The black walls of Iaranntùr loomed seemingly higher than any of them might have expected, the dark stones went well with the darkened earth that was barren of all life.

  Higher than the gates though was the great tower itself. It loomed higher than the heavens it seemed, yet darker than black and blacker in heart than the monsters found in the Edranite Depths. Or so it appeared to Indulf, as he felt a tremor of fear coursing in his veins, thicker than blood.

  So tall was the Tower that some such as Bardulf, Ronald and Indulf felt their necks ache as they craned them back to try to see the summit. They could not see past part of the way up the tower, with the both of them surprised by the fact that Cormac demonstrated little curiosity.

  To the contrary he appeared morose, and less and less keen towards the tower the closer they neared it.

  Not that anyone paid him much mind, for they were soon distracted by the excited sorcerer-druid by the gates of the Tower walls, motioning them to hurry hither to his side. An air of joy surrounded him so that he might well have been mistaken for a child.

  “Welcome, my friend it has been some time,” Said Gallchobhair greeting Wiglaf with a sincere smile, one full of warmth. He was a man of moderate size, with a thick white beard which was braided in the Nordic style, with a dark silk hair-braid, and his long hair braided in much the same fashion. His robes were green as they had been during his time in ériu, though of a light shade that gave him a softer appearance.

  He had about him a gentle, almost grandfatherly air that could have mollified a tiger or hungry lioness, Indulf mused. At once he felt himself being taken in, by the genial exterior that the old man exhibited.

  Grasping Wiglaf by the elbow, his thick brows knitted together over his heavily wrinkled dark blue eyes when he saw how his friend winced. “Oh Wiglaf, are you aright? You appear pained my friend.”

  “Aye, he is, it was my fault,” Indulf confessed in a rush drawing a cold glance from old Gallchobhair.

  “Nonsense, you sustained your injuries due to your valorous rescue of Bérénice,” Colwyn defended at once smiling at him, eyes narrowed at the old man whom he had noticed frown at the youth.

  “It appears that you have much to tell me,” Gallchobhair murmured softly, the same genialness in full force once again, as he continued to grip Wiglaf’s arm, guiding him towards the Tower doors. “You are all welcome here, and will be my honoured guests as any friends of Wiglaf are my own kith.”

  The warmth of the old man warmed each of their hearts. Save for Ronald and Cormac, the two of them inherently mistrustful of their host, and fearful of the tower. They were almost as wise, as Corin who had refused to approach the gates, preferring to go from forge to forge, from furnace and mill to the next, with a suspicious mien on his face.

  Up above their heads the clouds darkened, so that they were almost as dark as the sycamore black-wood trees leagues behind them. Oppressively murky they glowered down upon all those who stood before the great Tower, menacing them with thunder.

  The once blue skies that had greeted them with such warmth days ago, had become as twisted and full of misery as the ground was. The din of the thunder could be heard from mount to mount, across the whole of the land and throughout all the peoples of the Misty-Island. So that all knew then the wrath of Tempestas had been awoken.

  Dutiful as they were, they paid no heed to this clamour, or to the eyes that peaked out from the ground unblinking, and pleased. They had been hidden from them, for fear that they may drive the heroes away, for it was deeply desired by the masters of the Boairn that the travelers feel welcomed.

  *****

  The castle interior was no less as oppressive and bleak as the exterior, so that all continuously glanced about themselves, fearful for what the shadows may hold. They had learnt well the lessons taught to them by the shadows of the Edranite Depths. Their apprehension was not helped by the fact that the air in this oppressive long hallway was similar to that of the last great tunnel. That which had seen them separated from Sister Marian.

  The corners of the hallway through which they traversed were gloomy, with none of them able to discern the walls or said corners. Not even Bardulf or Ronald was able to see past shadows and gloom, so that they sunk inwards into their own dour spirits.

  Not that Indulf much cared for these shadows, he alone felt comfortable in that horrid place. Such was the comfort he felt there that he could feel some measure of anger towards his friends for their discomfort.

