Read Online The Sword of Feimhin by Frank P. Ryan - Free Book Online

imagine that my father has forgotten the Vale of Tazan. And he values the advice of the high shaman, Mahteman.’
    â€˜You think Mahteman will be difficult?’
    â€˜Yeshhh.’
    Alan knew that the Gargs still referred to him as Duval the Slayer following the bloody battle at the ruined sanctuary of Ossierel. Thousands of Garg warriors had died there fighting Alan and an army of Shee, including Iyezzz’s brother and Zelnesakkk’s eldest son. It was asking a lot of the Eyrie People to help their former enemies now in an endeavour that might prove even more hazardous than Ossierel.
    Alan and the invading army of Shee were now intent on destroying the Tyrant once and for all. Zelnesakkk and the wily shaman Mahteman were well aware of how dangerous that undertaking would be, given that the Tyrant had access to the Fáil. He would always be one, maybe several, steps ahead of them. And that, in turn, made the help of the Gargs vitally important. They knew this landscape: they could scout ahead and fly above obstacles that might be dangerous, or impenetrable, to forces that had no option but to advance on land.
    Tense, shivering with cold, Alan reflected on the quandary that faced him while observing how, over several minutes, the emblematic patterns on the Queen’s wings underwent a series of changes in colour and pattern. He had been mistaken to think them tattoos. The colours were, intead, generated by the scales of her skin; like the colours of a butterfly’s wings. The display was mesmerising. Shah-nur-Kian controlled the chameleon-like changes within her own being. What an amazing visual devotion to the Sacred Lady of Tide and Oceans!
    â€˜I’m glad you brought me here, Iyezzz.’
    Iyezzz flushed a plum purple over his entire skin. It was a statement of emotion, accompanied by a musky scent exuded from his scent glands. When he spoke, his voice hissed through the gill-like slits that vibrated in his elongated throat. ‘The Queen performs this ritual to honour you. She alone has the power and grace to do so without needing the permission of the King.’
    Shah-nur-Kian sprang from the cliff-top, her wings beating the air powerfully, slowly, to give her lift, then she soared out over the glittering gold waves. Alan glanced towards Iyezzz, thinking about what he had said, but the Garg prince revealed nothing more, his reptile-like eyes hooded and his features blank.
    A hundred thousand Shee warriors would accompany Alan on the landward journey. They would be commanded by Ainé and Bétaald. The Shee would be assisted by half as many aides, the strange, largely silent women who played many important supportive roles to the Shee. All those lives would be placed at risk under Alan’s command.
    Alan stared at the distant cruciform figure of the queen under a sky that was a patchwork of cotton-wool clouds, which caused her silhouette to move between a mixture of azure and shadow.
    Maybe she’s looking for something. Perhaps a sign?
    Iyezzz cried out. His wing talon pointed far away, into the distance, where the great ball of the sun was lifting free of the horizon.
    Flying fish – a great school of them – had erupted from the ocean. The shimmering cloud of silver bodies merged flight trajectories with Shah-nur-Kian, chasing her graceful leadership. They rose and fell in a giant delta-shaped cloud. As they circled against the golden glow of the rising sun, coming closer and closer to where Alan and Iyezzz observed them, the rain from their wings ensheathed the queen in myriad rainbows of iridescence.
    Iyezzz was trembling with emotion.
    Alan sensed some profound communication, body to body, spirit to spirit, between the prince and the queen. Iyezzz drew his tall body erect, throwing his wings wide.
    He was humming, as if in unspoken prayer, through the vibrating clefts of his gills.
    *
    â€˜What is the gain from such a perilous enterprise for the Eyrie nation?’