Year of our Lord 1286

Near the Estate of Don Carrach Maguire, First King of Fermanagh

"Do you see him?"

"No!"

"God's teeth! Our heads will roll if we don't catch the man. He is a murderer!"

"This, I know! We must find him! You ... go to the right. I will go left."

The two separated and plunged head first into the dark forest. All that was heard for the next few minutes were the sounds of footsteps crashing through the thick underbrush. Then, muttered exclamations and muffled cursing floated in the air.

"I see nothing!"

"Impossible! How could he escape?"

"Infernal creature! All witches should be put to death!"

"He killed our master. I still cannot believe it has happened."

"The witch shall pay for what he has done. Lord Enniskillen will not let his son's death go unpunished."

"But our master was only his bastard."

"Bastard or not, Labraic was his son."

"And we are to bring the murderer to Lord Enniskillen?"

"Unless," the man grinned unpleasantly, showing several stained and broken teeth, "we accidentally kill him during capture."

"And the weapon?"

"It must be destroyed."

"Hold." The taller of the two men held up his hand as they came back together in the center of a glade. Dark and thin, with a smell that would make swine vomit, his gaze skittered around the wood. He clutched a large double-bladed axe in one hand, while he held the lead of a wolfish looking dog in the other. "The master showed us how to find a witch. Use the gift." He closed his eyes and let his mind roam free.

The second man--short and built like a bull, dropped into a crouch and surveyed the ground around him. He didn't care about gifts. That wasn't his style. Debris left over from last night's storm littered the forest floor. Broken branches, leaves and rotted wood made it easy to see if someone had traveled this way. The bull-like man tucked the short sword he carried into his belt and carefully sifted through the dead leaves. "He did not come this way, Loman. There are no tracks."

Loman swore under his breath, and the cur whined at his feet. "I cannot feel him. With the master gone, the magick is gone as well. Can you track him, Hamish? We are running out of time."

The shorter man nodded. "Let the dog take the scent."

Jerking on the lead, Loman bent to the beast. "Ornin, find him!"

Further up the trail, the hunted heard the baying of the hound. Cyric O'Maoilduan shuddered, his eyes narrowing as he fought his way through the thick forest. Part of his work was accomplished. He had destroyed the man who called himself, Labraic of Fermanagh.

A bastard son of the great Don Carrack, Labraic built a life for himself as a prosperous landowner. His benevolent father granted him all but his name, and he used it to become wealthy and powerful. To all appearances, he was a normal man. Not so kind or generous as his father, and by many accounts, cruel to his people, he was not someone to be crossed. It was said he dealt harshly with those who did not follow his edicts. He had an uneasy truce with the Church, but hated those who believed there were other ways of worshiping God. So much so, he had taken to tracking those people down ... and killing them.

But there was a reason Labraic destroyed those who did not follow the Church and all its teachings. The Church was narrow in its thinking, superstitious, yet slow to act, so it was not a threat. However, the same couldn't be said about the other beliefs. They saw things. They knew the truth. Those who looked deeper, those who knew how to look, could see the decay rotting the man's soul. He served a different God than his father did.

Labraic had given his soul to a demon.

Where the man ended and the demon began, was not known. The man's given name had been Domnall, after his grandfather, but when he'd been possessed by the ungodly one, he changed his name to that of the demon within him. As master of his land, he could do as he pleased and slowly began to seek out and annihilate the only ones who could ruin him.

Witches, druids, and magick welders of all kinds were targeted by his assassins. Those, who could see his evil magick and fight it. Labraic called the persecution ... a cleansing of evil souls, and had the Church's backing for his horrible deeds. But now, at long last, it was over. After a long fight, Labraic had been sent back to Hell, where he belonged. And it was Cyric's doing.

Cyric scrabbled up a steep slope, his breath harsh and painful. He'd run for miles, a full night and a day, his only thought to get away. The first part of his task was completed. Now, he had to finish the second. To return the weapon to safe harbor. He tucked it tighter into his belt. It must not fall into the hands of the enemy, or all would be lost.

