men and pray they don’t damage it too badly, is that it? We wait desperately, in blind faith and hope that an opportunity which may or may not present itself arises? I can’t see how this could even be proposed, let alone considered. I for one would rather see Dún na Rí destroyed than in the hands of men. Let us bring the fight to them, get them in Belvoir where they are vulnerable and break them in the forest once and for all. If I was left to command I would not need a mighty force, give me 500 Druaidíi of my own picking and I will lead them to victory.”
Dagda snorted, “Darragh you should have a word with yourself. 500 against some 13000? I like fighting against the odds as much as anyone but please stop playing the martyr. You are not stupid, much as you try to be, you know full well you could do little more than disrupt the men, enjoyable as that might be your skills would be better off elsewhere.”
Darragh fixed him with a vicious stare, one Dagda was more than familiar with from his time on the training ground. They had battled on more than one occasion together, always an eventful affair.
Darragh looked around to the others but none made contact with his stare, “When you have tasted true battle then come to me with advice young prince. Until then shut your mouth when you're talking to your betters.”
“And what if I’m talking to you?”
“I am your better fool. Perhaps you need a reminder.”
“Come outside and I shall give it you.”
Ardgal slammed his fist down on the table, “Enough both of you. Now is not the time for such brashness.” He shook his head, “The two of you can be annoyingly similar. Both hot headed fools.”
Darragh pushed himself away from the table, “I’ll not be spoken to like some troublesome child.”
“Then stop acting like one. Now shut up and push in your chair before you are removed from it.”
Darragh stayed still not moving. He looked to Farda for support but found it wanting. He pushed in his chair.
Ardgal didn’t react to Darragh’s anger but pressed on calmly. “Time is short and I know that many outside this room may not share my views. But it is a view that must be explored, make no mistake. Whatever we decide it must be as one, we are Druaidíi and together we will overcome. You have heard my words and given your thoughts. Now we must decide.”
“I am with you Ardgal, though it is no easy task we must do.” Ardgal bobbed his head towards Michaél showing no emotion on his face.
“As am I, we have a duty to ensure survival first, everything else we can restore or rebuild.” With the facts of the matter laid bare Dagda knew it was their best hope, and he would stand by his father.
Darragh scoffed at his words, “If it is survival we seek then here lies our best chance, in Belvoir, in our forest we can repel them. I say we fight, and now rather than later. No man no matter how many shall make me leave my home.”
He looked expectantly to Maire, she ignored it, she makes no effort to hide her dislike of the man. When she spoke she seemed to have to force the words from her mouth.
“Though I see the value in your words Ardgal I cannot agree to leave Dún na Rí. I am too long here now and do not wish to begin news when there is still yet hope for us here.”
She sighed, “I say we fight.”
Ardgal nodded graciously before he turned inquiringly to Fiona and Conor.
Conor spoke in a hushed tone under his gaze. “I vote to fight.”
“As do I.” Fiona added her voice to his.
With all spoken for only Farda was left to speak. He grimaced and looked despairingly to Ardgal. “Much as I am loath to admit it I find myself and my mind conflicted. While as always I see the sense in your words Ardgal I give my vote to remain. Let the men witness the crash and burn against our walls. They have never fallen before. They will not fall now.”
Michaél shook his head but Ardgal only nodded his solemnly, “Then we are decided, we shall not retreat to Imeall Uisce, instead we shall do all we can to break the men as they pass Belvoir’s boundaries and ensure that any which do reach our great city are made pay dearly for the privilege.”
With that he drew back his chair and straightened himself giving no indication good or bad as to his mind, “Let us be off, there is much for us to now do and set in motion.”
Dagda breathed deeply and puffed his cheeks. A part of him felt glad to have the chance to meet the men in battle and punish those which had betrayed them. But deep within he could not shake the uncertainty, Ardgal was right, if the men had brought such a force then this was no clear war. There would be no victory or defeat. Instead there would be survival or destruction. He got to his feet and followed the others already departing, another meeting, another feeling of doubt. Dagda sighed as he shut the door behind him, I really hate meetings.