Warrior, Renewed: Book Two of the Comhairle Chronicles

Chapter Eight: Planning to Fight the Unknown

Lowering himself into his usual seat at the large, boardroom table that dominated half of his office, Tancred hoped he could hide the pain which plagued him from his captains. Jäger hadn't wanted him to leave the medical suite at all, reminding him that he’d suffered a severe chest injury inflicted by an iron blade, which would slow down healing, and that he should spend a few days recuperating. Lying in a hospital bed was driving him crazy, though. Especially as Ealair had shut down again after their overly honest conversation. For all his claims that he couldn’t judge, the trainee had become sullen and silent since the previous day, and Tancred suspected that he harboured some condemnation of everything that had happened in the past.

“You look like shit,” Corvinus announced as he took his seat as well. “Are you sure you should be doing this now? You were run through last night, remember?”

“Hard to forget when still have rows of sutures holding me together and adhesive dressings waxing my chest hair for me,” he grumbled in response, his mood deteriorating further when he picked up his pen and realised the slight movement and the act of pressing the ballpoint down on his notepad caused fire to burn up from still healing flesh. His lung burned, and he resented the shallowness of his breathing. “You know I can’t abide the medical suite.”

“No one can abide the medical suite, that doesn't mean it isn't where you aught to be,” Corvinus answered, silver eyes boring into him as if searching for any indication that Jäger needed to enact an intervention.

“I've had worse. I'll be fine.”

His genetics guaranteed that much. As inconvenient as a slow healing iron wound was, his bhampair body would still heal flawlessly. If he'd been attacked with silver, bronze, wood, any other material, he would've healed already. An iron wound simply relegated him back to a desk job for the  rest of the week, and there was nothing new their. Paperwork had long since become part of his daily grind.

As the other captains, plus Deòthas, filed into the office, Tancred doodled on his notebook, paying no attention to what he was doing and expecting the usual inconsistent spirals and messy blocks of shading. He wasn’t an artist like Tor, or a great penman like Aodh, and had no reason to expect anything notable to come from the constant movement of his pen across the page, yet when he looked down, he paused, both shocked and disheartened to discover the words ‘Ealair MacLiùsaidh’ written several times.

Quickly turning the  page in his notepad, he hid his scrawl and refocussed on the men and women taking seats around the large table. They all looked pensive, knowing that their temporary peace had well and truly ended. Deòthas seemed especially tense, her closed off expression telling him that she didn't want anyone to see how she truly felt about the attack on the training centre. He worried about her, though, and didn't want her to shut down again. It had taken Tor to pull her out of her six century long rut, and the last thing any of them needed was for her to fall back into it.

“You alright, Deòthas?” he asked, trying not to sound obviously concerned. The last thing the needed was for her to go on the defensive again.

The bana-ghaisgeach in question nodded, opening her mouth to make some undoubtedly snarky retort before she caught herself and shook her head instead, admitting, “I don't like that Raghnall appears to have passed information to whoever is now controlling the marionettes. Are we really sure it's not him? Only he could've passed on the location of the tampered with window. It was in his office, for Ràsbàrd's sake, and I really doubt he's going to take his exile lying down. He's lost everything because of me and Tor.

“Ifrinn, if you hadn't warned us that the Longhirst facility might be at risk, we might not have initiated the lockdown procedure prior to the marionettes arrival. The rookie might have been alone in that office when the puppets arrived, and if I lost him...”

She shook her head, the gesture revealing what she couldn't put into words. Losing her mate would be the end of her.

“Raghnall is going to come after me and the rookie, and while I want to say we're badass enough to kick his arse, it's going to be pretty hard to do so when he has an army of puppets,” she stated, brows tugging together over pale, pensive, opalescent eyes. “We need to eradicate the threat he poses, and soon. He knows the Longhirst facility like the back of his hand, and who knows what other tampering he's done while in charge there. He knows the castle too, and while he's been stationed at the training centre long enough that I doubt he's compromised the security here, he's still a walking map.”

