Freamhaigh

by Donald D. Allan

  James looked over at his companions. Vicar Martin, struggling to find a comfortable position on his saddle, wore the full regalia of his Church. He was covered with winter riding clothes, but it was plain to see he was clergy. His breath fogged thick in the cold air with his efforts. Beside him, sitting correctly but looking depressed and upset, was the stoc Heather, dressed as if she was a church aspirant. He would be the Church muscle. The plan was to hide in plain sight where no one would look twice at them. They appeared to be exactly who they claimed to be: a man of the Church, with his small retinue, returning to Munsten.

  Beside Heather on her horse, was her husband, Chris, and their son, Joshua. Each of them were exceptional stoc healers. Chris was not happy his wife was heading to Munsten and into possible danger. Their son, Joshua, had demanded to go along. Heather had explained the need and why it was important for the numbers to remain small, but it had taken Will stepping in as Freamhaigh to stop the protest. James knew the family understood, but it was hard to watch your wife and mother leave on a mission. I’ll take care of her and keep her safe, he silently promised them.

  Edward, Will and Nadine emerged from the house. Edward stayed on the porch, but James watched Will and Nadine walk over to them. As always, they held hands and walked a little closer than most couples do. They moved as one, and James knew that they were one. I wonder if they know the impression they give off? They always look so certain. It’s really annoying.

  "Did Dempster gave you his treats, Martin?" asked Will.

  Martin bobbed his head, pleased. "Yes, it will make the journey that much more pleasant, please thank him again for me."

  "I will," Will turned to Heather and her family while Nadine approached James. "Heather, be safe, but more importantly, keep these two safe. Stay in touch and quick return." He clasped both Chris and Joshua’s arms and stepped back to give them some privacy.

  Heather beamed a smile and displayed her perfect teeth for all to see. She was as red-haired as Nadine under the scarf wrapped around her head and neck, and she bore more freckles than could be counted. Her cheeks were already splashed red with the cold air. James knew she could warm them all with her powers. Instead, they opted for realism, at least while riding. "Aye, I will, Freamhaigh. I've never been to Munsten. It's quite exciting."

  Nadine reached up and clasped James’ knee, drawing his attention to her, and she squeezed the muscle above it until James winced. "You keep everyone focused on the task, young man. No dilly-dallying. Bring them all back safe."

  "Curses, woman! I will now let go of the leg!"

  Nadine let go and then stepped back and smiled sweetly up at James. James’ horse looked over to Nadine and stared at her with a baleful look.

  James rubbed his leg. "I'm not sure I want to come back."

  Will laughed. "Safe travels, James. Be careful. The remnants of the eastern army are in Munsten. They can't be trusted, obviously, but they are the eyes of Erebus. Stay out of their way."

  "I will. Keep Edward safe."

  "We will."

  With nothing more to say, James gave his horse her head and they headed north toward Munsten. The horse looked back once at Nadine and blew out a large snort of air. Heather said farewell to her family and gave her horse its head and hid her tears. Martin tried to get his horse to move, but it stood stubbornly still. Nadine made a motion with her hand and the horse jerked forward nearly toppling Martin. The draoi, crew, and farm hands cheered a little and then hurried back inside to the warmth. James spotted Steve, loitering outside the new dining hall, and made eye-contact. Steve smiled back and flipped a mock salute his way. James grinned back and gave him a different kind of salute.

  They left the farm with Steve’s bright laughter fading behind them.

  Seven

  Georges Island, Portsmouth Harbour, November 901 A.C.

  THE LONGBOAT GROUNDED softly against the stony beach that surrounded Georges Island. The beach was short and ended with boulders and a small cliff, spotted with trees and bushes clinging to life on the bleak island. The tarp covering the longboat was thrown back and Team Charlie exited the boat in a quick and orderly fashion. The last six out of the boat hoisted it and pulled it clear of the water and hid it behind the boulders clear of the tide-line. The black tarp was turned over, and a shaded grey colour was revealed. It was spread out over the boat and held down with rocks.

