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‘I’m sorry, Brendan, but this isn’t my fault and there is nothing I can do.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’ve been lying here thinking about it all morning – it’s my fault.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t say that. How about we say it’s nobody’s fault?’
‘No,’ Brendan sighed. ‘It’s my fault. It started when I arrested an innocent man. Don’t get me wrong, I had pretty good reason but, in the end, I arrested a man for a crime that not only had he not committed – it was a crime that never even happened. No good can ever come from something that starts like that. So as much as I would like to blame you – this is mostly my fault.’
‘Well, if you insist,’ I said, ‘but don’t beat yourself up too much – it could have happened to anyone.’
‘Thanks,’ he said, finally looking at me. ‘So this is really … real then?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
‘And I have been acting like a serious jerk?’
‘That too, I’m afraid, is true.’
Brendan placed his hand over his face in embarrassment. ‘Oh my God, I rapped on your father’s forehead like it was a door. Oh, I am so sorry, Conor.’
‘Yeah, that was pretty bad.’
‘Oh and the furniture and the … I really am sorry, Conor,’ he said, sitting up. ‘But in my defence, I did think I was going to wake up at any moment.’
‘Fair enough, apology accepted.’ I held out my hand. ‘Shall we start over?’
‘I’d like that,’ he said, shaking it.
I had come in to tell him that I was leaving for a few days but instead I said, ‘How about a road trip?’
That piqued his interest. ‘To where?’
‘The Hazellands.’
‘Isn’t that where the Leprechaun army is stationed?’
‘Oh my gods, you were listening to me.’
‘I’m a man of my word, Conor. I didn’t believe or care about your story the first time you babbled it but the second time I promised I would listen and I did. Since Fand convinced me I wasn’t dreaming, I’ve been going over your adventure in my head. Did all of that stuff really happen?’
‘Yes,’ I said, chuckling. ‘Don’t feel bad about not believing me. I sometimes have trouble believing it myself. But to answer your question, no, the Leprechaun army was disbanded and I don’t know what’s there now.’
‘Who else is coming?’ Brendan said, hopping up and dressing. ‘Is that what’s-her-name that trashed my police station and burned my ear coming?’
‘You mean Aunt Nieve? I don’t know.’
‘How about the woman who throws me across the room with regularity?’
‘Yes, I’m sure Mom is coming.’
‘Who else?’
‘Araf probably.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘He’s the guy who threw me the stick when I hit you on the head.’
‘The first time you hit me or the second time?’
‘The second time – gosh, you have been having a rough time lately, but The Land’s like that in the beginning. It’ll get better. Can I buy you some lunch?’
‘You’re getting to know me, Conor. My wife used to do the same thing. Whenever she saw me getting down she would only have to feed me and I was happy again.’
‘Well then, let’s get the chef to whip up something special. And if you like I’ll teach you how to read Gaelic – since you can speak it, it shouldn’t be too hard.’
After Dad regained the throne, in what is now called the Troid e Ewan Macha, or The Battle of the Twins of Macha, I had a lot of time on my hands and I spent most of it exploring Castle Duir. I even revisited the dungeon and issued my one and only executive order to have the cells cleaned out. I still feel sorry for whoever got that job. The only place that I never got to see was the armoury. After the battle, Dad still couldn’t be sure if there were any of Cialtie’s loyal followers still lurking around incognito, so he decided to seal off the weapons room until security could be normalised.
So that made this trip to the armoury my first one. Brendan and I hiked to the north wing, sailed past three sets of ten-hutting armed guards and found ourselves in front of a set of huge oak doors inlaid with a fine gold latticework.
Light flooded the hallway as we pushed our way in. Like Gerard’s armoury, this was a glass-roofed gymnasium, but size-wise it made the winemaker’s weapons room seem like a walk-in closet. Racks upon racks contained carefully stacked weapons: swords, axes, maces and rows and rows of banta sticks. Tournament practice areas were marked off on the floor and the entire far length of the room was an impossibly long archery range that could accommodate eight archers abreast, each with their own targets. At the far end there was a huge contraption that looked like it might be a catapult.
