The Tuatha De Cycle: The Spear of Assal

[Aiden Finnegan]

The Last Year of the Fifth Age
Late Spring
The Grand City of Gorias in the Northern Isles of Erie

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Lugh Samildánach's Bio
The Spear of Lugh
Gorias, The First Great City

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Lugh Samildánach, newly crowned King of the Tuatha De, stood there staring at a sharp chunk of golden metal. He wore nothing more than fine garments and his characteristic smirk. It was easy to be taken in by that smirk – at least that’s we had always been told. It had certainly served him well as he fought through the various political storms that had tried to bar him from the crown he now wore.

Esras, the Master Blacksmith of Gorias, sat a few paces off at a low, lacquered table counting out a pile of silver marks – completely ignoring the two gargantuan sacks of the half-marks, lead and zinc. His white hair all but danced about as he shook his head to the rhythmic murmuring of his counting. The man had a reputation for being shrewd, but surely even he could not balk at the modest fortune Lugh had poured onto his lap. Oh, it was apparent that Lugh's request was unreasonable for a man of Esras' talents - still, Lugh knew that the man could help him get what he had wanted.

“This is simply not fine enough, Esras,” Lugh said with an air of finality, tossing the spearhead over his shoulder to Esras. The blacksmith snapped out of his counting and fumbled to grab the spearhead without cutting himself. Lugh went over to the low table and pulled out a silken pouch from his side-bag. Esras began to splutter as Lugh started to push the piles of marks into the pouch.

“My King, but I have labored over this for a fortnight!?” Esras exclaimed as he tried to push the spearhead back into Lugh’s hands. The King finished taking back the marks and backed away without taking the weapon in hand.

“As your King, my judgement is final. This is made of pure gold. Do you honestly expect me to go to battle with this?” Lugh spat back – still wearing that smirk.

“But you asked for a badge of office? What is that if not ceremonial?” Esras all but begged for Lugh to take the thing.

“Oh, do not misunderstand me, Esras – this is fine work,” Lugh said smoothly as he waved his right hand over the glimmering spearhead, “But it cannot serve me. Do you know how many assassination attempts I have survived?”

Esras’ mouth moved, searching for the words, but Lugh rolled right over him, “Seven. Seven attempts on my life, Esras. I need both form and function. If you cannot come up with something that meets my needs, I shall have to simply look elsewhere. I hear that old Kerr’gan is taking on new commissions…”

“No! My King! No! Old Kerr’gan is dishonest and knows not a hammer from an anvil! He would sooner fashion you a tin spear wrapped in gold leaf! Trust me on this matter, my King,” Esras went on, his hands waving about in soothing gestures. Lugh stifled a laugh at the frantic manner in which Esras devolved. The citizens of Gorias were all too easy to manipulate. Once, they had been at the epicenter of technological advancement - but then war and strife had begun to break out across the globe. Powerful beings had begun to seize power from the local governments. Over the course of the last few generations, most countries had begun to devolve into fractured kingdoms - each ruled over by a singular God-King or God-Queen.

Due to the petty wars and squabblings over territory, the Isles of Erie were largely reduced to half-hazard remnants of their former selves held together by Standing Flows and the sheer might of their God-like Warlords. Despite the circumstances, Lugh had thought himself above the rest of the Warlords of the Isles. He had believed in an Egalitarian Meritocracy, much like the ones found in old mythologies. Many didn't believe such a system was possible - but just as many wished it were, and those that had wished for it found themselves employed by Lugh. Esras, although employed by him, bore no noble ideals. He only cared for marks. 

“I want Heartstone, Esras,” Lugh said simply.

The blacksmith’s eyes widened.

“I know you’ve been selling it on the side – therefore you have a means to procure or produce it,” Lugh said before meeting Esras’ eyes. The methods of creating the mythic material were common knowledge, but not many citizens of the Erie Isles possessed the skill to actually produce it. Due to trade embargos, it was all but impossible to find among the seven islands. Esras was a well-known dealer on the black market; that had been the only reason Lugh had approached him, court etiquette or not.

Esras betrayed himself as he began to wring his hands, looking down and away from Lugh, “For that, you have underpaid.”

Lugh let his eyebrows rise despite himself, “Oh?”

“The thing of which you speak… I have to import certain… talents… And so the rate is much higher.”

“How high?” Lugh asked with narrowed eyes.

Esras reached for a slip of paper and an ink pen, scribbling furiously. He folded the scrap and handed it over to Lugh, still avoiding eye contact.

“Five hundred thousand platinum marks!?” Lugh exclaimed.

Esras nodded, plucking at the skirts of his long robes. The man seemed to be trying to look anywhere but at Lugh.

“Surely you must be joking, Esras. Why, this would be more than would be demanded if the Formorians took me or the High Council for ransom!” Lugh let his smirk slip as his eyebrows cocked.

“Heartstone. Fairy fire. Unbreakable. Sa’angreal,” Esras muttered in a mocking voice before turning to meet Lugh’s stare, “I am no God, my King. The things you ask are beyond my skill. I have my own methods, but if you cannot pay my sources, you will have to find and kidnap one who can perform such feats.”

Lugh’s brow rose and his tone sweetened, “My what a curious choice of phrase.”

Esras stiffened.

“Kidnap. Not find. Kidnap. You know someone that could do what I want, don’t you Esras?” Lugh said with a sickly-sweet smile.

“Yes…” Esras breathed, “Of course, my King.”

Lugh embraced the Power and wove filaments of Light across the ground. A miniature map of the Isles of Erie seemingly rose from the floor. Esras swore under his breath as Lugh took a step closer to the blacksmith.

“Where are they, Master Esras?”

The blacksmith looked up at his King and swallowed hard. He pointed a finger to the north-most island that appeared on the illusory map and his King nodded with satisfaction. He spun away from the blacksmith, striding along confidently to the front door.

“I liked your design, Master Esras,” Lugh called over his shoulder, “You better hope this contact of yours can transform it into Heartstone. If they can – I’ll require a haft. If they can’t… Well, be ready.”

[Aiden Finnegan]

Violet clouds streaked across the reddened sky as the Sun began to slump behind the horizon. Golden hour had come, and Lugh was thankful for the timing. It had always been an auspicious hour for him. Most of the victories he had claimed in life happened during that precious time. He could not now remember anything going wrong when the Sun began its descent. Perhaps Esras had been telling the truth.

Perhaps.

Lugh could not bring himself to completely trust the man. After all, Esras had been a courtier at one stage in his life. Courtiers always looked after themselves no matter the lip service paid to their noble patron. It had been unsurprising that the blacksmith tried to play to Lugh’s vanity with that twisted hunk of gold.