“That’s a risk we'll have to take, it’s not like we have anywhere to move to. However, we'll change the rota; two teams need to patrol the grounds from now on and it wouldn’t hurt to double up on those who are watching the CCTV monitors during the day,” Tancred offered, hoping to alleviate at least some of the tension in the room by reminding his captains that the castle was defensible. “The walls here aren't like the single layer of stonework at Longhirst. Here, we have stone walls, then an electrified fence, then another fence. We have guard towers and CCTV cameras at regular intervals, and the only weakness in our defences is the steel gate, and nothing is coming through that lump of plate metal. Not without the help of military grade equipment.

“That said, I don't think Raghnall is our main concern. He will be at some point, but Tenebris seemed to indicate much the same as Aodh did before you fell into Cailean's hands. Raghnall's time hasn't come yet. He might've revealed how the marionettes could enter the building but he wasn't controlling the puppets... not the ones at Masquerade, at least. Whoever guided them knew things about me that no one knows. Or that no one should know. It wasn't Raghnall. He's not old enough, for a start.”

“Isn't that where we have a problem though,” Corvinus requested, still looking concerned. “According to you, no one should know what whoever it is knows, and yet here we are. Someone does know. Did Tenebris give any clue as to who not-Raghnall is?”

“She said she couldn't identify the new sycophant, not beyond identifying him as someone from my past, which fits with the theme of his claims,” Tancred answered, then pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling tired again. “As disconcerting as that is.”

“She called him the new sycophant?” Seren asked, twirling her dark hair around her fingers and biting her lip in concern. “That's an interesting choice of words.”

“Is it?” Edward requested, his expression nonplussed. “What's a sycophant?”

Aodh answered, his role as scribe undoubtedly granting him a vocabulary most dumb grunts could only dream of. “An obsequious minion, a devotee of a preeminent master, seeking reflected influence through ingratiation.”

“Can we have that in English?” Edward muttered, looking non-the-clearer.

“I'm giving you an excuse to go and speak to the librarian,” Aodh answered, a teasing smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “I know you won't do it without an excuse, even though you really want to.”

“I can talk to Aifric without an excuse.”

“That's not how she tells it...”

“You shouldn't be talking to her about me, Aodh.”

“It's more that she won't shut up about you. For the gods' sakes, get with the programme so I can't work in the library without finding out how the timbre of your voice does things to her... things I assume would make the humans' nuns blush.”

“Piss off...”

The squabbling continued, good natured teasing threatening to give way to irritation as anxiety gnawed away at his captain's patience with each other. Sometimes controlling the captains seemed as exhausting as fighting a war.

“Children,” Tancred interrupted, rolling his eyes “Now is neither the time nor the place to debate Edward's affection for Aifric and hers for him. How about you just give us the simplest definition of a sycophant possible? Aodh?”

Caitrìona shook her head at her brother, her red curls bouncing around her shoulders as she issued a long-suffering sigh. Then she clarified the matter for him, stating, “It's someone who flatters an important person to gain influence, as one might, say, flatter a deamhain in order to gain access to magic or artefacts which allows the creation of an army of puppets. Cailean had demonic sponsors, didn't he? It perhaps the term ‘new sycophant' implies this new threat has stepped completely into the role which the Manipulator vacated.”

“Not a comforting thought, but not surprising either,” Seren mused, fingers tracing patters on the glossy black glass of the table’s surface as she fidgeted. “So do you have an idea who this could be?”

“You didn't actually see your master's unbreathing corpse, did you?” Corvinus asked hesitantly, no doubt predicting the question would unsettle Tancred. And unsettle him it did.

He sighed, shifting uncomfortably, reluctant to admit the truth. There'd be no avoiding it, though.

“No, I didn't. But he was unconscious when I barricaded the doors and windows and set fire to the villa. No one left. When the villa burned, he had to be inside it. Even if he wasn't, why wait for two millennia to come after me? It seems so improbable that Ambustus survived, and even more improbable that he's waited this long to seek vengeance. He isn't the sort of person to let a grudge simmer away without immediate action.”

