Defiance (The Priestess Trilogy) (32 page)

Straightening, Odhrán swore under his breath.
“
We need to bring her around and break her fever
Daire
, have you learned enough about herbs to find what is needed from
Shiovra
’s
pack?”
he
asked, glancing over his shoulder
. When
Daire
nodded, he
turned
to Eiladyr. “Gather some kindling and build a fire.”

Eiladyr hastened back into the woods, gathering as many
dry branches and tufts of grass and leaves
that he could find
.
When he returned, Daire knelt beside
Shiovra
and
mixed
a bowl of milky liquid. Finding a patc
h of ground already scorched from
Caher Dearg’
s fall, Eiladyr began building a campfire.
Reaching a hand out, he snapped his fingers and a decently sized flame sprung to life. Grinning, Eiladyr turned back to Odhrán and Daire.

Odhrán lifted
Shiovra
up while Daire brought the bowl to
her lips,
tilting it so
the mixture
slipped
into
her
mouth. The
woman coughed in turn, but then quieted and drank the rest
.

“That should be enough,”
Daire
said, pulling the
bowl
away.
“With some rest, she should be fine.”

The Milidh man nodded and gentle lay
Shiovra
back down on the ground.
“Daire, Meara, keep watch over the priestess,” ordered Odhrán
, standing
. “Eiladyr, come with me.”

Without question
, Eiladyr followed Odhrán into the trees.
He watched curiously as Odhrán searched over the ground, taking careful steps and scrutinizing everything. Eiladyr did not know what
Odhrán
searched for, but
it did not take long before
he realized that their path took them slowly back the way they had just come.

They had not gotten too far from the others when Odhrán suddenly held his hand out, pausing. Bringing a finger to his lips, he gestured ahead of them and ducked behind a tree.

Nodding, Eiladyr followed suit. Pressing back against a tree, he brought a hand to his sword and waited. At first he heard nothing, but the more
closely he focused, the more he heard subtle movement: the snap of a branch followed by a slight, nearly unnoticed dragging.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eiladyr saw Odhrán shift on his left. Turning his head, he saw the man tug his dagger up from his belt and catch the pommel in his hand. Eiladyr slowly drew his blade at Odhrán’s signal.

The movement drew closer.

Eiladyr slowed his breathing and waited. From the sounds, he expected only one target approached. Quietly shifting his stance, Eiladyr prepared to attack.

Odhrán held and finger up, signaling for him to hold.

Slowly
, a shadowed figure began to pass between them, it’s gate unbalanced. In the dim moonlight, scales could be seen covering a bony body
that was neither male nor female in appearance
.
Tattered fins stretched off it’s legs and arms. The dragging came from one leg that bore an old, deep battle scar while webbed hands clutched a spear tightly. It passed the two men without noticing their presence.

They waited until the Fomorii creature was well past them.

Odhrán brought his hand up and, in a swift movement, the dagger left his hand.

The blade hit its mark, landing deeply embedded in the creatures back and piercing the heart. With a quiet guttural cry, it slumped forward and landed roughly on the ground.

Stepping forward, Odhrán tugged his dagger free and wiped the blade clean on his cloak.
After circling the creature, he approached Eiladyr. “A lone scout and a lame one at that,” he muttered under his breath. His eyes scanned the woods around them, narrowing. “There are more, but they do not draw closer,” he continued in a low voice.

“Do we find them an attack?” asked Eiladyr quietly, his hand tightening on his sword.

Odhrán shook his head. “No,” he replied. “They do not approach because they fear these woods. They fear
Caher Dearg even in ruin. It hangs heavily in the air.”

“What about this one then?” questioned Eiladyr, gesturing to the Fomorii corpse on the ground.

“Addled in the mind, most likely.” Odhrán returned his dagger to his belt and began to walk away. “Come, we need to return to camp. We shall each take watch throughout the night as a precaution, though I doubt our rest will be disturbed.”

Eiladyr hesitated, looking down at the lifeless
creature
for a moment before sheathing his sword. He had never seen anything like it where he had come from. Such creatures could only be found in stories told to naughty children. Regardless of Odhrán’s reassurance, he knew it would be a restless night for all of them.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

The
warm colors of morning spread wide across the sky when
Shiovra
woke
.
She found that she lay curled up against Daire’s back with a cloak and blanket draped across her for warmth
.
Sitting up,
Shiovra
looked around their makeshift camp. Nearby
Eiladyr snored loudly against a log
, his face looking weary even in sleep
.
Meara
stood off near the line of trees,
tending to the horses, while Odhrán cooked some food over the fire.

Shiovra
shifted away from
Daire
and rose to her feet, stretching.
Stepping over Eiladyr, she made her way closer to the campfire. Approaching Odhrán’s back, she looked over his shoulder
to see what he was cooking; small game, more likely stoat, was roasting over the fire while a bowl with thick oats simmered at the edge.
She took note, though, that dried blood slotted a corner of his cloak.

“Did you rest well?” asked the Milidh man without turning.

“Aye,” she replied, moving to sit beside him. After a long moment of silence,
Shiovra
said, “Forgive me if I
troubled
everyone.”

