Beneath the Forsaken City (2 page)

Eoghan sensed the changes
in the land surrounding Ard Dhaimhin as soon as he crossed into the old forest. He’d never been able to identify the protective wards that allowed the trackers and sentries to monitor the passage of travelers through the dim, dense woods, but somehow he felt their absence all the same. Since the druid had broken the wards, the Fíréin were as good as blind in their own forest.

He told himself it was that knowledge that sent a shiver of foreboding through him, but that wasn’t the whole truth. He had disobeyed Master Liam
 
—or rather, broken the laws of the brotherhood, which was the same thing
 
—and he wasn’t entirely sure what awaited him upon his return. Physical punishment? Banishment? Execution?

Eoghan sensed movement in the trees to his right, and his hand moved to the dagger on his belt. Then he relaxed. “Odran.”

The tracker emerged from the forest, his footsteps silent. “You came back. Everyone assumed you’d be on your way to Aron by now.”

So news had traveled fast. He shouldn’t be surprised. With or without the wards, the brotherhood knew everything that went on in the kingdoms. “Master Liam?”

“The Ceannaire would like to see you.”

“In bonds?”

Odran shook his head. “He knew you’d return.”

Eoghan exhaled, though he’d guessed as much already. The fact that Liam had reared him like his own son would not have kept the Ceannaire from issuing the death order had he truly doubted Eoghan’s loyalty. In that case, he’d already be trussed on the forest floor like a boar. Eoghan could beat Odran in a fair fight, but no one could match the tracker in an ambush.

“How did you find me without the wards?”

“The usual way. Master Liam has tripled the border watch. No one escapes notice for long.”

“Any incursions yet?”

The tracker shook his head.

“Good. Perhaps the druid’s death will cool the Mac Nir’s enthusiasm for the High City.”

“The druid’s not dead. Beagan can still feel a sorcerer at Glenmallaig.”

Eoghan paused, taken aback. “Conor saw him fall.”

Odran just shrugged.

Eoghan switched topics. “You going my way?”

“No. I just thought you’d want to know what awaited you at the city.”

Eoghan nodded his thanks, and the tracker faded back into the foliage with no more sound than the wind. Eoghan continued toward Ard Dhaimhin, his tread light but his mind heavy.

The brotherhood was not yet safe. If the druid was still alive, it was only a matter of time before the Mac Nir attempted to seize the city. If he could convince . . .

Eoghan cut off that line of thinking immediately. Once, perhaps, he’d had some influence with the Conclave, as successor to the brotherhood’s leadership.

Now he would be fortunate to survive the day.

Full night had fallen by the time Eoghan reached the switchback that led down to the moonlit city. The usually bustling village lay silent, the brothers already retired for the night in the squat clochans and cottages that served as barracks. It was the very reason he’d tarried so long in the forest, as news of his disobedience and desertion had surely spread through the city. Too many brothers knew him to allow for a quiet return.

He traversed the path down the hill, the trill of nightingales preceding him
 
—sentries, sending word that an authorized traveler had arrived. By the time he reached the fortress, the Ceannaire would surely know his prodigal apprentice had returned.

Finally, Eoghan turned onto the lakeshore road, concentrating on the rhythm of his steps to calm his heartbeat. He had done what was required. He had known the consequences of his actions before he left. Whether those consequences involved his death was now out of his hands.

Your death does not serve My plans
, came a voice in his head, the words as clear as if they had been spoken aloud.
But you shall still suffer the consequences of your disobedience.

Eoghan sagged in relief, not just at the reassurance he would not die today but at the return of the voice that had been a constant companion throughout his life. It had been silent for too long, and he’d been afraid to wonder what that might mean.

Aye. I chose to break the law. I will take my punishment.

He could probably avoid that punishment if he just told
Master Liam the truth, but that was impossible. For one thing, he would have to admit he had hidden his unusual gift from the Fíréin his entire life. For another, he wasn’t sure the Ceannaire wouldn’t think him insane as the parents who’d abandoned him had. Most Balians believed their Creator guided their steps, but there were precious few to whom Comdiu spoke directly.

Eoghan climbed the hundreds of stairs automatically, his footing sure on their slick surface. The traditional tales of Carraigmór, the home of the first and only Seareann High King, spoke of a keep on a cliff. In reality, the dwelling had been carved
from
the cliff, its chambers burrowed deep underground with only the glass windows and narrow terraces on the sheer face hinting at what lay beneath.

When he reached the top and entered the balcony, a glint of surprise crossed the guard’s face. “Brother Eoghan. The Ceannaire wishes to see you.”

No doubt the guard was one of those who supposed he’d fled with Conor. Eoghan simply nodded and let himself through the heavy, iron-bound door into the fortress.

The great hall was more of a cavern than a room, a dome-shaped space lit with torches and candles and lined with the high-backed chairs used by the Conclave. Beyond them stood the Rune Throne, an ancient tangle of polished roots cradling an etched marble seat. Eoghan turned down a corridor and followed the tunnel to where it ended in a door atop a short flight of steps. He rapped and then entered.