  Near the front of the group he walked directly behind the two old men, the Cymran limped while the slightly taller old man had his arm wrapped around his shoulders. Behind Indulf advanced Cormac and Bardulf, while Ronald advanced to the rear of their group. The Wolfram remained quiet whilst Cormac fidgeted next to him, visibly uncomfortable with the shadows of the Tower.

  “You must rest my friend,” Said Gallchobhair in his silky voice, “Then I will help you with your wounds.”

  “Aye,” Wiglaf agreed at once.

  “Do you know anything of dragon-wounds?” Indulf queried inquisitively of their host, who spared him but a passing glance.

  “Indeed,” Gallchobhair affirmed at once, wherefore he directed them towards a nearby door, saying to Ronald, “Ronald, I do believe that you are still an apprentice are you not?”

  The Tigrun nodded, eyes bright and aglow as a cat’s typically were in the dark, his gaze never wavering from that of the old man.

  Another charming smile followed, and he opened the door next to him, “I shall recommend this room for you, as it has been said by ancient masters of the Order for apprentices should sleep upon the first floor, if memory serves.”

  “That was Master Brunst who wrote that ‘apprentices ought to rest upon the ground, to ground into his being the hardness of life’s lessons.” Quoted Ronald sharply, his voice as cutting as that of a steel blade and his eyes no less sharp.

  If he was insulted Gallchobhair showed no sign of his true feelings, he only smiled.

  *****

  He was to guide them up a set of night-grey steps that split when one reached the next floor whereupon it split into two; with one path headed to the left and the other to the right. It was in this remarkable way that they were separated and dispersed across various rooms. The chambers given to each of them were well-furnished with rich carpets, heavily ornamented tables and large beds fit for kings.

  It was in all the stuff of men’s dreams, including those of Indulf’s. The youth might well have thrown himself onto the silk covered bed were it not for Cormac and Colwyn bursting into his room a heartbeat or so after Gallchobhair had left with Wiglaf.

  “Indulf, glad you have not yet gone to sleep,” Cormac said to him.

  “I had considered it, though quite why I cannot imagine,” Indulf grunted back in a fair imitation of his younger brother’s wit.

  Colwyn studied him with a half-smile while Cormac frowned at him; evidently unamused by his sharp tone, his pinched expression was one that Indulf felt all the more irritated by than before.

  He was weary, had a sense that Cormac was continuously dragging his feet since Marian had been left behind below ground and that his friend had every intention of causing trouble for their host. A host who happened to be the only person who appeared to know, to heal Wiglaf’s wounds, wounds that Indulf felt entirely responsible for.

  “We intend to explore the tower a little, as our host has not shown us a great deal of the tower.” Colwyn explained to him, with his strange curve of his lips whenever he thought he knew something, those around him did not.

  “But what of Wiglaf? If we offend Gallchobhair he may not help Wiglaf with his injuries,” Indulf justified having little desire to explore, wearied as he was.

  The two before him exchanged a worried look, one that further angered the son of Freygils. He could have done without their strange comportment, and felt as though they thought him foolish.

  Cormac opened his mouth to speak, when Colwyn shook his head in the negative to the youth, who shut his mouth at once with an annoyed look on his face.

  It may have been a gesture intended to be polite, but the angered youth was intent upon anger as those in such a mood often are. He might well have refused to aid them, were it not for the clever prince of Gwyneira, who intervened with his usual deft tongue. “But Indulf, we had need of your assistance, though if you feel afraid and little desire to see our dear friend Gallchobhair heal Wiglaf we shall understand. I do not think even Gallchobhair could begrudge us, wishing to see him at work.”

  “I am not afraid!” Indulf objected at once, not seeing the trap poised before him.

  “Excellent, then do come along,” Said Colwyn cheerily grabbing him by the arm to pull him along on his exploration of the tower.

  *****

  Their first exploration of the Tower was a fruitless endeavour. They wasted hours circling about, from hallway to hallway, going up and down stairs searching behind different doors with increasing impatience. Each of them hopeful to find Wiglaf, but they all had the distinct certitude that they were simply going about in circles.