“Perhaps you scared him,” Aodh suggested, and he was the last person Tancred wanted to confirm Abustus's continued existence. His second-in-command saw too much in his visions, and spoke too much prophecy even when he wasn't seeing it. The seer and Comhairle scribe didn't notice his growing discomfort though, continuing, “Even if he survived, he must’ve realised how easily it could've gone the other way. Perhaps he was wary of coming at you directly because you almost killed him. Then you joined the Council and grew in strength and skill, and there's a good chance that Ambustus knew that in taking on you he'd also be taking on the entire Council. He would need an army to stand any real chance; an army which Cailean recently provided.”

Tancred closed his eyes, trying not to wilt where he sat. “We don't know one way or the other, I can admit to that. No matter how unlikely it is that Ambustus survived, I have to admit that right now it looks possible, and that could mean someone just as vindictive as Cailean is in control of the marionettes. And if there are other storage facilities such as the one Tor and Deòthas found, then who knows how many potential puppets this new sycophant has. We need to track him down and eradicate him. So I guess we start where we left off with the Manipulator; locating the doctors, nurses, carers, and crisis helpline workers who supplied bodies in the past to see if the supply lines have reopened. We found one of the Manipulator’s facilities this way once before, let's hope the Sycophant can be located too.”

“And in the meantime?” Deòthas asked, pensive brows still pinched together. “Any public gathering place is as risk of attack. Masquerade, obviously, but even Madame Tenebris’s, or The Old Crossroads Inn, or even seedier places like that sex club in the city... what’s it called... Oubliette, or any of the other supernatural bars and cafes. We need to protect and public meeting place but there’s too few of us and too many puppets and places they could attack.”

“All the more reason to get more trainees through the trials so we can start building your team, Deòthas,” he answered, almost chuckling when the bana-ghaisgeach in question looked as nonplussed as Edward had over ‘sycophant'.

“My team?” she recited slowly. “I don't have a team.”

“Maybe it's time that changed,” Tancred admitted, watching surprise widen Deòthas's eyes and feeling guilty for having waited so long to make the suggestion; she deserved better from all of them. “If things had been different, you should've made captain a long time ago. Maybe it's time we rectified that. The trainees are being properly prepared now. If Ealair makes it through the trials, he'll need to be assigned to a captain, as will any who follow him. What do you think? You brought one rookie through his first battle, think you can lead a few more?”

For a moment, Deòthas seemed too stunned to speak, and he feared she'd decline out of fear of trusting others. Relief washed through him when she finally nodded, saying, “I would be honoured.”

Corvinus let out a celebratory whistle while the other captains banged on the table with their fists and let out celebratory cheers. Deòthas blushed, looking as flustered as she had when her brothers and sisters of the Comhairle saluted her, on her return from her second trip to Tallamarbh. Her surprise at the captains' easy acceptance of her promotion said a lot about just how completely they'd let her down in the past, but he hoped they could begin the long road to rectifying that, so that eventually she'd feel as secure as the rest of her colleagues.

“It's done, then. Now you can come to these meetings in an official capacity, and you get a pay rise too,” Tancred teased, but as much as a celebration was in order, the more pressing matter remained the puppets. “But your earlier comment was correct; our numbers aren't great. The Council is smaller than it once was, and even if we do start to get more candidates through the trials, we're still going to be hard pressed to protect everywhere that needs protecting. We’re going to have to increase time on duty; as reluctant as I am to reduce much deserved downtime we can't afford to leave the public under defended because ultimately we'll be lynched for it by the court of public opinion.”

“I think everyone will understand that,” Aodh responded, acquiescing to that initial strategy. “Maybe we can do more, though. Maybe we offer our expertise to businesses; offer them security checks and advise on any upgrades needed to their security systems. We might save some lives, and as much as I hate to say it, it also protects our backs if further attacks happen. If business won't or can't address the security failings we find, then they have to be liable, not us. Obviously I hope proprietors will listen; I'd rather save lives rather than simply avoiding taking the blame for any loss of life... But we do need to think about it, because some members of the public are gunning for us.”

