Quest of a Warrior (Legends of the Fenian Warriors, Book 1)
Mary Morgan
Dedication
For Susan Fox and Theresa Baer, two beautiful women who are
on my Morgan Warriors Street Team.
I required an Irish name for the cat in the story, and they both thought of Neala, which means “Champion” in Irish Gaelic.
A perfect name for this feisty feline.
Thank you, Susan and Theresa, with love!
Author’s Note
If you need it, a glossary of terms can be found
on page 385.
Prologue
In the beginning…when the world was new, Fae and humans lived peacefully together. However, as the centuries passed, fear and distrust evolved. The Fae continued to love the humans, but they believed it was time to safeguard the realms. Therefore, they appointed the Fenian Warriors to guard and protect the domain between mortal and faery. But most importantly, these warriors were to assist the humans.
When evil threatened to destroy a clan, country, or civilization, the Fae council called upon these warriors. Their orders were to steer a new course and aid the mortals. This group of elite warriors had the power to travel through time, called, the Veil of Ages, supporting those in need. They were not to alter the timeline, nor the life strings of a human. To do so, would be catastrophic.
Ancient and powerful, the Brotherhood of the Fenian Warriors was second to only the Fae King and Queen’s powers. They have lived among us for thousands of years—watching, aiding, guiding. They could be a professor, lawyer, knight, tavern owner, or a simple farmer.
Whatever was required, the warriors did so without complaint.
Yet, even these great warriors had their weaknesses as with any race—be it human or Fae. Though they have used their powers for good, there were times when a select few deemed it wiser to interfere without the knowledge of the Fae council. They twisted the laws to suit their own purpose and changed the course of time.
When three Fenian Warriors left the Brotherhood to aid a clan—the Dragon Knights of Urquhart, they brought the fury of the Fae down upon their heads. Their punishment should have been swift, but the Fae always believed in redemption—even for one of their own.
This is the story of Conn MacRoich. One of the most powerful Fae warriors to be gifted with many powers. His status among the Fae is legendary. He walked among the most ancient of kings and queens, battled alongside the Templars, and sat at King Arthur’s round table with the other knights. Robert the Bruce of Scotland granted him lands after the Battle at Bannockburn, and King Brian Boru of Ireland considered him a brother. Such were the tales the Fae bards still weave today.
Yet, in a quest to save the Dragon Knights, he stepped away from the Brotherhood and his own people.
There were whispers that Conn had lived among the humans far too long. Some said he should be stripped of his powers and be made to live out his days in the Hall of Remembrance.
The council heard his account. A sentence was decreed.
In the end, Conn MacRoich was given one final quest to help another. A lost soul whose destiny he altered centuries ago. Furthermore, he must do so without the use of his Fenian magic.
Dare to find out what happened to one of the greatest heroes of Fae and Human. Travel through these pages and be a witness to the tale of a legendary Fenian Warrior.
Chapter One
Beneath the Hill of Tara, Ireland—Late Summer, the season of pleasure and growth in the Fae Realm
“To sit in silence requires a quiet mind and a peaceful heart.”
~Chronicles of the Fae
Conn clenched his fists so tightly, the veins threatened to burst, spilling his blood against the walls of his prison. A new day was dawning as the sun’s tentative rays streaked through the canopy of trees above him. They teased him as they inched closer—tormenting him with his confinement. Morose gloom weighed heavily on him with each breath he took. It splintered a piece of his soul.
Yet, he found he could not ignore the calling to greet the new day. It was in his Fae blood, seeping into every pore of his being. The land called out to him, and he responded in welcome, no matter the circumstances of his current situation.
Leaning against the crystal wall, Conn gazed upward, his body tensed in anticipation.
He willed the light to brush against the glass rooftop and touch him with its warmth. Watching as the last star blinked from his sight, he could feel the stirrings of rebirth—a new beginning, and he stepped away from the wall. With each step, the pulse of the bare earth surged through the soles of his feet, extending upward throughout his body.
Conn embraced the energy.
His hands unclenched, and he reached outward—stretching as far as he could to capture the flimsy radiance. Minutes passed, but he could sense the time drawing near. As the light shimmered through his fingertips, he absorbed the essence, breathing deeply.
Although fleeting, this moment was enough for him as he eased his hands back down. Collapsing to the ground, he pressed his palms to the earth in reverence. This was his daily ritual—one where he had lost track of how many times he had done so in this dungeon of a room.
An area of space with four crystal walls, the earth beneath him, and a prism of glass above him, so he could witness each new day—each season within his prison.
Yet, with each passing hour, day, and month, Conn grew restless and bitter. Bitterness toward those that would still call him family, friend, brother. They made him wait in this room, refusing to listen to his account. Ignoring his pleas for a swift and fair trial.