  This ended the moment Indulf grew exasperated with their endless searches and explorations, it was thereon the fourth floor that he turned to the door to his left in a fit of pique and threw it open. Stunned to discover his own chambers, he had now little in the way of argumentative footing so to speak against Cormac and Colwyn’s argument that there was something amiss.

  “When did we come to be upon the second floor?” He wondered to himself, unable to bring himself to enter the room properly.

  “It is as I told you four times,” Cormac snapped irritably, “There is something indeed very amiss about this host of ours. We were on the fourth floor and now are upon the second one, all this without any explanation.”

  “Aye,” Colwyn agreed visibly troubled by this discovery, he appeared to consider one line of action then thought it over and decided upon another. “I think it might be wiser, were we to retire for the evening. I shall alert Bardulf and Corin to our findings.”

  He hurried away down the hall, and turned right to his own chambers, to likely sleep ere he might speak with his friends.

  “If this is all that we discovered, I do question following your judgement again in the future Cormac,” Indulf grumbled displeased and feeling foolish to have followed after Cormac.

  The other lad turned to him equally upset and angered, but with a glance at the Blood-Gem pendant around his friend’s neck he shook his head, and proceeded to leave.

  Once the other youth had left, Indulf slammed the door closed wherefore he turned to throw himself onto the bed in a fury.

  He may not have noticed it at first, but the crimson ruby about his throat glowed in the dark of those chambers that night. When he at last did take notice he was to find it a strange comfort to him, as he delved into a deep sleep. His dreams were not quite as haunted as those of his brother or Cormac, after they had made contact with the Kingwraith. Rather, his nightmares were filled with visions of a gargantuan serpent and three lashing tails that wrapped about him. It was not long before they near squeezed the life from him.

  When he awoke, Indulf did so with relief; it was only when he passed by the highly polished bronze mirror to the left of the foot of his bed that he noticed how crimson his throat was. Upon closer inspection it looked as though there were pink to scarlet hand-marks upon his throat.

  *****

  Wearing his cloak up higher, to hide the marks about his throat Indulf was to hide his shining gem behind his tunic, keen to hide it. In this way, jewel in hand, Indulf joined Bardulf in his chambers.

  Invited there to break his fast, the youth was to enter thither room with a strange sense of apprehension. Once he entered, he noticed how many of his friends were seated with the Wolfram. Ronald, Colwyn and Cormac were all present, with Kenna’s apprentice confused by the absence of Corin.

  “Where is Corin?” He asked of those seated around the small table, each of them eating what appeared to be a small feast of boar and ostrich meat, with excess amounts of sauce, jam, tomatoes, apples and onions.

  “He was called whither to join Gallchobhair to discuss the dragonsteel sword he forged,” Ronald explained with a rueful shake of his head. “I must confess that I still find it incredible, how he and Wiglaf forged such a weapon.”

  “Cormac helped also from what I hear,” Bardulf teased ruffling Cormac’s hair, in a small gesture that the blacksmith they spoke of might well have done himself.

  Cormac did not know what to think, of this gesture.

  “But a little,” He replied humbly if with a hard look in his friend’s direction, Indulf met this stare with a hostile one of his own.

  “Modesty is a virtue, but I do think that to overemphasize it can be troublesome for a man, as arrogance.” Bardulf replied warmly, the friendship between the two a sight to behold, with the Tigrun seated near to them rolling his eyes at them.

  “But what of the labyrinth of Iaranntùr?” Ronald asked changing the subject without muttering about canines, as he might once have done or his brother might well have done.

  “I do not understand why he has enchanted, this place to be a labyrinth,” Cormac remarked unable to grasp the thinking of Gallchobhair.

  Indulf quite agreed with him, this part of the puzzle of Iaranntùr continued to confuse him. “Agreed, I cannot see why he would do such a thing either.”

