Finn collapsed against the front wall of the Red Tower and lifted his chin for a peek through the only window. The first deep blues in the dawn sky warned his group had fought for too long.

  “An entire night to cross one floor,” Finn whispered between tips of his water skin.

  Fergal leaned close. “Not quite,” he whispered. “There was the climbing in, the sneaking down, the double-cross, the fight up the stairs and crossing one floor.”

  Finn sighed. “When you put it that way, MacDavett, it’s clear I was being pessimistic for no reason at all.”

  “All’s forgiven,” Fergal said with a smile and prod from his elbow. He sat between Finn and the only passable staircase, at the bottom of which stood Maeve, leaning forward and craning her neck for a better look above them. Fergal took his poleaxe by its head and softly tapped Maeve on the side of her left calf.

  Maeve turned back to Fergal, turned both palms upward and wrinkled her face at him. Fergal pointed a finger at his eye, then to the ceiling and shrugged. Maeve stepped toward the group. “I can’t very well see through stone and wood now, can I?” she whispered, her eyes darting between Fergal and Finn as she spoke. I was tryin’ to hear.”

  “Sorry,” Fergal said. “And what—”

  “—Lad,” Niall said, reaching across Finn to grab Fergal’s arm, “don’t—”

  “—did you hear?” Fergal finished this thought before he could process Niall’s meaning.

  Maeve’s bottom lip covered the upper as she took one step backward. She looked down and bobbed her head. “I heard a wooden handle tap against my ankle.”

  Fergal nodded in reply. “I am sorry, Maeve,” he whispered. “I was—”

  Niall rose to his feet, his motion interrupting Fergal’s thought. “What else did you hear?” he asked.

  “He’s not alone up there,” Maeve whispered. “Nothing was approaching the stairs. We should go before they do. Up with you all.”

  Finn rolled his shoulders forward and winced from the stiffness in his joints. I just sat down, Finn thought. Just one more moment before we hurl ourselves into more peril. He refrained from making the request aloud, knowing the answer and reaction it would draw.

  “Weapons together,” Maeve said. “You first, Finn.”

  “Cuma?tae díadae,” he said.

  Maeve waited for the light inside Niall’s glove to fade before speaking. “Before we go invisible, we should get ourselves situated,” she whispered. “We’ll start out in a straight line rather than risk getting hit by each other before the fight resumes. Myself, Niall, then Finn and Fergal. We’re not waiting for taps on the shoulder. Find the one you’re meant to follow and keep up. Once we’re up there we’ll start with the targets closer to the walls and work toward those in the center of the room—but do not even consider attacking until I do, otherwise you’ll break our cover. We do not advance unless Niall or I say so.”

  She met each man's eyes. Seeing no dissent, she whispered her invocation: “ár nglúasa?t a ceilt.”

  The other three members of the party faded away and Finn felt the other weapons withdraw from the joining. He swatted the air in front of him until he felt the links of Niall’s hauberk. Three steps later Fergal’s unseen hand thumped the top of his left shoulder.

  The party ascended the staircase with minimal bumps or bumbles. Under its former owners, the second floor of the Red Tower had been the banquet hall. None of the tables were in ruins, though some had fallen into disrepair. Two banners hung on the side walls toward the rear. One hung in tatters, a single corner clinging to the wood dowel. The other held fast, undamaged, its decoration partially obscured by dark streaks of dried blood. Several shapes huddled at the table closest to the unlit fireplace in the back wall.

  Maeve found her intended spot and tapped Niall, who tapped Finn in kind. Finn reached out his elbow, wary of slicing his hand on Fergal’s axe, until his elbow caught Fergal in the chest.

  No offensive intent, he reminded himself as he waited for Maeve’s first arrow.

  A hollow, scratchy voice bellowed from the left wing of the level. “Oisín truly must be desperate to trust a bunch of mortals,” it said. “Foillsigid.”

  At once, all four of them appeared. Maeve’s face reddened.

  “I don’t get that much magic to begin with, dammit,” she muttered. She straightened and cupped her mouth with her free hand. “Perhaps not that desperate,” she yelled, “seein’ as we made it here to you.”

