Daughter of the Spear: Book Iii of the God Wars of Ithir

By J. Michael Robertson

Two years ago Kiara was a young untried Battle Maid. In those days her goals were simple: become a battle-tested warrior and wed her foster-brother, Ciaran. Then the Goddess Danu gave Ciaran the quest to find the legendary Sunspear to keep it from falling into the hands of the Shadow. Kiara follows him and is set on a path binding her to a destiny not of her choosing.

She soon learns that being a Psian capable of using the vast psionic powers of her inner mind is anything but simple. Her life and that of her beloved foster brother have changed drastically. Ciaran has become the Warrior of the Three Moons and she is the captive of the Dark Gods most powerful Ring Lord. She has to escape before he sets her Darksoul free her conscious mind, turning her into a servant of the Shadow. Her every action becomes focused on escape, but she is alone and surrounded by powerful men who plan to use her for their own dark purposes. One Ring Lord plans to Turn her to the Shadow and make her High Queen of the ireanni Celts. Another wants to use her as bait to draw Ciaran into a trap. A chance meeting with a Scythian Prince in the City of Kiriath sets him plotting to kidnap her and make her his concubine.

Unable to use her psionic powers, she is forced to negotiate the treacherous waters of intrigue using only her wit and skills as a warrior. The conspiracies of mortal men, however, are not the only threat she must confront. The Gods of Shadow become aware of her and her relationship to the Warrior of the Three Moons and send deadly Shadowelf assassins and Uruket Bloodwarriors to bring her to the Stone of Tears.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 6, 2017
• ISBN: 9781524698973

J. Michael Robertson

J. Michael Robertson is a retired U.S. Air Force officer and a part-time senior communications systems engineer with MITRE Corporation. He holds a bachelor’s degree in mathematics from The Citadel and an MBA from Farleigh Dickinson University. A member of the South Carolina Writer’s Workshop and New Hampshire Writer’s Project, he is a student of ancient military civilizations and mythology—particularly the Romans, Celts, and Anglo-Saxons. His participation in historical re-enactments of ancient Scottish battles has given him insight into the fighting techniques of the Highland Scots. This knowledge is woven into his fiction and is reflected in the meticulous detail and vivid battle scenes peppered throughout Warrior of the Three Moons, his first published novel and the sequel, Sunspear. In addition to writing fiction, he also writes poetry. The Flowers of Culloden was published in the Clan Annual of Clan Donnachaidh in Scotland. His current novel, “Daughter of the Spear,” is Book III of the Series; The God Wars of Ithir. The Author is married and the father of two adult children. He and his wife, Jo, reside in their home on South Carolina’s scenic Charleston Harbor.

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© 2017 J. Michael Robertson. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 09/05/2017

ISBN: 978-1-5246-9898-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-9896-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5246-9897-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017910606

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To Pat Robertson, who now fights a different kind of battle.

I love you, Brother.

Other Books by J. Michael Robertson

Warrior of the Three Moons

Sunspear

Credits

Cover: Savy Lim

Editor: Debbie Sigmon

Contents

Chapter 1 The Faded Land

Chapter 2 A Trivial Task

Chapter 3 Reprieve

Chapter 4 An Unexpected Offer

Chapter 5 Hurried Plans

Chapter 6 A Few Pieces Of Gold

Chapter 7 The Sea Wraith

Chapter 8 Corsair Dawn

Chapter 9 Shield Covenant

Chapter 10 To Bury An Axe

Chapter 11 Plans Within Plans

Chapter 12 Night Of The Faceless

Chapter 13 A Woman’s Place

Chapter 14 War Is Coming

Chapter 15 Hel’s Quarry

Chapter 16 The Cimmerians

Chapter 17 Are You Saer’en?

Chapter 18 A Night In Vorke’s Rift

Chapter 19 The Hunt

Chapter 20 Disguised Minds

Chapter 21 The Children Of Hel

Chapter 22 Circles Within Circles

Chapter 23 Shadows In The Mist

Chapter 24 The Blades Of Midnight

Chapter 25 The Runes Of Destiny

Glossary

Characters In Daughter Of The Spear

Translations From The Ælfíren Tongue

Translations From The Elfárhiin Tongue

Translations From The God Tongue

The Song of Warriors

Hearts of fury,

we are Blood Ravens,

Sons of the Red Warrior

who eternally pursues

Artemis Golden Bow

across the night sky.

Bearers of the black sword,

wearers of the dragon helm,

we are the blades of destiny.

Guardians of the Light,

we stand eternal watch

on the ramparts of Beth Jahuz,

Gateway to the Everdark.

Forged in battle

by the dance of blades,

we must forever struggle

against the heart of darkness

that eats at our souls

and blackens our honor

with the blood of innocents.

Some name us glory seekers.

Hah! The words of fools.

There is no glory in battle,

Only courage and valor

bought with blood, death,

and the ashes of dreams.

