Day 15 of Midwinter, Sunrise

  Cai’s Room, The Deep Realm

  Annwn

  I had eventually drifted off to sleep, dreaming of a series of bloody duels, all filled with flashing blades. In some, I found myself squaring off against faceless opponents in the dueling grounds. In others, I was merely an onlooker, watching an already in-progress fight. I tossed and turned, the dreams melting into one another.

  The starring roles seemed to belong to the major Fomorian blades: Cathscian, Fuilgeir, Orna, and Fragarach. When I arrived in this world only a few years ago, I had felt overwhelmed by the names and bloody histories of each blade. But as I spent more time with the swords, and saw them in action, their meaning and purpose had become more apparent.

  When I first arrived in Annwn, only three blades were in the possession of Fomorian leaders. Neit carried Cathscian, the “Battle Blade,” the only blade not made of a cold iron or a cold iron alloy. Corb brandished the double-bladed Fuilgeir, known as the “Blood Cleaver.” And Tethra carried her “Precious Gem,” Orna.

  Of the three blades, only two were currently being wielded. Cathscian had been damaged so badly in Neit’s battle with Nuada that the sword had been retired. A sad end to a blade so legendary that its origins had been immortalized in the bard’s tale, “The First Fomorian,” then set to music and sung each Midsummer celebration. It had honored the coming of both Neit and Cathscian to the Otherworld. Cathscian’s story had ended with the death of Neit.

  In my dreams, I watched the remaining two blades flashing in battle. For thousands of years, they had been wielded side-by-side. For the first time, Fuilgeir and Orna would be pitted against each other on the dueling ground, with only the more skilled warrior emerging victorious. Despite my protests, I knew there was nothing I could do about it. Fomorian would battle Fomorian even while the Tuatha rallied their forces to destroy us all.

  From a tactical standpoint, it was an interesting matchup. Fuilgeir made its wielder faster and stronger with every hit. But Orna had a memory. Not only did Tethra’s precious gem herald the deeds of past battles, it learned from them. The sword empowered her to parry and counter similar actions from any opponent. It learned and remembered.

  My mind subconsciously flicked to my own blade, Fragarach. I had only been in possession of the weapon for the last nine days. It had been a gift from King Nuada to his nephew, Lugh. When Lugh and I had faced each other on the banks of Lough Dearg, I had been forced to strike him down with the Spear of Victory. After, while the Morrigan cradled her dying cousin in her arms, Tethra and I had retreated with Fragarach.

  Remorse and sorrow threaded through the edges of my dreams, but I forced them away in the half-awake/half-asleep gray area I floated in. War was coming for us. I reminded myself that people die in war. Despite its truth, there was a part of my mind that loathed myself for thinking that way. The part of myself that needed to be strong reinforced the reasons why Lugh’s death had been necessary. Yes, we had stolen his spear, but only because they had first stolen the cauldron. We were balancing the battlefield. Right?

  I hadn’t known Lugh but knew that his death would almost certainly bring Findrias into the war. Gorias, if they knew the truth about Brigid, would not enter the fray. That left only my people to battle the armies of Murias, Findrias, and Falias. Could the Fomorians successfully defend their way of life under Tethra’s rule? Likely not without reinforcements. But could my brother sway the god of the sea to align himself with our plight? Could he sway Gorias? If so, perhaps we had a fighting chance.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The biggest question in my mind was whether these possible allies would remain allies if Corb were to defeat Tethra. He had aided Balor in the attack on the Heart-shaped Pool and the invasion of Gorias. Bren was out pleading for help for a victimized people that would be utterly and completely changed if Corb were to become our king.

  I finally gave up on sleep. My head throbbed as it tended to do when I didn’t get enough rest. My eyes felt gritty and hollow. I sat up, sweat cooling on my skin, and reached blindly for Fragarach. I thought back to the first time I had seen it. It had glowed a brilliant silver with my Identification boon. Now it lay across my legs, glowing a muted silver hue. Such was the way with magic items in Annwn. The strongest magic glowed silver… until the items tasted the blood of the immortal Tuatha, then they glowed with a golden light.

  I stood up and swung the sword in the air. The gentle whistling sound it made brought me comfort. The blade grew broader near the tip yet was perfectly balanced… an impossible feat that only the smith god could have managed.

  The sweat from my body was drying in the cool air of the morning, despite the dampness of the stone floors of my room. The walls glowed with the dim light of the lichen that was everywhere in the Deep Realm. While my boons made it so I could see perfectly well, it had taken some time to get used to life underground.

  I moved to stand in front of a polished obsidian mirror, staring at my reflection. A tired, dangerous-looking man stared back, heavy black scars standing out against the paler skin of my torso. I wondered if this was how Bren had seen me that night on the lake. At times like this, it was like the blackness went deeper than the surface, like the darkness of the branching scars was exposing the darkness contained within me.

  How fitting, I thought. A part of me had always known the toll this war was having on the very core of me. Though I didn’t know who I had been before the night of the Cold Moon, I knew that I had indeed been changed in my time in Annwn. If only I could use that darkness to save Tethra. I wanted, so badly, to take her place in the duel against her brother… my adopted brother.

  But that would never be allowed to happen, and Tethra would never forgive me if I tried. I knew she would see it as a betrayal of the worst kind, a sign that I didn’t have faith in her. But I also didn’t trust Corb to fight fair. He had no honor, which made the mantra that all participants were required to utter before walking onto the sacred ground, meaningless. The words were simply "With honor, I stand, by the shore and sea. If the Abyss takes me, let it remember my deeds.”

  Tethra had taught me that there were only five rules in a duel. Breaking any led to automatic disqualification. The rules were as follows:

  Honor:

  Recite the honor invocation before battle begins.

  Weapons:

  Magic and ranged weapons are forbidden.

  Defense:

  Shields are allowed, but heavy armor is discouraged.

  Interference:

  Duels are between the declared combatants alone.

  Retreat:

  Fleeing or refusing to fight is prohibited.

  There were three paths to victory. A combatant could disarm, force a submission, or kill their opponent. Killing or sending a fellow duelist into the Abyss, which was essentially the same thing, hardly ever happened in a duel.

  My mind whirled with worry. The Deep Realm had never seen a duel between the likes of Tethra and Corb. The very walls would shake, and blood would stain the ground for a hundred years.

  Worry and inaction often went hand in hand in my estimation. Thoughts of the pending duel and the looming war were too much for my sleep-deprived mind, and I could no longer simply wait in my lonely room. The time for passive thought was over. I rose to my feet, suddenly strong in my purpose. I would “stand” as the mantra said, next to Tethra, my friend, and hopefully, my future queen. We would spend the next day and a half preparing for what was to come. Though she was more experienced than me in swordplay, I knew that only I could prepare her to face the darkness inside of Corb. It was training time.

  Children of the Cold Moon is out now in paperback, ebook, and in audiobook format!