“We could go further,” Seren offered, even as she nodded along with Aodh's suggestion. “We could run drop in workshops for club owners and bouncers, get their self-defence techniques up to a good standard, so they are better able to protect customers. I know that's another strain on our time, but in the long run having trained bar, restaurant, and even cafe staff might hold off any attack long enough for us to deploy teams. It might also help us locate potential new recruits.”

“We need to do more work with the guards too,” Deòthas added. “We all know what happened at the training centre; one guard fled leaving two  recruits to fight, and another died. They aren't up to scratch, yet right now it's the guards who are functioning as the nobles security detail. We need to ensure all serving guards fully appreciate their responsibilities and maintain the highest operational standards. They aren’t going to like us interfering, but I don't think we have a choice.”

“I concur,” Aodh agreed, then chuckled. “A few months ago, you wouldn't have even cared that  they wouldn't like what you're suggesting, is Tor teaching you diplomacy after all?”

A burst of laughter bubbled out of Deòthas as she arched a disbelieving brow. “The rookie? Diplomacy? Hardly, I’m not sure I've ever met anyone quite so to the point, except for Ealair. Tor's thrown in the towel with his family, sworn vengeance of Raghnall, and is as subtle as his maul. If anything, I'm teaching him diplomacy.”

“Gods forbid,” Caitrìona teased, then winked to show she didn’t mean it.

Deòthas laughed again, her posture relaxed, an example of  how far she'd come since meeting Tor. “I know, right? But no Raghnall's let puppets into the training centre and risked Ealair's life; even if Tor hadn't already wanted Raghnall dead, he certainly does now. Personally, I don't blame him.”

“At present, I think we all feel that way,” Tancred stated, not at all ashamed of the fact. “But this almost sounds like the makings of a plan; increased patrols, chase down the leads who may have been supplying bodies to the Manipulator, train up bouncers and guards, review the security procedures of supernatural establishments. That should keep our fighters and our tech support teams busy for a while. In the meantime, I can circulate a description of Ambustus, see if anyone recognises him. The Sycophant may or may not be him, but releasing his details to the public can't hurt.

“I'll be castle bound for the rest of the week, but based on how short staffed we are, I want to be in the field too...”

“No,” Corvinus interrupted him. “You could've been killed and we can't afford that. Surely there's plenty for you to be doing here?”

“Plenty? Maybe, but I can't do it. If I continue to spend every day behind a desk, forgetting what it is to be a warrior, then you're going to lose me anyway. I'm a ghaisgeach,” Tancred insisted, finally putting into words the reality which lay before him. “I can and will deal with the paperwork, and the nobles demands, and public opinion, and organising the Comhairle, but I can't afford to continue losing what  I am, day in, day out. I'm not just an administrator. Even if I don't take part in regular patrols, I know Ambustus; I need to be out there questioning any leads.”

His captains remained pensive, his impassioned speech not easing their concerns at all because it admitted what they feared and what he'd been dealing with for years; his own exhaustion with the monotony of his life. Then green eyes landed on him, green eyes which bleached to milky white.

“A partner, you gave to the daughter of Drùis, and a partner you must now take,” Aodh murmured, his speech slurring as his mind went elsewhere, far away from his body and the present, only just managing to control his motor functions as he focussed on another place in time. “The born son of Liùsaidh will see what others cannot. Only through sacrifice can he become who he was meant to be. When the time comes, what is lost may seem like a weakness, but it will be what saves you, warrior chieftain. Trust and be trusted, or fall and slip into memory.”

When his second blinked, swaying on his seat even as his eyes reverted to their usual green, the room fell silent. Captains glanced between them, uncertain how to take the advice which seemed both unusually direct and unerringly cryptic all at once, a contradiction.

“Did you see anything to go alongside that advice?” Tancred asked, dreading the answer even before Aodh slowly nodded, not quite meeting his eye.

“Yes and no. I saw white. Blinding light, too bright to see into, but I heard the sounds of slaughter. It didn’t sound like battle, no clash of blade against blade, but screams of pain, of panicked scrambling. If heard that sound before, Tancred, the merciless slaughter of people who cannot fight back. Whatever's coming is bad, and I think Ealair has a part to play.”