  “It is because he wishes to hide something,” Bardulf stated once more as serious as he was, when they had first met him. He rose from his chair with a frown upon his lips, turning to Ronald he asked of him, “Ronald could you help to dispel it?”

  “I am not certain; I am but an apprentice and Gallchobhair an Archmagii.” The Tigrun admitted sheepishly, joining him in climbing up to his feet with an eager expression on his feline face.

  “That should be fine, we shall simply attempt on the morrow to first explore this labyrinth.” Bardulf declared his mind elsewhere; his words bewildered yet excited each one of them. They did not know what it was that he was thinking, yet could not help but feel certain that he had some sort of clever ploy in mind.

  *****

  They were right, the plan itself when it was proposed the subsequent day was one that left more than a few of them disappointed. It was not that it was foolish, just that it was far too simple a solution to their minds. Only Corin and Ronald chuckled, where the lads pouted ever so slightly in response. Both of them feeling cheated, as though the older man had betrayed their expectations in some capacity.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  “We shall leave each door we pass by open,” Bardulf proclaimed with an enthusiastic smile on his long lips.

  “Of course,” Ronald stated with an admiring gleam in his eyes.

  “I thought this was going to be a clever scheme, rather than a boring one,” Cormac grumbled beneath his breath to himself.

  “Do not be a mooncalf,” the Tigrun retorted, drawing an annoyed glance from his friend.

  For the first time in some time, Indulf felt a twinge of sympathy for his old friend, as he knew and could perfectly relate to the sense of homesickness that the other youth suffered from. Mooncalf was one of a great many insults that Kenna had bandied about, when frustrated by her absent-minded son.

  He did not say aught else for fear of contradicting the twin brother of Fergus the Pardiff, and thus upsetting him, preferring to focus his attention. The sorcerer appeared every bit to his mind as upset and frustrated as the youth of Glasvhail.

  They were to attempt this ploy, by moving along the hallway leaving doors open as they journeyed through the Tower.

  At first naught seemed to run counter to Bardulf’s scheme, until they began to inspect the inside of the rooms they came across.

  It was to the end of two hours that Corin removed a dagger to engrave a swift ‘x’ mark into a nearby door in frustration. He placed his mark near the door-handle, wherefore they continued for another few minutes down another hallway.

  When they went to continue to the next hallway they discovered one of the doors, with an ‘x’ near the handle that contrary to their actions was not open but closed.

  *****

  “The doors have been closing themselves,” Bardulf concluded a resigned look in his eyes.

  “It was a clever idea,” Cormac said attempting to cheer him up, all he received was a grimace from the Wolfram who was not at all reassured, by his words.

  “Please Cormac, I do not wish for your platitudes,” he grunted with a sigh of exasperation, looking about the hallway for some means of escape.

  Corin studied the hallway with pensive almost lazy eyes, chewing on his lower lip. It was he who turned to Ronald saying over his shoulder. “Ronald, can you possibly dispel this strange magic-spell that has been cast over us?”

  Ronald nodded; he advanced with his staff held aloft. The crystal atop it shone with a great light, one that was initially green then blue, and then it shifted to the colour white. Lightning crowded it as he spoke in a strange spidery language tongue, wherefore the light muted itself.

  Once he had finished his incantation, he was to lead them through another hallway the lot of them soon to be disappointed when they found themselves in the same hallway. Checking the ‘x’ by the doorknob, Corin was the one who confirmed reluctantly that they had indeed crossed back to where they had begun.

  “We appear to have been tricked once more,” Corin retorted angry.

  Ronald hung his head in embarrassment and regret, “Apologies friends, I had thought I could dispel this particular spell. It was a foolish assumption given that Gallchobhair has decades of experience more than I possess currently.”

  “It is aright,” Colwyn assured him with a shake of his head, irritated despite himself, “I think we have done enough for one evening.”

  They agreed with him, if half-heartedly. The group separated to go back to Corin’s chambers to re-discuss their plan.

