Trapped

didn’t check her out in the magical spectrum and discover that Granuaile and I were bound together rather tightly, some part of his brain—perhaps a large part—would fantasize about seducing her, and he wouldn’t want to hurt her because of it. Granuaile’s job was to make him think he had a chance.
    So she smiled at him. She complimented him on his earrings, and then on his six-pack, and stared pointedly at his kilt while she waited for him to respond.
    » Thank you, « he said, smiling.
    » Begin, « Granuaile replied, and then she spun and leapt twice to add gravity and centrifugal force to her first blow, aimed at his head. It was an aggressive attack—perhaps too aggressive. Ogma met it with his staff held crosswise, and, once Scáthmhaide rebounded, he extended his arms to knock it back again, preventing a graceful redirection. She was on the defensive now and off balance. Ogma took long strides, lunging with his staff and forcing Granuaile into a series of desperate parries.
    Manannan Mac Lir’s instruction about the political situation in Tír na nÓg burst through the door of my frontal lobe and plopped itself down on the couch. Ogma was definitely on Brighid’s side, and if he, however erroneously, thought Granuaile was in the Morrigan’s camp, this friendly sparring match might not be so friendly. Could Ogma be behind the attacks on us? He certainly had the connections to pursue us if he wished.
    I almost dismissed the thought, because it didn’t jibe with the perfectly civil and generous behavior of his grandsons, Luchta and Goibhniu—if anyone was on Brighid’s side, it was them, and yet they’d been nothing but kind to us.
    Still, Ogma could have his own agenda, independent of theirs. There was no monolithic thought police in Tír na nÓg, and nothing was what it seemed. Even combat.
    Granuaile anticipated a strike and caught it as it was still coming up; she had the leverage and should have been able to force Ogma’s staff down, since she was already over the top. Instead, Ogma’s upswing halted and held. He was too strong to be driven down, despite his disadvantage. She lifted and whipped her staff to whack at his head, when the smarter move would have been to shift down and sweep at his legs; he was pretty firmly set, however, his balance impeccable, so perhaps the wild strike at his head was the slightly wiser move to rattle him—it would certainly have rattled him had it connected. However, Ogma leaned back and turned his cheek, avoiding the blow, while extending his arms and striking down with his staff. It cracked painfully against Granuaile’s kneecap—it numbed her for a second—and that was all Ogma needed. He pushed, she was off balance and couldn’t keep up with the flurry of strikes he unleashed, and he was able to sneak past her guard and buckle her knees from behind.
    She knew she was going down and shouted, » Damn it! « as she fell.
    » Ha! Excellent. « Ogma grinned. » You have been well trained. « He shot out his hand to help her up and Granuaile glowered at him. I smiled, recognizing that expression. Oberon recognized it too.
    › Oh, now he’s done it. Did you see that, Atticus? He’s doomed. There’s an anvil falling from the sky to crush him, and he has no clue. ‹
    Yes, I saw it , I said, but careful what you say here. Remember, people can hear you . Luchta and Goibhniu had cast a couple of amused glances at Oberon when he’d spoken up, but thankfully Ogma hadn’t been tuning in.
    I’m not sure if Ogma’s patronizing tone had been intentional or not—whether he had meant to goad her, in other words—but, regardless, Granuaile was well and truly goaded. She had a fascinating tendency to access another level of ability when she was angry—not rage-fueled barbarism but rather a hyperawareness and clarity that one needs for combat. I had tried to make her access it without the emotion, because the very peak of her abilities should not be dependent on such, but I’d failed miserably. Emotion could motivate her like nothing else; her long-simmering anger at her stepfather had pushed her to become a Druid in the first place.
    She was squaring off for round two when Flidais entered the shop. She had abandoned her court apparel and returned to the greens and browns of her leathers.
    » What is this? « she asked. » A contest? «
    » A friendly one, « Ogma answered. Granuaile did not affirm this. Perun lumbered in behind Flidais. He looked pleasantly