“Tenebris said much the same, that Ealair may need to make a sacrifice. She suggested that he had to go through the trials, that I shouldn’t prevent it, even knowing it might cost him... something. She reminded me that we all sacrifice our blood and futures in Tallamarbh, that sacrifice doesn’t necessarily mean death... But I can't help feeling concerned; the Taghadairean are no joke,” Tanc admitted hesitantly, hands splayed in a gesture of uncertainty. “Yet both you and Tenebris make it sound as though Ealair's sacrifice is necessary; inevitable, even.”

“It might not be about being bled out or dedicating his life to the Comhairle,” Deothas added, staring at the table top as though ashamed of whatever she was about to suggest. “Ealair doesn't trust easily, not from what Tor says. What if the Taghadairean decide he is no more capable of the final test than I was? They could do as the did with me, and demand a sacrifice in lieu of trust in other ghaisgich.”

“Ifrinn, the boy could simply choose sacrifice as one of his trials anyway,” Edward pointed out, admitting the truth that they all avoided voicing. “I know we advise trainees against sacrifice as it can be one of the most difficult challenges to come through, because there is nothing the Taghadairean can't demand in return for success, but some recruits still choose that path if the feel one of the other challenges is beyond them. Endurance can seem impossible when your hands are bloodied from the strength trial, or if you’re foolish enough to begin with combat and you’re already beaten and bloody. Hell, even I toyed with the idea of making my third trial sacrifice as I stood there, exhausted, with torn hands, and torn feet, swaying where I stood. It's not beyond the realms of possibility that Ealair could simply opt for sacrifice.”

“All we can do is wait and see,” Corvinus advised with the barest hint of a shrug. “The boy is well trained. He held his own against the marionettes. Whether or not he's ready to trust us, we need to trust him to chose the path most likely to get him through the trials. In the meantime, maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea to prove that he's earned our trust.”

“How do you propose we do that?” Tanc requested, studying his friend.

“You want out in the field. Aodh says you need a partner. We know the candidate can hold his own like a ghaisgeach,” the silver eyed Roman reminded him. “At this point, the trials are really a bit of a show put on because it’s a requirement rather than truly testing if the boy has the steel to be a warrior. How about we come to a deal? We'll accept you going out to question any leads we find in regard to Ambustus, on the condition that you take Ealair with you. He'll be able to tell if those you're interrogating are lying or truthful, and you'll have backup who's trained to fight, and who's proven himself in battle. Letting him serve, even though he hasn't yet taken the trials, might show him that we have faith in him and that we're ready to accept him as one of us.”

“I shouldn't have to negotiate being let out of the castle,” Tancred drawled, scowling at the gathered captains. “I'm still the chief... But if agreeing will prevent and further debate on the subject of me being in the field, then I will agree to it, especially as I think you're right; this might well show Ealair that we see his gift as an asset, and not as a curse or a danger to us. Everyone agreed with this course of action?”

The gathered captains nodded, none of them looked thrilled but no one disputed any matter and Tancred assumed they were simply reacting to being thrown back into war, rather than feeling particularly frustrated with any matter on their agenda. He understood their sombre moods; a few weeks of peace hadn't been enough.

“Right then, Aodh and Edward, your teams are guarding the castle tonight. Seren, Corvinus, you're teams are taking to the streets. Make sure to inform business owners that we'll be contacting them shortly to arrange security checks and to offer their staff combat training. Caitrìona, your team is off duty. Deòthas, tonight you’re off duty too; let your trainees acclimatise to castle life. Initially I'd like you to keep working with the recruits, just for the time being. Let’s get a few more of them through the trials so you have an operational field team to lead, then we'll switch things round and maybe give you a primary combat team and a secondary education team, just as Seren has both a primary field team and also oversees Nate's tech team. We need you back in the field, you and Tor both, but the support of a full team wouldn’t go amiss, so prioritise that.”

More nods followed the assignments, and Tancred pushed back his chair, standing as he muttered, “And for tonight, at least, I will deal with admin. Meeting adjourned.”