Indeed, Lugh would still call upon Old Kerr’gan to see what the old fox had cooked up on his own forge. That would be the real measure of the man; Lugh would know which of them to trust after that. He highly doubted Old Kerr’gan would use Heartstone for the spearhead – not without the king’s ransom that Esras had demanded. Still, Lugh had only been dancing between the two blacksmiths in the hopes that one of them would give up their ‘illegal’ sources.

Esras had been far too quick in that regard. Speaking to a King or not, it was laughable to think that a blacksmith or a courtier would give up such secrets willingly. Then again, he had divulged the information during the Golden Hour. Lugh would have to ensure that he spoke with Old Kerr’gan before the hour ended.

Lugh opened himself to the Light and let the storm rage into his entire being. His jaw tightened as he commanded filaments of the Light to bend to his will. A silvery slash of light appeared in the air before Lugh, slowly rotating into an opening. With a silent clap, it snapped open into a Doorway that lead directly onto Old Kerr’gan’s property. Lugh stepped through and released the Light, knowing the Doorway behind him would snap shut.

Like many in Gorias, Old Kerr’gan had made his home deep into the earth. Most dwellings of this Great City consisted of two subterranean levels and one level above ground topped with a large mound of soil, clay, and stone. The architectural design started as a fad amongst the nobility and was quickly taken up by the common folk as the nations of the world were torn into pieces by the warring Gods.

Such homes were more easily defended against invaders and incredibly hard to spot from the skies. That much had become apparent when the wars began in earnest. After five years of battles and skirmishes, Gorias had been the only city of the Isles that had remained largely intact. Refugees began pouring in and the city itself began to swell. After another five years, the population had doubled, and a second ring wall had been erected along the outermost reaches of the city’s limits.

All of this had taken place long before Lugh had been born, of course. Why, Lugh’s own father, Cian had helped to build the second wall of Gorias. He had often told Lugh stories about those early days. To hear Cian tell it, he had single-handedly built the wall and also had convinced the rulers of the other great cities – Failias, Findias, and Murias – to adopt the mounded homes in their own surviving territories.

Lugh had laughed at that as a child, but having traveled every pace of the Isles of Erie… Well, Lugh no longer doubted his late-Fathers fanciful tales. Lugh’s own children didn’t believe nearly half of his own stories – and those had most assuredly happened the way he had told them.

War and defense aside, the mounded dwellings certainly added an air of tranquility to the four great cities. The tallest feature of any of the four had been the ring walls, and one could hardly notice those if one had ventured far enough into any of the cities. Instead of hulking masses of brick and mortar, the citizens of the cities enjoyed the fruits of nature. Countless groves of fruit trees, carefully tended gardens, and fountains of silver and stone had taken hold of the endless waves of mounded grass that covered the cities – at least once more stability had come to the Isles during the reign of the great High King Nuada. He had been the first to unite the Warlords - now Princes - and it had been Lugh who was named his successor: the one to keep the peace.

Lugh found himself worrying that those beautiful civic features would once again be torn down in the face of civil war. That was the real reason Lugh needed a ‘badge of office.’ He needed something that would keep the crown on his head and the throne under his arse. Lord Cermait threatened all of that. The man was a powerful God in his own right; powerful enough to challenge Lugh’s claim to Nuada’s legacy.

“Well, are you going to come in or just stand there all day, my King?” Old Kerr’gan called out from the mound, snapping Lugh out of his own thoughts.

“I am old man, thanks. I trust you know why I am here?” Lugh called back with that smile of his dancing upon his lips.

“Indeed. Why don’t you come on down and take a look?” Old Kerr’gan beckoned, “I think you’ll be impressed - if I may be so bold, my King.”

“I do hope so, old man, I do hope so,” Lugh laughed as he strode forward and down into Old Kerr’gan’s workshop.

[Aiden Finnegan]

Lugh followed Old Kerr’gan down to the bottom level of his abode and stepped into his workshop. The entire basement had been devoted to the workings of metal and wood in all their forms. A large anvil sat at the center of the circular room; tools laid in a neat array atop the flat surface. Barrels of water and oil sat off to the side. Racks of half-finished arms and armor lined the walls, laid out in such a way that it dragged one’s eye to the very back of the workshop. Lugh let his eyes follow the path and his breath caught in his throat.

Directly across from Lugh, at the very back of the room, sat a slender stone dais. A glimmering spearhead made of a strange ivory material hung suspended above it, revolving as if on unseen strings. Old Kerr’gan was a God, of course. He flashed a triumphant smile at Lugh’s reaction.

Lugh rushed over to the dais without uttering a word and plucked the spearhead from its spot in the air. The piece felt a little lighter than Lugh would have liked – for a weapon – but he had anticipated as much when he had requested Heartstone. A spear needed balance and thankfully that balance was found in the haft. It was for that reason that Lugh had commissioned the spearhead to be made before the haft – that piece would have to be designed around the head.

“I am pleased to see that at least one of my subjects knows how to follow instructions,” Lugh murmured coyly to himself as he ran a finger along an edge of the thing. The skin of his thumb split cleanly, and blood started to trickle down. He smiled and set the thing down before wrapping his thumb in a kerchief.

“Should never have wasted your time with Esras, My Lord,” Kerr’gan all but chuckled as he came to stand a few paces from Lugh. The old blacksmith picked up the spearhead and cleaned the blood from it. He all but tutted at Lugh before suspending the thing once more in the air above the dais.

Lugh continued to study the piece as it floated before him and spoke magnanimously to Kerr’gan, “Perhaps not. His design work might be a touch finer than yours, old man, but even he could not give me Heartstone.”

Kerr’gan ignored the slight, “That is why you should have come to me first, My Lord. Only a God could give a God-King a proper weapon.”

“So it seems,” Lugh said simply as he took in the details of the spearhead; it was about a foot in length and shaped like a slender spade. Aside from that, the head was incredibly plain. Lugh pursed his lip and turned his attentions upon Old Kerr’gan, “Perhaps I spoke in haste. This is no sa’angreal, is it, old man?”

Kerr’gan ducked his head and bowed slightly, “No, My Lord.”

Lugh sighed heavily.

“I haven’t that Talent, My Lord,” Kerr’gan spoke up quickly, “And trust me – the making of Light-touched objects is in fact a Talent. I pay a man for the Heartstone, My Lord. I have yet to find a man that can work the Light into my creations. It still checks off most of your requirements, if I do say so, My Lord.”

Lugh spun away instantly at the admission, lest his face give away the game again. Old Kerr’gan had a man too, eh? It seemed that this man could at least produce. Esras had most assuredly been blowing hot air up Lugh’s arse.

