Day 11 of Midwinter, Sunrise

Caisleán Saighead, Gorias

Annwn

The bottom of the wall felt cramped. Though we had the entire wall length to position ourselves, the eight of us tried to take up as little space as possible. Despite the diversion, Nemain was causing atop the wall, we all knew there was a chance we would be spotted trying to open the secret “Last Redort.”

By the time I arrived, The Dagda and Aengus had positioned themselves an arm's distance from one another. They were feeling around on the ancient stone as if looking for just the right hand-hold.

“What are you looking for?” I asked, mostly because I wanted to see if I could help.

“There are small indentations where we must place our fingers,” Aengus responded, appearing to concentrate very hard on the wall. “But the years have marred the stone.”

“I have mine,” The Dagda announced suddenly. “Tell me when you are ready.”

I leaned in closer to the Dagda. “Is this some sort of magical fingerprint identification?”

The Dagda nodded. “There are two parts to the Redort. The first is a magical identification spell to verify a Gorias lineage.” Despite everything going on around us, his voice was calm and patient.

The Fiacha looked annoyed by the whole situation, though it was hard to tell with their black clothes, black hair, and what I could only assume was enough eye shadow to make Brandon Lee proud. To their credit, though, they stayed quiet.

“And the second?” I asked.

“As you can imagine, it would be possible for an enemy of Flamebright to possess the hands of my kin. So, there remains a second level of magic that makes such a situation impossible.”

“I found them!” Aengus looked pleased with himself. I wondered if that was possibly the pride of a child trying to impress his father.

Instead of finishing his explanation, The Dagda nodded at his son, and they began to sing harmonizing notes that reminded me of the 90s a cappella band Boyz II Men. The song was quiet but appeared to be all it took, as the wall cracked just wide enough for a person to squeeze through. The Fiacha pushed ahead of us and rushed into the fissure.

I followed, seeing just the beginning of the brief farewell between The Dagda and Aengus. Aengus ran quickly to the protection of the nearby shops and houses. I realized now that I was in a pitch-black passageway just how much the sky had lightened outside. The Dagda stepped inside and the Redort closed behind him.

It appeared that each of the seven of us remaining had some form of magical low light vision, as none stumbled in the single file tunnel or even hinted at needing an external light. The passageway itself sloped down, and as we walked, I could feel us descending lower and lower into the bowels of the castle. I remembered from the conversation back in town, that we would inevitably come out into the Cave of Sorrows, just behind the treasure vault where Ruadan had gifted me my magical sword and armor. That day seemed a lifetime ago.

The Fiacha remained in the lead, with The Dagda bringing up the rear. Eventually, the fairies in front of me leveled out and we entered a room a bit wider than the passageway. It appeared to have once been an ornate storage area, but time and the little beasties of the world had transformed the room. Dirt, grime, and cobwebs covered every inch of every surface in the room.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Stone shelves lined the right side. On the shelves were what appeared to be beautiful clusters of white crystal. Some had fallen over and were resting against other crystals. Some had fallen to the ground. The Dagda immediately moved to place the crystals back onto the shelves.

The largest of the Fiacha noticed this and came back to pull him to his feet. “We don’t have time for that, magic man.”

I remembered what this cave contained, which made the coldness of the Fiacha’s words all the harsher. Here, in this room, were the reverted ore forms of the Silverwhite blades used by the last of High King Bres’ Ellyllon guards. The Duinnite clusters were sacred to The Dagda and his family. The fact that another fairy disregarded them so told me everything I needed to know about these Fiacha.

The Dagda placed the single ore he was holding on the shelf and dusted his hands on his robes. I saw a tear flow down his cheek as he turned to follow the black-garbed fairies out of an ornately chiseled stone doorway.

I was the last to leave the room. Something in that space called to me. I felt drawn to the ore. My eyes caught on a very faint magical glow coming from the center of the ore the god of magic had placed back on the shelf. The glowing white light appeared to pulse in the darkness. Had I but blinked, I would have missed it.

I was confused by what I was seeing. Given the magical nature of the Silverwhite blades and the skill required to craft them, I would have expected the room to be lit up by magical luminescence, revealed by my Rings of Identification. I made a mental note to come back to this cave one day if only to clean up the Duinnite ore from the fallen Ellyllon.

The main party had already made it to the treasure vault, and though I didn’t see how they had entered the room, I noticed quite a difference in the state of things since my last visit. There were scarce remains of anything valuable, which could only mean the Fomorians now wielded the most powerful magical items from the Gorias vault.

The large Fiacha motioned to us both and made their way to the entrance. They continued signaling to one another as they formed up into what looked like a door opener, three fairies to rush, and another fairy to flank. The Dagda drew a short, twisted stick that appeared smooth on the surface due to wear. He aimed it at the fairies and closed his eyes. They looked back at him and smiled wickedly. I cast identification on his wand.

Yew Wand of the Buff

This wand contains the remains of the first Yew tree to fall in what is now called Reenadinna Woods. The relic, The Cauldron of Plenty, first imbued this wood with magical properties. Now, it serves as a wand to buff allies before and during a battle. Properties include, but are not limited to growth, speed, endurance, and woodskin.

The door opened quickly and the Fiacha pulled their blades as they rushed the hallway. Their jagged black weapons looked dangerous to even wield. I could hardly get eyes on the blades due to the speed these fairies moved. The Dagda had definitely granted the group enhanced speed.

There was only one Fomorian present in the isolated hallway leading to the treasure vault. The Fiacha tore through the hall and were on him before the giant man had even taken a breath. When I saw what was left of him, my stomach churned, and I instantly threw up.

The Fiacha hadn’t simply silenced the man, they had used their cruel black blades to sever his body at each elbow and at each knee before driving a sword through his throat. It was a gruesome execution.

“Tell me what you think of your allies now, Protector.” The voice had come out of nowhere. It spoke directly into my mind. It was not the husky voice of the Bodach nor the smooth voice of the man standing next to me. “I have been waiting for you.”

I reached for the sleeve of The Dagda to alert him someone was attempting some form of telepathy on me. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice said. Images began to flood my mind. I saw a bloody, yet alive, Morias tied to a wooden structure on the top of the castle walls. The image panned down into the courtyard, where I could see the charred remains of hundreds of Ravens. At the center lay the black-clad body of Nemain. The images continued to pan from the courtyard to the front gate, where I could see Fíadan battling a company of Fomorians. She was covered head to toe in blood and favored her left arm.

The voice continued, “If you come quietly to me, I will let you pick who shall live. Only one will leave this castle alive. But you must come alone.”

I withdrew my arm and instinctively followed the Fiacha to the intersection of hallways that would lead to various parts of the castle. The Dagda motioned them to the left.

“Now is your chance, Bren,” said the voice. “Make your decision. Follow the oppressors and watch as everyone you care about dies, or come to me…and allow at least one to live.”

The unknown voice went silent, and I did the only thing I could think to do at the moment. I snuck away to the castle walls.