Page 24 of Queen of the Shadow

She stared into her hound’s eyes and gave her the command. “Home!”

Leannan whined, licked her face, and then sprinted away. Scáthach knew when her sentries saw the deerhound racing home alone, they would immediately understand something was very wrong. Leannan would lead them back to Scáthach. Her guard would follow the hound with the full force of one hundred extraordinary warriors, and they would make short work of the ambushers.

Scáthach’s group sent their horses away and she noted Muirenn’s limp, her bloody forehead, and that Tabiti remained by her side, steadying her. “Now climb!” Scáthach ran ahead of them, attacking the hillock with long, sure strides. As she reached the peak, she faced them. Every warrior in her group focused on her. Their color was high. They were breathing hard, but there was no sense of panic among them. They focused on her and didn’t so much as glance over their shoulders at the riders thundering toward them.

They made her proud.

“Form a circle around the hillock, side by side. You are ready for this. You have trained and every one of you is worth triple that of any ambusher. We need only hold them off long enough for the Shadow Guard to reach us. Use the boulders as cover. Their archers will arrive last, but when they do, we will need all the cover we can manage.”

“But how will the guard know to come? We are not within sight of the castle,” Fergal said.

Cuchulainn’s answer came before she could speak. “Leannan is racing for the castle. She will bring the guard.”

His words visibly bolstered morale, and as Scáthach joined the circle, her students radiated readiness. She wasn’t surprised that Cuchulainn took the place on her left as Uathach moved to her mother’s right. Her daughter had a longsword slung across her back. The other warriors had already unsheathed their swords. Instead, Uathach held her bow at the ready. She was the only one who’d brought a bow that day, and she’d only done so because she hunted often and was well-known as a better shot with an arrow than even her mother. Scáthach only had time to wish she had a dozen archers like her daughter before the first group of ambushers reached them.

The attackers didn’t hesitate. Instead the fools lashed their horses, driving them to attempt to climb the rough hillock. Uathach made quick work of the first six horsemen, and then their leader—a huge, redheaded man Scáthach had no trouble recognizing as Drest—called for them to leave off climbing the hillock. They regrouped and as they did, Uathach picked off six more of them, including wounding Drest.

“Damn!” Uathach threw down her bow as her last arrow sank into Drest’s left shoulder. “I aimed for his heart, but the big bastard moved.” Grimly, she pulled her longsword from its sheath. “Mother, he looks familiar, but I do not know that sigil.”

“It’s Drest of Lethra,” said Scáthach. “The sigil is Aife’s.”

Uathach stared at the big man and spat.

Drest pulled the arrow from his shoulder, threw it to the ground, and stomped on it before he roared, “Kill them all, and bring me the head of the Queen of Shadow!” He pointed his sword at the hillock and loosed his warriors.

“I wish you had more arrows,” Scáthach said as she held her sword at the ready. Without archers, she and her group could do nothing but wait for the enemy to reach them—and they were coming fast, row after row, using their numbers like waves battering a storm-tossed beach.

Cuchulainn bent and picked up a fist-sized piece of marble. He took aim and threw it. The rock hit one of the ascending warriors in the middle of his face. His nose exploded with blood and he went down hard.

“Use the rocks!” Scáthach shouted as she hefted one. “Throw them like spears!” Within moments rocks pelted their enemies, driving them back down the hillock.

Then the second group joined them. With doubled numbers, they attacked the hillock again. This time the pelting rocks didn’t slow them enough and the swiftest of them reached Scáthach and her warriors. Metal clanged in a deadly symphony accompanied by the sounds of the wails of the dying as they battled.

Scáthach was amazed by Cuchulainn. His speed almost matched hers. His athleticism was incredible. He spun and ducked, leaped and struck. Cuchulainn had morphed from a man to a killer. Anyone who came within reach of his scarlet sword died.

Suddenly there was a break in the fighting. Scáthach wiped sweat and blood from her face and automatically checked her daughter first and then her students.

“I’m uninjured.” As usual, Uathach anticipated her mother’s needs. “Muirenn cannot keep up, but Tabiti and Fergal defend her.”

Muirenn had dropped to the ground behind Tabiti and Fergal. Her leg rested at an awkward angle and her face was the color of old milk.

“Cynwrig is dead,” her daughter continued, nodding to her mother’s left.

Scáthach saw the student that lay inside the circle they’d made. His left arm had been severed, along with part of his shoulder. She would grieve for the loss of his young life later. At that moment she could only be relieved he’d bled out quickly and his suffering hadn’t been prolonged. “Anyone else injured?” Scáthach asked as her gaze scanned the students.

“No.” Uathach pointed to the dozen horses in the distance racing toward their hillock. “But that answer will change when they get here.”

“Let me tell them who I am,” said Cuchulainn. “I’ll challenge their champion. Many warriors would be eager to brag they killed the Hero of Ulster.” He sounded as if he discussed the weather. “It’ll buy us the time we need for your guard to get here.”

Scáthach watched the riders get closer and closer. She knew what would happen when they arrived. They would rain deadly arrows on them. The boulders would provide some cover, but not enough. Her people would be methodically picked off before her guard reached them.

“Do it,” she told Cuchulainn.

He stepped out from their circle. Broad shoulders back, head held high, Cuchulainn raised his sword and, in a voice so strong it carried easily down the hillock, he proclaimed, “I am Cuchulainn, Hero of Ulster, son of Lugh of the Long Arm, God of the Sun. I challenge your champion to one-on-one combat to decide this fight with the loss of only one life, for either I will be victorious, or your champion will be known as the warrior who bested Cuchulainn!”

Drest’s laughter rang up the hillock. “I have no interest in you, Cuchulainn! I’m here for one reason, and that is to put an end to Scáthach!”

“You will have to kill every one of us to even touch the Queen of Shadow!” Cuchulainn shouted back.