Light rushed into Lugh as he opened himself up and willed the filaments into being. Fibers of Air, Fire, and Spirit threaded along the ground into a complex tapestry of light. The map of the Isles of Erie sprung up from the light. Lugh felt a sense of déjà vu as he asked, “Where is this man of yours located?”

Old Kerr’gan simply stared at Lugh.

Lugh’s eyebrows rose – it was far harder to intimidate another God with shows of Light – but then Kerr’gan’s eyes rolled down to Lugh’s side pouch. He chuckled and reached into the leather scrip, pulling out the fat sack of gold marks in payment for the spearhead.

“I’ll be back with five more of these before tomorrow night,” Lugh said seriously, “You won’t be getting the last three because you could not finish the project. I think that sounds more than fair, don’t you, Old Man?”

Kerr’gan caught the sack smoothly as Lugh tossed it to him. The silk bag quickly disappeared into the folds of the old man’s robes. He ducked his head and bowed again to Lugh, pointing to the northernmost island in the chain – the same island Esras had pointed to. Lugh kept his face smoothed at the surprise. What were the chances? Esras had been honest with the information; just not the price.

Lugh took the Fibers from the ground and reworked them until Air was the only thing left. The map of the Isles dissipated and transformed into an invisible hand that reached out for the spearhead. Within seconds, Lugh had his new piece of Heartstone wrapped up in canvas and stowed safely away in his side scrip. He let go of the Light and walked around to Old Kerr’gan, clasping the old man’s hand in thanks.

“My wholehearted thanks for this, Kerr’gan,” Lugh said warmly, adopting that characteristic smirk once more.

“The pleasure is mine, My Lord,” Old Kerr’gan replied honestly, shaking his King’s hand vigorously.

“I will tell you one secret of mine, if you agree to keep it close to the chest,” Lugh leaned in and whispered conspiratorially.

“Of-of course, My Lord,” Kerr’gan whispered back.

“I have a man that can work the Light into objects,” Lugh offered up in an even smaller voice.

Kerr’gan’s eyes grew wide, and his mouth began to work as if a question was on his lips. Lugh held up his hand and shook his head. Kerr’gan let the silence roll off his tongue and his mouth closed.

“Should this work, I will be calling on you for a haft. Pray that it does, Master Kerr’gan,” Lugh said before turning to leave.

“M-master?”

“The High King of the Tuatha De deserves a blacksmith that can give him Heartstone. Congratulations, Master Kerr’gan, you’ve earned yourself a promotion,” Lugh called over his shoulder before ascending the stairs to the surface.

Kerr’gan began to hoot and holler down below as he realized just how many marks he would be seeing inside of his coffers within the coming years.

[Aiden Finnegan]

Two days later
Nuada's Keep beneath the Hill of Tara
The Isles of Erie

The Court of the Tuatha De wiki

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“You gave Old Kerr’gan a proper place at court for that?” Abcan asked with an amused look in his brown eyes. The dwarf was dressed as splendidly as ever in silks and leathers. The Heartstone spearhead was floating between himself and Lugh.

“We need more smiths, Abcan,” Lugh said seriously as the Light raged inside of him; he was the one responsible for the fibers of Air that held the spearhead aloft. Kerr’gan had been paid his remaining gold the night before and immediately began to pack his bags. Lugh had insisted that the man stay put in Gorias, but apparently, the Hill of Tara called to Master Kerr’gan’s soul – or so he had claimed. He planned to leave by Doorway as soon as his workshop was crated up.

“Better him than Esras, I suppose,” Abcan shrugged, “You’d have nothing but trouble from that one – were he to get too close to the High Council. You can put that thing away now. Heartstone never impressed me much.”

Lugh flushed slightly before adjusting his fibers and dividing the flow in two. The cloth wrappings were scooped up by invisible hands and made to perfectly wrap up the spearhead once more. Lugh stowed it away in his scrip and released the Light. Abcan had gone back to his lyre, plucking away absentmindedly. Lugh settled back down onto a large sofa that Abcan had built into the wall of his sitting room.

“They both share a Heartstone source, apparently,” Lugh said as he picked up his ale and took a pull.

“For the love of Danu,” Abcan groaned as he swung his head back dramatically.

“You’re the one that wanted to know how things went up in Gorias, well I’m telling you,” Lugh snorted and threw an empty mug at the other man’s head, “I need it for the guard. So, unless you know someone that can source it for me – or better yet – teach me how it’s done.”

Abcan batted the mug away with an unaffected air, “I deal in intrigue, not shipping manifestos. You’d be better off speaking with Brigid.”

“Why her?” Lugh asked with a puzzled expression. Brigid was one of the great healers of the Tuatha De and often known for her generosity; she was no tradeswoman.

“Ah, that’s right. Her three sons left the Hill before you came banging on Nuada’s gates,” Abcan said as he perked up slightly, “Surely, you’ve heard their names, though. Gobain, Credne, and Luchta?”

“Brigid is their mother? I had no idea! Last I heard, one of them had died in the Battle of Tory,” Lugh said before finishing his mug of ale. Truly that was a shock. Those three brothers had earned their places in Nuada’s court ten times over if half the stories were to be believed. If Lugh could convince even one of them to return to the Hill, it would only raise his legitimacy in the eyes of the Council.

“Might want to get in good with her. If anyone knows where they’ve scampered off to, it would be her. I’d bet my last mark on Gobain or Credne knowing what you’re after,” Abcan stood from his seat near the fireplace and grabbed the fallen mug. He came to sit near Lugh and poured out ale for the pair of them.

“I can always buy her off. That seems to be working well enough these days,” Lugh said as he leaned back into the sofa, taking the mug gratefully.

“Marks won’t work with that one, my king,” Abcan said smartly, “But I do happen to know what will. Question is, what are you going to do for that information?”

It was Lugh’s turn to groan loudly.

“This again? Isn’t the title of Court Bard supposed to be beneath a God, Ab?”

“Not this God, Lu. Not this God.”

[Rowan Finnegan]

Meanwhile, in the Great City of Findias...

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Brigid Aigit's bio

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“Not this god, Lu. Not this God,” Abcan’s voice echoed.

The image of the High King and his dwarven Bard flickered as Brigid drew a finger across the surface of the water. Her cauldron almost seemed to quiver at the gesture. Without a second thought, she embraced the Light and strengthened the fibers of Fire that lay coiled beneath the cauldron. At once, the water inside flashed to steam, and the image of the High King was chased away entirely. She untied the fibers and let the Fire die out on its own.

Brigid shook her head as she moved away from the bronze cauldron. She had little desire to be swept up in the intrigues of court once more. Nuada had been a good man and a great king, but had she not gotten involved in his crusade against the Fomorians? Well, she might not be one son short today.

