Intertwining Destinies

Chapter 40

Lord Alpheus had hurried his return to Edinburgh. His trip to the Bethmooran mines had left him haunted by the appalling pronouncements of the Angel of Death.

"Your King will fall and so will you," the Angel had predicted. "Your evil will be thwarted by the one from whom you pillaged all."

The face of Prince Nuada had flashed through his mind. If Bres were to do battle with him, it was clear who would win. Alpheus had rushed back home only to receive the news of his nephew's death. Someone had assassinated him, and slaughtered the entire corps of King's guards. The Bethmooran prince was capable of such a deed, having already murdered King Balor in the presence of his defenders.

The death of Bres had hit him deeply. Even though his nephew was hard headed, he had loved him since his childhood. It was for this love that he had concocted the evil which had decimated the Bethmooran race. But now, Time's tide was against him and he had to find a way to curb its deluge towards him.

A servant had informed him that Sreng was then in the gwyllgi den. His return had to mean that the so-called 'forest child' was dead; and her death would prove to be Nuada's weakness.

Hope surged as he made his way to the den's lower level. Approaching the space, he could hear the cries of the demonic creature. Barred gates separated the inner cage from the den itself. There, he discovered Sreng fighting back the beast.

Lord Alpheus watched in awe as Sreng continued to gain his footing after hours of such exertion. The beast's nostrils exhaled hot breaths as it held a fiery glare on its attacker, but a transformation had taken place. The eyes appeared to have dulled within their red depths, losing their bloody ferocity. Rivulets of blood glowed eerily against the beast's dark coat, flowing from slashes inflicted by Sreng's double edged scythe. The faoladh himself bore testimony to the beast's resistance in terms of the dents in his chest plate and gashes disfiguring his arms, which Alpheus could see through the shreds of his bloodied tunic. Sreng ignored his own injuries as he fixed the beast with a resolute cold stare.

Alpheus congratulated himself for having created his own personal monster in Sreng, who was able to subdue all others. Eyes gleaming with suppressed malice, he thought back to the days when his fierce monster had been a child who didn't even come up to his knees.

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Several centuries back, Bres had begun to consolidate his rule over the Scottish islands of the British isle. This was not readily accepted by the local fae who had lived there for centuries, paying tithe to Balor for their protection and administration. Bres's declaration of sovereignty having been met with contemptuous disregard, Alpheus was shrewd enough to know that to create a new kingdom, one required blood and bone to strengthen its pillars.

During the millennia in which Balor had ruled over the fae population, the Tuatha De and the Fomorians had forgotten their old differences and the nations had merged to become Bethmoorans. But then, Balor had been too broken by grief to oppose what transpired in his step-son's kingdom. It was only inevitable that Balor should wither away in due time. Prince Nuada had disappeared into oblivion and Princess Nuala did all she could to manage the fae who still remained fiercely loyal by Balor's side. But their allegiance would come at a price and when the plague struck Ireland, an exodus of fae had crossed the narrow channel between Northern Ireland and Scotland to find sustenance. Here was the perfect opportunity to establish Bres as the new fae king to rule over those who would now be settled in Scotland.