The baying of the hound sounded closer and he felt a surge of panic as he looked around the darkened forest. Dawn would soon arrive, and he would be easily seen. He stumbled forward through a thicket of brambles, praying for deliverance, when his foot came down into a stream. His eyes, the color of sea-spurrey, widened, and turning instinctively, he slogged his way through the knee-deep water, hoping for a miracle.

He waded through the creek for over a thousand paces before dawn's vibrant finger painted the morning colors in the night sky. Slowly, the darkness that had hidden him, lifted. Fear was a greasy ball in the pit of his stomach. If he could see, so could those pursuing him.

It was only his gifting that kept him from disaster. As he came around a flowering bush, the stream disappeared into a tall waterfall that exploded off the side of the mountain. He stumbled back; praising God his magick had warned him. Climbing out of the stream, he carefully made his way down the precipice, his hands grasping at the muddy bushes and roots as he climbed.

Once at the bottom, he gazed quickly around him. He couldn't hear the dog anymore, but that didn't reassure him. In fact, it worried him more. Where were the assassins now? How close where they? Keeping a wary eye on the surrounding forest, he jogged along the widening stream. It wasn't until he was upon it, that he saw the mouth of the cave.

It was huge, twice as tall as a man and several men's height wide. Its gray stone opening was covered in pale green lichen and gnarled roots from broken and rotted trees. The air was cool, and Cyric could hear the sound of rushing water deep within its depths. He took a step forward, smelling the earthy odor of decaying wood and the musty odor of the cave itself. His hand went to his belt and he grasped the weapon firmly. Could this be his miracle?

He was never given a chance to decide. From out of the trees came the wolf-like hound, his snarling jaws agape. The two hunters broke from the forest right behind it.

With a gasp, Cyric whirled and sending up a prayer, he plunged into the cave. After a few steps it became pitch black. Not a shred of daylight lingered here. Casting a quick look over his shoulder, he snapped his fingers.

"Éadrom."

From within the confines of his fist, a light began to shine. Opening his hand, palm up, the glow shone brighter. Using it, he made his way steadily down into the bowels of the cave. He could hear the men shouting angrily behind him, when the dog refused to enter the darkness. It gave Cyric's heart hope. Perhaps he would make it home to his lovely wife, Shannon, after all. They had just talked of having a child.

The air was cooler now, the smell more musty and dead. In the illumination of his magick orb, he could see beautiful stalactites hanging from the ceiling. Colors shimmered over them as he made his way through waist deep water, and then back up on the path itself. He followed his instinct ... knowing he would have to go forward. They only thing behind him was imprisonment and death. Even though Labraic was banished back to the underworld, his followers still lived and they would avenge their master.

"Come out, witch!" The shout sounded muffled in the closed-in quarters of the cave. "Give us the weapon and we will allow you to live."

Cyric shook his head. Not likely they would allow him to continue breathing. Holding up his soft light, he stealthily traversed the narrow rocky path. Dripping water plastered his red hair to his skull and wet his long heavy robe. Even though he was a big man, he was light on his feet, but the woolen robes soaked in moisture easily, making it difficult to move quickly. Softly, he murmured a spell to help dry the clinging cloak, knowing he had to be able to run if necessary.

He wasn't sure how long he walked. Time seemed to stand still inside the deep cavern. Deeper and deeper he went, his instincts still sure he was going the right way. A few times, he thought he heard something from the gloom behind him, but after a breathless silence, he decided he was imagining things. After it seemed hours had passed, the tunnel came to an abrupt end.

Walking forward cautiously, Cyric stepped into a mammoth room. He stared in astonishment at the huge lake filling the underwater cavern. Stalagmites stood along the water's edge, some taller than a castle wall. Glistening stalactites reflected in the still water below. The lake itself was as black as the devil's soul. Not a hint of light could be seen anywhere and the only sound was the drip ... drip ... drip of condensation as it fell lightly from the ceiling.

He swore. There had to be another way out. His magick wouldn't have led him this way to leave him stranded. Listening behind him, he could hear only silence. If the men had followed him, he couldn't tell.

