Page 67 of Rise of the Morrigan

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Most mature bullscan cover thirty cows in heat. No wonder so many men petitioned the Morrigan that she might allow them to be reborn as bulls in the next life.

If anyone ever envied a bull's life, on account of its many lovers, Donn Cúailnge was on a whole other level. Not only could he cover more than three times the cows a normal bull could handle, but his progeny were especially virile. None of the bulls born from Donn Cúailnge's herds quite matched his production—but in the decade and a half since Donn Cúailnge had belonged to Ulster their herds had multiplied a hundredfold. The herds had grown so numerous that every patch of the once-grassy groves surrounding Ulster had been stripped bare. And the smell of manure had been so strong, for so long, that most in Ulster had grown accustomed to the odor.

But King Conchobarstillrefused Queen Mebd's requests.

And, as Cú Chulainn had rightly observed, the Queen of Connacht had far more wits about her than King Conchobar. In addition to his deteriorating memory, the king was drunk more often than not. He'd grown fat from feasting, no doubt attributable to the gross wealth Ulster had amassed.

Meanwhile, if what the scouts reported was true, Mebd had acquired many of the bulls produced from Ulster's herds. While Conchobar never sold them directly to Mebd he'd sold many bulls to roving herders, many of them likely proxies for Connacht. Thus, while Ulster had grown wealthy, Connacht had grown in power. Only, unlike Ulster, Mebd sold off and slaughtered her herds for meat to cull her herds to a reasonable size.

Ever since Donn Cúailnge had been given to Ulster, by some mysterious benefactor who'd meant to bless Cú Chulainn's marriage to Emer, it was likely Ulster would become a target. Cú Chulainn had warned King Conchobar from the beginning that spurning the requests of others, especially one with the ambitions of Queen Mebd, was unwise.

He'd attempted to counsel the king that great wealth did little more for Ulster than make her a target of envious kingdoms and, lest Ulster acquire more warriors and strengthen her fortifications, the richer the kingdom became the more likely it would be Ulster would fall. Still, on every occasion Cú Chulainn attempted to warn his king accordingly, his worries were dismissed.

"What do we have to fear?" King Conchobar would ask. "We have you, Cú Chulainn! We have a hero with the blessing of the ríastrad!"

While Ulster's wealth had been spent largely on luxuries for the people—and even Cú Chulainn could admit that life in Ulster had become quite leisurely—Mebd had spent her wealth to secure champions from the various tribes and to grow her armies. Meanwhile, Ulster's supposed warriors had grown fat and reckless. Few of any of them had seen a single battle. In short, all of Ulster had grown complacent. They'd taken their security and riches for granted.

But Cú Chulainn knew better. He'd heard and even told many tales of those whose wealth had become their downfall. It was a matter of time before Ulster would fall—and if Cú Chulainn couldn't defend the whole city alone it would likely be a bloodbath.

In truth, Mebd didn'tneedDonn Cúailnge. She'd managed to grow her kingdom and her armiesstrategicallyand wisely. After a decade of having her requests turned down by Conchobar, Cú Chulainn expected it was only a matter of time before she'd attack. Not that she needed any of Ulster's riches—but on account of principle. When Mebd first approached Conchobar and requested Donn Cúailnge's services her kingdom was starving, theyneededaid and Conchobar had refused her requests, time and time again. She'd attack now purely for the sake of revenge. And, while Cú Chulainn hoped she wouldn't attack, he couldn't blame her if she did.

"Come to bed!" Emer said.

"I cannot. I must train, then I need to patrol the perimeter."

"How long has it been, my love? We've been married fifteen years and more often than not I have slept alone while you obsess over an enemy who might never attack."

"Mebdwillattack, Emer. It's not a question of if. It's a question of when."

"And in all these years of patrolling the perimeter of Ulster, have you ever encountered more than a few bands of roving bandits?"

Cú Chulainn shook his head. What Emer said was true. But in his gut, Cú Chulainn knew an attack was imminent. He realized his concern had masqueraded as an obsession. He understood that nearly no one in all of Ulster, not even his wife, shared his worries. But he had to be ready...

"Come, lie with me tonight," Emer said. "It has been more than a year since I've known my husband and my passions are growing restless!"

Cú Chulainn cocked his head. Had it been a fullyearsince he'd last made love to his wife?

Even a year ago, Cú Chulainn hadn't been as obsessed as he was now. But with every passing day, it was likely Mebd's armies were gaining in strength and Ulster was only becoming more vulnerable. King Conchobar was practically useless as a monarch—if Mebd attacked the armies of Ulster would be slaughtered, both on account of their lack of training and due to a lack of leadership. The only thing that had prevented Mebd from attacking, Cú Chulainn believed, was sheknewhe'd been on the lookout. ShefearedCú Chulainn—as most did. Conchobar knew as much which was one reason why he'd neglected Ulster's armies.

What Emer didn't understand was the whole weight of Ulster rested on his shoulders. If he was distracted, for even a minute, and Mebd knew it... nightmares of the possibility had haunted Cú Chulainn's nights.

So, Cú Chulainn trained himself to exhaustion. With Ferdiad's aid, he'd come to master the broadsword. He'd grown nearly as competent with the blade, if not moreso than he'd ever been with a spear. Even without calling upon the ríastrad, no warrior was likely to best him. At least none he'd ever sparred. Even Ferdiad, who'd initially prevailed in nearly half of their sparring sessions, barely prevailed in one out of a hundred matches.

And since Ferdiad had returned to Scotland, Cú Chulainn hadn't entertained so much as a single challenge an aspiring warrior. After all, few young men were more interested in training for battle than they were in the frivolities life in Ulster provided.

Even Cú Chulainn had grown weary of telling tales to Ulster's citizens. They were too blind by their luxuries to hear the lessons the tales were meant to teach. Sure, he was a skilled storyteller, his performances were always welcomed and celebrated, but he felt he'd failed as a bard. What good is a bard, Cú Chulainn though, if his tales did nothing more than entertain?

Had Cú Chulainn's desire for Emer waned? Not at all. He wanted nothing more than to give himself over to a night of unrestrained passion with his wife. But how could he enjoy a single night when all the while his worries about what armies might be lurking outside Ulster's walls occupied his mind?

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