Freamhaigh

by Donald D. Allan

  Mibbie. He felt strongly aboot it. James said tae let him go.

  And when he is captured and tells Healy where you are? What our plans are? What then?

  Heather said nothing. She didn’t agree with Nadine. For once she sided with James. They could have no more stopped Martin than stop the rain from falling.

  Nadine growled. Heather felt her talking with Will and then she responded. Fine. Will says stick around until you hear more from Martin. We’ll be there soon, anyway. We just left the Crossroads.

  Heather blinked. In the inn, they had reached her room, and they entered. Heather told James to sit and told him she was talking to Nadine and Will. He nodded and settled down in a chair. He looked tired. Heather sat on her bed. “Th' Freamhaigh says we ur tae hauld ur horses 'ere 'til we hear fae Martin.”

  James nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. Outside the window, the morning was brightening with the rising sun. Heather lay back on her bed and fought the urge to sleep. She was more interested in what Nadine had just said.

  Ye left th' crossroads? What’s happening? asked Heather and reached across the bond and located Will and Nadine on horseback with Steve Comlin. They were a few miles north of the Crossroads and heading to Munsten.

  Gaea finally decided to speak to us, she ordered us to Munsten, replied Nadine and Heather could sense her anger.

  She appeared 'n' spoke? How come Munsten?

  She wouldn’t say. We’ll be in Munsten in about three weeks.

  Heather closed her eyes for a moment and woke with the sun streaming through the window. She had slept for a couple of hours. She had fallen asleep talking to her Cill Darae and Freamhaigh. She laughed a little and sat up on the edge of her bed and rubbed her eyes. She reached out to her husband as she always did on waking. Mornin', love. I’m weel. Howfur ur th' bairns?

  She could feel his love and laughter across the bond. All is well. They miss you, of course. As do I. Are you alright? You barely slept. All the draoi are laughing at you. The Cill Darae had a few choice words about you falling asleep on her.

  Oh dear. It couldn’t be helped, I’ll apologise later. Wur juist back tae th' inn. Martin left us tae blether tae th' bishops.

  That’s stupid. What does he hope to achieve?

  I’ve nae idea. He’ll be captured 'n' then tortured, most like. Whit did Gaea say that hud th' Freamhaigh 'n' Cill Darae heading up 'ere?

  Just that they needed to be in Munsten. They packed up and left at once. The rest of us are still here at the farm. Steve went with them. He’s still out of sorts with the loss of Franky. It’s no wonder…

  He was interrupted when the draoi felt Nadine cry out in triumph. Here it is! A small passage in the manuscript. It says Gaea called an island off the coast of Munsten her own. It’s called Foula Island. Through the bond, they could all see the lines of words confirming what Nadine said. She was on horseback and reading the book as she travelled.

  Heather looked over at James. He was snoring. “James! Wake up!”

  James snorted and sat up blinking. “What?”

  “Foula Island. That’s th' steid Gaea cried her ain.”

  James blinked translating her words in his head. “Foula? That’s miles offshore. A long way off. There's nothing there but birds and bird cac. Plus there are no trees, or flowers, or any other Gaea stuff. It’s barren.”

  “Gaea stuff? You’re an eejit, James Dixon. Th' Draoi Manuscript mentions it. Confirms whit Anelise says. Tis Foula Island.”

  Heather? asked Will across the bond.

  Heather turned her attention to Will while James continued to complain about the location of the island. Aye, Freamhaigh?

  I want you to go to Foula. Take James with you. Find the remains of the king. I think Gaea is playing a little game here. You are meant to go there.

  Heather bit her lip and thought of her husband and children. She missed them. She felt Will sigh across the bond. She felt her husband Chris feel the same as she did.

  I know, Heather. Chris, you too. I feel your pain. I’m asking a lot. But you know this is important, don’t you?

  Heather nodded in the inn knowing Will could sense it. Chris was nodding as well back at the farm. Heather hesitated before answering. She felt her husband agree and shared grief with him for a moment. Ah wull, Freamhaigh. Whit dae ye think this is a' aboot?

  I have no idea. It will take time to plan this. Nadine says the island is a long journey. The ice will not let you depart for some months. We’ll see you when we arrive and talk more about it. Will you be okay until then?

