The late-afternoon wind pushed the incessant rain at such an angle that it entered the open end of Gavin O’Roarke’s smithy and landed on the lit forge. The result was a striking contrast of black smoke and white steam entangling in the air above his home.

  “Sounds like quite the procession,” Gavin yelled from the inside. He stepped through the front door, descended into the yard past his display of horseshoes and tack. “Have you brought me paying customers?”

  “Of course not,” Maeve said as she hopped down from Scáth. She slid under Gavin’s right arm and wrapped her left arm behind his back. The two formed a mass of wavy black hair as he dropped his chin and pecked her cheek.

  “Howya big fella?” Gavin called out to Donal as he climbed down from Cáined. The smithy’s smile was much wider these days. He and Maeve had kept each other at a distance for years but after the business in Kilmacrennan the two put words to what they were feeling. Now, even Maeve appeared at ease with the state of things.

  “Howya, Gavin,” Donal said. The pair before him ran a close second and third to Cáined in the race to be his best friend. “Did you make me something shiny and sharp?”

  Gavin’s chest bounced. “Not today, lad,” he said. “We need to gear your friends—”

  He paused and scanned the four hooded people in the back of Siobhan’s wagon. “I was told…”

  He disengaged from Maeve and stormed to the back of the wagon. “You!” Gavin said, pointing at Ciara. “Are you her?”

  Ciara pulled her hood back and sighed. “Likely.”

  Gavin walked up to Siobhan, now down from her driver’s seat. “I told Murrough to keep her away from here!” he said. “I’m not providing her with a scrap of anything.”

  Siobhan held up a hand. “Gavin, I don’t like th—”

  “—We need her, Gav,” Maeve said. “Without her, we may not come back.”

  “I already have two friends that never came back,” Gavin said, “and it was because of herself only there.” He returned to the rear of the wagon. “It was bad enough you set your wolves upon them, but what you did to them afterward? How do you sleep?”

  Her eyes flashed with mote of confusion. Her expression hardened after two blinks. “In an underground closet,” she said. “On a slab of wood if I am lucky.”

  “Above the dirt is lucky enough for you,” he said.

  Donal stepped between the wagon and Gavin. “Gavin, you know I hate her as much as you do,” he said, “but she wouldn’t be here if we didn’t need her.”

  A wave of annoyance flooded Donal. He wanted nothing more than to hang back and feed his hatred, perhaps even give Shadow a turn. Gavin was struggling, however, and Donal had never seen him irritated, let alone in the state he was now. His nostrils flared. He clenched his jaw so hard that it was visible in his temples. He showed Ciara the whites of his eyes.

  “Gavin,” Maeve said. “Let’s go inside.”

  His eyes tilted down to Donal. He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. His eyes opened with a softer, sadder look in them. “Sorry, fella,” he whispered to Donal. Gavin clapped a hand on Donal’s shoulder and turned towards the house. He pointed a thumb behind him. “She stays outside,” he said, “and she’ll make do with whatever I give her.”

  Ciara closed her eyes and shook her head. She pulled the hood back over her head and fixed her eyes in the opposite direction of Gavin’s cottage. She ignored the other three people in the wagon as they shuffled past her.

  “Get in there, boy,” Ciara said without looking at him. “Can’t keep your friends waiting.”

  Donal followed Brendan, Brigid and Fergal inside. Fergal stopped after clearing the threshold slowly perusing the main room of the house, from the bucklers and heaters along the left wall, to the swords, greatswords and axes hanging on the far wall, to the various pieces of chain and plate on tables to the drawings scattered on the table and floor near the right wall.

  “I’ve never seen its like,” Fergal said. “One man did this?”

  Donal patted Fergal on his back to encourage the man to push farther inside. “Not just any man,” he said. “Gavin O’Roarke. Descendant of the Tuatha Dé forgemaster and the man who can make weapons and armor behave in ways you wouldn’t believe.”

  “Brendan, I assume?” Gavin asked. “May I see your staff?”

  Brendan waited for a nod from Maeve before tapping the rain off of his staff and handing it to Gavin.

  “Quality,” Gavin said. “Rowan?”