Abcan knew exactly where her Temple had been hidden away. It would only be a matter of hours before Lugh sobered up and found his way here. Oh, it was not that she disliked the man. He had been the only option in terms of Nuada’s successor, but that did not mean she had to resume her old post.

With a flick of the wrist, a fiber of Air shot out towards her wardrobe. The fiber split into 5 separate strands and began pulling out various garments and jewels; these, in turn, were deposited carefully into a large crate. Brigid planned on leaving within the hour.

Gobain and Credne would have to be found before Lugh or Abcan could catch the faintest whiff of them. Brigid could not – no – would not lose another child to war or politics.

The cauldron was the last thing to go into the crate before Brigid opened a Doorway and left her Temple behind.

[Aiden Finnegan]

One Day Later
The Chamber of Doorways in The Hall of Uscias
The Great City of Findias
The Isles of Erie

The Court of the Tuatha De wiki

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Lugh stepped out onto the onyx platform with Abcan and an honor guard following closely behind. The Doorway snapped shut once the last of the King’s Guard had made it through. High Prince Uscias stood just a few paces off, hands clasped at his waist. His own honor guard – larger by ten men – sat behind him. Lugh had to fight the groan that begged to be released from his lips.

This was why he hated coming to Findias, every visit had to be formal and announced – that and the fact that Uscias ruled the city. He had restructured the entire culture here to be more in line with his militaristic fetishes. That was not to say the other High Princes hadn’t had a hand in changing their cities. Lugh had simply detested war. It was something that should be rallied against, not something that should be embraced. Peace was the only way the Isles would thrive in the future. Lugh had heard the stories of the other fallen empires of the world. He would not allow the Tuatha De to go the way of the Atlanteans.

“May the roof above us never fall in, my King,” Prince Uscias intoned formally with a deep bow.

“May peace and plenty bless your world, my Prince,” Lugh responded in kind with a slightly lesser bow.

Uscias rose stiff-faced, his red hair tumbling down neatly behind his back. He did not even look to be in his midyears, but the High Prince had seen more than seventy summers pass by. Lugh often thought it was the man's age that owed to the outdated decor that filled the Hall and its many chambers. Mirrored stand lamps of fairy fire filled the chamber with an otherworldly glow. Uscias’ polished breastplate reflected the quivering flames, causing his armor to look blue and green and purple. A long sword hung from his belt, all but daring Lugh to look at it.

Lugh could not bring himself to look at the sword directly, of course. That was what Uscias had wanted. Why else would he insist on wearing it when meeting Lugh today – indeed, during every meeting with Lugh? Lugh had been the one to avenge Nuada’s death; but, Uscias had actually been there to see Nuada fall, and it was he that had been there to claim the Sword of Light. He had tried to avenge Nuada’s death, but he did not have the skill to do so. Balor would have killed him too if Lugh had not arrived to stop the Fomorian.

“No mead and meat?” Lugh asked wryly before adopting the smirk. Prince Uscias always had a servant ready with a tray of meats and mead ready so that the Prince could break fast with his visitors and formally welcome them to his hall. The man had invented a number of formalities and rituals for these visits and matters of state. He had insisted that they were all based on long ago traditions from the mythical court of King Beothach of Lochlann – the supposed forebearer of the Tuatha De. Lugh had always thought those stories and these rituals to be rubbish.

“Believe it or not, I have listened to your council. This shouldn’t take more than a few moments, so why force you to endure?” Uscias asked in a perfectly modulated tone. The man had been all fire and raucousness before Nuada’s death; now he was wrought from iron and ice. Still, Lugh could detect a bite in the man’s comments.

“She’s ready to receive me then?” Lugh asked expectantly.

“Quite the opposite, I’m afraid,” Uscias said in that same tone, his head dipping a fraction to the side.

“I don’t follow you, man.”

“The Goddess Brigid is no longer in residence in the Great City of Findias,” Uscias said loudly, his voice echoing off the walls of the domed chamber.

“He wanted to be a bard when he was younger,” Abcan quipped under his breath. The dwarf laughed softly as Lugh rolled his eyes.

“Well, where did she go? You did tell her this was important, did you not?” Lugh asked, looking back to the High Prince. He tried to hold the smile, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. Uscias had held a grudge ever since Lugh had taken the High Seat. Not like the other High Princes; they were reluctant to rule their own assigned territories, much less the whole of the Isles.

“Her Temple was flooded when my messengers arrived at her gate,” Uscias said simply.

“Flooded?” Abcan asked without hiding his confusion. Lugh felt his own eyebrows begin to knot as his mind processed what the High Prince had said.

“Flooded. It took my men several hours to finally empty the place and find the cause. It was a Standing Flow. Thankfully it was nothing more than a few thick coils of Water. We had it unwound shortly after discovery. The temple had been emptied of all personal possessions. My advisors and I feel that Brigid herself set the Flow and filled her own temple before leaving for reasons unknown,” Uscias offered up in his formal tone. A scribe of his came waddling up, clasping a silken bag. The High Prince took the bag from the scribe without so much as glancing in his direction. Lugh took the bag as Uscias all but shoved it at him.

Lugh opened the sack and found it filled with a handful of clear crystal points. He took one out, suspecting what they were. Embracing the Light, Lugh filled himself and held onto it with sheer force of will. Beyond the raging energies that he now felt, a deep resonance of Air and Spirit could be felt emanating from the crystal point in his hand. Lugh let the Light go and the resonance along with it. Uscias had given him a bag of ogma cores.

The ogma cores were an ancient technology, supposedly brought to the Isles with Beothach from Lochlann. The cores were made of quartz and cut into very specific shapes. They were then worked with the Light somehow and made to record and store information. The ogma always gave off a subtle resonance, supposedly depending on the type of knowledge they held. The makings of ogma were another jealously guarded secret of the Isles. Not even Lugh knew how to make them – only how to read them.

“That is everything we have on Brigid and her family. I’m sure you have extensive records under the Hill, but I’ve always felt my scribes were a touch more,” Uscias paused uncharacteristically, “thorough. You are welcome, of course, my King, to tour her temple for yourself. Forgive my saying so, I just feel that it might be a waste of your time.”

Lugh replaced the crystal and handed the silken bag over to Abcan, who made it disappear into his robes with a smooth gesture. A tightness gripped Lugh’s middle. Uscias had something to hide. Something that Lugh would not likely uncover with the man standing before him. He held a grudge against Lugh, true, but he rarely went so far as to try and rush his King off so quickly. What was the harm in biting?

“Likely you are right,” Lugh said magnanimously, “I am sure that which you have provided will be more than adequate. Are you sure you don’t wish me to stay for some mead?”