‘Wow,’ I said.
The sound of Brendan’s and my footsteps echoed in the huge space. Surprisingly there was no one around.
Brendan whispered like he was in a church. ‘Where is everyone?’
‘Probably off pillaging.’
‘Damn,’ Brendan said, ‘you mean it’s pillaging season and no one told me?’
I smiled and shouted a tentative, ‘Hello?’
‘So,’ Brendan said in a normal tone, now that it looked like we were alone in there, ‘where do they keep the AK-47s?’
‘I’m afraid if you want a long-range weapon, Brendan, it’ll have to be one of those.’
Brendan turned to where I had pointed; the entire wall was covered with both long and short bows mounted neatly in rows. They were all unstrung with their strings hanging slack from the top notch. There were hundreds of them.
‘Ah,’ Brendan said, ‘you may laugh, but I was a pretty good archer in my youth. My mother made me take lessons.’ Brendan walked over to the wall and reached up to take down a medium-sized bow.
I never heard the twang of the bow that fired the arrow at him, I didn’t even see it while it was in the air, I only heard the thwap of the arrow hitting its target and Brendan’s yelp as he realised his arm was pinned to the wall.
The arrow had tacked Brendan’s shirtsleeve to the wall, missing his skin by inches. I hit the ground, rolled to my left, upsetting a stand of bantas, and came up crouching with a stick in each hand. I poked my nose over the now-empty banta stick holder to see Brendan reaching to extract the arrow that stuck him to the wall. As his hand crossed his body another arrow pinned that sleeve as well. This time clothing wasn’t the only thing it pierced – he howled in pain.
‘I’m hit!’
Chapter Eight
Spideog
I ducked back down and reviewed my situation. The only thing I deduced was that I was in trouble and Brendan was screwed. What did Dahy tell me? ‘When in doubt, stay still and listen.’ So I did, but I couldn’t hear anything except Brendan’s heavy breathing.
‘Brendan,’ I said in a loud whisper, ‘can you see anything?’
‘Straight back at the other end of the room I saw a flash of something green.’ He strained his neck for a better look. ‘Nothing now.’
‘Are you OK?’
‘I think so.’
‘Keep watching. I’m coming to get you.’
I peered around the corner of the weapons stand and was just about to make a dash for Brendan when I heard a footfall behind me. I whirled to see a hooded man in a bright green tunic and brown leather leggings. In one hand he held a bow and in the other an arrow. I instantly attacked with both sticks – one high and one low. Like he was reading my mind he twisted his body vertical and kicked his foot at my fingers where I was holding the low banta. The stick flew out of my hand. My other weapon he blocked with the string of his bow. No one had ever done that to me before. My stick sprang back so far I completely lost form. My whole left side was exposed and my opponent didn’t hesitate in exploiting that fact. I’m not quite sure what he did next but I think it was a swipe to the kidneys with the bow and a kick to the back of the legs with his foot, maybe both feet. Whatever – I went down like a hippo on ice.
After bouncing my forehead off the deck I came to a stop with the green goblin kneeling on the backs of my arms and something very pointy sticking into the rear of my neck. My left cheek was pressed against the floor. Out of the corner of my right eye I could just make out an open-mouthed Brendan trying to escape his feathered clothespins. The sharp pain in my neck stopped and an arrow sizzled through the air, planting itself about two inches from Brendan’s nose.
‘Do not move, Druid,’ greeny shouted.
Brendan may not have answered but he certainly obeyed.
The pain in my neck resumed, forcing me to the conclusion that he had a cocked arrow pointing at the back of my collar. Even though he didn’t tell me not to move, I decided that not moving was a good idea.
‘I’ve been waiting for you, Druid,’ the green guy said as he pushed the point of the arrow hard into my neck.
‘Hey, buddy,’ I said, ‘you got the wrong guys. We’re not Druids.’
‘Do not insult me. There are still people in The Land who can recognise a Fili and I am one of them.’
‘The Fili have been exonerated. Haven’t you heard?’
‘The ones who own those bows will never be exonerated,’ he said.