A bitter truth?

When the last war is fought,

and the sound of battle fades,

who then will remember

our blood and sacrifice,

or the windrows of the dead

on the bloody field of Kara Kul?

The three Norns sit beneath the

Tree of Life carving men’s fate

on staves of wood. Only in death

does our duty end. Thus we are

fated to fall to Crowmother’s bow

for only the dead know an end to war.

A Chronology of Ithir after the Arrival of the Khem Rá and Khem Úru

A Note on the dates used in the Chronology. The term, Before the Fall (BF), is used to denote the passage of years, in descending order, from the arrival of the Khem Rá on Ithir to the defeat and banishment of the Khem Úru, the Dark Gods to the Everdark, the Land of Eternal Shadow. The term, After the Fall (AF) is used to denote the passage of years, in ascending order, from the defeat of the Dark God to the present.

Map%201%20Eastern%20Ethir.jpg

Map 1 – Eastern Ithir

Map%202%20The%20Sea%20of%20Chinnereth.jpg

Map 2 - The Sea of Chinnereth

Map%203%20Anor%20Fal%20Wold.jpg

Map 3 – Anór Fal Wold

Danúvitár Speaks

B orn at the beginning of time, I am Danúvitár, First Born of Isis, the Mother of All. It was then that Uá, Allfather, in his joy at the births of me and my brothers and sisters of the Light and the Shadow, set the Amhrán Mor, the Great Song in motion and created the Universe. For eons, nurtured and taught by Isis we grew in power and knowledge. It was in the peace and harmony of Aaru that I grew to be the most powerful of the Khem Rá and Ba’al Ma’az, my Dark brother and near equal, became the most powerful of the Khem Úru.

In the fullness of time, the Amhrán Mor’s symphony came to its climatic and surprising end: the creation of new life. Allfather, sensing the miracle the Amhrán Mor had made with its dying harmony, longed to know the beauty of the forms of those final chords. Naming them the Children of the Song, He searched the infinity of the universe, but knew them not.

Our Mother saddened by Allfather’s unrequited longing, summoned Ba’al Ma’az, and me to appear before Her. There in the Vale of Stars, She gave unto us the quest of finding the pristine life created by the weaving of Amhrán Mor’s final harmony.

The Khem Rá were filled with great joy, for searching the universe for the Children of the Song would bring liberation. Like all children, we had grown restive beneath the nurturing love of those who had given us life. In truth, we were innocents and were unprepared for the betrayal that would darken the Fields of Light for a thousand millennia with war and sorrow. It was with sadness and dismay that we learned that the Khem Úru cared nothing for Allfather’s longing to know the beauty of the life created in the Amhrán Mor’s ending. For the Khem Úru coveted the Children of Song and, led by Ba’al Ma’az, plotted to use the Life Quest for their own ends, saying, We shall go forth and make the Song Children our own, and they shall exalt the Shadow over the Light.

Looking into the Khem Úru’ souls, Isis saw the treachery they planned. She summoned her children to her, and before the gathered multitudes of Khem Rá and Khem Úru, consecrated me as the Khatri-ab Ankh, The Seeker of Life.

And there arose from the Khem Úru and Ba’al Ma’az a great lament, saying that our Mother was unworthy of their devotion, for she favored the Light over the Shadow.

When the tumult of their ranting had quieted, our Mother spoke and her voice was as a great storm. Take not the Khem Úru with you. For I have looked into their souls. Only Darkness dwells within them and they would make the Children of the Song slaves of the Shadow.

Thus were Ba’al Ma’az and the Khem Úru denied a place in the Life Search, and the seeds of catastrophe sown. Ever prideful and filled with dark anger, Ba’al Ma’az was wroth with our Mother for denying the Lords of Shadow a place in the search for the Children of the Song. And it came to pass that the Khem Úru marched to do battle with the Khem Rá, whom they blamed for their fall from grace. Thus was war, bitter and terrible, visited upon the Fields of Light, a war in which we battled Ba’al and the Khem Úru in a struggle for power known as the Ascendant War. For a thousand millennia the forces of Light and Shadow battled, and long were the rolls of the dead before the Khem Rá, prevailed in the great battle we named the Sundering.

Victorious, we drove the Khem Úru into Uá’s presence, who with sadness, but great anger said unto them, Thou hast reviled thy Mother and made terrible war upon thy Brothers and Sisters of the Light. For this, thou art banished from Aaru for all of eternity. Be gone from My sight.

Then did Ba’al Ma’az abase himself before Uá and beg forgiveness, giving oath to never again war against the Light. Uá was unmoved, but our Mother, in Her sorrow at never again to see her Dark Children, interceded on their behalf. And Uá, who felt the depth of Isis grief, rescinded His banishment. Isis overcome with joy gave a place in the Life Quest to Ba’al and the Khem Úru.