“Only if you wish, my King,” Uscias answered quickly.

“Not today, Uscias. Not today,” Lugh replied without thought. Instead, he gave the man his characteristic smile, “May you have the love that never ends, my Prince.”

“May the road rise up to meet you, my King,” Uscias said with a smile.

With that, Abcan opened the Doorway once more. The King’s Guard parted in the middle and Lugh made his was back to the opening. He stepped through the Doorway and back on to the Hill of Tara. Uscias could barely hide his pleasure at seeing Lugh's back.

[Aiden Finnegan]

The Hill of Tara
The Isles of Erie

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“I often wonder if Uscias would have attempted to overthrow Nuada, had he not fallen to Balor,” Abcan said almost as soon as the Doorway snapped shut behind them. They stood upon a low, flattened hill to the east of the Hill of Tara. The King’s Guard dispersed almost at once and Lugh’s personal bodyguards replaced them just as quickly. He had argued against such arrangements, of course, but the High Council simply wouldn’t hear of it. Yes, it was all well and fine that he had single-handedly taken down Nuada’s killer, but he was not High King then. Funny how a title could change so much for one man.

 “You’ve clearly never seen the man fight, have you, Ab?” Lugh said as his eyes turned down to his friend. The dwarf was incredibly well-informed, but there were still holes in his knowledge. Lugh was beginning to see that those holes often had to do with war.

“That good?” Abcan asked with an air of disbelief. His hand went inside his robes, and for an instant, Lugh thought the man was about to take out the ogma cores. Instead, a fully packed smoking pipe came out. Lugh embraced the Light and lit it for Abcan before the dwarf had the opportunity to do so.

“Oh no, he’s dreadful,” Lugh replied with the biggest smile on his lips, “Why do you think he took the Sword of Light so quickly? Even I would have let the King’s corpse cool before such an action.”

Abcan raised an eyebrow and stared at Lugh flatly.

“Perhaps that’s an exaggeration,” Lugh said after a moment. Abcan nodded in reply, adopting his own wide grin. Blue smoke began to fall from his lips as he started to form smoke rings; that was a neat little trick Lugh had never been able to master without some help from the Light.

“All that hot air about militaristic might and honor is just that then – hot air?”

“I’ve always thought it was his way of overcompensating – but yes. Why should anyone outside of the Court question his prowess as a warrior if he makes his entire existence about battle?” Lugh asked before their little group made their way down the slope and towards the Hill proper. A steady trail of blue smoke was left in their wake.

“I’ll stop singing songs about his countless battles and victories, in that case,” Abcan offered as they walked on. Lugh did not even think before shaking his head. Abcan went on quickly, “And why not? The prince certainly has it out for you and I wouldn’t want for him to have more glory in the eyes of the people than is necessary.”

“Why, Abcan, my dearest friend. Do you know how many Bards he paid to write and compose those many, many, many songs? No. Let them be heard by everyone. Should the Prince ever deign to actually fight one of his own battles – well, it would be much more satisfying for the people to see him fall flat on his arse.”

“And this is why we get along so well,” Abcan said with a hearty chuckle as they reached the top of the Hill and opened the main gate.
 
 

Nuada’s Keep was the finest building in all the Isles. Bards sang of it, children dreamed of it, and warriors prayed that they might defend it. It was built by three men using all of their skills – both mortal and mystical. The entirety of the structure went down forty levels beneath the ground, each descending level had been built wider than the last. The fortieth level itself was often said to be as large as one of the Great Cities. Lugh knew for a fact that the fortieth level was slightly less than half the size of Gorias. His personal apartments were on that final level. Indeed, many of the higher-ranking Dagda held personal rooms on the fortieth floor.

Before taking the throne, Lugh had been living in a much smaller keep in Gorias. Cethen, one of Lugh’s uncles, had been High Prince of Gorias at the time. The blessed man had taken Lugh under his wing once Nuada had accepted him as a member of the Court. In those early years, Uncle Cethen had made it his mission to see Lugh succeed him as High Prince. Countless hours of sparring and tutoring had marked those long-ago days. Had that never happened, Lugh might never have found himself with the Crown of Maeve upon his brow, nor would he have found himself sitting with Abcan.

They occupied Lugh’s larger sitting room; it featured two fireplaces, a number of bookcases, and the most comfortable easy chairs in all of the Isles. When the two found themselves alone together for any length of time, the words between them flowed constantly and effortlessly. It was in that sitting room that they had wasted many an hour going back and forth. Much like they were doing at that moment. The pair had been back from Findias for a number of hours, but their conversation had never stopped.

“Yes, I much prefer their silks. Trust me, Lugh, there is a reason you know Lakshmi’s name when I mention her land,” Abcan said between puffs on his pipe.

“True, the quality may be better – but you cannot compare it to good Atlantean work. I mean – by Danu – think of the labyrinthian pattern! A classic! You’re wearing it!” Lugh exclaimed as he pointed to the silken under-robe that was peaking out of Abcan’s sleeve. The bard had the grace to redden as he stuffed the bit of fabric back up into the outer-robe.

“My under-robe is a knock-off,” Abcan mumbled almost imperceptibly.

“A what?!” Lugh exclaimed as he leapt out of his chair, “The fabulous and amazing Abcan is wearing a fake Atlantean under-robe!?”

Abcan reddened even further and looked away before muttering, “I never wear my real stuff in public.”

“Public? We’re forty levels underground. Who will possibly-,” Lugh faltered as a loud knock came from the double doors that lead out into the hallway. Abcan looked up from his seat and pursed his lips. Lugh rolled his eyes and called out for the stranger to enter. Abcan went back to blowing smoke rings and looking anywhere but at Lugh.

The rounded double doors swung open to admit the newest member of Court, Master Kerr’gan. The ‘old’ blacksmith had enacted quite the transformation since taking up residence in the Hill. Gone was the threadbare clothing and boiled leather, banished away was his mangey mane of greying hair and matching beard. The Dagda now donned the finest of tunics and the most ornamented of breastplates, his hair always coiffed and skin perfectly scented.

Lugh pursed his own lips.

“You wished to see me, my King?” Master Kerr’gan asked in a perfect, courtly voice. He swept a perfect bow; even flourishing his half cape a tad.

It was all really too much.

Lugh had to think for a moment before responding to the man, “Ah, yes. A good day to you, Master Kerr’gan. I trust you are enjoying your new home?”

“Why yes, my King!” Kerr’gan exclaimed, “It is everything I had hoped it to be. You do not mind that I have taken the liberties of hiring a personal staff?”