  Heather snorted. She had little choice but to be okay. Aye, we wull, Freamhaigh.

  The bond grew quiet. Heather could sense the sorrow of the other draoi. They all felt for her. She felt fat tears escape her eye and roll down her cheeks. James saw and closed his mouth for once. He had been complaining non-stop about Foula Island, ignoring the obvious fact that she was talking with the draoi. He’s clueless, she thought and wiped her tears away with anger.

  I’m sorry, Heather, said the Freamhaigh and Heather could sense the sincerity of the words. It made it that much harder for her.

  Me tae, Freamhaigh. Me tae.

  A pounding of heavy feet on the stairs startled Heather and James. James stood and drew his short sword. The door to Heather’s room knocked once. Heather relaxed and smiled at James. “It’s okay. It’s Martin. He’s come back.” James looked relieved. “Come!” she said, and the door was unlatched and Martin quickly entered and closed the door behind him.

  When he turned to them Heather could see the streaks of tears down his face. His grief came off him in waves that almost drove her to her knees. She gasped and held her hands to her breast.

  “Martin! What’s wrong?”

  Martin struggled with his words. His throat caught, and he swallowed. “They’re all gone!”

  James strode forward and grabbed Martin by the lower arm. “Martin! Who’s gone?”

  “All of them, save one doddering old fool. The bishops and deacons! They’re gone!”

  “Gone? Gone where?”

  “Dead. Starved out by Healy. He locked them in the church and starved them out. The church has no leadership. No bishops. No deacons. God has abandoned us!”

  Eighteen

  Jergen, March 902 A.C.

  GENERAL BRENT BAIRSTOW looked out over the harbour from the roof of the barracks. Spread out on either side of him stood Admiral Kingsmill, Colonel Sibbald, Major Tibert, Staff Sergeant Mary Eastman and Lieutenant Emily Barkhouse. A stiff, cold breeze blew offshore and chilled him to the bone despite his warm uniform and jacket. If the others were miserable, they hid it well. Their ears were red and Emily, he saw, had stuffed her hands into her pockets. Sergeant Eastman looked bored.

  He was glad Tibert was up and about. He looked fit and hale. So did Mary Eastman. Word was they were now inseparable. They stood a little closer together than most people would. Brent caught Emily gazing over at them and wondered what she thought. Colonel Sibbald had suggested giving Mary a commission. Brent had vetoed the idea. She was a staff sergeant and would never accept a commission. Just to be sure, he had broached the subject with Tibert and the man had laughed.

  “She would say her parents were married,” he boomed, chuckling.

  Brent had left without another word and hid his smile.

  Standing on the roof looking down at the harbour he knew they were fortunate. The ships freed at Portsmouth had entered the harbour and the city of Jergen had celebrated. The ships had fired off booming rounds of black powder to announce their arrival and the city had erupted in cheering that could be heard from one end of the city to the other. Brent smiled at the memory. The Admiral had complained about the waste of powder but Brent had seen the glimmer of a smile there.

  Six ships lay berthed below. The Admiral’s first-rate ship-of-the-line BNS Munsten dwarfed them all. Two small barques, the BNS Invincible and BNS Illustrious, were berthed in a nest astern of her. Neither of them carried cannon. Th
e new arrivals were three heavy fifth rate frigates, BNS Nonsuch, BNS Sapphire, and BNS Adventure. They were berthed forward of BNS Munsten and carried forty-four cannons each. It was all that was left in Belkin for a Navy, but far better than what Healy had. His ships sat at the bottom of the harbour in Portsmouth.

  "You did well, Major Tibert. The lives of your men and women were not lost in vain. You removed the secret of the black powder from Healy and Miller and now we stand from a position of strength. Jergen is secure and Miller can park any manner of troops outside our walls and beat on them in vain. Thank you, Major Tibert. And you too, Staff Sergeant Eastman. Thank you indeed."

  Major Tibert cleared his throat. "Thank you, sir. My people did the job. Alpha and Bravo team lost nine people total. The rest made it back. Team Charlie, they all perished as you know. Except for me and Mary here."