Enraged by this betrayal, I went into my Mother’s presence and in bitterness and dark fury said, The spirits of Khem Rá dead cry out for justice, yet my Father forgives their slayers and my Mother honors them with a place on the Life Quest.

And Isis said unto me, Quench the fires of hatred in thy heart, Daughter. The Khem Úru have paid in lives for their perfidy. Your brother, Ba’al Ma’az has given oath to Allfather that the Khem Úru will never again make war against their Brothers and Sisters of the Light. Be at ease, for I have decreed that they shall go on the Life Quest not as equals, but as servants of the Khem Rá. I have further decreed that their number will be six and the Khem Rá will number twelve. Hearing this, I was satisfied, for even after a thousand millennia of war, I was naive and trusted Ba’al Ma’az to hold true to his oath.

Thus it came to pass that, amid renewed joy and hope, the Life Quest departed Aaru on the living, moon-sized arc, Tchéfá-ab, The Provider. A gift from Allfather, Provider was both home and companion throughout the long search for the Children of the Song. And in all of those millions of years, The Khem Úru served the Khem Rá and there was peace between the Light and the Shadow.

The passage of time was of no consequence to us for we are immortal creatures of pure energy and immense power. Yet it was with joy and relief when we came at last to the Song Children’s world. For a thousand years we studied the Children to determine how best to reveal ourselves in order to guide and nurture them. In our arrogance, we thought only to avoid overwhelming their puerile minds. We learned that they had a need to believe that there were beings greater than themselves who oversaw their lives, and had created a pantheon of Gods. We did not want to become their Gods. But alas, when we revealed ourselves to them and they saw our great power they bowed down before us.

The Khem Rá sought to discourage the Children’s deification. Ba’al Ma’az and the Khem Úru saw it as an opportunity to set the Song Children’s feet on the path of darkness. Seeing this, I had no choice but to decree that the Khem Rá become Gods. Thus did we become the Gods of Ithir, bringing with us the war we had waged since the singing of the Great Song, for Ba’al Ma’az soon broke the vow he had given Uá in The Fields of Light.

The Song Children say the Gods are changeless, but they are wrong. Since coming to their world, we have been called by many names: Arianrhod, Artemis, Athena, Apollo, Hera, Epona, Ishtar, Osiris, Morrigan, Mars, Wodan—the roll is long. Each name we bore was shaped by those who named us, gave us form, and assigned us omnipotence. When we walked among the children, we manifested ourselves in their likeness for, in our ignorance, we thought by doing so we could better nurture and guide those given into our care by Allfather. We gave them a common tongue and endowed them with the ability to use the vast untapped power of their inner minds, the Psi.

Millennia passed and, like sweet elixir, we came to enjoy the taste of their worship and to believe they would always need their gods. Too late we realized that the trap that had ensnared us was of our own making. We were the nurturers, the teachers, the protectors, yet we had become dependent upon them. Without the Children we would become nameless, formless and without purpose. For it is within their minds that we are endowed with face and substance, and—a reason to be.

To me, the turning of the wheel of years goes by in moments. It seems as yesterday that my bright-haired, laughing children sat at my feet in the Valley of the Gods. That was a joyous time when we freely walked among them, imparting our knowledge, and treasuring their wide-eyed innocence. But that was in the morning of the world, before Ba’al Ma’az, and the Khem Úru revealed their intent to suborn the Children to the Shadow. In their wisdom, the Children spurned Ba’al Ma’az, naming him the Dark God. In vengeance, the Khem Úru scourged the land with conflict and pestilence that the Children aptly named The War of the Gods. For two hundred years we fought the Khem Úru before we were able to drive them through the Black Gate into the Everdark, the Otherworld of Eternal Shadow. Yet even with our great power, we were unable to fully deny them the ability to touch the Living World and free it of their taint. Thus they still wreak calamity upon the Song Children.

It has been a thousand years since the shadows of the Khem Úru last fell upon the world. As I reckon time, it was but a moment ago, but already the tide of darkness again rises against the bastions of Light. The one who will lead my children, a boy-child whom I marked with the three moons to name him mine, nears the end of childhood. In the eternal struggle between Light and Shadow, time is fleeting, even for a god, and I am forced to do what I have never done before—spin a Chosen, fully grown, into the Living World to complete the Moon Warrior’s forging. I sense the power in him. He will be a warrior for the ages and many streams of destiny shall flow from the weaving of his life-thread into the five-fold pattern.

Prologue

"The Ancient God of Shadow

did rise with purpose fell.

A host, mighty in craft and power,

His Ring Lords commanded in that hour—

scourge of the Light."

— Llamrei by J. Michael Robertson

Captive of the Shadow

K iara’s mind wandered into a vague consciousness as she emerged from the dark, dreamless abyss of the healing sleep. Strange smells filtered into her senses followed by sounds: a soft musical chiming that did not stop, and a deep muted rushing, like strong wind through trees. She tried to open her eyes, but her eyelids felt as though they were weighted with lead. She gave up. It was much easier to lie comfortably in the great soft feather bed. Snuggling into its softness, she let sleep settle over her.