“Of course not. You are of my Court now and you shall not want,” Lugh said honestly. Kerr’gan had wished to take in a number of blacksmiths – both as apprentices and assistants. From all reports, it appeared that Kerr’gan no longer wanted to do the work himself. Lugh had no problem with that. Lugh only wished for results from the man.

“My King is too generous,” Kerr’gan said with another sweeping bow. Abcan guffawed before covering his mouth with his free hand, the other setting his pipe down on a side table. Lugh smiled tightly and nodded at the unnecessary bow.

“There is one thing I would like to speak to you about,” Lugh said as he embraced the Light with his might. The Spearhead came flying off from the far end of the room on fibers of Air. Kerr’gan gulped audibly as the weapon came to settle in the space between them. Lugh divided the flow and wove a complex tendril of the five elements and held it just so before saying, “Embrace the Light, if you will, Master Kerr’gan, I’d like you to see something.”

Lugh waited a moment before boring the tendril into the Spearhead. Kerr’gan’s eyes went wide as the Spearhead started to glow white and gold. It spun faster and faster as the tendril was sucked into it. Lugh let go of the tendril but held onto his other fiber of Air. The glowing stopped completely once the last of the tendril had gone into it.

“Now try to draw the Light through the Spearhead, as if you would any Light-touched object,” Lugh commanded.

Kerr’gan apparently tried and failed before shaking his head, “I can’t. It won’t work, my King.”

“That weaving of mine is the same that creates Light-touched objects. It always works,” Lugh said as Kerr’gan gasped quietly. “This spearhead will not serve my purpose. It is imperative that I be there to weave my own Light upon the object when it is turned to Heartstone. You told me which of the Isles your source is on, Old Kerr’gan.”

The other man flinched.

“I don’t have the time to go on a hunt. You are going to bring them to Court and they are going to aid me in this, Master Kerr’gan.”

The other man relaxed slightly, “Of course, my King. But you will understand that these things take some time. My source will have to be contacted and I will have to explain the situation to them – of course- and I would not want them to feel like they are being forced into-“

Lugh clapped his hands once.

“They will be here within a fortnight, my King.”

“If they are not here within the week, I will go and pay Esras’ fine. He has the same source as you, if I recall,” Lugh said before turning away from Kerr’gan. He wove the Air and sent the Spearhead back into its wrappings. Three horns of ale came sailing back to Lugh in its place.

“Of course, my King. I would not wish for you to go to such measures,” Kerr’gan replied quickly and defeatedly.

Abcan stood up from his seat at the sight of the horns and moved to stand near Kerr’gan. Lugh gave the horns over to them and took one for himself. They drank to seal the deal between King and Courtier. After the horns were emptied, Lugh walked Kerr’gan back to the doors. If it were any other member of the Court, Lugh would have invited them to stay for the duration of the night if they so wished. Kerr'gan was still too green. He was far too easily bullied, as was just proven. The man would learn for himself soon enough. Lugh just didn't want to be the one to teach him that lesson. Abcan would surely love to do so, but still, Lugh was not feeling up to that. With the matter of the Heartstone source being cleared up, there was another pressing matter that needed to be delved into.

“I am sorry, but if you will excuse us, Master Kerr’gan. Master Abcan and I must discuss a missing Goddess,” Lugh said with a smile before ushering the old blacksmith out and closing the doors behind him.

[Aiden Finnegan]

Lugh turned from the door and saw Abcan drinking straight from the bottle of mead that had been opened for Kerr’gan’s arrival. Lugh embraced the Light and used fibers of Air to take the bottle away from the bard. He called out angrily to Lugh, whom only shook his head and pulled out the silken bag of ogma cores.

“I wasn’t lying to Master Kerr’gan. We are seeing what is in these cores before we devote the rest of our night to debauchery,” Lugh said firmly as he used the fibers to place the bottle on top of the mantle closest to him. Abcan glared at Lugh as if to say, ‘putting the bottle up high is cruel, but it will not stop me.’ Lugh chuckled and rejoined the man near the fireplace and easy chairs.

Still embracing the Light, Lugh wove out fibers of Air, Spirit, and Fire into a rigid pattern of straight lines and angles – very much unlike the many other weavings he had learned of swirls and loops. The weaving burned white hot in the air and Lugh took one of the ogma cores from the pouch and tossed it into the center of the pattern. The quartz core seemed to catch itself in an invisible net as it stopped mid toss. The core quivered and suddenly dragged itself to the topmost point of the weaving of Light.

A genderless voice poured forth from the core and spoke from nowhere and everywhere, “Brigid Aigit genealogy. Daughter of Nechtan and Boann. Sister to Cermait, Aengus, Aed, and Bodb Derg. Widow to Regent Bres. Mother to Gobain, Credne, Luchta, and Ruadan. Granddaughter of –“

Lugh altered his weaving and the genealogy core went mute. He took another from the bag and repeated the motion: tossing it into the weaving and waiting to see which point the core was drawn to. The same genderless voice sounded for the second core, “Brigid Aigit known residences. Springview farmstead in the third Great City of Murias, place of birth. Nuada’s Keep in the Hill of Tara, departed after Lugh’s coronation. Conand’s Tower, abandoned Fomorian Keep in Tory, left after Nuada’s second coronation – suspected secret dwelling. Temple of Brigid in the second Great City of Findias, currently occupied. Coordinates of Springview –“

Lugh altered the weaving again and muted the core before moving on to the next. They had gone through five more cores before the bag emptied and Lugh found himself reaching for the bottle he had forbade Abcan.

“Really? You’re not gonna pour me one too after you snatched it from my hands?” Abcan asked as he crossed his arms and started to tap his foot. Lugh handed over the filled horn with a rolling of his eyes.

“I was pouring that for you, smart arse,” Lugh said before grabbing the second drinking horn. “Well, I apologize. That was an utter waste of time. I don’t know what I was expecting from Uscias. We should have told Kerr’gan to stay. At least we would’ve had a laugh.”

Abcan downed the horn and held it out for a refill before Lugh had even taken a swill of his own. Regardless, he poured another for his friend. Abcan went right on as he waited for the mead to be deposited into his vessel, “Oh? You must not have been paying attention then. I heard plenty that we might act upon.”

Abcan downed the second serving in a single swallow and Lugh found himself pouring the bard a third.

“The only bit I heard that we might follow up on is her past residence. I’d bet a platinum mark that she’s back at the old family farm. I’ve heard of Boann. She solved the Great Famine and refused to leave her farm on the excuse that her magic was tied to the land,” Lugh said proudly before downing his own horn of mead.

“Old Cethen didn’t teach you much if you believe that,” Abcan laughed as he took out his smoking pipe. The thing was packed and lit within seconds and blue smoke rings started to fill the atmosphere. The bard took a pull from his horn as he settled back into an easy chair, “The whole family’s claim to fame is that damn Cauldron. The farm was just an excuse. Boann hated politics almost as much as she hated Nuada – although many whispered that the two were lovers.”

