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a special situation. It would be unseemly for your father, a Third Order Druid, to arrive at the synod with a simple acolyte as his aide. No, a man of his importance who himself shall in a few years be awarded the highest rank of Master Druid merits at least a First Order assistant.”
    I hugged the bundle to my chest, trying to grasp what was happening. “But…”
    “Listen to me, Ossian. You are more than a year ahead in your studies here and show even greater promise. Yes, as Master of the school at Dún Ailinne, in my judgment you have rightly earned your new title in only eight years. I had already determined to bestow this honor upon you but the current circumstances require that I do so now in this ill-timed, informal manner. I have already signed the formal decree, and it will be sent to King mac Dúnlainge and sealed in the Royal Court records of Leinster.”
    For an acolyte of only twenty years of age to receive this high honor was unheard of, and I stood there like a statue, humbled, unable to form an appropriate response other than to whisper, “Thank you, Master Tóla.”
    “Humph, yes, of course. As you know, promotion to the First Order should be accompanied by a prescribed ritual in front of your peers followed by a festival and feast in your honor. Unfortunately, we leave in three days so your ceremony must be delayed until after we return from Tara. Meanwhile, wear this robe, Wise One. Upon this occasion and henceforth, conduct yourself as a Druid.”

Chapter 5
    Tara

    “Ossian. You wear the First Order robe?” My father sat astride a tall horse in the center of the compound surrounded by a group of mounted, grim-faced warriors. Bronze armor glinted in the torchlight, every warrior heavily armed.
    I hid my pleasure behind a humble shrug. “Yes. Master Tóla bestowed the honor upon me just three days past.”
    Pride flared in his eyes and he gave me a curt nod. “Come then, Druid. We must hurry! You are ready to leave?”
    I walked closer. “Yes father, of course. I need only get my bag.” I gestured toward the warriors. “You have need of this large escort?”
    “These are dangerous times. People are terrified by this darkness and many aren’t thinking clearly. Travelers are now at risk from far more than common bandits. King Domhnall insisted upon me traveling with these twenty men. Have you seen Master Tóla?”
    “Yes. I’m sure he is aware of your arrival and will be here soon.”
    “Very good. Hurry now…get your bag that we might leave right away.”
    * * *
    Midday torchlight flared and reflected off our warriors’ armor as our calvacade rode through the gate of the wooden palisade surrounding the stone palace of the High King. Horses’ hooves echoed as we crossed the cobblestone courtyard.
    The four of us, Master Tóla and his aide Earnán as well as my father and I, dismounted and entered the foyer of the palace. Immediately we were met and ushered into the throneroom, where the four us knelt in a row before King Túathal Máelgarb, High King of Eire, descendent of Niall of the Nine Hostages.
    Acrid smoke burned my eyes and nose, emanating from four flaming torches that lit the large, almost barren room. It is a sad day when you eagerly expect to find glitter only to discover dust instead. I sighed at the disappointment of it.
    The King slouched in his heavy oak chair as we knelt before him on the cold stone floor. On his right stood an ancient bearded Druid, stooped and leaning on his staff, a Slatnan Druidheacht. A tonsured, stone-faced Christian priest stood on the King’s left, garbed in what I knew to be a bishop’s scarlet robe.
    The King himself proved my second disappointment, a burly, most un-kingly, coarse-featured man. The broad golden band encircling his head spoke to his inheritance of power while his grease-streaked beard and dark, unkempt hair falling loosely to his shoulders questioned the purity of his royal bloodline. A common linen kirtle encasing his large