Beneath the Forsaken City - C. E. Laureano Page 0,51

The druid, through magic, would have forced his soul to flee and then taken over the space it left behind.”

“I would not have thought it possible,” Gradaigh said quietly. One of the younger members of the Conclave, he’d only recently become a dominant voice on the council. “This is the work of faerie stories, not reality.”

“Where do you think faerie stories come from?” Liam asked. “The world is an ancient place, and there is evil beyond these walls that you cannot even imagine. What Niall—or Keondric—controls is only the smallest fraction of the dark power the Adversary has at his disposal.”

A chill raced over Eoghan’s skin. “How does this affect us?”

“He wants to eliminate all who might stand against him,” Riordan said. “First the Balians in the kingdoms. Next will be Ard Dhaimhin. We must prepare to defend Carraigmór.”

Dal let out a scornful laugh, drawing attention to where he sat at the end of the table. He was another Conclave member emboldened by the changes in Ard Dhaimhin, and if Eoghan were completely honest, he didn’t care for him. “No army can defeat the brotherhood. Even with sorcery, those men are no match for the Fíréin. He will never take the Rune Throne.”

“He does not come to rule,” Liam said. “And it is not the throne that he desires.”

A sick, sinking feeling crept into Eoghan’s middle. Somewhere deep down, he knew what Liam would say before he said it.

“He wants to wipe every last trace of Comdiu’s gifts from the earth.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

“You’re moving better.”

Talfryn lowered himself to the ground beside Conor, where he ate his morning porridge. This time the extras were a few mushy bits of stone fruit, probably too overripe to be eaten by the settlement. Conor didn’t care. It was food—extra energy—and at least it gave flavor to the otherwise tasteless gruel.

Conor ran his fingers over his healing ribs. His short altercation with Dyllan had reminded him how far he had to go before he was fully healed, but at least it no longer hurt to breathe or walk.

“A few more weeks,” he said as he shoved the last of his breakfast into his mouth with his fingers.

“You may not have a few weeks. I don’t like the way the guards look at you. They know the last messages asking after your wife have come back, and now they know you’re well enough to fight. They’re waiting for you to make your move.”

“Then they will continue waiting. My work is not done here yet.”

Talfryn looked at their guard to see if their conversation had been noticed. “You owe them nothing. You owe Haldor nothing. Are you prepared to die here as a matter of honor?”

Talfryn was right, but Conor couldn’t bring himself to betray Haldor’s trust. He had asked a few more questions about Conor’s beliefs—not anything significant—but it was obvious the Sofarende leader was trying to reconcile Conor’s actions with his own expectations. He seemed to think, like Talfryn, that Conor was going to make his move any minute.

And if you’re smart, you will. Aine could still be out there somewhere. If she’s alive, she could be alone. Or she could be waiting for you in Aron. Are you going to languish in a Sofarende prison until Haldor tires of you?

Yet something in his spirit told him to stay.

“You must make a decision, Conor. Time is growing short.”

“Time for what?”

Talfryn just shook his head. “Be ready. Soon.”

Conor rose and took his bowl to the trough, where he rinsed it under close supervision and placed it in the bucket beside it, his mind spinning. Did Talfryn plan on making his escape and taking Conor with him? What could he possibly be planning? His chances alone were no better than Conor’s. Even if they overcame their guards, they’d be captured before they could ever breach the wall. The defenses the Sofarende had built against the Gwynn just as effectively kept the prisoners in.

Except Conor knew from his sleepless nights that there was a point when the guard changed and only one man stood watch over their hut. The walls were wicker and clay. It would be easy enough to break out, kill the single guard, and take his weapon before fading into the compound’s shadows. They would have perhaps ten minutes before the body was discovered—ten minutes to find a way out through the heavily guarded gate.

Conor shook his head, drawing a suspicious glance from the guard. It would never work. He was hardly at his best. He