Lugh was pouring his next horn before he stopped and slowly turned his head towards the bard. He cocked an eyebrow and asked, “So, if you know so much, what was the point in listening to the cores?”

“To see if they knew anything I didn’t,” Abcan answered simply.

Lugh rolled his eyes, shook his head, finished pouring his horn, and downed it unceremoniously. He sighed before asking, “Did you learn anything we might use?”

“Nope,” Abcan again went on in an infuriatingly simple manner.

“Bullshit. It made you think at least. What did you think of?”

“Over the last week, I’ve grown increasingly certain that Kerr’gan and Esras’ Heartstone source is one of Brigid’s sons,” Abcan said before downing his horn and holding it out to Lugh for another pour.

“Yes, I’ve realized that with the little nuggets you’ve fed me,” Lugh answered impatiently as he did as he was asked.

“Second, the other son must be hiding on the Isle of Tory,” Abcan said as he downed his horn once more and repeated the sign for a refill. Lugh shook the empty bottle comically and gestured for the bard to grab one that was unopened. Abcan did as he was told before starting to pour for Lugh and himself.

“Ab, I am beginning to have my doubts of Kerr’gan. Do you really think one of Brigid’s sons made the spearhead?” Lugh asked seriously as he took a pull from his horn. At that moment, a servant entered with a silver worked tray. The servant set the tray down upon the low table between Lugh and Abcan before removing its covering. A flash of steam erupted from the tray as the covering came away. Minced beef pies, smashed potatoes, shepherds’ bread, and hot links sparkled upon a dozen miniature plates as the steam cleared. The smells of fine cuisine wafted up to the pair, making their mouths water.

Abcan finished his horn and immediately grabbed one of the pies, devouring it in two bites before going on, “Credne made your spearhead, mark my words – from start to finish. Kerr’gan is a hack. Gobain used the Light in his metalsmithing – yes – but his results were different. He never made Heartstone. He had a name for what he made: Light-forged. He insisted it was different from the Light-touched you so love to go on about.”

“How so? Sounds like a different way of saying the same thing to me,” Lugh pronounced before popping a hotlink into his mouth.

“Heartstone is a material that is transformed by the Light into something new. Light-forged items have the Light built-in – so to speak – they aren’t transformed into something new – they are something new,” Abcan said as he drove a pointed finger into Lugh’s chest.

Lugh all but coughed at the poke and said, “I still don’t see what the difference is!”

“Heartstone is a material made to be magic and Light-forged is a material that is made from magic! Have you not heard of the Hammer of the Gods? Have you not heard of the legend of the Sword of Light!? They are all Light-forged: a metal only made possible by the gods of the world!? Ha!” Abcan all but yelled before devouring a second pie. He descended into an uncontrollable bout of laughter as he tried to drunkenly take the spearhead that was stowed away in Lugh's leather scrip.

Lugh narrowed his eyes and glared at Abcan. He murmured the words, “I think we’re drinking too quickly. Eat another pie, man! We will talk of this on the morrow!”

And then the world went black.

[Rowan Finnegan]

The Northern Isles of Erie

---

“Mother, if he were to fight the Fomorians, than I wish to stand with him! Father would want it to be!” Gobain exclaimed as he threw down the chalice offered him.
Brigid shuddered as she embraced the Light and wove Air to scoop the chalice up and offer it again to her son.

“Don’t,” He exclaimed, “DON’T!”

Brigid shuddered.

“You yourself said that you saw the Fomorians invading once more. What good is your Sight if we do not aid our king?” Gobain went on as he punched a wall with his powerful fist. Brigid shuddered once more. She hated the rage that had been inspired within her sons. Every single time the king of the Tuatha De needed warriors, her sons had responded. The call had gone up once more, but this time she vowed to fight it. Luchta would be the last causality from her line.

“The last time we aided our king, one of your brothers fell. I would not suffer that again – and neither would you. Trust in me, Gobain. I would not have come to you if I expected this reception,” Brigid replied seriously.

“Then your time is wasted, for I would join our king a thousand times before I let our Grandfather’s people take the isles. A despicable lot. I expected more from you mother! You who saw our father –“ Gobain exclaimed before Brigid’s open palm smacked him across the face.

“Don’t you ever – If you value your life or these islands, you will listen to me. You are not destined to wind up in Lugh’s fantasies. Why, you are –“ Brigid went on for two days in an effort to convince her first born to deny the call of war and the call of Lugh.

She left Gobain about three hours before Lugh and Abcan appeared before Gorias.

[Aiden Finnegan]

The First Great City of Gorias
The Isles of Erie

---

“High Prince Lecan should be expecting us,” Lugh announced to Abcan as the Doorway closed behind them. Unlike High Prince Uscias, Lugh had gotten along rather well with High Prince Lecan of Gorias. Although, that might had owed to the fact that Lugh and Lecan were cousins.
 
The bodyguards fanned out to scout the surrounding area for any danger – no matter how unlikely that seemed. The ring walls of Gorias loomed beyond the copse of trees that they had just walked in to. The moon had barley begun its journey over the horizon, but a blanket of stars had already begun to peak through the veil that covered the world.

Abcan’s network of eyes-and-ears had informed him of Gobain’s presence in the city. The bard had insisted that they should pursue the other brother, Credne, but Lugh had overruled him. Both Kerr’gan and Esras had insisted that their source was located in the northern isles – indeed, they had all but pointed to a hamlet located just north of Gorias. Both men had hailed from Gorias; it was rather reasonable to think that their sources were local.

On the other hand, it had been reported that Credne was more than likely living on the Isle of Tory, which was due east from Gorias. Lugh had argued that it would take less time to find Gobain and so they should start with him. Abcan had argued that High Prince Lecan would have known if Gobain or Credne had been living in his city – anyone would have known that they had been living there. His argument didn’t hold as much weight, however, because no one knew where the brothers had gone to after Lugh’s coronation. It had been three years since and not a sight nor a whisper about either - save for Abcan's informants, of course. But then, those men and women were not officially apart of the Hill's payroll, and so officially their information did not exist.

The peasants had whispered that they had gone back to Lochlann, the mythical city that the Tuatha De progenitor had left behind. Many at Court insisted that the pair had turned traitor and joined what was left of the Fomorian horde across the eastern sea. There were also some that had said that the brothers had gone off to avenge their fallen, third brother – again to the Fomorians across the sea, but this time in a suicidal attempt to kill every last one of them. Lugh hadn’t paid the gossip much heed. Most of it was the stuff of stories spun to stimulate a weary mind.

