CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
There were three other Masters of Arms awaiting them in the Great Hall. They sat in three of the four thronelike chairs atop a raised stone dais. Fagan left Brighid to take his place in the chair with the likeness of a claymore carved into its tall, regal back. Cuchulainn and Ciara joined her then Fagan began the introductions.
“Let me present our Masters of Arms.” He gestured first to a thin, sharp-featured middle-aged woman who sat in a chair decorated with plunging horses. “Glenna is our Horsemaster.” The woman nodded, her intelligent eyes curious and sharp on Ciara.
“Bain is our newly appointed Master of Combat,” Fagan said. Powerfully built, Bain was clearly the youngest of the four. His thick black hair was untouched by any hint of gray.
“And Ailis is our Master Archer.” The woman nodded briefly in acknowledgment of Fagan’s introduction. She was of indeterminate age-her skin was weathered, but her body was firm and muscular. Her blond hair had been cropped short, accentuating the strong line of her jaw and her high cheekbones. All of the Masters were dressed in black like the warriors, only the air of command that clung to them differed.
Cuchulainn stepped forward, and bowed formally.
“It is good to see you again, Cuchulainn MacCallan.” The Horsemaster’s voice was pleasingly feminine and filled with warmth. Brighid found herself studying Glenna more carefully, and wondering just how well she had gotten to know Cu while he’d studied at the castle.
“Well met, Master Glenna,” Cu said smoothly, then he bowed to each of the other two Masters in turn. Though the Masters were carefully polite, it was obvious everyone’s attention was focused on the winged woman who stood silently at Cu’s side.
“I am pleased to introduce MacCallan’s Huntress, Brighid Dhianna,” Cuchulainn said.
Brighid bowed formally to each Master.
“And I would also like to present to you Ciara, Shaman of the New Fomorians and granddaughter of the Incarnate Muse Terpsichore.”
Ciara stepped forward and sank gracefully into a deep, formal curtsy. “I am honored to meet each of you, and I thank you for offering sanctuary to my people.”
“Are you leader as well as Shaman of your people?” Glenna asked.
Ciara raised herself and turned her brilliant smile to the Horsemaster. “No, Master Glenna. The leader of our people is Lochlan, who is now mated to Elphame, the MacCallan Chieftain. I only stand temporarily in his position, and will be pleased to abdicate it to him when we join him at our new home.”
“Where are the rest of the adult Fomorians?” Bain’s voice, though flat and carefully emotionless, made the question sound like an accusation.
Ciara’s smile did not falter, and she returned the young Master’s gaze steadily. “The Fomorian race no longer exists, Master Bain. The last of them perished more than one hundred years ago. My people call themselves New Fomorians because we have broken from the ways of our demonic ancestors.” Her gaze moved to each of the Masters of Arms, and her voice took on a musical quality. “Think of it, Masters. We exist because of love, the love our foremothers felt so deeply for us that they were willing to live outside of their homeland. And because of faith, the faith they had in our mothers and grandmothers-their winged children were more human than demon. And hope that Epona would some day allow us to be called home. How could a race born in love and faith and hope not be different than the demons that spawned it?”
“That may be so,” Ailis said, “but our experience with your people has show us there is little difference between the ‘new’ and the ‘old’ Fomorians.”
Ciara’s smile faded, but her expression remained open and utterly non-defensive. “You speak of Fallon and Keir. They are not representative of my people, as Cuchulainn and Brighid, and even, I think, Master Fagan would tell you. Fallon chose madness, and not even Elphame’s sacrifice could wipe the demon stain from her soul after she embraced it. Keir is her mate. He cannot help but be touched by the darkness within her. They are sad, twisted versions of what our foremothers dreamed for us.”
“Do you ask us to ignore that they are your people?” Bain said, his voice flint-like.
“I ask only that you do not judge us based on their mistakes.”
Before Bain could respond, Cuchulainn spoke. “Fallon murdered the woman who was my betrothed. I have every reason to distrust Ciara and her people, but over the past two moons I have come to know-and to trust-them. Give them the opportunity, and I believe you will agree with me.”
The Master Archer turned abruptly to Brighid. “Huntress, I hear you have accepted one of these New Fomorians as your apprentice.”
Brighid raised her chin. “I have.”
“That seems most unusual.”
“They are a most unusual people, Master Ailis,” Brighid said.
“We shall see…” the Master Archer murmured.
“Fagan tells us that there are far more children with you than adults. Can you explain this?” Glenna fired the question to Ciara.
Again, the winged woman did not hesitate in her response. “The other adults are dead. Some of them chose to end their own lives when the madness that lurked within their blood became too much to bear. Some, like Fallon, accepted the madness willingly. Those we drove from our settlement. They perished in the Wastelands.”
“And you say that this madness has been cleansed from your blood?”
Brighid heard the disbelief in the Master Archer’s tone, and she felt her own anger stir. Ciara needed to keep calm and oh-so polite. Not so with the Huntress. “My Chieftain’s sacrifice washed the demon from their blood,” Brighid said. “You know this. I believe you received word of it from Epona’s Chosen herself. Are you questioning the word of Etain?”
“We do not doubt the word of The Chosen,” Glenna said quickly.
“Then is it my sister’s word you question?”
Brighid was pleased to hear the challenge in Cuchulainn’s voice.
“Your sister’s veracity is well-proven. She was touched by Epona before her birth,” Glenna said, her tone much more conciliatory.
“Then there should be no more questions about the madness remaining within the New Fomorians blood. Question that and you question the honor of my mother and sister.”
“And the rest of Clan MacCallan,” Brighid added.
Fagan, who had been silently watching the interaction between the other Masters and their unexpected guests, finally spoke into the tense silence that followed Cuchulainn and Brighid’s words. “How long do you require our sanctuary, Shaman?”
Ciara answered with a soft smile. “This one night only, Master Fagan.”
“One night? Shouldn’t the children rest longer than that?”
Ciara’s magical smile widened. “We are eager to enter Partholon, Master. It is as if the joyous presence of our foremothers urges us on. We have been waiting more than one hundred years to return to our homeland, and we are impatient to wait even a day longer.”
“Then one night of sanctuary it is,” Fagan said.
Ciara’s smile swept over the four Masters, touching each of them like the warmth of a friendly flame. “The Swordmaster and his warriors have already met the children. Would the rest of you like to meet them, too?”
Glenna was the first to stand. “I would, Shaman. I am curious to see these beings who have so easily won the protection of Cuchulainn MacCallan.”
“I would not say that Cuchulainn was easily won, Master Glenna.” Ciara’s laughter drifted among them as the other Masters of Arms stood and descended the dais to follow the Shaman from the room. “Rather, the children are…well…as diligent and single-minded as worker ants when they focus on something or, in Cuchulainn’s case, someone.” More of Ciara’s laughter brightened the room. “Come see for yourselves.”
Brighid and Cuchulainn followed behind the group.