Free Viking Fire by Andrea R. Cooper Page B

would pay. Without a word, he bowed his head to his father. But his father did not respond. Infuriated, Feoras tugged on his wool cloak and then hiked to the gate tower.
    Outside, his cloak caught the wind and billowed behind him. His boots hit the groove of the well-worn path to the gate tower. Days ago, his spy within the Liannon clan had sent word after seeing his father’s sword in that abomination’s hands. He climbed the tower steps, eager for the peace offered inside.
    This was his refuge when his mother had been driven away. It was here he saw her face for the last time through the tower’s south window.
    Elias, his manservant, slept in this tower. Though missing his teeth and eyes, his ears heard the change of color on the autumn leaves.
    When Feoras opened the wooden door, Elias snapped to attention. Before a word was spoken, he bowed.
    “Leave me.”
    Elias jumped, apparently sensing his mood. In no need of prodding, he rushed away, closing the door behind him.
    At last, Feoras was alone. His shoulders relaxed at hearing the bolt slide into place.
    He moved to the window kicking, aside dusty bowls. Elias liked rats. Fed them from his hand. Filthy creatures, and they knew to hide when Feoras entered.
    He gazed across the Irish landscape. Dusk had settled, casting the last golden glow on the oak, spruce, and ash trees. The whole land stretched before him as though in supplication before him.
    His hands clenched. He missed his mother so, but she willed him to be strong. And so he would be.
    Movement across one the rolling hills caught his eye. He backed from the window and rubbed his hands in anticipation. The spy’s message was three days late; no doubt this would be great news for their battle.
    The messenger bird fluttered through the open window of the tower. Around a leg, a fragment of parchment tied with a string. He opened his hand and the bird flew to him. It cooed as he stroked the grey and black feathers.
    When the bird calmed, he worked at the knot round the leg. Frowning, for the knot twisted into more knots like a Celtic braid. Eagerness caused his hands to shake.
    Whatever this said it was important, as his spy ensured the message would not fall from the journey. The writing would be in code, readable only to Feoras and his spy.
    Elias left the bird and any messages alone. He knew the price of defiance, which was why he limped.
    The bird danced on the stone floor shaking the tied leg.
    “A moment more, little one.” The knot gave way to a loop. Then he eased the bird’s foot from the twine.
    He unraveled the parchment then devoured the code. Thrice he read the words, and gooseflesh raced along his arms.
    With this news, he would proceed with the plans for battle. With this, he planted the seed of revenge in his clan, and the blame swift to the foe.
    His father’s sword was in Kaireen’s room. A meeting place was arranged for tomorrow evening.
    However, diversions were necessary for his spy to steal the sword and meet him among the boulders to the west. She would not fail.
    She promised. It would be good to see her again. Tomorrow could not come fast enough. And no one would know that he had his father’s sword back. All would think it would still be with Kaireen. Perfect.
    Feoras offered the messenger bird her cage. Elias would see to the bird’s food and water. He tore the message into pieces and let them litter the stone floor. The rats would gather them for use in their nests.
    It was a fitting end, rats to collect the Liannon clan’s scraps. Feoras swept from the room. His cloak waved on the steps behind him.
    The only lack was his father’s death. His eyes watered at the thought. Not for mourning, but for eagerness. Everything he waited for was now in his grasp.
    Instead of taking the path back to the keep, he strode to the stables. It was time to pay the witch a visit. She had failed in her duty these past weeks.
    Aye, his father’s sword would bring Feoras into battle at last. Bring