She frowned. A feeling of wrongness crept into her cocoon of well-being. Memories flickered at the edge of her mind like the coals of a fire stirred into life. Tents! There are no featherbeds in tents. The smells and sounds were wrong for the steppe. I am dreaming. She forced herself awake, and the coals of memory burst into flame.

She and Rillsong had finally caught up with Ciarán at a place called Shalott. Before they could join him, they had been attacked by Ahati and Harii led by two Shau Asar. Rillsong had escaped through a mind-gate. She was comforted by that knowledge. The last thing she remembered was two Ahati bearing down on her, and pain before darkness had swallowed her.

Gods! This is no dream. The Shadow has me! That knowledge made her want to howl her terror. Fear is the mind breaker. She swallowed, quelling the black fear threatening to send her into a mindless panic. Now fully awake, she lay unmoving, using her ears to try and determine if she was alone. It took only a moment to learn that she was not.

Go inform Lord Úlmaríath that his guest is awake, Resahn, a woman’s rich, dulcet voice said.

Yes, Lady Abisha, a deeper feminine voice replied. A shadow detached itself from the wall and glided to the door.

Open the curtains, Vaal. I am weary of sitting in the dark, and sunlight will be good for our guest. Another shadow moved lithely to the tall window, and a moment later the room was flooded with light. There was a pause and then she said, You can give up your pretense of sleep, Kiara. We must talk before I seek my blankets. And, she added, eating is less difficult when one’s eyes are open. You are hungry, yes?"

Kiara eyes opened involuntarily when the woman spoke her Heartname. Had she somehow been freed from her captors? That hope died when she saw the tall, black-armored warrior by the window. There was no mistaking her identity, not with that white-gold hair and those golden eyes showing above her black veil. A second woman sat in a large chair, her bare feet tucked beneath her.

She tried to open a vortex to her Psi, but a shimmering haze blocked her from the barrier-of-between. She waged another battle with fear. What terrified her was the thought that the Dark God would take her soul. Without a soul, she could not be reborn.

I do not fear death, Asar. A slight quaver in her voice belied her words. She took a deep breath to steady her traitorous voice. I had thought to hear Dark Mother call my Soulname when the Ahati forced me to turn and fight. She fell silent and gazed at the woman, waiting for her to speak. She was unlike anyone she had ever seen before. Blue eyes framed by ebon hair stared back at her from a face the color of dark honey. Her white, sleeveless smock made her skin appear even darker.

The woman smiled. You are much too young to speak of dying, Child. Look around you. Does this look like a dungeon? If Lord Úlmaríath intended to harm you do you think he would house you in a room such as this? She made a sweeping gesture with her hand. No harm will come to you here, Kiara. You are Lord Úlmaríath’s guest.

Kiara glanced around the chamber. It made the Chieftain’s apartments at Sky Stone look like a peasant’s hovel. An azure sky showed through tall, arched windows, but she could not see what lay below. In the distance she could see the blue humps of snow-capped mountains. An oval table of polished wood and several high-backed chairs sat next to the windows. There was a large fireplace at one end with a mantle and hearth of carved marble. The floor was tiled with dark green stone and covered with thick, rich hued carpets. Pale yellow walls were hung with scenic tapestries. The bed coverings were a soft green and felt soft and smooth against her skin. Silk, she thought.

Her eyes locked on the Ahati. The room was beautiful, but it was still a prison. Guest indeed! She schooled her face to a calmness she did not feel and gave the woman a haughty smile. Who is Lord Úlmaríath?

The woman gave her a thoughtful look. That is a question with many answers, Kiara, most of which would be meaningless to you. All you need to know is that he is a Ring Lord and your protector.

Then I would like to pay my respects to Lord Úlmaríath for his kindness and begin my journey to my homeland, Kiara said calmly, even as her heart plummeted to the soles of her feet. The Celtae knew the Ring Lords by another name—Skull Priest. Cloaked in myth and mystery, they were the most powerful and evil of all of the Dark God’s servants. Winning another bout with fear, she made her voice light and carefree. Perhaps you could arrange an audience with Lord Úlmaríath for me, Asar. Her stomach chose that moment to growl loudly, destroying her façade of nonchalant hauteur.

The honey-skinned woman’s musical laugh filled the room. It will be some time before you are well enough to travel. Your healing was not an easy one. The Ahati, she gave the silent Vaal a tight-eyed look, were none to gentle capturing you.

I am strong enough, Asar, Kiara lied. It was laughable to think the Darksouled would just let her leave, but she was stubbornly determined to play this sham to its conclusion.