Abcan pulled his pipe out and lit the thing with a fiber of Fire. He puffed at it quietly before blowing a large, blue smoke ring out into the trees. Lugh looked down at him, expectantly. The bard simply said, “Well, let’s get on with it then.”

Lugh rolled his eyes. Abcan would appear disinterested until they found out if Lecan could help or not. At that point, it would either be a laughing ‘I told you so’ or a commiserating ‘shut up. You were right.’ Lugh wished to get to that point as quickly as possible, if only for his friend to regain his proper charisma. The bodyguards returned affirming that all was safe and they set forth for the main gates to the city of Gorias.
 
 
The Keep of Gorias was not as grand as Nuada’s Keep, but it would always feel more familiar and homier to Lugh no matter how many years he resided under the Hill – of that he had always been certain. Lecan’s house guard had led them down to the main sitting room before handing them off to the servants to be made comfortable amidst the various chairs and sofas that occupied the room. A meal had been prepared and a cask of mead opened to celebrate their arrival. Lecan, as always, had taken his sweet time in making his way to greet them. Lugh did not mind; he had anticipated as much. Abcan had worked his way through two plates and three tankards before Lecan had arrived. Lugh had taken the opportunity to nap in the meanwhile. He was awoken abruptly by Abcan’s elbow.

“Ah, cousin, it is good to see that you are finding rest when you are able to. I trust Nuada did not leave you too heavy a burden?” Lecan called from the open doorway. He greatly resembled Lugh. The pair were both taller than most men and had long, golden manes of hair. They both had warm hazel eyes, an easy smile, and high cheekbones. Both men had also inherited the curious deformity that marked the more powerful Dagda of the Isles of Erie: the tops of their ears were slightly elongated and pointed.

“Indeed, cousin, but my spine has always found your sofas to be the most forgiving,” Lugh called back cheerfully as he leapt from the couch and bounded towards Lecan, embracing the man with a hearty laugh. Lugh went so far as to pick the man up in a bear hug and swung him around in a circle. The greener of the house guard moved to bear their blades, but the older men urged them to stay their hands. Lecan was laughing before Lugh placed him back onto the tiled floor with little grace.

“How is my little Ebliu? I am positively affronted that you have not brought her here to meet her second cousin. She’s what now, two whole years of age?” Lecan asked Lugh with a feigned air of offense.

“Ah, but then she always seems to ask, ‘Father? Why has Cousin Lecan not come to see my radiance? Mother will not let me leave the Keep!’” Lugh replied with another hearty laugh, slapping the other man on the back, “But in truth, cousin. We miss seeing you down in the Hill. The High Council will be expecting your tribute soon enough.”

“The council and your Hill have my marks, of that you can be certain,” Lecan answered seriously, “And you tell Buach that she and Ebliu are as safe here as your Hill. We’ve had Fomorian incursions on the coast, but it is nothing to worry on. My men have pushed them back into the eastern sea.”

Abcan spit out his mead at the mention, “You what, man!?”

“Yes, please elaborate, cousin. Why have you not sent word on this?” Lugh asked, almost speaking over Abcan in his irritation.

“Lugh, this has been happening for years. We had only thought it over because they haven’t tried to raid us since Nuada’s fall. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten, man, this use to be a weekly event,” Lecan said as he walked over to the spread that his servants had laid out. A wine filled chalice was in his hands within seconds.

“Right, cousin! Three years and we have had no raids along your eastern coast. What has changed?” Lugh asked seriously.

“My men are looking into it, fear not. The raiding party was easily dispatched – and I mean in entirety. Not even a longship was sent back across the waves,” Lecan replied soothingly before taking a sip from his gold worked chalice.

“I want regular reports on the matter, cousin. My reign is still in its infancy. We cannot allow the Fomorians to make any incursions into the Isles.”

“Of course, cousin. You have my word. Who else would you rather have your back on this matter? You know that the soldiers of Gorias are the finest in the Isles. Trust in me. It has been only one instance thus far,” Lecan said seriously – almost sounding like he was trying to convince himself of his words. He nodded at Lugh twice before turning his head back to the spread, the waiting servant pilling a plate high with samples of the various dishes on offer. They had tried to shove a plate at Lugh, but he had politely refused. The kitchen staff at the Hill had ensured that he had been plumped up before taking his leave on this little mission.

Lugh appraised his cousin before nodding in affirmation. It would have to do. Lecan certainly didn’t think much of the event, so who was Lugh to blow it out of proportion? That had not even been the reason they had come to Gorias. Brigid’s boys were more pressing. Lecan said it himself; the Formorians barely even tried to raid, should that change, the Hill would find out.

“What of Gobain and Credne?” Lugh asked, changing the subject entirely.

“What of them?” Lecan asked in return before remembering himself, “Ah, do forgive me, cousin. They have never lived within these walls – at least according to the city records. If they had, it was under an assumed name and credentials. Brigid has not visited this city since Nuada’s tour of the Cities after his second coronation.”

“What do your ogma cores say?”

“What yours have said. They have not had much of a history since you ascended – begging your pardon, cousin, did you offend Brigid?” Lecan asked between bites of the various appetizers on his little plate.

“If I have, I would like to know how,” Lugh replied as he took a pull from the horn of mead in his left hand.

“She was always rather insular. I doubt that you did, lest you spoke out against her sons,” Lecan said consideringly between bites.

“Again, if I have, I would like to know how. I never spoke much to the other Dagda of Nuada’s court. It wasn’t until I was crowned that I had to carry on with all of this…”

“Muck?” Lecan asked amusedly, “Why they picked you, cousin, I’ll never know.”

“I can get the job done, Lecan. Lest you wish for broader expanses. Tell me, do you wish to rule all five Isles?”

“Gorias is more than enough, I can assure you of that,” Lecan said seriously, “I was only referring to the fact that you detest authority. And now you are the authority.”

“Fate has a funny way of running contrary to our own wishes,” Lugh spoke the old proverb, earning a nod from Lecan and Abcan. “Cousin, if you wish to speak on that, I would be happy to do so at a later date. But, I must insist that we stick to the matter at hand.”

“Comrac is the hamlet you were asking about, cousin,” Lecan said, “We have not made it a habit to keep records of the towns that surround Gorias, so I am afraid that is all I have to offer. I have never visited the area, personally, but I am told it is nothing more than a humble mining town.”

Abcan perked up.

“A mining town?” Lugh asked after a perceptible pause.

“Zinc and stone, I’m afraid,” Lecan said almost apologetically.

“Oh, no no, cousin,” Lugh said excitedly, “Don’t apologize. You might just be proving us right. Gobain is in Comrac.”