  It was not to be the end of this particular matter, as Indulf was to discover later that same evening. The lad was to have very little to do save for listen Colwyn and Corin as they discussed the matter of how to escape from this particular trick. Ronald was lost in one of the nearby books, and Bardulf in his own dour thoughts.

  Retiring to his own bedchambers, the Wolfram was not to emerge for some time. Troubled by the lack of success they had encountered, in their desperate attempts to escape from their imprisonment in the tower.

  Returning to his own room, it happened that he was later to be startled awake by the closing of the door to his room hours later. Startled by the sudden sound, Indulf was upon his feet in an instant. Glancing down he noticed at once with a sense of relief and anger that the Blood-Gem had been stolen from him.

  Lunging forth out of the chambers, he arrived just in time to discover a shadowed figure pressing the stone against the wall by the door opposite that of Indulf’s own door.

  Thinking that this figure that was but a little taller than he himself was, he startled Cormac who was to at once be sent sprawling with him on the ground with a cry of surprise.

  “Indulf! Whatever are you up to, throwing yourself against me in that manner?” The sound of his friend’s voice alarmed him. Bewildered, to discover that the thief, who had stolen away into his room, was none other than Cormac himself, the younger lad pushed him away from on top of him with a grunt of displeasure. “What do you think you are up to?”

  Confused, the elder youth stared in astonishment at his friend, who glowered up at him with the same sort of red-eyed fury that he had earlier done to Cormac. “I had thought- that is I thought you were one of Gallchobhair’s men come to steal away the Blood-Gem.”

  “Why would he send someone to steal from you, without slitting your throat first?” Cormac asked impatiently from where he stood, still full of mistrust towards their host.

  His question embarrassed Indulf, who could not help but feel stupid.

  Swallowing his own temper, he asked of his friend, “This still does not explain why you snuck into my chambers, to claim Aganippe’s Bane?”

  “I wondered if it might not prove helpful in breaking the strange spell that has been cast, over us.” Cormac replied at once, not in the slightest discomfited by his friend’s sharply asked question.

  “Oh and asking for it could only prove to be too hard,” Indulf remarked sarcastically, at his friend who gave him a withering look in return.

  It did not need to be said, but they both knew that to have requested the Blood-Gem could only have ended in failure and a heated argument.

  Cormac pressed the stone once again upon the nearby wall was what it was that, he hoped to accomplish with this gesture. When asked he answer that, “I have a feeling that what Gallchobhair likely hopes for is to see the stone, given how greedily he looked upon it when we first met him. I suspect that his strange illusion that binds us to this hallway, will not work were we to turn to the ruby for aid.”

  It was hitherto unknown to Indulf that the old sorcerer had gazed upon his pendant in so dark a manner. It only demonstrated he mused as he eyed it, just how darkly it had twisted his or Cormac’s thoughts. He swore to himself to thenceforth maintain a closer eye upon the old man, lest he should be surprised in some manner by Gallchobhair.

  Likely it was the effect of the gemstone itself, he justified convinced that it was but the influence of the ruby, rather than the dark-nature of the man of ériu himself. The words of warning of Lyr and Bradán brushed aside by the former weaver himself.

  *****

  They were to venture thither down the hallway, up the stairs, thereupon they mounted them crossing down one hallway and turned a corner to the right as they had done countless times. To their relief they were to throw open two of the nearby doors, ere they let slip cries of joy when they discovered that they had at last broken free from the circular hallways that had kept them trapped for days.

  The place they found themselves in was a narrower hallway than the previous, with but three doors- two to the left and one to the other side. Each of the doors gave way to bedchambers ones that they saw were rather similar to those they had themselves occupied for the past several nights. Searching each room thoroughly, in the hopes of finding Wiglaf or their mysterious host they soon set once again upon the ‘road’ so to speak.

  Cormac for his part was increasingly frustrated. Of a mind that there was again some trick being played upon them.

