Beneath the Forsaken City - C. E. Laureano Page 0,2

a gasp and threw a panicked glance around him.

There. She was still above water, but the terrified look on her face said she wouldn’t last long.

Conor swam against the pull of the water with powerful overhand strokes until she was within arm’s reach. But each time he came near enough to grasp her hand, the swell carried him backward again. When her head dipped below the water, it took longer for her to resurface.

Then, finally, the water gathered beneath him, promising to carry him that last inch to her side.

“Grab my hand!” he shouted.

His fingers slid over her wet skin and then held. But before he could pull her to him, a wave crashed over him with the force of a war hammer, breaking his grip. Aine slipped from his grasp, taking with her his hope and his last shred of consciousness, everything but the roiling blackness of the sea.

CHAPTER TWO

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