Culloch's Rest

Glitter

Oisín touched the holly pinned to his cloak, the berries plump and crimson against the deep green of the wool and the darker green of the leaves. He held his breath and waited, but the sprig did not wither, and the tall fey smiled in evident relief. He dropped to one knee and bowed his head to Paul.

"I failed my Lord, and he fell, but I could not have borne harming his son." Oisín looked up, the glitter of his eyes like water over river stones. "Perhaps you are more than you seem. Will you care for the Banríona, honor her, and love her to the end of days?" He lifted his sword, offering the hilt to Paul. "If so, then I pledge myself to you, ard rí."

Paul held out his hand to take Oisín's sword. Accepting the fealty of the fey was becoming a habit, he observed with wry humor. "I will. I'm still human enough to believe in love."

"And that will be your undoing," Briallen said. Fury made her voice harsh. "I will win, and I will have you. When I do, I will make sure you regret this defiance. You were nothing when I found you, just some gamin with dreams in his eyes. I made you, and I will break you. I waive a second. Let it begin."

"No." Oisín's voice was stern. "Not here. A battle should be taken to the enemy, so that you can tear down their stronghold, and use its scorched stones to build the cairns for the dead. This place speaks of peace, and refuge. Take us instead to the woods that Briallen claims for her own. But this time, ard rí, see them as they truly are. You saw what you wanted to see, what she wanted you to believe, but the truth is all that matters now."

When Paul had first arrived, Briallen's woods were full of tall trees with white bark, and silvery leaves. He had brought them all back to the grove, to the platform in the trees, but it was a far different place with his eyes opened. The trees were still tall, but they were blackened now, the branches twisted into painful contortions. Lichen rimed the boles, and toadstools gave off a sickly glow between the roots. He looked at Oisín, aghast.

"Is this where you've been?" Paul swallowed the bile which rose in his throat. Below the platform, where he had once walked across a carpet of green moss, there was a flat stone with a wooden stake at one corner. A heavy silver chain, tarnished and grim, was fastened to the stake and ended in a thick shackle.

Oisín shook his head. "That was a place for corrections, ard rí. The bindings were not so physical as that, although I was no more free to leave this place than if I were chained."

"Ill done," Gormlaith said again. She bowed her head to the duine sídhe. "My sisters and I walked here in joy in ages past, but I have not come this way in far too long, else I would have seen this wound on our realm and spoken of it."

Siofra looked around the woods, her hand falling to the hilt of her sword. "What have you done, you foolish little woods-witch? Who have you become? Once, this was a place of beauty and peace. I remember it well."

Briallen laughed, a harsh and hateful sound. "This is where you brought us, so don't look at me. And for the other, I'm who you made me to be. But it's fine for what we need to do. I'll defeat you here, where I hold power, and I'll toss your corpse in the river for the fish to scour your bones."

"I'm not the one who thinks she can make and unmake the world," Siofra retorted, her voice as dry as dust.

Paul felt an icy chill along his spine. He would not be able to help, and since Briallen had waived a second, he did not know if Duibhin would be allowed to step in. The only thing he was sure of was that Briallen would not fight fairly. This was her place, her stronghold, and whatever dark magic she commanded would be far worse here than anywhere else.

"Peace, ard rí." Oisín spoke softly, pitching his words for Paul alone. "The Banríona will defeat her."

"And her magic?" Paul asked.

Oisín shook his head. "You must not doubt, ard rí."

Gormlaith gestured for silence. "The Courts are unbound, and a new Banríona has been named to lead us, and to choose her consort to bind us once again and unite the realm. As is allowed by our laws, a challenge has been issued, and another seeks the title, to be decided by trial of arms. Seconds are waived by the challenger."

"I demanded trial by combat," Briallen said, her voice sharp.

Gormlaith looked at her, unruffled. "Trial by combat is a trial of arms. Valor and skill win the day, not shadows and whispers. That is our way, and our law, older than memory. Do you accept these terms?"

Paul looked over at Duibhin, meeting the fey Lord's somber gaze. There was Briallen's trap laid bare. Duibhin was now as helpless as Paul, stripped of his role as second and unable to intercede should Briallen try to circumvent the rules of engagement.

"I do." Siofra sounded relaxed, and even amused, her hand resting lightly on her shimmering sword. "I won't need magic to deal with this little baggage. I never have, and she knows it. She's old enough to remember when the duine sídhe last rode to the call of the war horns, when Ciaran and I led our forces into the fray."

"When your Ciaran fell," Briallen hissed. "When the duine sídhe failed."

"I did not fall," Siofra said, and drew her sword. "I will not fall now, not to a meddling little woods-witch."

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