  The ávertach cackled from the side room. “But you haven’t yet. It’s time you met the rest of the Fianna.”

  Finn hunched his back at the sensation inside him. Something squeezed his stomach from the inside, though was unsure whether it was from The ávertach’s dark magic or the realization of who sat at the table on the other end of the room.

  The benches on either side of the table slid backward against the wooden floor. Three hulking figures rose, towering over the handful of bánánach scattered between them.

  “Do what your comrades could not,” The ávertach said in his smoothest tone yet.

  The three larger men stepped away from the table. The tops of their heads were shaved yet long hair hung down over two of the men’s backs. Their pale skin held a tinge of indigo that matched the faint glow that radiated from their eyes.

  They wore thick brat cloaks and no brogues on their feet. And each stood seven feet tall. The men held up their arms and their eyes glowed brighter. A flash of light burst from every hand and faded just as quickly, leaving behind a weapon and buckler for each of them.

  The four bánánach hastened toward the group.

  These have to be more Aos Sí, Finn thought. Finn rifled through memories of tales, poems and songs about the Fianna. The man on the right was heavy-set and sported a spear and a menacing grin. Likely the other mac Morna, Finn thought. Goll wasn’t completely bald.

  The man standing in the middle resembled Oisín except for his eyes. The warrior stared down Finn, eliciting in him a familiar feeling of dread. Those are Maeve’s eyes, Finn thought. Oscar?

  The man in the center was slender and held a sword that appeared too dull to cut butter. I hope that’s not—

  The man sprinted toward Finn. In four strides he covered the entire length of the banquet hall. With his last step before reaching the group, he placed his foot on a bench and vaulted himself into the air.

  Finn answered himself aloud. “Caílte mac Rónáin!” Finn raised Fragarach over his head, ready to meet The Hard Destroyer, mac Rónáin’s famed sword. For the first time since Fragarach had come into his care, Finn worried his sword could not withstand the impact.

  Niall shifted in front of Finn and raised his shield to meet mac Rónáin. The sprinter brought down his sword upon the rounded disc in the middle of Niall’s shield. The force of the impact knocked Niall back into Finn, toppling them both, and left a ringing noise in Finn’s ears so loud that it blocked all other sound.

  The warrior brought two overhand chops down upon the buckler before Fergal stepped in and struck him in the back with the hammer side of his polearm. The swing caught mac Rónáin by surprise, sending him into the wall behind Finn. In the time it took Fergal to pull Finn upright Maeve had loosed two arrows, cursing after the second.

  “Never thought I’d see one of O’Roarke’s shields in bits,” Niall said. “We may see it tonight.”

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  The other two warriors and four bánánach neared. Niall approached mac Rónáin as the warrior shaking off his impact with the wall. “You two thin their numbers,” he said, “I’ll tie this one up best I can while you do.”

  Fergal raised a hand in protest. “Sir—”

  “It’s our best shot,” Niall said. “Let’s hope running is the only thing he does with pace.”

  Finn spun Fergal around before his friend could reply. “I stun, you swing, hai?”

  Fergal brought his other hand up to the handle and nodded.

  The bánánach hurried ahead of the other two warriors. The men showed more caution in their gaits than on their faces.

  If only we were fighting outside, Finn thought. Wooden floors and heavy structural walls left him with few environmental options. He pulled his left hand towards his shoulder. Once the two body parts met, he looped his right arm as wide as he could. He pushed his right hand back to the open area in front of him. “Gáe? nert!”

  A rush of wind buffeted the bánánach from their left side. All four struggled to maintain their balance and were unaware they now stood bunched in front of Fergal. With a single cleave of his axe, Fergal laid two of the creatures low and left two more reeling in a heap.

  “Fair play,” Maeve called out as she loosed an arrow at the bald warrior on the right, adding to the collection of arrows embedded in the man’s shield.

  He’s got the angle on her, Finn thought. “Oi, Maeve!”

  “Busy.”

  “I don’t bleedin’ care,” he yelled over the ringing in his ears.