  Brent had his back to Major Tibert and didn't see when Mary gripped Tibert's hand and squeezed it. Brent looked back and saw Emily frown and followed her gaze to the clutched hands. Sergeant Eastman saw Brent looking and hastily dropped Tibert's hand and blushed.

  Brent looked out over the harbour once more. "My brother often spoke to me of leadership and what made a man or woman a great leader. He spoke of honour and integrity. The art and wordsmith of leadership. Everything we teach our officers and senior rates. All those great traits that make a man or woman stand out. For me, it was always a simple thing: compassion. Yes, the honour and integrity are important. But I always held compassion high. The ability to look at someone under your command and see their potential. To push them to see their own abilities and strive to be a better soldier. Or a sailor, I suppose.

  "I look out at the harbour here and see the fine ships the Admiral now has under his Command. And I know they are there due to the sacrifice of so many people. People who followed our Major Tibert here because he was a man filled with all the right traits of leadership. And I recognise his compassion. They did too. And so does our Staff Sergeant. Hold his hand, Mary Eastman. Hold each other's hand. You deserve each other and I am happy for you."

  Brent heard a small sound escape Emily's mouth, and he glanced at Admiral Kingsmill. The Admiral looked back at him and smiled a small smile. Colonel Sibbald coughed into his hand and looked out toward the city.

  Brent pulled his jacket closed a little tighter against the chill air. "Emily, you are young. Next time Steve Comlin comes to Jergen ask him about relationships in the military."

  There was a moment's silence and Brent heard Colonel Sibbald whisper who Steve Comlin was to Emily.

  Brent spun around to face everyone. "All right, everyone. What next?"

  Colonel Sibbald stepped away from Emily, who was looking confused. He looked to the Admiral. "Admiral, how many men can your ships carry?"

  "Not the entire army, Colonel, if that's what you are thinking. Perhaps one thousand packed like cordwood. It would be miserable. But it could be done. No more than that."

  "What about using the merchant ships?"

  The Admiral snorted. "Merchant ships? Surely you jest? They wouldn't keep up with the speed of my ships. They would slow us down."

  "I didn't realise speed was important? What matters is getting our soldiers north, no?"

  Brent shook his head. "Negative. We wouldn't stand a chance against the army Miller has amassed. No, I fail to see the advantage of moving north. I need other options."

  Sibbald shook his head. "Keeping our army behind the walls of Jergen accomplishes nothing. Healy must be defeated. His army eliminated. Send the army over land and use the ship cannons on the castle walls."

  The Admiral sniffed loudly. "That would kill innocents. The cannons are far from accurate. They would be a distraction at best."

  The men continued to argue back and forth for some time. Their voices grew louder and more heated and Brent remained silent and stared out at the ships. They were at a stalemate. Little would change unless something significant happened and Brent was at a loss to find a way.

  "Sir? If I may suggest something?" asked Major Tibert.

  Brent shifted and looked over at Hugh Tibert. Mary Eastman was looking up at Hugh with a proud look on her face. Hugh glanced at her and smiled a sad smile and Brent knew what he had in mind.

  "Quiet," he ordered, but the Admiral and Sibbald continued to bicker, not hearing Brent. "Quiet!" he ordered much more loudly. The Admiral and the Colonel shut their mouths in surprise and looked over at Brent staring at Tibert.

  "Go ahead, Hugh," said Brent softly. "Say what you have in mind."

  Tibert looked at Mary once more and then straightened his shoulders. "I take the Special Operations Squad..."

  "The SOS," interrupted Mary.

  "Aye, the SOS. We head to Munsten. Infiltrate and take out the head."

  Brent nodded. "How?"

  "Oversea. We take a merchant ship. Hide inside. Dock and head into the castle. Take out Healy. Remove the bad, like a chirurgeon. In hard and fast. Seems to me he's all that's holding the north together."

  Brent looked appraisingly at Tibert and then raised his eyebrows at Sibbald. "What do you think?"

  Sibbald was deep in thought. Brent looked past him to Emily. She looked like she wanted to be elsewhere. She kept glancing down at Tibert holding Eastman's hand and she carried a frown. Sibbald then nodded and Brent focused on him.