Nonsense! The woman made no attempt to hide the amusement in her voice. I doubt you could take two steps without ending up on your nose. She turned to the Ahati. Vaal, send to the kitchens for a hot meal. I am sure Kiara is quite hungry.

Yes, Lady Abisha, the big warrior rumbled, striding from the room with a panther-like grace that made Kiara stare.

When the door had closed behind Vaal, she smiled. The Ahati are not as fierce as they would have us believe, Kiara.

Kiara gave her an incredulous look. Of all of the Darkspawn, only the Trollien were more feared and hated by the Celtae. She started to deride the woman’s foolish words, but changed her mind, saying instead, They are fierce enough, Asar. I have the bruises to prove it.

Kiara frowned. Erinian had said much the same thing about the Trollien. The Cathú had both fought Trolls and been their prisoner. The frown deepened. There was much Caer Siddi and Holy Rood taught as truths that were not borne out by her experiences in the Forbidden Lands.

I have found things are often different from what I was taught as a child. The woman said, as though reading her mind. But many things, like manners, are the same. I have forgotten mine it seems. I am Abishariin, and though a Psi’an, I am not a Shau Asar. She rose from her chair and went to the table. Will you join me?

Kiara sat up. Where am I? Before her feet touched the floor, the door swung open and Vaal strode in. Two men in blue tunics and gray trousers carrying covered platters followed the Ahati. The figure of a white dragon was embroidered over their right breasts. Were they bondservants or slaves? The air felt cool and she looked down. She was wearing nothing but her skin. She yelped and dove back under the covers. Celts were not modest when it came to their bodies. She thought nothing of sharing the communal baths with Donnachaidh warriors in the Stone. These men were strangers though, and that was completely different.

You are in Ramoth, Lord Úlmaríath’s palace in the land of Scythia, Abisha said, shooing the servants and Vaal out of the room. You can come out now. We are alone.

Abishariin’s assurances and the smell of roasted meat and fresh hot bread drew Kiara from beneath the blankets. She sat with the bed coverings gathered beneath her chin. Where are my clothes? I cannot eat air clad, Ab…Abis… she could not remember the woman’s name.

Abishariin, the dark woman finished for her. But you may call me Abisha. She got up and went to a large cabinet finely crafted in a pale wood with a hunting scene painted on its doors. Let us see what is in the armoria. After studying its contents for a few moments, she pulled out a pale green silk chiton. It would not do for anyone, and especially Úlmaríath, to see you unclothed. Not with your well-muscled young body, skin the color of new milk, firm high-set breasts, narrow waist, and flaring hips, not to mention a face to make a goddess envious. No, it would not do at all. She smiled. This will do until we can have clothes made for you.

Kiara blushed at the frank appraisal of her womanly attributes. In a matter of minutes, a platter filled with generous helpings of roasted chicken, potatoes, beans, slices of fresh baked bread, along with two mugs of fresh milk disappeared into her slender frame. Unable to eat another bite, Kiara pushed the platter away, and delicately wiped her mouth with the cloth covering one of the trays. I feel human again. She looked down at her stomach. But I still feel hollow, as though everything has been scooped out of me.

Abishariin poured herself a cup of wine. That is normal. Your body used a great amount of energy in the healing. She clucked her tongue. You are pale as an ancestor spirit. We need to get you back into bed and then we must talk. There are some conditions you must agree to.

Kiara smiled, one without warmth that did not touch her eyes. I cannot regain my strength by lying around on my backside, Abisha. I feel much better already, and I prefer to be sitting when you tell me what I must agree to.

Abishariin nodded, admiring the girl’s spirit. What I require will make your life here easier, Kiara. I must have your oath that you will not use your Psi to try and escape from Ramoth. I will convey it to Lord Úlmaríath.

I cannot give such an oath, Kiara said in a low voice, looking out of the window as despair welled up within her. They were high above a large body of blue water. A sea she thought. Far below, a myriad of large white birds wheeled and dove into the water. She cast a longing look at the distant mountains.

Abishariin sighed. She had not expected to get the girl’s agreement without resorting to coercion. Before you make your decision final let me explain the consequences. If you do not give Lord Úlmaríath your oath, he will collar you with a mau taar to hold you here.

Mau taar? she said, shivering in spite of the room’s warmth. The words sounded evil.

It is a mind-collar, a vile thing given to the Ring Lords by the Dark God long ago. It controls the mind and makes the wearer a slave to another’s will. She paused, letting the words strike home. In truth, those who are collared with the mau taar are less than slaves. Slaves at least own their thoughts. With the mind-collar, whoever controls it knows your most intimate thoughts the instant you think them. It is not a pleasant experience. I wore one for three years before Lord Úlmaríath freed me.

Kiara swallowed. The thought of someone controlling her mind, knowing her every thought terrified her in a way the threat of physical torture never could. Her shoulders sagged. She looked out of the window again, fighting back her tears. She could do nothing to prevent them from placing the foul thing around her neck if they chose to do so. I will give Lord Úlmaríath my oath not to use my Psi to try and escape, she said in a faint voice. It was not so difficult to agree to the oath since she did not know how to create a mind-gate.