  The team lined up tight against the cliff face and Major Tibert moved forward to the far-right side. Their night vision, destroyed by the fires in the harbour, was only just allowing them to see each other. Hands reached and groped for the person next to them, but no words were spoken. Tibert glanced over at the city shoreline. Ships blazed in the harbour. Across the calm water, he could hear multiple shouts of alarm. A large bell was tolling somewhere in the city. The black smoke was white in places where bucket teams tried to desperately douse the flames. They were likely more concerned with the fire reaching the buildings. Tibert knew a lot of whiskey was stored in the warehouses nearby.

  He reached back and tapped his second, Staff Sergeant Mary Eastman, on what he hoped was her arm. She moved past him and scouted the wall of boulders and cliff face. The island held little in the way of trees or vegetation. Winds, storms, and seawater killed everything but the hardiest of life. Somewhere nearby was the air intake hidden by the rocks. They needed to find it quickly and Mary was the best scout they had. They had wanted to scout it during the day, but it was far too risky and exposed. Now they waited in silence and listened to Mary’s soft-soled shoes and her weight grind the stones on the beach. She would find the intake, or she would not. If she didn't they would storm the front door and hope for the best.

  They waited for fifteen minutes until Mary spoke right in Tibert’s ear, startling him so much he almost cried out. “Follow,” was all she said but Tibert could hear her laughter in the word.

  Tibert reached back and tapped the man beside him twice. Wordlessly, they followed behind Mary until she ducked between two large boulders into further darkness. They followed and hearing a slight echo in their steps Tibert realised they were entering a small cave. A low howling noise of wind could be faintly heard up ahead. They held onto each other in the dark until Mary stopped suddenly.

  “It should be safe for a light now,” she whispered so softly that only Tibert could hear her.

  “Agree, light, now,” he whispered.

  Two, small, shuttered lanterns were sparked, and the light was aimed away from the cave entrance and toward where Mary was leading them. The whites of her eyes matched her smiling teeth in brightness. Tibert found her face fascinating. It had all sorts of history written on it.

  “The air vent is up ahead. Large enough for even Major Tibert here to get through.”

  Major Tibert grinned. He was easily the largest of them. If Mary said he could get through, then he would get through.

  “Well,” she amended a heartbeat later. “He’ll have to lie on his stomach for most of it. Follow.”

  Tibert’s smile faltered. He hated closed-in, tight places. It froze the blood in his veins and sometimes made it hard for him to order his arms and legs to move. He swallowed before he spoke. “Alright, Mary leads, shutter your lights when we’re almost through. How long is the tunnel?”

  Mary spoke. “I stopped when I could smell cooking. I could see light up ahead. There’s a grate across the opening. But I think about a hundred feet in total. No more than that.”

  Tibert grunted. “Move out.”

  The team entered the air vent, with Tibert in the middle. It was a narrow, natural tunnel in the rock. It stood no more than three feet tall, but it twisted and dropped to only a foot in height in places. For Tibert, it was a tough crawl. The tight corners and low ceiling stole his breath at times. He could smell his own fear and hated it. It was the hatred that drove him past his limbs not wanting to obey him. When the team stopped, he knew they had reached the grate, and the lanterns were shuttered. The darkness closed in and Tibert b
it the inside of his cheeks to keep his voice silent. A hand touched his own and squeezed it hard and Tibert gripped the hand like a lifeline. Whoever it was, he was thankful for it. It was a small hand, and Tibert was sure it was Petty Officer Isla Banks. She was a tough, wee lass. Hair so brown it was almost black. Eyes like black coals that flashed with determination. She had a low raspy voice, surprising for a wee woman like her. She could open any lock and flip a man onto his back with a knife to his throat before he could blink. Too bad she’s Navy, he thought.

  In a moment that took too long to arrive, the team started moving again. Longer than he wanted, he was finally pulled through the opening to land on his feet in a lit corridor. He looked quickly about and spotted Mary beside an open door, cleaning her long knife on the tunic of a dead man at her feet. Two others moved up to drag the body away to hide it.

