‘So let me get this straight,’ said Eleyna, who followed Arran closely, ‘The three of us,’ she pointed at herself, Darav, and Arran, ‘have just crossed the Fiaighan strait to talk to a congregation of clan heads, and convince them of joining us in fighting an enemy they very much do not care about?’

  ‘I think that’s it, yes,’ said Arran, ‘there’s not much else to it.’

  ‘Well there is one more thing,’ said Darav as he glanced at Eleyna before focusing on the road ahead again, ‘we’re also carrying quite possibly the most powerful weapon we’ve got because my brother is of the opinion that clan Den Chlaíomh will care.’

  ‘I have to ask though, why am I here exactly?’ said Eleyna, ‘I understand you couldn’t tell me on sovereign soil but here in the Hunter’s Land you can just tell me.’

  ‘My guess is guess my brother thought we might need a healer.’

  ‘What I’m still trying to figure out is how Valos managed to convince seven warring clans to meet peacefully.’

   ‘Want my advice, Arran?’ asked Eleyna, ‘Don’t try to understand their customs, you’ll only end up confused and lost.’

  It appeared that Eleyna was right. Every sign they came across was accompanied by a runestone pointing the way, something that Arran also failed to understand. Soon enough they arrived at the meeting place. It was a large circle of great stones with at its centre a round table made of some kind of metal. The top reflected a moving image of the night sky, despite the fact that it was near midday.

  ‘Are we early?’ asked Arran as he got off his horse and walked toward the centre of the circle. He was almost afraid of what might happen if he touched the table.

  ‘Maybe, Arran come help me with the sword.’

  He obliged, walking over to Darav and helping him unwrap Tyranny. Darav pushed Arran away and picked the sword up by the hilt.

  ‘Only one of us can have this thing curse us, Arran, and I’m not going to let it be you.’

  Arran wanted to object, but ultimately chose not to. He looked at his sister-in-law, who’d walked over to the table at the centre. He saw her look at its surface, her hands resting on its top. Arran walked over to her, and saw that she had a confused and perturbed look on her face.

  ‘El, something wrong?’

  ‘No, not really, I’m fine,’ she looked at him.

  ‘Really? Did you see something in the table?’

  Eleyna focused on the table again.

  ‘I can see… myself? But it’s not me.’

  ‘Describe it to me.’

  ‘You can’t see it?’

  ‘No, I only see myself.’

  Eleyna cocked her head, then pulled it back slightly.

  ‘I look… older, but also not?’ she said, ‘my eyes they’re not as vivid, they’re dulled, my skin is more pale, and…’ she leaned further over the table, then jumped back in what could almost be described as fright.

  ‘What’d you see?’ asked Arran, himself a little spooked by her sudden movement. He looked at his sister-in-law, who only drew three diagonal lines over her chest.

  ‘There were bleeding wounds there, like I’d just been stabbed three times,’ her eyes met Arran’s as she spoke, ‘what can you see?’

  ‘Me?’ Arran scratched his head and looked over the table again, ‘I just see myself, with my hair maybe a little more grey.’

  ‘That’s it?’ asked Eleyna.

  ‘No wait, there’s more, I look more… I don’t know, alone?’

  ‘How can you “look” alone?’

  ‘Something about my eyes, I-.’

  Arran was interrupted when he heard a booming voice speak in an unfamiliar language. He turned around to look at what happened and stared directly at a tall man with black hair bound back in a braid. He wore shaggy white robes with green accents. Darav stood next to him, Tyranny’s hilt held firmly in his grasp.

  ‘I advise neither of you to look at The Stone; it has a habit of showing you things you’d rather not know,’ said the man.

  ‘You could’ve warned me before we did that,’ said Eleyna quietly. Darav cleared his throat.

  ‘This man here is one of the Saoigarda, sage guards or druids basically, he will be our host.’

  ‘The name is Enlin,’ said the man, ‘a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’

  ‘When can we expect the others,’ asked Eleyna brazenly, Enlin was somewhat taken by her forwardness.

  ‘By dusk, when The Stone casts dawn,’ he said. Enlin looked at the sword Darav was leaning on slightly. His friendly demeanor suddenly changed.

  ‘I must ask you why you brought that… thing to our island.’

  ‘Well, if you want an answer I can get you an audience with my brother, it was his idea,’ said Darav, ‘if I’d been the one in charge we wouldn’t be here right now.’

  ‘You can’t bring it near The Stone.’

  ‘I am more than willing to respect that demand.’

  ‘You, the two who looked at The Stone, what did you see?’

  ‘Well I looked dead,’ answered Eleyna honestly.

  ‘And I only looked a little different, tired and old mostly.’

  ‘I do not need to have your friend with the warblade look into The Stone to tell the three of you are Doom-Driven in your own ways, either by this war or the battles to come.’

  ‘You don’t need to be so cryptic to tell us this war will change who we are,’ said Darav, whose patience was growing a little thin.’

  ‘You are correct, my apologies,’ said Enlin, ‘now come, I have a place where we can wait until the others arrive.’

  When they later returned to the circle of stones it was lit by torches. Their imposing figures cast shadows on the ground and made the structure look larger than it really was.

  ‘You’re fortunate that my people managed to ensure cooperation from the clan heads, I am certain you will not leave disappointed,’ Enlin said to darav

  ‘I won’t be the one that’s disappointed if we leave empty-handed,’ Darav replied, ‘I’d be afraid instead.’

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  ‘Afraid? Of what?’