The door opened and Vaal stuck her head into the room. Lord Úlmaríath approaches, Lady Abisha.

Thank you, Vaal. Abishariin arched a brow at Kiara. It seems you will be able to give your oath to our Lord in person.

The words were hardly past Abisha’s lips when the Ring Lord swept into the room. He was dressed in a dark blue tunic with the White Dragon of Ramoth embroidered on the right breast and gray trousers tucked into soft black leather boots reaching to mid-calf. A golden pentagram hung from a heavy gold chain around his neck. Even simply dressed he radiated a commanding presence.

His powerful Aura made Kiara’s heart lurch with fear and threatened to sour the food in her belly. The nightmare of her childhood come true, her imagination filled her mind with the terrible things a Skull Priest could do to her. Would he take her soul and Turn her to the Dark God’s service? Would he give her to the Ahati for their sport? Forgotten were Abishariin’s assurances that no harm would come to her here.

She started to rise, but her legs had turned to water and refused to support her. She could only sit dumbly like a mouse caught between the paws of a cat, waiting for her fate to unfold. He made no effort to cloak his Psi, filling the room with his presence as the sun filled the day with light.

Our guest has only just awakened, Lord, Abisha said, blushing when she realized she was stating the obvious. She has agreed to give you her oath.

So, you have intelligence to go with your beauty, Úlmaríath said, taking in the two women sitting at the table with a hawk-like gaze from his dark enigmatic eyes. It pleases me that I will not have to fetter you with a mau taar.

Kiara nodded dumbly, unable to speak, staring at him as though he had horns and a forked tongue.

He bowed to hide a grin and said, I bid you welcome Kiara ni Aeronwen, Royal Woman of the Éireanni, he said in perfect Gael, the ancient tongue of the Celtae. It is not often we have such a distinguished guest. It is my hope that your stay here will be pleasant.

Kiara blinked at his unexpected use of the Gaelic tongue. She started to demand to be allowed to leave when it dawned on her that he had greeted her as a Royal Woman. If he knows that, what else does he know? Caution fell over her. Unthinking words and meaningless defiance will gain me nothing. If he collared her with the mau taar, any hope of escape would truly perish. Better to be a dove in a cage of gold than a fettered hawk in a cage of stone—for now. Unconsciously she touched her neck. Her torc was gone.

You know I am a Royal Woman. Very well, I will be a Royal Woman. Drawing herself up, she gave him a cool look. I thank you for your hospitality, Lord Úlmaríath. She made a vague waving motion with her hand. I find these chambers quite acceptable.

He was giving her a look that said he doubted there was anything in all of Éirinn that matched Ramoth’s splendor. I am pleased you find them to your liking, Princess, he said dryly. There are, however, a few rules I must insist on while you are my guest. For your safety of course, he added quickly.

Kiara made another airy wave of her hand and gave him a breathy sigh. My safety indeed! Very well, Lord Úlmaríath, if you must have it, I will give you my oath, she said in what she hoped was a bored, unconcerned voice. By the holy light of Llew, I give oath that I will not use the power of my Psi to leave Ramoth. She gave him a wintry smile. Is that sufficient, Lord? she asked, wondering what she would do if he said no. She had not given oath that she would not try and escape, only that she would not use her Psi to do so; something he could prevent by simply keeping her blocked from her Psi or collaring her with a mau taar.

Your oath is most acceptable, Princess, Úlmaríath said. He gave her his most engaging smile. Now, I have a surprise for you. May I present Rhys ap Cythryn of Clan Uí Bhriun.

Kiara stared as a redheaded man stepped out from behind Úlmaríath. So overwhelming was the Ring Lord’s presence that she had not noticed him. A shock, since Rhys was not a man anyone could overlook. He was a giant, even by Celtae standards. She thought he might even be larger than Gruffydd. Like Úlmaríath, he wore a blue tunic with a white dragon embroidered on the right breast and gray trousers tucked into soft black-leather boots. Her eyes widened slightly at the silver dragon arm rings encircling his massive biceps. Rhys was not just a simple warrior; he was a Treoraí, a captain of one hundred warriors. Calm gray eyes stared back at her from a ruggedly handsome face.

What is a Treoraí of the Brythani Royal Clan doing in Ramoth? She dismissed the thought. Foolish nit. It does not matter how he came to be here. He is in the service of Úlmaríath Sul. She gave him a slight nod. I give you greeting, Rhys ap Cythryn. May Llew favor your sword, she added, noticing the haft of a sword peeking over his left shoulder.

Rhys bowed, raising his right hand to his forehead in the sign of respect. I see you Kiara ni Aeronwen, Royal Woman of the Éireanni, he said in a deep voice. I have a petition for your consideration.

