Oath of the Brotherhood (17 page)

Brother Slaine brought his concerns to Riordan
on the way back from morning drills. That the stern man would seek him out at all was odd enough, but for once, Slaine actually seemed concerned.

“There’s something wrong with your nephew.”

Riordan frowned. Slaine was not given to exaggeration. “How so?”

“Brother Reamonn said he broke down weeping in the fields and since then he’s been attacking his work like a man possessed. Eoghan told me he’s grieving. Over a woman.”

Riordan’s eyebrows flew up. “A woman?”

“That’s all he’d say. He told me to ask Master Liam.”

“I see.” Uneasiness crept into Riordan’s gut. “Thank you, Brother Slaine. I’ll see what I can find out.”

Riordan had been headed to the barracks, but now he switched directions and started for Carraigmór instead. A woman. Given the recent news from the kingdoms, he could guess what this was about. He proceeded directly to Liam’s study and let himself in without knocking.

“What did you tell my son?” he demanded.

Liam turned from the bookshelves, a heavy folio in hand. “Good morning, Riordan.”

“What did you tell him?”

“About what?” Liam took his seat.

Riordan’s irritation built. “Don’t be evasive. I know the news from Dún Eavan as well as you. Conor seems to think your sister is dead. How did he hear that, I wonder?”

“I didn’t say she was dead. I merely said she was in Comdiu’s hands, and he needed to move on.”

Riordan raked his hand through his hair. “What else could he think, Liam?”

“The boy was holding onto his past. His love for Aine will keep him from devoting himself to his training.”

“You mean it will keep him from fulfilling your great plan. You haven’t been honest with me, and I’ve let it pass because I trusted you had some greater vision. But in this, I can’t stay silent. It’s cruel to let him believe someone he loves is dead.”

Liam rose and circled the desk to stand before Riordan, his gaze steely. It was the first time the Ceannaire had ever attempted to use his considerable physical presence to intimidate him. Even though Riordan stood taller by several inches, it took effort to stand firm.

“Do you not believe the greater plan warrants what you call cruelty? Do you not think a united Seare is worth a little grief? The boy will never fulfill his true destiny if he believes it is a woman.”

Riordan stared back, unflinching. “Do you believe doing harm is part of Comdiu’s plan? Is our God so ineffective He needs your deception to accomplish His work?”

Each held the other’s gaze for a long, tense moment. Finally, Liam returned to the desk. “You will not mention this to Conor.
I had hoped for the sake of our friendship you would respect my wishes. But if that is no longer enough of an incentive, you may consider it an order.”

Riordan clenched his jaw against an angry retort. Finally, he gave a terse nod and exited the study. He had spent most of his adult life at Ard Dhaimhin, and obedience to authority was as automatic as breathing. But for the first time, Riordan could not accept Liam’s judgment over his own conscience. The Ceannaire was wrong to believe Comdiu’s plan could be accomplished through deceit, even if he strayed dangerously close to revealing something Riordan was afraid to believe.

If Conor was to become the leader Liam believed him to be, he needed to enter into it clear-sighted, free from manipulation. The Ceannaire might have issued an order, but Riordan’s loyalty was to his conscience. Whatever the consequences to him personally.

Liam slumped in his chair, head in his hands. If his visions were true, their time drew ever shorter. Even now, the druid moved Tigh closer to a conquest that would consume Seare. The pressure to find and train the one who would stand against this spread of evil mounted with each passing season.

Still, he could not help feeling he had made a grave miscalculation. He had underestimated the depth of Conor’s feelings for Aine, far more profound than he would have expected from one so young. In his fumbling, he may have irreparably damaged his friendship with his most trusted adviser.

Riordan had reached the limits of his loyalty. He would act according to his conscience, even if his disobedience meant expulsion from the brotherhood or worse.

Liam was counting on it.

Conor performed his duties through a veil of grief. Outwardly, he was the perfect Fíréin novice, working without complaint and without emotion. Inside, he felt hollowed out, empty, distanced from even the movements of his own body.

Riordan was waiting for him when he returned from hauling nets with an elder brother. Conor dragged the boat onto the shore and donned the tunic and boots he had left there earlier.

“May I have a word with you?”

Conor shrugged, but he walked with Riordan away from the lake.

“I heard you went to see Liam.”

Conor stiffened. He didn’t want to discuss the matter. Even Eoghan had avoided the topic after their single lakeside conversation.

Riordan grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. “I’ve been forbidden to tell you this, Conor. Liam would have me expelled from Ard Dhaimhin.”

Conor’s heart beat faster at the words, but he said nothing, waiting.

“Aine is not dead. She didn’t drown.”

Conor lowered himself onto a boulder beneath a stand of trees. “How is that possible?”

Riordan squatted down beside him and pitched his voice low. “After you left Lisdara, Calhoun sent the girls to Dún Eavan. I’ve heard rumors about the old fortress, but I’ve never given them much thought. Something tricked Aine into going down to the lake and pushed her in.”