  Isla landed softly beside Tibert. He took a moment to look at her and mouthed a quick thank you. She smiled for a quick moment and Tibert saw the woman she was for a moment. Beneath her tough exterior and blackened face, she was beautiful in her way. Focus, he admonished himself and turned away to watch Mary and others drag the body into the room beyond the door. They came back out and closed the door.

  Tibert nodded and two of the team moved quickly ahead down the corridor. They would watch for movement and eliminate any threats before any alarm could sound. Two more moved behind them to guard their rear. This corridor would lead them more or less directly to where the black powder was stored.

  The plan was simple: light the fuse and get out. If they could find the wordsmiths who had created the powder and cannons, they were to extricate them. If not, they were to go up with the island when the fuse hit the powder stores. Admiral Kingsmill was certain the secret was still safe within the island. He spoke of sources for this information but would say no more of it. Tibert had seen the sorrow on his face and knew that his source was doomed with this operation. He didn’t press, and neither had General Bairstow.

  For the plan to work they had to reach the powder before they were discovered. They had discussed sending a team to block the exit but feared it would tip their hand too soon. The main entrance faced the harbour and could be seen by even the least observant from shore. If the other teams failed, the importance of their secrecy would be even more important.

  “Strike hard and fast,” the Admiral had said. “And remain flexible. Flexibility is the key to sea power.”

  It was a large complex. It would be minutes before they reached the depot. From there they would split up. Three areas needed to be detonated at the same time. The depot, the black powder mixing area, and the distribution centre. All contained black powder. Setting it all off would collapse the critical parts of the fortress from within. They carried measured fuses made from simple thin rope that had been soaked in water and then had black powder ground into the fibres before letting them dry. They had timed the lengths. Once lit they would have ten minutes to escape the island. Tibert was worried about the timing. Sometimes the fuses burned fast.

  They moved quickly down the corridor ignoring closed doors and glancing inside open ones to make sure they were empty. Time was their enemy. They reached a junction, and the team split up into four teams, with three people per team. One group per black powder area, and one to find the wordsmiths. Tibert led Isla, and a man called Gavin, toward the sleeping quarter’s where the wordsmiths would be found. They moved without hesitation down corridors they already intimately knew. It felt surreal to be moving through a complex they had studied for weeks. Tibert was nervous, but he channelled it and fed the energy into speeding his stride.

  Isla, who ran ahead by a few feet, suddenly stopped before a corner in the hallway. She placed her back against the wall and Tibert and Gavin followed in beside her. Tibert tried to control his breathing and was dismayed by his need to breathe so heavily. Gavin scowled at his noise just as a figure walked around the corner. Before he could even register surprise, Isla reached out impossibly fast and put her left hand over the man’s mouth and with the right hand, she slit his neck wide open. She pushed the upper body down towards the floor as the first pulse of blood came free with surprising force. She pushed the struggling man to the floor and held him until he stopped moving. Blood pooled rapidly on the stone floor.

  Very little blood had landed on them and what did their black clothing hid well. Isla glanced around the corner and then sped off. Gavin and Tibert followed behind. Shortly afterwards, they found themselves by a set of wooden stairs leading up. The torches lit the corridor every twenty feet. On the floor above it appeared darker. They were just below the sleeping quarters area.

  Isla looked at Tibert and he nodded. She crept up the stairs and once at the upper landing she leaned out and looked first one way then the other. She ducked her head down and motioned with one finger in each direction. Tibert translated: two guards, one on either side. Gavin crept up beside Isla and they picked directions without words and then cautiously looked out over the edge of the stairwell.

  Gavin didn’t hesitate, he was up and moving before Isla could react. Tibert heard a man start to cry out before it was stopped with a wet gurgle. Isla bolted moments after Gavin. Another cry called out, louder this time, and cut off with a sharp cry. Tibert cursed and ran up the stairs and out into the corridor. He looked left and right and spied Gavin and Isla finishing off the guards. Behind them were doors. Isla and Gavin dragged the bodies over to the stairwell and Tibert helped tip them down the stairs. They moved to the right just as someone called out behind them. Someone was approaching the other door.