  ‘My brother and how he might respond,’ Darav said before shutting his mouth. They’d passed under a trio of stones that’d been stacked to form a gate. Surrounding The Stone was a group of six men and women standing in a half-circle. In the middle stood an Elk with majestic, decorated antlers, of which the detailed carvings were accentuated by the warm light the torches cast. The creature let out a call and the six people that accompanied it all said a greeting in their own dialect. Enlin responded in Fiaighan and then turned to Darav, who had a confused expression on his face. Arran and Eleyna were both equally perplexed by the presence of a wild animal at the meeting.

  ‘I’m sorry, I don’t understand what’s going on.’

  ‘The seven clan heads have greeted their guests, it is appropriate for you to return a greeting.’

  ‘Do we have to bugle like the big guy did?’ asked Eleyna somewhat sarcastically.

  ‘If you can, I do believe Tarbh would appreciate that,’ responded Enlin in earnest. Darav stepped past them and simply spoke.

  ‘I thank you for welcoming me, great clan heads of Talamh Fiaigh.’

  They all nodded, including the elk.

  ‘You were requested here on an ancient custom, at a time when your own lands are in turmoil, for me to make a request of you on behalf of my brother, the uncrowned king of Anglavar.’

  Some of the clan heads scoffed at the mention of the word king, but they continued to listen closely without interrupting.

  ‘My brother, and thus I myself, have brought here an artefact that in all truth should not have seen this sacred place to call upon an oath of blood, of history,’ Darav spoke as Arran handed him Tyranny, wrapped up in cloth again. He began to unwrap the sword and the elk stomped, something that made Darav stop in his tracks. He watched as the creature slowly transformed into a man. The man was old, a long, white beard grew from his chin all the way down to his waistline, and his head was nearly bald. Despite his age he was in top condition. What one could see of his body was covered in tattoos and markings not too dissimilar from the ones found on his antlers, which had disappeared now that he was in human form.

  ‘I know what you carry, Darav, prince of the Ebon blade,’ he spoke, ‘you do not need to show us that profane object to win our trust, in fact I’d say you’d do the opposite.’

  The other clan heads nodded, except one with short, black hair. He was tall, and wearing a blue gambeson patterned with green zig-zagging lines. A black sword was embroidered on the shoulder.

  ‘Curb your tongue, Alder Tarbh Eilcfyr, I wish to view it.’

  ‘Do not speak over the Alder, den Chlaíomh,’ one of the female clan heads spoke.

  ‘If I may-.’

  ‘WHO INVITED THE SSCOVACH!?’ shouted a male clan head.

  ‘My clan is just as Fiaighan as your bunch of gravediggers, Morgynn.’

  Enlin shouted something in Fiaighan, somehow amplifying his voice to make himself heard over the commotion.

  ‘We shall simply have a vote on whether the Black Blade can be unsheathed on Fiaighan lands.’

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, Enlin,’ said Darav, ‘but I feel that I might offend our gracious hosts if I do so regardless of a vote, we will have to do without.’

  Darav’s decision was met with nods and words of approval.

  ‘Why did you bring it here,’ asked Tarbh Eilcfyr.

  ‘My family, and clan den Chlaíomh are both named for it, and my brother believed it could bring about some form of an alliance.’

  ‘Your brother is a fool,’ said the Eilcfyr clan head.

  ‘Then we agree on something.’

  ‘I do not believe we have any reason to get involved in a neighbour’s conflict, whatever blood-bond there may once have been,’ said the den Chlaíomh clanhead, ‘your efforts are wasted, as you stand here arguing with us your enemy is likely preparing.’

  ‘With all due respect, we are here to prepare.’

  ‘Who is being fought, exactly?’ asked the Sscovach clan head.

  ‘Christoff Daelvor of house Daelvor, King of the South, son of the burnt throne.’

  ‘I know of this king,’ said Tarbh Eilcfyr as he stepped forward, resting his hands on The Stone, ‘a false one, no? With armies weaker than brittle stone, and your brother as the king of an entire country can’t create his own decisive victory?’

  ‘He’d rather scare them into submission, an effort to save lives.’

  ‘A fair and lofty goal, but I do not think you will find allies with us, as you said we have our own wars, our own hides to think of.’

  ‘I’d feared I’d leave empty handed,’ said Darav as he returned Tyranny, still fully wrapped-up, to Arran.

  ‘Not empty handed,’ said Tarbh Eilcfyr, he walked around The Stone, tracing his hand over its surface, ‘you leave here tonight knowing that when the blood of man seeps into your soil, it was not at your hands even if you yourself strike a soldier down.’

  The clan heads began to leave, walking past their guests and Enlin. Once they were out of Earshot Arran and Eleyna began to talk.

  ‘That was just a bit pointless, wasn’t it?’ asked Eleyna, one of her eyebrows raised.

  ‘I’m going to have to agree with you.’

  ‘All I got from that was “you tried, so it’s not your fault.’

  ‘Sometimes that’s all the advice an old man that transforms into an animal can give you,’ said Arran as he patted Darav on the shoulder.

  ‘Not sure if Valos will stand for this, he might actually be the one with anger issues this time around.’

  ‘I apologise for this meeting not going to plan,’ said Enlin, who was listening to the conversation.

  ‘I appreciate it happening in the first place, Enlin,’ Darav responded as they walked down the hill, ‘I doubt I would’ve been able to convince them to meet myself, and individually would’ve taken longer than I had.’

  ‘I trust you’ll be going again?’

  Darav nodded, ‘fast too, I don’t want to keep my brother waiting on his disappointment.’

  ‘Then until we see each other again, Darav, prince of the Ebon Blade.’