  Maeve glanced at Finn. He flicked his finger from his shoulder to her and then twisted his hand so that his finger and thumb switched places. Please understand me.

  She stared at Finn and shook her head. Immediately to his right, Caílte mac Rónáin banged away at Niall’s shield and created sparks when his sword met Niall’s. Finn hitched his head toward Fergal’s opponent and it was enough to make Maeve’s eyes widen in acknowledgment.

  The balding warrior used the break in Maeve’s attacks to charge her. Maeve nocked an arrow and aimed at him. She grinned at the last moment and pivoted toward Oisín’s kin and let fly. Oscar raised his buckler in time, but the surprise of Maeve’s attack created an opening wide enough for Fergal to land a hammer blow in the warrior’s stomach.

  Finn was already in the middle of casting his own spell. “Pléasca? guirid!” he yelled. The blast of heat caught the balding mac Morna in his chest and knocked the man off of his feet.

  He grinned at Maeve in the right corner and received a wink from her in reply. “Not to slow our momentum,” Finn said, “but it’s likely our friend on the left is also your family.”

  Maeve planted an arrow in the outside of the balding warrior’s right thigh. “Oisín’s boy?” she asked. “I can see it. Is this another moment when a MacLaughlin wants us to spare our foes?”

  “That depends on whether we think these are creatures, spirits, or bewitched people,” Finn said.

  Niall tumbled backward into Finn’s field of view. “They hit harder than any spirit I’ve ever met,” the elder said as he climbed back to his feet.

  Maeve sighed. “Giant as they might be, I suspect you’re right, Finn. Now what?”

  “If they’re men, then we can knock ‘em out,” Fergal said, shoving Oscar away with the handle of his poleaxe.

  A chuckle slipped from Finn. “You heard the man,” he said. “Hang on a little longer, Niall.”

  “So long as the chatting stops and you lot start doing your share,” Niall said.

  Finn surveyed the hall. The large bald man clutched his chest as he pushed himself off of the floor with his free hand. Finn pointed to a bench near the wounded foe. “Maeve, can you reinforce from a distance?”

  “What?”

  “Strengthen that bench next to him.”

  “It’s too far,” she said. She hopped down from the table and laid her hand upon the bench next to her. “Nertaid.” An amber glow spread across the entire bench.

  Finn ran over and picked up the bench. I should have asked Fergal to do this. He ambled to the warrior with the bench balanced on his hip. He twisted the bench on its side, slid his hands down to one end and lifted it over his head. Finn couldn’t keep the bench balanced, however, and its far end fell to the ground behind him.

  The warrior had just reached an upright position when Maeve doubled him over with an arrow to his other thigh. Finn hooked his right forearm behind the bench leg and bent forward. The far side of the bench swung in an arc over his head. He stared at the man’s head as the bench came down, doubtful he’d get another chance such as this.

  The side of the bench landed on the crown of the balding warrior’s head, bounced once and slid down the side of his face. The man’s chin hit the ground two seconds after the bench banged against the floor.

  Finn looked back toward Maeve. “Thanks for that.”

  Maeve shrugged. “You should have asked Fergal to do it.”

  “Let me wake him up, then,” Finn said, “and we’ll try again.”

  “Get you moving, eejit.”

  “Which one do you want?”

  “You take my kin,” she said. “You’re less likely to kill him.”

  “Thank—” Finn said, realizing too late that Maeve didn’t mean it as a compliment.

  To Finn’s encouragement, he found Fergal holding his ground with the oversized form of Fionn mac Cumhaill’s grandson. Fergal managed the feat by keeping his polearm in perpetual motion, forcing Oscar to mind his shield placement. The innkeeper could not gain the advantage, but he had kept himself out of mortal danger thus far.

  “Lía?rit teine!” Finn said as he hurled a fireball at Oscar’s leg. The warrior hopped away from the impact after the projectile burst against his cloak just below the hip. Oscar shifted to his right, putting Fergal between himself and Finn.

  Finn circled the pair on the left. Oscar caught sight of him and targeted Fergal’s right side to keep his shield facing both mortals. When Finn circled back to the right, Oscar shifted to his right and reversed his attack.

