Free Oath of the Brotherhood by C. E. Laureano Page A

They legitimized their actions by claiming Daimhin’s gifts were worthless. Tigh and Sliebhan outlawed the practice of the gifts altogether, and Faolán and Siomar actively discouraged it. Like any other ability, magic weakens without practice. Only the Fíréin still exercise the gifts openly, and even among the brotherhood they have begun to fade.”
    Conor nodded thoughtfully. It had always seemed strange the Great Kingdom had been divided so easily. He should have guessed it related to magic.
    “But this was not why I brought up the topic,” Treasach said. “Daimhin was raised in the old clan government. Through his travels, he was exposed to Ciraean imperialism and occupation,Levantine religious law, and the teachings of Balus. All these influences, he brought back to Seare. Today, we will look at how the laws and structures of those governments influenced both the old Seareann kingdom and our current ones.”
    It was a brilliant way to teach both history and law. Still, Conor thought there was more to this lesson than a creative way to engage their interest. He would swear that what Treasach told them of Seare’s origin was not written in any history book.
    Despite the distracting implications, Conor found himself drawn into the discussion. Aine was at least as knowledgeable as he, and she spoke with both conviction and eloquence. Treasach sat by and grinned when their discussion about the cause of the Ciraean Empire’s fall turned heated.
    When Aine diverged into specific Ciraean military tactics Daimhin modified for use in Seareann terrain, Conor just stared at her, speechless. He finally managed to squeeze out, “Where did you learn that?”
    Aine blushed. “All highborn children in Aron are schooled in the strategy of warfare, since women can inherit clan leadership.”
    “Will you someday?”
    “Not likely. I’m third in line after my two uncles. They still drilled these things into my head, though. We studied the Seareann conquest in great depth.”
    “Can you fight, too?” Conor asked.
    She shrugged. “I have some talent for archery, but I never really applied myself to it.”
    Conor’s lips twitched at the thought of the tiny girl drawing a war bow nearly her full height, but her frown made him bury his amusement as quickly as it had come.
    “Can we get back to the topic?” Treasach tried valiantly to revive the debate, but he was wise enough to know when he was defeated and dismissed them for dinner.
    Conor followed Aine into the corridor. “Are you going to the hall?”
    “I have to see Mistress Bearrach,” she said, regret plain in her voice. “I’ll see you later.”
    Without Aine’s company, dinner in the hall seemed much less appealing, so Conor returned to his room instead. He was probably the only man who found a woman’s knowledge of ancient battle tactics irresistible. Still, few boys in Tigh possessed Conor’s extensive education, and the idea Aine was more than a match for him intrigued him.
    When he entered his chamber, Dolan’s expression said something significant had happened. “You’re to meet Meallachán in the music room after dinner. He’s agreed to take you on as a student.”
    Conor’s stomach flipped. Calhoun had said he would arrange it, but when was the last time a king followed through on a promise like that? And how had Conor thought he could meet the standards of a master like Meallachán?
    His anxiety only intensified as he climbed the stairs to the upper-floor music room. There Meallachán sat alone on a stool, tuning a lute and looking deceptively ordinary in his plain tunic.
    Conor cleared his throat. “Master Meallachán?”
    “What do you think?” Meallachán plucked a string.
    “It’s a bit sharp,” Conor said hesitantly.
    The bard gave the pin a minute adjustment and plucked it again. “Better. Come, have a seat.”
    Up close, Meallachán looked older than he had thought, perhaps fifty, even though his wiry build and unlined face gave him