  Indulf in turn was reminded of his adventures with Bérénice, a maiden that had grown all the more beautiful in his mind’s eye, since he had separated from her. The memory of her, and the zest with which she had recounted the ancient tales of Gallia and other peoples, left him longing for her company all the more. It also left him feeling as though the hole that had been torn open in his spirit when Inga had perished was less painful than it had previously been.

  “We are free at last!” Indulf said with such enthusiasm that he at once grew sheepish when his friend looked annoyed at how his voice had echoed down the hallway.

  “It is quite fine,” Cormac murmured with a hefty sigh, when he apologised for his mistake.

  The pathway led straight then to the left, whereupon they discovered another staircase. This crimson-silk covered carpet was gold-trimmed just as the stair-way ramps were long, polished and made of the finest sycamore wood imaginable. The griffon-headed nature of the ramps, were regal and foreboding all at once.

  Commenting upon it, Cormac remarked rather sadly, “I should have liked to see those griffon mounts of the Mountain-Elves, those that they told our friends they possessed.”

  “Mayhaps after this quest, we shall see them,” Indulf said optimistically, not wishing to admit that he should very much have liked to see them himself.

  This cheered them a great deal.

  The stairs as they soon discovered were an endless spiral, upon which they were to spend hours climbing. At first they felt they were making good progress, it was only after three hours that they despaired of ever reaching the summit of the stairs. Stairs that were made of the same sycamore-wood that the ramps were yet felt as steady and firm as concrete beneath their feet.

  Such was the craftsmanship of the ramps and stairs that the two of them had early on felt such amazement that they had hardly been able to keep from rubbing their hands along the polished ramps. The soothing feeling they derived from the wood though, was soon wrought to an end though when they realized that they still did not know as yet, what had become of Wiglaf. What was more pressing a concern to them was also the fate of Daegan.

  Both of them were soon cursing beneath their breath, and complaining quite heartily about the thoughtlessness of a certain sorcerer from ériu. The sorcerer they were later ashamed to admit they dubbed during those hours little better than a ‘wizard’ a slur they later repented for having uttered.

  “Why did he build so palatial a home for himself?” Indulf asked more of himself than of his friend, who shrugged helplessly, red-faced and panting as he leant against the nearby wall.

  “I-I-I do not know,” Cormac huffed helplessly taking a long moment to catch his breath. By this time he was wearing the Blood-Gem about his neck rather than holding it up, with the stone bouncing along beneath his face. “I can only say that, should we ever own a castle it shall be a wee one with nary any stairs!”

  Indulf thought back to the palace of Hraukrheier and could not help but to agree with him. If ever they had been a source of fascination for them, stairs no longer held any great appeal to their minds.

  Neither were they all that enchanted by the hallway they discovered once at the top of the stairs. Four doors were present, two to either side of them with the two resting for a brief time in front of the first two. When they at last pulled themselves back up to their feet, it was to discover that the two doors simply led to two more chambers.

  It was the third door that which lay to the left of the hallway that they were to be particularly impressed by; it was a library of a size they had never seen before.

  The library had four floors to it, and stretched out for nigh on a full fifty meters in diameter and length. There were of course great polished tables made of the finest oak and cedar wood one could possibly carve, just as the bookshelves were.

  *****

  Awed by this magical, magnificent vision of collected knowledge the likes of which neither of them had ever imagined could exist. Avoiding the stairs as they had become fairly well-acquainted with the physical sorrows that lay that way, they were to cross the first floor of the library.

  Intent on the books that lay open upon the table, Cormac was to rapidly read through the pages in question.

  “What does it say?” Indulf asked of him, eager to hear of what it was that their host had been reading, while they were confined several floors down.

  “I do not know, most of these books are written in Dorian and I am not so familiar with that language, as say Corin is.” Cormac replied sucking on his lower-lip as he turned a few pages over of one tome.

  As the other lad turned to the next, Indulf wandered off for a few minutes. Bored, since he could not read he was content to leave the bulk of that task to his friend. The most displeasing thing he was to discover was just how little he had to do, in the library due to his own illiteracy.