  “Carl? What are ye yellin' at, ya daft git? You’ll wake the workers.”

  The door was pulled open to reveal a solitary guard holding a torch. He spied the three of them right away and then looked down at the blood on the floor.

  “Alarm! Alarm! Intruders!” screamed the man as he turned and fled back the way he had come.

  “That’s done it,” cursed Tibert. “Go, quickly.”

  Isla and Gavin shot each other a look and drew their long knives. They cautiously opened their door, looked inside, and then soundlessly disappeared through it. Tibert sighed and drew his long knife.

  It’s time like these I miss my sword and armour, he groused as he moved over to the door and pulled it closed. Tibert put his back to the wall next to it and kept an eye on the stairwell. He cleared his mind and calmed his breathing. He considered running after the guard but thought against it. All that matters is getting rid of that cursed black powder.

  He counted to twenty before he heard running feet beyond the door. The feet stopped at the door and he heard it pulled open cautiously. A head poked out and looked towards Tibert before ducking back with a cry.

  “He’s right there!”

  Tibert spun around the door frame and with his left hand drove his knife up under the ribcage of the poor guard. It was the same guard who had discovered them and raised the alarm. Serves you right, you bastard, thought Tibert as he pulled the knife free and decided what to do next. Three other guards stood behind the dead guard, frozen in shock with short swords drawn but pointing down. The rear guard held a smoking torch, recently lit.

  Tibert spun around the collapsing guard who was still not aware he was dead. He drove his knife into the side of the exposed neck of the second guard. He pulled the knife from the neck and twisted to the left to put the second guard between him and the next guard. This one was not so stupid, or slow, and lashed out at him.

  Tibert was large enough that the second guard barely shielded him. Tibert felt a burning at his left shoulder and a pull on the bone. The guard’s blade was stuck in the bone of his right shoulder joint. He jabbed out with his knife and saw it trace a thin, red line across the man’s throat. The man, thinking his throat sliced open, let go of his sword to reach up with both hands to his throat. Tibert stepped forward and drove the knife up into his heart.

  A searing pain took Tibert by surprise. He spun toward the last gua
rd and knocked the torch away from his side. Left-handed like Tibert, the guard slashed out wildly with his sword. Tibert sucked his gut in and heard the whistle of the blade as it sliced the air. The blade stuck to his shoulder came free and tumbled with a clatter to the floor. The guard’s eyes flicked to it and Tibert’s right fist shot out and punched the guard hard in the left temple. Eyes rolled white, but before he could drop Tibert reversed his hold on his blade and drove it into his right temple.

  The blade stuck and pulled free of his grasp with the man’s dead weight. Tibert heard distant cries of alarm, but all was quiet around him. He placed a foot on the face of the guard and yanked his blade free. Time to go, he thought and moved back to the other side of the door. As he entered the corridor Isla and Gavin came through the other side alone.

  Tibert raised an eyebrow and Isla nodded. The job is done, now to get free. He led the way down the stairs and back the way they had come. He didn’t need to ask Isla or Gavin what had happened. Tibert had spoken to them before they had left Jergen. It was best for everyone if the secret of black powder was forgotten forever. The wordsmiths were dead.

  They made it back to the air vent and waited. Tibert slowly counted and when he reached sixty, he was ready to direct the three of them to check out the black powder areas. With relief, he saw the nine remaining members of his team running up unhurriedly. They all stopped and smiled at one another. Isla noticed the blood pouring from Tibert’s shoulder but said nothing. They helped each other up to the vent and out, Tibert went last with Isla remaining by his side.

  The prospect of the island exploding around them erased any thoughts of cramped spaces from Tibert's mind. They emerged quickly and ran to their longboat. In seconds, it was back in the water and they pushed off. The rowers dug in with the oars with all their strength. The longboat jerked hard through the water with every stroke gaining speed. There was no need for silence. They would either escape or die trying.