“All that mattered was your well being,” replied Odhrán, stirring the creamy oats.

Shiovra
pulled her knees to her chest. “There is blood on your cloak.”

His hand paused. “Fomorii,” said Odhrán bluntly. Pulling a bowl from a pack to his left, he spooned some oatmeal into it and handed it to the woman.

“How many?” she asked, taking the bowl and blowing on the steaming food.

“Only one; a lame and addled scout at that.” Odhrán turned to her and reached a hand up, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear before pressing the back of his hand against her forehead.

“Even though, we should not linger long,”
Shiovra
told him, keeping her attention on her the bowl in her hands. “Caher Dearg will not keep them at bay for long.” When his hand slipped away, she brought the bowl to her lips and took a drink of the oatmeal.

“Mmmm…food…” came the sleepy voice of Eiladyr. He came to sit beside the fire, his hair a disheveled mess and his clothes rumpled from sleep.
Offering her a groggy smile, he plopped himself roughly down on the ground
. “Good to see you awake.”

Smiling softly,
Shiovra
nodded.

Odhrán filled another bowl and handed it to the man before turning to Meara. “Wake Daire,” he said. “We will need to depart soon.”

The Neimidh woman nodded and walked over to Daire; first she shook his shoulder and called his name, then she began lightly kicking his back. When she continued to garner the lack of a response, Meara resorted to ripping his blanket off and, twisting it up a bit, snapped him with it. A quick jump and yelp announced Daire had finally roused from his slumber.

After much swearing and grumbling on his part, Daire finally sat down for his morning meal.

They ate their food in silence,
before snuffing the fire and gathering their things.
Mounting their horses, they once again continued their journey. For some time, the cursed Fomorii remained out of sight. Y
et
,
as late afternoon n
eared, the creatures appeared once more, trailing the companions
through the woods
.
The companions
urged their steeds faster, but the lithe creatures kept pace easily.

Shiovra
kept a close eye on the Fomorii’s progress and it did not sit well with her. For the Fomorii to be on the move, on land nonetheless, did not bode well.
What is Ailill planning?
she thought with a frown.

With a frustrated mutter, Eiladyr pulled his horse closer to Daire’s.
“
We are going
to have to face th
em sooner
or later,” he said in a
low
growl. “I suggest now.”

Dair
e
shook his head and replied harshly
, “Do
not be a fool.”

Shiovra
tugged on the reins of her mare, falling behind the men
.
“
No
,
Eiladyr is right,”
she
said
in turn
. “
Their path has not swayed. By the looks of it, they intend to follow us straight to Tara
.
We need to stop them
now.
” Pulling her horse to a halt,
Shiovra
leapt lightly to the ground
, grabbed her bow and arrows,
and began walking towards the Fomorii
.

“
Shiovra
?”
Eiladyr’s voice called out.

“
What are you doing?
!”
demanded Daire.

Shiovra
did not heed
their shouts as she quickened her pace. She could hear the steady pounding of hoof beats following her before they abruptly stopped as she climbed a hillock. Once she reached the top,
she came to a pause and drew her bow, aiming for one of the Fomorii in the front.

“What do you think you are doing?!” demanded Odhrán, grabbing her arm.

“Protecting my people,” she responded, letting the arrow fly free. It whistled through the air and pierced the shoulder of a spearman.

Cursing, t
he Milidh man released her and dropped to a knee beside her, placing his hands on the ground.

Shiovra
felt a slight tremble beneath her feet that rippled out and heaved the ground before the Fomorii, causing them to stumble.
She used the opportunity to disable another Fomorii warrior.

Daire rushed up to stand beside her with his bow. Drawing the string back, he took a deep breath.
T
he wind began to stir and, as he knocked his arrow loose,
whip
ped
past them
to
slam into the Fomorii just as they recovered their balance.

Shiovra
heard the quick snap of fingers before the ragged clothing of one Fomorii warrior burst into flames.

Yet still the creatures pressed forward.

“Morrigú, mistress of battle, we need thee,” breathed
Shiovra
.
“Please lend us your aid.”

The caw of a crow reached
Shiovra
’s ears just before it came to perch on the end of her bow.
Shiovra
met the bird’s piercing black gaze.

The crow cocked its head to the side and cawed.

“
I thank you,
Badb of the Morrigú.”
Shiovra
breathed in thanks.

With
a nod of sorts and ruffle of feathers, the crow lifted off the bow
and swooped down towards the Fomorii.
As it drifted toward the ground before the misshapen creatures, its form shifted from a crow to that of a woman with
flowing ebony
ha
ir and cloak of black feathers.
Her feet touched the ground lightly and did not slow as she approached
the enemy.
Swishing her cloak aside, she held a pale hand out, palm open. A sword took shape in her hand and her fingers tightened around it.

The Fomorii faltered
at the sight of Badb, recoiling
slightly
.

Slowly bringing her blade up, Badb quickened her pace.
Releasing a terrifying
, piercing
cry of battle,
she
rushed at the Fomorii.
The woman moved swiftly, cutting down their ranks o
ne by one without falter.