  Cormac moved from the Dorian tome, to the nearby Romalian one with a sigh of relief and a muttered remark about the nature of Doria.

  He was busy for some time searching through the shelf nearest to the table, pulling down the odd book from the shelves to study the images on the covers and on the pages. Exasperated, by his inability to read, he turned after several minutes once again to his friend.

  “Well Cormac? What does that book say?” He queried of his friend, who shrugged helplessly.

  “I do not fully know,” Cormac admitted reluctant to confess to ignorance as he turned the pages over and over again. “It appears to be some sort of tome about magic, but it also speaks of ring-making and gem-making.”

  “What of this one?” Indulf asked picking up a large black tome that had only gold glittering words upon its cover.

  Glancing briefly at it, the other youth told him at once that it was a book about ‘sword-making’. A subject that intrigued Indulf at once who was to read through it relatively swiftly finding within it, images of dragons and of their scales being peeled from them. What he also found in the pages of the tome, were countless words that gave way to images of forge-bellows and flames.

  Guessing that it was a book about sword-forging, he was to lay it back upon the table to pick up the next book. This one was one which also had a dark-cover though the contents involved images of snakes, and of dark ghastly faces.

  Of a mind that these images were incomprehensible he handed it to Cormac, who read through a few pages before he closed it with a pained expression.

  “What is it?” Indulf queried confused by his reaction, the other lad did not answer at once he only trembled with a frightened expression on his face.

  A new voice answered. It was that of Gallchobhair, his deep yet velvety voice enraptured both of them if briefly so, as he answered them. “It is a tome regarding the ‘creation’ of Colubar and Boairn, and the nature of the evil spirits oft-called upon to incarnate into bodies provided for them from human and Dwarvish corpses. The book also includes a history of and an examination of Romus, the Dark Laird who nearly brought Gallia to her knees and who died decades prior. It also includes his research into binding one’s spirit to an artefact of some mystique quality.”

  Stepping forward from the shadows, Gallchobhair stood tall in his thick green robes with a pleasant smile on his lips. It was an unpleasant grin one that had none of the great warmth that they had come to associate with Wiglaf. It was as that which the cat wore to entice the mouth, ere it might devour them.

  This was the sensation that Indulf felt permeate his being, as he for the first time since he had made the old man’s acquaintanceship, grew wary of him. “How long have you stood by there in the shadows, eavesdropping on us?”

  But Gallchobhair, showed no interest in this question, nor did he appear to feel any for the youth nearest to him. Instead he advanced up to the table in half a dozen strides, his penetrative dark gaze cutting through Cormac. “If I may Cormac, I would like to tell you the tale of the Warlock-King of Amadan. For his is a tale that few have ever heard, a tale contained within the tome of éibhear. Brónach was the younger sister of Fianna the Warrior-Queen who sought to push back Helgi from the shores of ériu.

  Fianna as you well know fell, before the Arnish conquerors, but she did not do so in open combat. But was betrayed by one of her most trusted friends, one who saw her not as a warrior, but as a woman for a strong love burnt deep within his heart for her. This love was tragically not returned.”

  As he spoke the two youths stared at the majestic elder who stood before them, his head held high as the suns in the heavens, eyes bright as two more suns.

  He went on with his tale, as his guests stared at him, transfixed by the velvet quality of his voice. “It came about that this man, known as Senán the Betrayer, professed his love for her as she prepared for war. He pleaded with her to not throw herself against the Arnish. It happened though that, she rejected his love and proclaimed her intent to avenge her fallen husband, for whom she still bore an ardent passion for.

  It was in her father and brother’s names that she prepared to throw her life away though. Out of spite for this refusal, Senán who had confessed his love for her, was to betray her to the Arns who ill-used and slew her. The shock of what he had set in motion caused him to turn next to the evil-spirits Romus had introduced him to, and to take in their essence into himself.”

  “How could he accomplish such a thing?” Cormac inquired with a horror-struck expression on his face, as shocked by the tale as Indulf himself was. “Where did these spirits of evil stem from?”