  Brendan nodded.

  “I have something you might be interested in,” Gavin said. He walked to the second row of tables and lifted a wooden staff from a pile of weapons. He rotated it in hands for a second before handing it Brendan.

  Brendan ran his fingers over the different spindles that comprised the staff head. Each curved outward over a collar attached to the rowan handle and bent back inward before flaring out once more over a wooden ring.

  “Yew, cypress, alder, ash, hazel,” Gavin said, “and, of course, Rowan.”

  “Did you carve Ogham into the staff?” Brendan asked.

  Gavin smiled. “Helps with durability and it will amplify any enchantments you put upon it in the heat of battle. Speaking of…”

  He excused himself and retreated into the back room. “I’ve been working on something,” he yelled. “The goal was both to protect you and to aid you in the varied environments you’ll likely encounter.”

  Gavin reemerged holding an uncovered wooden crate full of clothing. He sifted through the pile inside and pulled out a long coat. He lifted it up and held it in the air between himself and Brendan. “That’s the one.” He heaved it at the visitor.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  The woad-blue coat hung below Brendan’s knees and lacked some of the finer embellishments Donal expected from Gavin’s work, but the stitching suggested the coat was indeed sturdy.

  “Looks deadly,’ Brendan said. He grinned as he examined the garment covering his bent arms. “Where’s the Ogham on this?”

  “In a place you can’t see it,” Gavin said.

  Brendan flattened his face. “You’re serious?”

  “So I am,” Gavin said. “This will do a sound job of protecting you from fire and ice. Lightning less so.”

  “Lightning?” Brigid asked, her eyes wide and jaw agape.

  Gavin shrugged. “As I said, ‘less so.’ Will the séntacoill staff work for you? I’d like to move on.”

  Brendan took another look at the staff. “Blessed forest?” he asked. “I should say so.”

  Siobhan rested a hand on Brendan’s shoulder. “He made me a similar one a few years ago,” she said. “You won’t regret it.”

  “Grand,” Gavin said. He turned to Brigid. “As for you lass, I hear you favor the spear. Any particular type of head you prefer? Our lad here likes a bident.”

  “Make it sharp and make it strong,” Brigid said. I’ll take care of the rest.”

  Gavin stared at Brigid through narrowed eyelids. The forgemaster scratched his chin, wincing as he grazed a singed part of his beard. He crossed the aisle between the two rows of tables and began shifting the spears and polearms scattered across the tabletop. He removed a spear and handed to Brigid. “Try this,” he said.

  She backed away from the tables and performed a few shortened movements. “Solid,” she said. “I’d say oak, but it feels stronger than that.” She ran her finger over the etching on its handle near the head. “Thanks to this, I’m sure.”

  Donal caught an engraving near the wings and pointed at the weapon. “Gavin, is that the same enchantment you have on mine?” he asked. “I don’t see a jewel on it.”

  “Good eye, fella,” Gavin said. “It’s similar to yours, but it won’t be as effective.”

  “Sorry?” Brigid asked.

  “You need to take a lock of your hair and weave it into a small rope,” Gavin said. He pointed to the base of the spear’s head. “Take that rope, run it through these two eye holes just below the wings and make that knot tight. With a bit of practice you can summon the spear to you—just be ready to catch it.”

  He slid past them and walked to the wall separating the forge from the main room. “Do you want a kite shield with this or a buckler?” he asked Brigid.

  “I’ve never enjoyed using a kite,” Brigid said. “Too unwieldy for me.”

  Gavin bent over and pulled two bucklers from the corner. He returned to the group and handed one to Brigid. “Same enchantment I put on the coats. Nothing special.”

  Brigid shook her head and chuckled. “Not at all. Just your basic magic shield.”

  Gavin handed the second buckler to Donal. “Take it.”

  Donal pinched his face. “Why?”

  Maeve walked over and stood next to Gavin. “You were a bit jammy last year running around without one of these,” she said, poking the shield with her finger. “Don’t you assume that kind of luck will hold.”

  Gavin patted Maeve on the back. “Couldn’t have said it better,” he said. “Grab another crate from the back room, would you?”

  Maeve smiled and withdrew from the group.