Master Liam sat at a large table, making notations on a sheet of birch-bark paper beside a pile of wax tablets. He didn’t look up. “Are they away from Seare?”

Of course Liam already knew. What information his sight didn’t provide, his vast network of sentries and informants did.
“Aye, sir. They’re safely aboard a ship to Aron. I submit myself to your judgment.”

“You could have gone with them.”

“I could have.” Eoghan’s palms prickled with sweat. “But I took an oath, and even if I hadn’t, the others who helped me would be punished.”

“You know I am within my rights to order your execution.”

“Aye, sir.”

Liam sighed and rubbed his eyes wearily. “Yet I cannot bring myself to destroy my own apprentice, my successor, for following his conscience. Tell me, why didn’t you give me the courtesy of a request?”

“I couldn’t be sure you would agree, sir. If I left without permission, I broke only the brotherhood’s laws. If I left after you forbade it, I would have disobeyed a direct order.”

“Aine is my mother’s daughter, and Conor is one of us, even if he chose to leave the brotherhood. I might have looked sympathetically on your task, had you seen fit to ask.”

Eoghan studied the wall behind Liam’s head. Given the Ceannaire’s refusal to become involved in the kingdoms’ wars, he’d been so certain Liam would withold aid. “I’m sorry, sir. I did what I thought best.”

“I understand that. But you broke both our laws and your oath. I cannot ignore that, even for my own successor. I must sentence you to twenty-five lashes before the brotherhood, to be carried out at dawn tomorrow.”

Eoghan jerked his head up. “What?”

“Do you disagree with my punishment? Would you prefer death?”

“No, sir. I accept your judgment.”

“Good. You may go.” Liam waited until Eoghan reached the door before calling out, “Eoghan, one question. How did you
know Conor needed your help when the first report reached Ard Dhaimhin only the day after you left?”

“I wish I were able to give you a reasonable explanation,” Eoghan said, avoiding Liam’s eyes. Then, despite the fact that he was already in enough trouble, he let himself out before the Ceannaire could ask any more questions.

Word spread quickly after the morning horns, and the assembled brotherhood moved en masse to the amphitheater used for devotions. Eoghan didn’t need to ask about the procedure for his punishment. In his lifetime at Ard Dhaimhin, he had seen a handful of floggings, and the memories were enough to twist his stomach into knots.

When he arrived, two massive posts had been set into deep holes, ropes hanging from rings set into their tops. Eoghan slowly descended the stairs to where Master Liam and the nine Conclave members awaited him, glad he had skipped the morning meal. Surely even battle could not be as nerve-wracking as the realization he would soon be completely at another’s mercy. When he approached, the men stepped back into a line before him, and the hum of voices in the amphitheater hushed.

Master Liam moved forward. “Brother Eoghan, you have admitted to breaking the laws of the Fíréin brotherhood by leaving the city without permission. You have been sentenced to twenty-five lashes with the whip. Do you wish to say anything in your defense?”

“No, sir.”

“Very well, then.” Master Liam withdrew a handful of straws and leveled them in his fist. “The Conclave will draw to determine who will carry out the sentence.”

One by one, the nine members drew straws. When Brother Daigh, the oldest of the Conclave, drew the shortest one, Eoghan’s heart sank. Daigh was not the strongest of the men, but he was the sternest. He would not let pity stay his hand.

Liam glanced at the lanky, blond-haired warrior beside him. “Brother Riordan, restrain Brother Eoghan.”

Regret crossed the man’s face. After Liam, this brother had played the biggest role in Eoghan’s upbringing. He also happened to be Conor’s father, a fact of which few knew and even fewer spoke.

“Remove your shirt,” Riordan said.

Eoghan pulled off the linen tunic and tossed it aside, keeping his expression blank.

Riordan buckled leather straps around Eoghan’s wrists and then threaded the ropes through the ring on each.

“I tried to speak with Master Liam,” he murmured.

“I knew what I was doing. Your son is safe. And by now, I would think you have a daughter as well.”

Relief and pleasure mingled with pain in the older man’s face. He placed a green willow rod between Eoghan’s teeth. “Comdiu protect you.”

The ropes pulled through the rings, stretching Eoghan’s arms out in a vee above his head, rendering him powerless, vulnerable. A frisson of fear scurried through him as Brother Daigh approached with a five-tailed cord whip in hand. At least it wasn’t leather like those they used on brothers who purposely harmed one another. This whip was meant to inflict pain, not to maim.

Eoghan steeled himself for the first lash, but even so, it stole his breath. Fiery pain seared across his back and rippled through his nerve endings. He clenched the willow rod between his teeth.

It was worse than he had imagined. But he would be silent.
He would not show weakness. He braced himself for the second lash while the moments ticked by, each one an agony of anticipation. Only when the sting had faded to a manageable level did the whip crack again and pain seared him once more.