  I should call Maeve, Finn thought. Catch his flank when he’s focused on us. Get him to spin right into a trap—

  “That’s it!” Finn said.

  Fergal showed Finn his left ear from over his shoulder. “Sorry?”

  “Keep him to our right, and don’t you step forward,” Finn said. That was the easy part, he thought. There was a spell Finn had in mind but he’d never used it in battle. Worse yet, it was a circular cast. He'd managed just one successful circular cast a few days ago on his own in a quiet corner of Norroway Keep.

  Finn spun his hands around in a circle as wide as his arms could make. He closed his eyes and pictured Lough Airgid as it existed in Mag Ionganaidh. “Cenglaid in torann geis,” he said. He opened his eyes and fixed them on a part of the floor left of Fergal. A patch of ocean green light the size of his fist appeared. The area of light expanded with each revolution of his hands.

  “Fergal!” he said. “Dya’see this?”

  Fergal parried a thrust of Oscar’s spear before answering. “See what?”

  Is he serious? Finn thought. “That patch of light on the floor.”

  Fergal managed a quick glance to the rear. “Are you serious?” he asked. “There’s nothing there.”

  Finn wrinkled his forehead and nose. “Odd,” he said. “It’s as bright as sunlight leaking in from a window.”

  Fergal swung his polearm down to his left, pushing Oscar’s spear to the floor. Oscar responded with a shield edge to Fergal’s right shoulder. “Can I simply take your word for it, sir?” he asked.

  Finn gave the illuminated area another look. It was as wide as a currach and half as long. “Hai, I think I’m ready, anyway,” he said. “Ready yourself for when the moment comes.”

  “Is it wise to be talking like this?” Fergal asked. “Can’t he understand us?”

  Finn’s eyes widened. Can he? How is it that everyone knows English and the old tongue? How lucid is Oscar right now? Is he a puppet or merely brainwashed like the fellas last year back in—

  Fergal’s cry of pain snapped Finn out of his spiral. Oscar’s spear caught Fergal’s left arm in the middle of his tricep. “How’s that plan comin’ along?”

  “Sorry. Not a step forward from you.”

  Finn circled behind Fergal. The instant he saw Oscar from behind Fergal’s right side, he launched a fireball at Oscar’s foot. The warrior hopped to the right and placed his back foot within the area of blue-green light.

  Nothing.

  Oscar stepped into his counterattack and it carried their foe out of the light.

  I need a bigger push, Finn thought. Faster, too. He pulled his left arm in toward his right bicep and fired his right hand forward. “Lía?rit teine!”

  Finn didn’t wait for his fireball to strike Oscar’s buckler. He jerked his right hand back as soon as the heat left and pulled it into his left bicep. He flung his left hand toward Oscar’s face. “Teine!”

  Oscar’s rear foot had reentered the area of blue-green light on the floor before Finn let his second fireball fly. Oscar shielded his face just in time. The impact knocked the warrior off-balance and forced him to bring his left foot behind his right.

  At the moment Oscar’s heel touched the floor a crack of thunder burst upward from the area of light, launching him into the air upside down.

  “Fergal!” Finn yelled as he jumped backwards from his large friend.

  Fergal brought the head of his hammer back past his shoulder and timed his swing to catch Oscar’s buckler as the man fell back to the floor. Blue light flashed from the hammer strike and the warrior crashed against the left wall and collapsed into a motionless heap on the floor.

  Finn stepped back to Fergal’s side. “That was savage,” he said.

  Fergal smiled. “I assume that was the doing of your invisible floor light?”

  Finn’s eyes dropped to the floor. The light was gone. All that remained were several cracks in the wooden floor—from the force of thunder spell, no doubt.

  Fergal idly backpedaled onto the damaged planks as he collected his thoughts. Finn pulled on the innkeeper’s arm to keep him off the fractured planks behind him.

  The noise displeased their host. The ávertach yelled from the side room on the left, “Goll! Where are you? Those fools are playing with my food!”

  It wasn’t the hollow, crackling voice that caused Finn’s spine to seize. Not him, Finn thought. Not the Fomori. I can barely stand.