  “And Fergal,” Gavin said. “Maeve tells me you like your tools big, heavy and blunt. I’d like you to try something slightly different.”

  Fergal looked to Brigid and received a nod in reply. “What did you have in mind?” Fergal asked.

  Gavin dug out a long two-handed axe from the bottom of the pile that held Brigid’s spear. He rested the point attached to the end of the handle on the floor and pointed to the various features of the weapon’s head.

  “This is a poleaxe,” Gavin said. “Obviously you have the large axe blade, but I want you to note it has a hammer on it. At the top you’ll see a simple eight-inch spear point. As with the armor and Brendan’s staff, you need to be ready for anything, and this weapon gives you options.”

  “Did you put any of your magic on it?” Fergal asked.

  Gavin’s mouth flattened. “I did, but I don’t know how it will take. I haven’t come across a non-sílrad fighting alongside us. If a sílrad were swinging this, I’d tell them it would amplify any enchantments put upon it, and that it was twice as durable as any normal weapon. In your hands? I can’t say much other than that has as strong of a handle and head as any poleaxe you’ll find.”

  “I’ll thank you, sir, either way,” Fergal said. “I’ll do my best.”

  Gavin smiled. “Given what Maeve has told me, your best will be plenty.”

  Maeve set an empty crate on the table in front of Gavin. “Armor?” she asked.

  “Armor,” Gavin said. “Chainmail, spaulders—both the one- and two-shoulder varieties—helmets, load it up. You can sort it out at Niall’s.”

  Maeve went back to rifle through the crate containing the garments. “Gav, where did you put it?”

  “Sorry?”

  Maeve canted her head toward the door. “Where are they?”

  Gavin shrugged.

  She walked over and put a hand on his cheek. “You’re not this man.”

  “She—”

  “—I know who she is and what she’s done,” Maeve said. “You’re not her. Prove it.”

  He stormed off to the back room and returned with another long coat. He slammed it into the corresponding crate.

  “And?” Maeve asked.

  He grabbed an unfinished staff from another table and handed to her.

  Maeve sighed. “It’s a glorified tree branch.”

  “Better than she deserves,” Gavin said. “Even if you disagree, I am not comfortable giving her anything that could hurt my friends.”

  Maeve pursed her lips and nodded. “I don’t blame you,” she said. “I think we can live with this.” She pointed to Brendan and Fergal. “You two, take these two crates to the wagon. Brigid, make sure they don’t get lost.”

  Brigid raised an eyebrow and waited for clarification. Maeve pushed her head down and forward and widened her eyes. Brigid raised her hands in surrender and backed out of the house.

  Gavin shifted from table to table, straightening all the pieces shuffled during the visit. Donal jumped in to help.

  Siobhan cleared her throat. “That almost covers it,” she said.

  Gavin paused and looked over his shoulder. “‘Almost?’” he asked.

  “We can carry a few more people with us,” Siobhan said.

  Gavin groaned. “Will you give my head some peace?” he said. “I can’t do it.”

  “We wouldn’t push you beyond anything you’re comfortable with,” Siobhan said.

  “You can’t promise that,” Gavin said. “It’s not just yer wan in the wagon out there. When all of you sketch it north, who’s left? Murrough and your mam?”

  “O’Cahans are sending—”

  “—You went there and made it clear what was happening and asked them to do their rightful part,” Gavin asked. “What did they do? They blackmailed you into taking that woman off their hands just to allow the only two willing people to go. Forgive me for doubting their level of commitment to defend our land. I’m going to be Murrough’s man while you’re gone.”

  Siobhan looked at Maeve and gestured toward Gavin.

  “Gav,” Maeve said, stepping forward, “come with me. “At least you’ll be there with me if we’re trapped.”

  Gavin shook his head. “I can’t.” A weak smile curled his lips. “And don’t pretend there’s any chance that you get trapped. Not when you and Siobhan work together.” He rested a hand on Donal’s shoulder. “Not with these brothers behind you.”

  Maeve's face darkened. She poked her finger at Gavin’s chest. “You have little more than a day to get your head out of your arse.”

  She left the house without another look back.