“I was told to keep an eye out for you three,” he said sternly, looking from one boy to the next. “Brian wants to see you in his solar.”
“God’s bones,” Diarmid muttered under his breath. Cormac smacked him on the arm, reminding him to mind his mouth. They were already in enough trouble.
The boys found Brian waiting before a crackling fire, even in the warm, sunny afternoon. Brian had fires more often than not of late, compared with Cormac’s earlier years of fosterage. Though he was only of middling years, his reddish-brown hair had already gone mostly grey, but he still looked every inch thetall, formidable warrior, just as mighty now as in his youth. Or so Cormac imagined.
The moment they entered the room, Brian looked up from his seat by the fire, locking eyes with Cormac and beginning a speech that Cormac was certain would not end well for them. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach as he prepared for the tongue lashing they’d earned.
“Do you know why your namesake, the great King Cormac, the legend from ancient times, wrote that every high king should have a druid as one of his advisors? And why we also keep priests and monks, all of them near to us? Why we protect them?”
Cormac stopped himself from tossing a wild guess at his foster father, instead shaking his head.
“It’s because they are the wise, the ones who have learned more than most men. And because they will make the best decisions.” He paused, letting his words sink in as the three boys squirmed with guilt at skipping out on their lessons. “I know it can be difficult, to sit for so long and to study so hard when you haven’t cause to use any of it, but you will. You are all princes. Any of you could rule your father’s kingdom in the years to come.
“If you are not learned, then you will surely be foolish. I will not send back fools to your father in place of princes. Now, as the weather warms, perhaps we can work out an arrangement where you can have short trips out to explore the woodlands, for that is also a useful skill. And we can increase your training time, but only if you continue with your lessons at the same pace. It will be more work, but it will also give you more freedom. Is that an acceptable solution?”
“Yes, lord,” Cormac answered hurriedly, setting the example for his brothers as he always tried to do. The other two quickly responded the same.
“I’m sorry, lord.” Cormac apologized, looking to his brothers, who then did the same yet again. “We were wrong, and we will do better.”
Brian nodded to them, and as they retreated to go find dinner at last, Cormac couldn’t help but feel that he was lucky to have such a calm and reasonable foster father, one who truly had their best interests at heart.
That was the day Cormac always thought of as the last day of his childhood. It was the last time he was more interested in playing and chasing the joys of life than he was in any of the serious business that was the domain of men. For the following day, their family arrived from Connachta. And with them, came the end of his childhood.
The feasting hall was a sight to behold, a splendorous affair filled with flowers in vases and hanging from the rafters. Gilded cups adorned every seat and embroidered cloths covered the tables. Cormac couldn’t remember there ever being a feast quite like this one in the halls of Caiseal. Despite his trepidation at the appearance of their parents, he looked forward to seeing his elder sister and brother again, and at the prospect of such a fine feast to come.
Cormac’s father Cahill was one of a long line of kings of the Kingdom of Connachta, north of the Kingdom of Mumhain, where he and his brothers lived as foster children of Brian. Cormac’s mother, Enat, also hailed from a prestigious family further to the north. Cormac didn’t dislike them. Indeed, as any young son, he loved his parents and wanted only their approval. Until he came to live with Brian, that was.
The stark difference between Brian and his own father resonated with Cormac more and more as he grew into a man. Brian was the sort of man he wanted to become, not his cold, distant, and ill-tempered father.
When the family arrived, they asked for a private audience with their three sons. Cormac entered Brian’s solar first, struck by how different his siblings looked since he’d seen them last. Teague had the same dark hair that all of them shared, but he kept his long and tied away from his face—that much had not changed. But his shoulders were broader than their father’s, his face sharper, all traces of his childhood long gone. Beside him, Dunla, the eldest, could have been their mother twenty years earlier for they shared the same heart-shaped face, high cheekbones, and piercing blue eyes.
Diarmid rushed toward their mother, who pulled him into a rather short hug. He then tried to go hug their father, but Cahill placed his hands on his youngest son’s shoulders, turned him around, and shoved him over toward his sister, who eagerly embraced her youngest brother. Dunla seemed more happy than nervous, surprising for a bride who was about to wed a man nearly twice her age. At least she’d met Brian before, but Cormac imagined that she’d never considered him as a potential husband. Cormac would speak to her later of her true feelings on the matter. “Well?” Cahill demanded of his sons. “How have you been? Are you treated well?”
“Aye, very well,” Conan replied, shifting his feet anxiously.
Cormac didn’t feel the need to speak just yet.
Several exchanges of niceties passed before their father asked for everyone but Cormac to leave the hall, dismissing his youngest children rather coolly considering the length of time they’d spent apart. Diarmid had been away only a year, but to a boy of eight it felt an eternity. Conan had been gone nearly as long as Cormac at his twelve years of age.
“As I’m certain you’re aware, I expect you to return home with us after the wedding,” Cahill announced.
Cormac had not been aware, but he nodded his understanding. A knot wrenched in the pit of his stomach like afist squeezing his insides as he thought about leaving Caiseal—his home—behind.
“That’s all.” His father waved dismissively.
Cormac nodded again, taking his leave and finding his brothers to get started on their new studies, putting the conversation with his father from his mind.
The following daywas the wedding. Cormac remembered little of it, for the wedding was not the memorable part. It was the reception afterward that stuck in his mind like a thorn in his skin, digging deeper and deeper until it festered.
That evening started out as well as not. Dancing and merriment, the sounds of laughter and singing and music filled the night air under a glowing half moon. The night held a chill, but the proliferation of bodies and exuberant dancing kept Cormac too warm to wear his cloak. He stood on the fringe of the celebration, watching his two brothers dance happily with the first girls they could ensnare to do so. He shook his head as he watched them gleefully sweeping across the center of the courtyard. Bright colors, loud noises, and laughter were the things Cormac remembered most when he thought back on that night prior to the fight.
In the midst of the celebration, a commotion broke out. Shouting and clattering and then silence.
Cormac hurried along the edge, toward the shouting. He shoved his way through a ring of onlookers that had formed around the two kings, Brian and his father. His brothers appeared beside him moments later. All of them—Teague, Conan, and Diarmid—stood slack jawed, watching Brian and their father shout at one another, red-faced and furious.
“If we sit and do nothing, we’ll lose the whole of the island, Cahill! The incursions of the Fin Gall have only worsened in the past years, and I tire of watching them drive their spike ofdeath further into the heart of Éire. Malachy stands by and does nothing! You may not be willing to take a stand and fight, but I am, and others are as well.”
His father shouted so angrily that Cormac could hardly make out the words, but he understood that his father strongly disagreed.