Conor drew in a long, shuddering breath, remembering his own encounters with the sidhe.

“Her guard pulled her out in time. They say she called
on Comdiu’s Companions to protect her. Dozens of people saw them.”

Conor didn’t dare to accept what Riordan told him. He had spent days believing Aine was dead, and now he learned it was all a mistake? Could this be a cruel joke?

“Did Master Liam know this?”

Riordan averted his eyes. His father had taken a great risk in telling him, then.

“Why would he do that? Why would he lie to me?”

Conflicting emotions flashed over Riordan’s face as he wrestled with his answer. “Liam does what he believes is right,” he said finally. “He sees far more than the rest of us. He insists you must be trained at Ard Dhaimhin, and he fears you will leave before you’re ready if you don’t sever all ties to the kingdoms. He ordered me not to tell you.”

“Then why did you?”

“Because I know what it’s like to grieve.”

Conor stared out at the lake. His piercing feeling of betrayal surprised him. If Riordan hadn’t followed his conscience, would he have lived the rest of his life at Ard Dhaimhin, plodding through a colorless existence of regret and grief, until the routine sapped him of all his emotion? Was that how the Ceannaire had become so hard-hearted?

Conor turned to his father. “Thank you for telling me. I understand what it means for you to go against Master Liam.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t know what you were going through. I should have noticed.” Riordan placed a light hand on his shoulder before he left him alone with his thoughts.

Conor scarcely noticed his departure. Aine was alive. He silently repeated the words over and over again. Ruarc had saved her. Or was it Comdiu’s Companions?

Laughter bubbled up in him and turned just as quickly to
sobs. He covered his face with his hands. It had been a test, an opportunity, and he had failed in the worst way. He had blamed Comdiu and turned his back on his beliefs at the first sign of difficulty. If he’d only had the slightest bit of faith . . .

I’m sorry
.
I failed miserably. How can You still love me when I turned away so easily? I hated You for letting her die.

The answer came with startling clarity. Comdiu had known he would fail the test long before He ever claimed him for His own. How else would Conor build his faith unless he was tested? The vision had been a lesson from Comdiu, a reminder of the narrowness of human understanding.

He rose from the boulder, and a smile broke across his face.
Thank You. Thank You for saving her. Thank You for not giving up on me.
I’m sorry I didn’t trust You.

Conor’s trust in Liam, on the other hand, had been badly misplaced. He had come to Ard Dhaimhin believing the Fíréin were a source of infallible judgment and knowledge, but they were merely human. Liam might have his own plans for him, but how did Conor know they were correct? Why should someone else be the judge of where Comdiu’s path was leading him?

Conor went about his afternoon duties at the mill without complaint, but he couldn’t hide his restlessness from Eoghan at supper. He didn’t wait for him to ask.

“Aine’s alive.”

“But Master Liam said
 
—”

“He lied. Or rather, he purposely misled me.”

Eoghan looked stricken. “Why would he do such a thing?”

“Master Liam has plans for me,” Conor said grimly. “Whatever they may be.”

“I’m sorry, Conor. If I had known . . .” Eoghan stood and took his bowl. “I’ll see you at devotions.”

Conor watched his friend go, confused. Did Eoghan take the
criticism personally? After all, Liam was as close to a father as Eoghan had ever known. How would Conor feel if he learned Labhrás or even Riordan had intentionally caused a friend such pain?

He returned his half-empty bowl to the cookhouse and started after Eoghan. Conor thought their route would take them to the amphitheater for devotions, but instead the other boy turned down an intersecting path. Conor followed at a discreet distance.

The path emptied into a secluded yard where several brothers, including Master Liam, drilled with unsharpened practice swords. The clash of metal ceased when Eoghan came into view, and voices hummed, undecipherable. Conor peered around the corner and saw Eoghan take up a sword and face two of the older brothers. Master Liam stood aside, watching.

Conor crept closer, aware he was trespassing on a private gathering, and flattened himself against the rocks.

With the sword in his hand, Eoghan transformed, seeming to grow taller and more confident. He assumed a guard stance as he waited for an attack. When it came, he sprang into motion with a speed and fluidity that made Conor’s jaw drop. The boy met each attack effortlessly, ducking in and out of range with amazing ease. Even with his unpracticed eye, Conor could see he was just toying with them, testing his skills. His opponents, on the other hand, were doing no such thing.

“He’s likely to be the best swordsman Ard Dhaimhin has ever produced.”

Conor spun toward the voice. Riordan stood casually behind him, his arms crossed, watching the action below. “Master Liam took him as his apprentice when he became Ceannaire. Eoghan was only four years old, but already he showed great promise.”

Conor wasn’t sure which stunned him more, that Eoghan
was the Ceannaire’s apprentice or that he had begun sword work at age four. No wonder he was so far ahead of his peers, drilling with oath-bound brothers instead of members of his own céad. “I didn’t know brothers took apprentices.”