  “It is my opinion that they were the disembodied remains of demons that had been destroyed centuries ago, and that the taking in of them corrupted Senán all the further to the very roots of his being. How he did such a thing, it is my view that he had with him the locket of the Blood-Gem of Aganippe given to him by Romus. For it was known to have been able to draw hither to it, and entrap in its depths all evil that brushed near it.” Gallchobhair explained eyes aglow with the strangest of fervour that Indulf was to ever behold in all his years.

  It was as a sickness, one that had stricken the very core of Senán’s own being and that had stripped him of all other feelings. Certainly, his voice continued to imprison and seduce both lads, but the gleam of those dark eyes the casting of his long shadow frightened them.

  Both of them might well have prayed, if they could remember any prayers. Gallchobhair was warm and menacing, like a volcano-geyser that is on the cusp of eruption. There was for this reason, much to fear as Lyr had warned them countless times, upon their journey.

  “Such is the nature of love,” Said Gallchobhair to them eyes penetrative, his voice ironic and wry as though he found much humour in the telling of this tale.

  “I do not think that the true nature of love,” Cormac disagreed at once, his voice stronger than any might otherwise have expected from him at that moment, least of all the tall sorcerer. “Though it may fade as the morning fog, and may not last through the spring in every case. Aye, certainly evil has found a rich bed to plant its seed countless times in the earthy-soil that is love. But, it is only through this tendency that men may reach beyond themselves to accomplish feats even the gods’ envy. It is also through love that women are made whole and truly live. Therefore to scorn it is to scorn life and the grandness of men, through all the ages and across all the lands of men.”

  His words invigorated Indulf with a sense of confidence, one that he had not felt since they had left Marian in the cavern. His back straightened as a reed, so that when he looked once more upon the old sorcerer, it was with more conviction than he had felt in what felt to be years. His memory of Inga no longer blighted him, as it once had but rather filled him with purpose. It was for that love he reminded himself that, he had left Glasvhail, and not simple vengeance.

  Gallchobhair was not dissuaded or greatly troubled by these defiant words. Instead of expressing disapproval outright in response to them, he laughed.

  It was a deep chuckle and one that could well have escaped from a devil. It was high and mocking, low-hearted and filled with scorn. It made Indulf’s heart curl in on itself; his cheeks flushed scarlet with shame and indignation in response to it. Yet still the once great Archdruid sniggered scornfully.

  “Well-spoken,” Gallchobhair complimented though there was little sincerity or warmth, in his words and his eyes did not glimmer with the same kindness that Wiglaf’s might have had he been the one to utter such words. “You are cast in the mould in spirit, of my dear friend Wulfnoth. Because such words are ones I might well have expected, him to utter.”

  “You know Wulfnoth?” the other lad asked, so that he was at last gazed upon for the first time since the old man’s arrival in the library with them.

  He flinched despite himself, at the sight of the sneer that painted itself upon the face of the sorcerer. When Gallchobhair spoke to him, there was little of the warmth from the previous day in his voice. “Aye, I know that bumbling drunkard, the man who grew so chicken-hearted in regards to politics and the ways of courtly-men that he fled to his friend the ‘Daft-Baron of Carreyrn’.”

  This speech so astonished them that they had no words, to respond to him with. All that they knew was that this was not the man, whom Wiglaf had described to them. He was cold as a great snow-squall, icy as the most northerly of tundras and cruel as a winter-night.

  Ere long though, the former Archdruid of ériu pronounced himself fatigued, saying to them, “I am wearied and must attend to our dear friend Wiglaf. If you will permit me to retire for the night, I shall retire to my chambers as I would request you to do.”

  Neither of his two guests was to be granted permission to speak any further, than they already had. They themselves were weary; they still wished to press on with their quest to reunite with their beloved mentor and friend Wiglaf.

  Yet the choice was stolen from them. When they next blinked they found themselves not in the library, on that impossibly distant floor but within Indulf’s bedchambers.

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