They sat amongst the craigs and lunched on what small provisions they had. He thought about the druid and wondered how his day had been. Had he rested? Was he still aching?
“Sire, did you want something more to eat?” Cían tossed the Vaich a wild apple and he caught it out of the air. “Nice arm! You must play a mean game of connigan!”
Skyre laughed. “Someday soon, we’ll test your theory.”
Cían supped happily on a handful of pine nuts. He was spritely. Not at all like his brother—he had none of Jor’s teeth, and Skyre was glad of that. Perhaps it was the youth. Or maybe the water of the womb had thinned, and the second son beenspared.
“You ken,” Skyre said, “It’s a shame you never came to Righnach’Dúir.” Cían looked over, interestedly. “You would have liked it there, training beneath the trees. The warmth and the wild… That place was full of boyhood. Primal and eager and strong.”
He thought he would stay that way forever. And, perhaps, for a while, he had tried. But then, he supposed it was natural. One day, a man would wake and know he could be young no longer. And maybe… maybe he didn’t want to be.
“Do you think about it often?” asked Cían. “Those days you left behind?”
Skyre smiled. “Aye. But less and less. Or rather, I remember it differently.”
“How so?”
He shook his head. “Suppose one day you’ll know.”
Cían laughed. “Now you sound like Jor.”
“Your brother is the stiffest cock I’ve ever met, but the thing about cocks is—they’re often upright.”
“He’d piss himself in anger to hear you say that.”
“Aye, you're better mannered by fair measure.”
“They say he’s more like Átha, and I like Máta.”
Skyre nodded. “Your brother was born a little king. But there’s something to be said for one who is born with the blood of a queen.”
“If we rattle on, it’ll be a tenday ‘fore we get up this damned mountain,” called Eirn.
Skyre agreed. “Let’s push on.”
They continued upwards along overgrown paths. The roots of trees curled out in thick tangles, and mossy pillows lined the way. Their boots splashed in the crystalline brook that trickled lazily down the slope, over crisp leaves and dark slate.
It wasn’t long before they reached a fork in the trail. The right curved up steeply while the left sloped down into a shallow green ravine. Torin knelt down and inspected the dirt.
“Odd tracks, these are. Big, too,” he muttered.
Skyre glanced out through the trees. Something large would be easy to spot, or better yet—hear.
“Split up,” he said, “check the area for any more tracks. Dinnae stray and keep up your horns.”
They paired off.
Skyre and Eirn made their way up the path. It was rocky and hard to traverse, partially covered by fallen logs. Skyre imagined the village boys crawling up the rocky incline. He might have called it foolish if he thought he’d have done different at that age.
“Another way, perhaps?” Skyre said, surveying back the way they’d come.
“This one seems fastest.”
From a distance, he heard Cían shout, “Your Majesty, come quick!”
His shoulders stiffened, and he and Eirn rushed in the direction of the call. Blades drawn, they slid their way down the ravine to where the others had already gathered. The king looked between them.
Swords in sheaths, smiles on faces. He shot Cían a confused look.