Stepping to the lake's edge, he looked down into the ebony water. He shuddered once, knowing at this depth, it would be as cold as the snows of winter. His jaw clenched and he lifted the light.

"Éadrom thuilleadh."

In answer, the light flared brighter. Now Cyric could see to the other side of the large chamber. His heart leapt when he saw the small tunnel on the far side of the tarn.

He checked the weapon at his belt and closing his eyes, he uttered an incantation. Words, pregnant with magick, tumbled from his lips.

"Eitil, eitil, eitleoidh mé

Géillte mise cliatháin."

A bright glow of power surrounded him. His hunters stumbled out of the narrow cavern just at that moment. They gasped, as they watched their quarry lift off the ground and float across the perfectly calm water. It was surreal, frightening, even to their hate-filled souls.

Making the sign of the cross, Hamish pulled a crossbow from behind his back. His dog snarled beside him. "He will not get away!" he growled, as he slid a thin arrow into place. Going down on one knee, he took aim.

Cyric turned just in time to see the deadly missile take flight. It was too late for him to spell it away. All he could do is react, jumping to the side. He felt the icy cold pain as the shaft struck him high in the upper chest. Without thinking, he pulled the weapon from his belt and pointed it at those who were seeking to destroy him.

"Shia tia Cylys, shia ia mael,

Koli si tandros mae,

Pai shar o shor,

Rai maesi eil vyraes si pae."

Pure light filled the room. Rainbows of colors exploded from the weapon's tip and rushed across the now white-capped water. The powerful energy hit the three hunters so hard; they were knocked backwards against the cavern wall. Their mouths gaped open in a silent scream as the power sliced into their motionless bodies. Blood began to pour from their mouths, noses, and eyes, as the magick dealt them the same blow they'd wished on Cyric. It burrowed deep, removing the very evil permeating their souls. But, like their master, evil was all that kept them alive. They remained pinned to the wall of the cave, only the husks of their bodies remaining. What made them real was long gone and what had remained was now destroyed.

Cyric watched; his eyes glazed over in agony as the three went through their death thralls. His body was going numb and he dropped to his knees on the cushion of air that held him above the icy lake. Shaking his head, he fought to remain conscious. The numbness traveled down his arm to his fingers, and he cried out when the weapon dropped from his nerveless fingers and fell beneath the black waters of the cavern tarn. He made a grab for it, but his fingers, slippery with blood, could hold nothing. All he could do was watch, as it disappeared into the murky depths.

Shaking with fatigue, he lifted himself to his feet. Clutching at the arrow in his shoulder, he said a quick spell to hold back the pain. He would not let his order down. His beloved master and those who trusted him would never have reason to curse his name. If he couldn't bring the weapon safely home, he would protect it the best way he knew how. Lifting a trembling hand, Cyric pointed out over the sooty water.

I set a guard, no harm to thee.

I speak this spell, 'tis destiny.

To keep you safe, this promise binds,

Any man or beast, evil entwines.

Hidden from sight, so no one can see,

A promise kept, so mote it be.

Your time will come, to rise once more,

Your power and strength, to win the war.

This prophecy will come to pass,

When truth and love come at last.

Progeny of power, the chosen shall be,

Whose honor and faith will set you free.

But for now in the silence of blackness, hide,

To find the treasure, the heart will guide

And so I pray, in peace remain

Until that time, to fight again.

I cast this spell, my protection for thee

So I say it, so mote it be.

His energy expended, he could barely manage to keep formed, the cushion of air on which he stood. With the last of his strength, Cyric used his magick to send his aching body across the freezing lake. Once he got to the other side, he stumbled, falling flat on his face, breaking the arrow off and sending screaming pain shooting through him.

He rolled over on his back and stared up at the beautiful carvings made by thousands upon thousands of water droplets. They were works of art, guided by the Creator's hand. Sighing, he closed his eyes and pictured his sweet wife standing at the stove. Another beautiful work of art. They had so many plans. Things to learn ... children to bear and raise. Such a wonderful future to look forward to.

The cold water lapped at the shore near his feet. Silence fell in the cavern. Darkness once again took over the light.