Oath of the Brotherhood Read Online Free PDF Page B

slightest noise.
    As Dolan predicted, Riocárd doubled the watch.
    Despite his fears, Conor slept soundly, troubled only by the usual dreams of the unknown. In the morning, though, another warrior was missing, and the two dozen men on watch couldn’t account for his disappearance. He had simply vanished.
    “Or the others were spelled,” Conor muttered as Dolan helped him into his armor.
    Days melded into nights in a dreamlike fashion as they continued their progress toward Faolán. By the fifth day, when they at last broke free of the shadow of Róscomain in favor of open country, even the heartiest warriors looked drawn and anxious.
    In four nights, they had lost eleven men.
    They entered the meadowlands that indicated the border between Tigh and Faolán, the dark demarcation of Róscomain barely visible in the distance. The warriors drew their first easy breaths since leaving Glenmallaig. Here in the open country, the sidhe held little sway. Everyone knew the creatures of the mist clung to their dark forest, content to prey upon those who traveled the king’s road.
    That night, the mist blanketed the open country as thickly as it had the forest’s edge. In the morning, three more men were gone.

CHAPTER FIVE
    A contingent of Faolanaigh warriors met them in the meadows as the sun edged midway from its apex to the western horizon. The eight guardsmen rode powerful Gwynn stallions, each man dressed plainly in leather and plate with hammered helms. The Mac Cuillinn’s green standard flapped above them in the brisk afternoon breeze.
    Riocárd called a halt and waited as a single man in the center rode forward. The Faolanaigh warrior removed his helm, displaying a shock of copper hair that curled wildly out of warrior braids, and tucked it under his arm. “Lord Riocárd, on behalf of Faolán, I bid you welcome and offer you the hospitality of Lisdara.”
    Riocárd dipped his head in acceptance. “Mac Cuillinn, I gladly accept your offer.”
    Mac Cuillinn? Conor gaped at the disheveled man while Riocárd took his place alongside the Faolanaigh king and the guards shuffled themselves into order around them. Conor hung back with the other Timhaigh where he could observe their host unnoticed.
    Although it was hard to judge on horseback, Calhoun Mac Cuillinn seemed to be of middling height and powerfully built, evidence of long years wielding a sword. A close-clipped red beard covered the lower half of his handsome face. His eyes, hazel-green and attentive, scanned their party and the surroundings with military discipline. Conor instantly liked him.
    He was so absorbed in his study of the king he didn’t notice the keep until it loomed before them. Mortared walls of gray stone rimmed a flat-topped hill, and ancient oaks, already leafing out with spring foliage, lined the interior walls. Beyond, barely visible through the greenery, rose the domed slate roof of the palace itself. Unlike Glenmallaig, with its stark lines and mist-wreathed battlements, Lisdara exuded warmth and welcome.
    The road to the keep wound up a series of steep switchbacks, narrowing at times to a width barely sufficient for a cart. Conor kept his mount carefully to the inside wall and fixed his gaze straight ahead, not daring to look anywhere but the road until they leveled off before an open pair of massive timber gates.
    Up close, Lisdara was even more impressive. Gray stone slabs paved the courtyard, and brilliantly colored glass windows marked the upper floor of the cylindrical keep, displaying scenes from the Balian Scriptures, as well as saints, kings, and martyrs. Conor had heard about such magnificent artistry from his tutor, but he’d never thought he would see it in person.
    As the procession rattled into the courtyard, the arch-topped doors of the palace opened and spilled out a host of servants. A middle-aged man, tall and thin with bright copper hair and beard, stepped forward. He bowed first to the Mac Cuillinn, then Riocárd.
    “Lord