  "It's a reasonable choice, but not an honourable one. As a military man, I cannot endorse such treachery. But I see the merit."

  Brent clasped Sibbald on the shoulder and squeezed once. "I understand. I don't ask you to approve. Just tell me if you think it would work."

  Sibbald grimaced. "Aye, it would."

  "All right then. Major Tibert. Staff Sergeant Eastman. Prepare a plan. Brief me tomorrow. I want contingencies. Courses of action. Everything. Don't hold back. Questions?"

  Everyone looked at one another, but no one spoke.

  "Great. Dismissed." Brent turned back to look out over the harbour. "Emily, stay a moment."

  He waited until he heard the others leave the roof and turned to find Emily standing morosely clutching her middle. She was cold and miserable.

  "You need to relax," he said.

  Emily looked confused and arched an eyebrow.

  "Don't judge Major Tibert and the sergeant."

  "Sir, they're officer and non-com."

  "So?"

  "And she reports to him. He's her superior and supervisor."

  "And?"

  Emily spluttered and looked around for guidance, but they were alone on the rooftop. "Sir, its fraternisation! It's not allowed!"

  Brent watched Emily for a moment. "Do you know what they went through? Together?"

  Emily nodded.

  "They're more than officer and non-com. They went through hell together. Depended on one another to survive. Against all odds, they made it back here to Jergen. It changed them."

  "Sir..."

  "No, listen. It changed them. Brought them closer together. They're stronger together than apart. There's no separating them now, do you see that?"

  Emily shook her head.

  "Shame. It's plain for all to see. They're stronger together. I would no more pry them apart than separate the planks of your ships down there in the harbour. My only fear is that one of them survives while the other doesn't. That would be the real crime here. Do you understand that?"

  Emily looked down at her feet and didn't respond.

  "Pity. Perhaps in time, you will. Clear my schedule this evening. I suspect our fine Major will be popping by with questions for me. My intent was not very clear and by now he's starting to realise that."

  Emily looked up and nodded and turned away.

  "And Emily..."

  She stopped but kept her back turned to him.

  "Once that's done, report back to the Admiral. Tell him I no longer require your services. That will be all. You're dismissed."

  Emily stiffened and held herself in place for a moment before striding away and flingi
ng open the door leading down from the roof. She slammed the door behind her and was gone. Brent took a breath and let it out slowly.

  "And I'm going with Major Tibert," he whispered to himself. "Only I know the way inside the castle."

  General of the Realm Miller stood in front of his generals and admirals. They stood or sat in a large chamber around a massive round conference table that filled the room. The table was easily twenty-five feet in diameter and rose only to mid-thigh. This chamber had historically been the one used to lead all great military matters and Miller felt pride in being able to stand in front of the best officers Belkin had to offer. He trusted these men. He had promoted them all to their current standing, and they owed him their fealty.

  For the past four days, they had been planning in this chamber. Slate boards covering the surrounding walls were covered in chalk diagrams. But most eyes were drawn to the table. It was inset with an intricate and detailed map of Belkin. It was covered with miniatures representing platoons and divisions of both the Belkin Army and the traitorous Turgany Army. Junior officers stood to the side with poles to place or move the miniatures and beside them were large drawers filled with all manner of representations of map symbols.

  Miller’s eyes took in the numbers of troops the symbols represented. He could see at a glance his troops easily outnumbered the Turgany Army by at least two-to-one. He saw symbols which marked the movement of outlying soldiers answering the call to return to the capital. They were coming and his numbers would swell in a month’s time. And enough to finally be able to do something about the south.

  The loss of the secret of manufacturing black powder was a hard blow to his strategies. Jergen would have fallen by now and with much fewer soldiers needed for the job. He had recalled the entire Belkin Army and left the towns and villages to themselves. He cared little for the uprisings across the land. The threat was from the south and he had to quell it swiftly and without mercy. Healy had found wordsmiths confident they could recreate the black powder, but so far they had failed in every attempt. Miller had given up hope and ordered his generals to come up with an alternate plan and one that worked without black powder. Those plans were laid out in this room. Contingencies and risk assessments had been examined and mitigated. The plan was solid in Miller’s professional opinion.