Speak your petition, Rhys of the Ui Bhriun, Kiara replied in the time honored response, arching a brow. What game do you play, Brythani? You speak the words of a warrior petitioning his Clan Chief. Only a fool would think I have any power here. I doubt you are a fool.

The giant warrior paused and seemed to reach within himself. I request to be taken into your service. To serve you until Crowmother cries my Soulname.

Kiara darted a surprised glance at Úlmaríath, but the Ring Lord’s face was as unreadable as stone. You would place your hands between mine and give me Sword oath? she asked in disbelief.

Yes, Princess, he rumbled, his eyes holding hers in an unflinching gaze.

Her sea-green eyes went cold, like a tidal pool in winter. In a hard voice she asked, What of the oaths you have given Lord Úlmaríath? Has he released you from them? Oaths were magic to the Celtae, and a broken one followed the oath-breaker like a curse. I will have no oath-breaker in my service.

I am not oath-sworn to Lord Úlmaríath, Rhys said in his deep voice at the same moment Úlmaríath declared, Rhys is not oath-bound to me.

Caution crept over Kiara. If Rhys is not held here by an oath then why is he here? Is he a Darksouled? Those were only two of the many questions she wanted to ask. She started to say she had no need for the services of a renegade Brythani, but the words died on her tongue. He does not expect me to accept his petition. Perhaps like me, he has no choice in being here. She made her decision and rose to her feet, acting on it swiftly, as she had seen Caitríona do. Kneel to me, Rhys ap Cythryn.

Rhys drew his sword and dropped to his knees before her. He grounded the sword’s point before him and then wrapped his huge hands around its hilt.

Kiara stepped forward, placing her hands over his and asked, Rhys ap Cythryn, do you come to me free of all oaths?

My sword and my oath of fealty are mine alone, he replied.

Kiara peered into the gray eyes gazing at her, trying to see into the man and fathom why he was pledging himself to her. Rhys ap Cythryn, do you give yourself into my service freely and without duress? She glanced at Úlmaríath again as she emphasized the word duress. He was watching her, his dark eyes hooded and unreadable. What is your real purpose in this, Ring Lord? Do you think me so naive as to not know that it will be easier for Rhys to be your watchdog if he is sword sworn to me?

I am a free person, he said quietly. I give myself into your service without restraint.

Something in Rhys’s voice made Kiara look more closely into his eyes. Watch the eyes Caitríona had once told her. The eyes are the windows to the soul, but there was nothing in Rhys’s eyes she could read. I will take your oath, Rhys. He seemed to turn in on himself for a moment. Had his hands trembled between hers or had it just been her imagination? But when he began the oath of swords, his voice was steady and clear.

Kiara ni Aeronwen, Royal Woman of the Éireanni, between your hands I place my sword. Let it be your defender. Into your service I place my living body. Let it be your shield. Into your hands I place my life. My blood before your blood—given. My life before your life—given. On the Veil of the Mother I pledge my heart. On my hope of rebirth I pledge my soul.

Kiara nodded. The Sword Oath was the most powerful oath a warrior could give. Even a renegade Celt would hesitate to break it. She took his sword and touched him lightly with its razor sharp blade on his head and each shoulder. Rhys ap Cythryn, in truth, in duty, and in honor, I accept your Sword on behalf of Eóin, Chieftain of the Donnachaidh. From this day forth, I shall give you such protection as I may offer in his name. Rhys’ brows rose. For the first time he seemed a little nonplussed.

Donnachaidh, Princess? Rhys said in a quizzical tone. They are a Scotti Clan. I thought Lord Úlmaríath said…

Lord Úlmaríath spoke true. Kiara said over his stammering. I am a Royal Woman of the Éireanni, but I have not seen Éire since my fifth name day. I have given Spear Oath to the Donnachaidh Chieftain. I am no Royal Woman, Rhys, only a simple Ainnir. If she thought her words would upset Úlmaríath, she was mistaken. He just looked at her. The smile playing at the corners of his mouth made hers tighten. I would know why you allow me to steal away one of your warriors, Lord? she asked.

You do not steal him, Kiara, Úlmaríath said with more than a little admiration. Rhys is a free man. He serves me because serving me is better than being an oar-slave chained to the rowing deck of a Róimhán merchant ship. I have his gratitude, but I do not own his heart.

You say so? Kiara said mildly. She had expected Úlmaríath to give her some ridiculous tale about why Rhys served him. What he said about freeing him from slavery, however, made perfect sense. That would be a strong hold on anyone’s loyalty. Sudden weakness turned her legs to grass. The hollowed out feeling was back. She had to sit or fall.

Abishariin went to her. Princess or warrior, it is time you were back in bed. She gave Úlmaríath a look that allowed no argument. Healing was her domain and she was mistress here. Come, she looped her arms around Kiara and helped her to her feet. You must rest. It will be a few more days before you fully recover your strength.

