Page 31 of Rise of the Morrigan

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Cú Chulainn raisedhis spear, blocking a strike from Forgall Monach. Forgall was a retired but renowned warrior. There hadn't been a single occasion for Ulster's warriors to go to war in many cycles. Not since before Cú Chulainn had come of age. A few skirmishes with roving bandits in the surrounding countryside hadn't given him much of a challenge. Thus, King Conchobar saw fit to pair him with Forgall Monach. Forgall didn't have the strength or agility he'd had when he was once the hero credited with expelling the Fomorians from the countryside. But Forgall hadskill.As adept as Cú Chulainn was in combat, he'd never faced a genuine champion. He'd never fought in arealwar.

King Conchobar was determined to see that his would-be hero was well prepared.

The problem was that Cú Chulainn was distracted.

Emer, Forgall's only daughter, caught his eye—taunting the young warrior with her beauty as he sparred with her father. Her hair was long, wavy, and red. She wore a thin, nearly translucent dress that showed off her athletic frame. She wasn't thin—though Cú Chulainn typically found smaller women more alluring, something about Emer captivated him. He appreciated a woman who had a certain strength to her, a confidence. Even from a distance, Emer's blue eyes drew him in, as if he were a salmon on the end of a baited line.

Emer only caught his eye for a moment—but that was all it took. With a quick strike, Forgall knocked Cú Chulainn's spear from his hand. Forgall jabbed his sword toward Cú Chulainn's neck.

"A warrior must be ever attuned to his surroundings, but always giving his opponent his full attention," Forgall said, gripping his blade by the hilt.

Cú Chulainn rolled away from Forgall's blade. "How can one do that? It seems to be a contradiction. If I am paying heed to my surroundings how can I maintain a full focus on my enemy?"

"You have more senses than sight, young warrior."

"So I shouldlistento my surroundings?"

Forgall nodded. "Open your ears, yes. But you must also use your sense of touch, you must learn to feel the battle around you..."

Cú Chulainn rolled his eyes. "How can I feel what I do not touch?"

"Do you think your sense of touch is limited to your skin? An accomplished warrior has a range of touch, a sense of anything that happens within his sphere of presence."

Cú Chulainn shook his head. "I don't even know how to develop that kind of sense."

Forgall pressed his lips together. "You have trained, too, as a bard, have you not?"

Cú Chulainn nodded. "Of course."

"Then you know of the Awen. How it inspires your tales."

"I do."

"The Awen is not exclusive to poets. Tell me, when you tell a tale for the first time, how is it you know what to say, how to inflect your voice?"

Cú Chulainn shrugged. "It's just a sense, an instinct. I don't know how to explain it."

"It is the same for the warrior," Forgall said, tossing Cú Chulainn back his spear.

Cú Chulainn reached up and caught it in mid-air. "So I need to justsensewhat's around me?"

"There is an art to a tale. A battle is a kind of poetry, a tale unfolding at the moment."

"How do you know so much about being a bard?" Cú Chulainn asked.

Forgall pressed his lips together. "When you've been around as long as I have you don't miss much. For instance, do you think for a moment that I haven't noticed how you've been eyeing my daughter?"

Cú Chulainn blushed. "My apologies. I mean no disrespect."

Forgall laughed. "Do you think I'm unaware of Emer's beauty? You are not the first young warrior to find himself... distracted by my daughter."

"You told her to tease me. To test my focus."

Forgall shook his head. "I did not. But my daughter is strong of will. She is taken with you."

"Then grant me her hand," Cú Chulainn said, taken aback by his own suggestion.

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