This guy definitely had the drop on me and I figured it was only a matter of time before he garrotted me so I made, what turned out to be, a futile attempt to buck him off my back. It only resulted in my head getting bounced off the floor one more time.
‘Relax, Druid. I do not wish to hurt you before the Lord of Duir has a chance to question you.’
Up till then I figured, like I always do when somebody attacks me out of the blue, that this was probably some sort of assassin hired by Cialtie. Now I realised that this idiot worked here.
‘The Lord of Duir is incapacitated. Does that mean you will now take commands from his prince?’
The pressure from the arrowhead slacked. ‘Yes.’
‘Then I, Conor of Duir, command you to – get your butt off of me!’
It’s amazing what a royal title can do in the right situation. Greeny hopped directly off me. I groaned erect as fast as my not-quite broken limbs would allow.
My attacker’s hood was back. I was a bit surprised to see wrinkles around the piercing green eyes. This guy had been around for longer than probably anyone I had yet met in The Land. He wore a waxed moustache and a meticulously trimmed goatee that pointed directly to the bow and arrow that he still had levelled at my chest.
‘Lower your weapon,’ I said, trying very hard to sound like my father.
‘Yes, my lord,’ he said as he released the tension on his bow.
‘Who are you and why have you attacked my royal personage?’
As I have mentioned before, I’m not a big fan of all the regal bowing and curtseying people do around the castle but after a guy kicks you in the back of the legs, the sight of him grovelling is very satisfying.
‘I am Spideog, Master-at-Arms of Castle Duir. I am sorry, Your Highness.’
Behind me I heard Brendan trying to extricate himself. Greeny pulled back his bowstring and fired another arrow that planted itself about an inch from the previous one. I think if this guy wanted to, he could shoot fleas off a dog at fifty paces.
‘Conor, tell him to stop doing that,’ Brendan shouted.
‘Hey, stop doing that,’ I said.
Spideog had already notched another arrow from the quiver on his back. ‘Instruct the Druid to leave the yew bows alone.’
‘OK, first of all, he’s not a Druid and secondly we didn’t know they were yew. Brendan!’ I yelled over my shoulder. ‘Don’t touch the bows.’
‘If he stops shooting at me I’ll put my hands in my pockets and not touch another thing all day. Now will somebody unpin me? I feel like a wanted poster.’
‘You heard the man,’ I said to Spideog still using my dad voice. ‘Put your weapon away and help him down.’
The arrows were embedded so far into the wood that we had to snap them to unpin the detective. Brendan rolled up his left sleeve and examined the cut that the second arrow had inflicted. It wasn’t much more than a bad scratch but that didn’t stop Brendan from being very mad.
‘Why you son of a—’ He took a swing at the archer’s nose.
Without any seemingly quick movements, Spideog casually brought up his left hand, connecting the back of his palm with the side of Brendan’s advancing fist, and pushed the punch off target. His hand sailed harmlessly past Spideog’s ear and Brendan stumbled forward. Confused at what had just happened but still just as mad, Brendan took another swing to precisely the same effect.
‘Lord Conor, instruct your companion to stop attacking me.’
‘Stop attacking him, Brendan.’
He didn’t listen. I once heard that the definition of insanity is when you do the same things over and over but expect different results. Well, Brendan did the same thing and he did get a different result. This time Spideog’s hand parry was accompanied by a kick that dropped Brendan about as quickly as I had been earlier. It ended with Spideog kneeling on Brendan’s back and holding his wrist in what looked like a very painful position. The archer gave me a pleading look.
‘Brendan, are you going to knock it off?’
‘Yes,’ he groaned into the floor.
Spideog let go. I was expecting Brendan to get up furious, instead he came up wide-eyed and said, ‘How did you do that?’
‘Simple,’ greeny said, bouncing on his toes, ‘your attack was sloppy and I – well – I am very good.’
Brendan rubbed his sore shoulder and amazingly smiled. ‘Can you teach me that?’
‘Why, I would be delighted. First stand with your feet in a stance just wider than your shoulders, then—’
‘Ah, excuse me. Remember me, Prince of Duir?’