Kiara let Abishariin help her, but not before giving Úlmaríath one last look of defiance. She was sweating by the time they had crossed the short distance between the table and the bed. Closing her eyes, she sank back into the feather bed. She needed to think, but her mind did not want to work. She heard the soft buzz of voices as she drifted into the land of dreams. Her last thoughts before sleep took her were of Abishariin. She had not missed the look Abishariin had given Úlmaríath. She had seen its twin on Erinian’s face every time the Cathú looked at Gruffydd. Light! She loves him. How can anyone love such evil? But then he is not what I expected either.

When she had Kiara tucked into bed, Abisha placed her hands on her head and sent a warm flow of energy into her. Another day of healing sleep will not hurt. she murmured and then turned on the two men. Well, did you not hear me say she needed rest? She made a shooing motion to get them moving. She will be hungry when she wakes, Rhys. Make sure she eats as soon as she does.

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Úlmaríath studied his Royal Woman with a look of admiration. Her life as she knew it had collapsed around her, leaving her alone in a stronghold of the Shadow. Yet she had calmly given him a meaningless oath, and took a warrior into her service that she thought belonged to him. Rhys had spoken true about still owning his oath though. You will make a great High Queen. All I have to do is put you on the Éireanni throne. He chuckled. Gods! Is that all?

He pushed her from his mind. There were other matters that required his attention; not the least of which was his audience three days hence with Anacharsis, King of the Scythian Shulchae tribe and his titular overlord. There were also dispatches from Marius Aruelius, the most powerful Senator in Róimh, and a Covenmaster. It was no secret that the Róimháns were casting hungry eyes on the Celtae lands bordering the Rhaetian Mountains again. Emperor Domitian had concluded his campaign against the Germanii, and it was only a matter of time before he loosed his Legions on the Celts. War between the Celts and Róimháns would be most welcome since it would divert Domitian’s aggressive tendencies from Kiriath. He grimaced. There was too much happening in the world too quickly. He was going to have to convoke the Kamen Kha-t again.

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The smell of roasted meat woke Kiara from a dreamless sleep. The hollowed out feeling was back. She glanced at the table by the windows. A covered tray and a pitcher sat on it, and her stomach rumbled in anticipation. She threw back the coverlet and got out of bed. The room spun dizzily, making her lean against the bed. A strong arm wrapped around her shoulders, steadying her and making her jump.

My apologies, Princess, a deep voice rumbled. I did not mean to startle you.

You did not startle me, Rhys, she said disdainfully.

You say so? he said, settling her in one of the table’s high-backed chairs.

Was there amusement in his voice? If there was, he would quickly learn the error of mocking her. Why are you in my sleeping chambers? she growled.

I thought you might prefer me to the Ahati. His voice was calm and neutral. It seems Lord Úlmaríath thinks you might try to do yourself harm. He commanded that an Ahati and a Shau Asar be in your chamber at all times until he was sure that you were…ah…sound of mind.

Oh aye, and Lord Úlmaríath thinks I will stab my foot with my spear? She sniffed. Sound of mind indeed! I am not a fool, Rhys.

No, Princess, he murmured. I did not think you were.

And stop calling me Princess, she snapped. I am Ainnir, not some—some pampered bit of fluff.

Yes, Princ… Rhys started and then stopped, clearly at a loss as to what title to give her. Are you commanding me to call you Ainnir?

Yes, I am a blooded Ainnir not a Princess, she said touching her throat where her torc would normally be.

So be it. He nodded. I will address you as Ainnir, though you hardly look old enough to be in a woman’s braids much less wear the torc. He frowned. "If you are blooded, where is your torc?

Ask Lord Úlmaríath, she snapped. He took my torc along with my short-spear, targe, and armor.

Rhys’ frown deepened. The arms I can understand, but why the torc?

She sniffed. Is it not obvious? He names me a Royal Woman. My torc marks me as a warrior, a daughter of the spear. Royal Women are not warriors. She drew herself up. Mark me Rhys, I will not be his pampered bit of royal fluff. We understand each other, yes?

Aye, Prin…ah, I mean Kiara, Rhys said and then tapped the silver dragon arm rings encircling his left biceps. So be it. You are Ainnir. I am Treoraí. Eat your breakfast, Ainnir before it grows cold, he commanded in a brisk, authoritative voice.

Irritated by his authoritative tone of voice, Kiara glared at him. Her stomach, however, chose that moment to growl loudly destroying the glare’s effect. The rebuke on her tongue was driven off by insatiable hunger and the overwhelming need to fill her mouth with food instead of words. Rhys forgotten for the moment, she attacked the food with the manners of a winter-starved wolf.

Rhys watched her eat for a few moments and then walked to the window and pulled back the richly colored curtains.

How long did I sleep? she asked around a mouthful of potatoes.

A soft knock