Báirseach- the Midding Gate

by V B Gilbert

  “I wouldn't worry too much. He's probably off hunting down his own dinner.” I'm confident that is where he is, but I, too, tip my head back. The sky is streaked with pinks and oranges as sunset approaches, with only a puffy cloud dotted here and there against the blue expanse.

  “Whoa!” Murphy pulls back on the reins, and my eyes are drawn to the trail ahead of us.

  Cathmor dismounts, knife in his right hand and his left outreached to something hidden by trees. Squinting against the lowering sun, I keep my eyes trained on the spot where he has entered the stand of trees, and I retrieve my own knife out of the holder in my boot.

  A hiss of steel against leather behind me is proof that both of my bondmates have drawn their own swords. Egan is urging his horse slowly forward, gaining ground at a quiet pace.

  “Move closer, Murphy.” There's no need to whisper as my sore throat causes my words to come out low and raspy.

  “Not yet, Love. I know you can handle yourself, but let's watch their backs from a distance.” Murphy gives my thigh a reassuring pat.

  “It's alright, come closer.” Egan sheaths his sword and yells back at us at the same time that I see Cathmor emerge from on his left.

  The other man has also put away his weapon and his left hand is holding . . . the reins of a riderless horse. A familiar horse.

  Slotting my knife back in my boot, I urge Murphy. “That's Ciaran's mount. Let's go.”

  With a slight kick, Murphy urges our horse forward, and we approach Egan and Cathmor midconversation.

  “. . . just wandering. There's no sign of Ciaran or anyone else.” Cathmor turns towards us as we near, then drags me off Murphy's lap. “Recognize the horse, Daisy?”

  “It's Ciaran's. That’s his saddle.” Not only his saddle, but his bulging saddlebags are affixed as well. I scour the ground for any sign of struggle, but wherever Ciaran and his horse were separated was not in this area. “Check his bags, let’s see if we can find some answers.”

  Egan is already unbuckling one, and I join him. I rub down the horse’s nose, before running my hands down his flanks and stopping across from Egan. The silver buckles easily come undone, and I cautiously peer in the leather bag. There are spare shirts, a flask and at the very bottom a small, leatherbound book.

  Plucking the book out, a crystal gleams in the fading light, I wave it over my head. “I found something.” Swinging the metal latch off, I open it up to find that it’s a school book of some sort. The lettering is neat and precise, though fancier than I’m used to reading.

  The Power of the Elements is written across the title page. Underneath it is a triangle illustration. A flame, a drop of water, and a leaf form the points with lines connecting them.

  “Cathmor, isn’t this the drawing at the bottom of Ciaran’s note?” I turn the book in my hands, so the page can be seen by the men on the other side of the horse.

  Eyeing the page, he pulls the note from his pocket and compares the two. “It is.” Gazing over my shoulder, he states, “Sunset is upon us, let’s find somewhere to camp. We can inspect the book once we’re settled. I don’t want to get caught out on the road. I doubt very much that Ciaran abandoned his horse. Mount up, be alert. We’ll stop when we find a defensible area to camp for the night.”

  I adjust the stirrups of Ciaran’s horse before I mount, and once astride, I find myself between Murphy and Egan. We ride slower as the sun sheds its last rays across the road. My hand grows sweaty, keeping a tight grip on my knife, and I inspect the shadows intently.

  We are traveling through a short pass, and I anticipate we’ll stop soon, there is a grassy knoll up and to the right. Onyx reappears as we ease off the road, and he drops something shiny on the ground behind us before landing on a ledge overlooking the knoll.

  Murphy wheels around and hops down beside the item. Crouched down and balanced on the balls of his feet, he inspects it without touching. I keep my eyes trained on him as I dismount and watch as he swings his head to the north. He touches his nose, does a swish with his hand, and then tilts his head in the air. I’ve seen that spell before. He’s trying to scent something.

  “Mount up!” Murphy calls back at us, then walks away from what he was inspecting to swing onto his own ride. Whatever Onyx dropped has him worried.

  Astride our horses again, I shift uncomfortably in my seat. I was looking forward to a rest after this long day. I’m almost adjacent to Murphy when I smell a wet, foul odor. Glancing down, I see a sword covered in a translucent grey slime. At least it looks grey in the dim light of the moon. But I know, in the daylight, it’s green.

  “Trolls,” Both Cathmor and I speak up at the same time.

  “Onyx!” Cathmor calls his dragon, and the creature swoops down from his perch, landing gracefully onto the road before us. “Did you see the trolls?” Onyx taps a claw once on the ground. “You just found the sword?” Two taps of his claw.

  “We can’t continue to travel.” I dismount — again — and start leading my horse away from the road. “Trolls are most active at night. They’re slow but smart. They also rarely travel by themselves. If you see one troll, there’s usually one or two more you can’t see.” Tying my reins loosely to a branch, I turn to the men who are still astride their horses. “Get down. Our best bet is to defend this area if necessary.”

  Murphy and Egan give Cathmor a questioning look as if to see if he concurs with my statement. That angers me more than I want to admit. I’ve made this trip numerous times. I’ve seen and dealt with numerous hazards along this road.

  “How many trolls have you dealt with? Any of you? I’ve traveled this road many times, and it’s not smart to look for trolls.” Exasperated, I cross my arms waiting for a response.

  Cathmor studies me, then turns to my bondmates. “We have Onyx and magic. I say we move out.”

  “You know what? If you doubt me, go ahead and keep going. We can take a vote.” Against my better judgment, I let my pride speak up, and — of course — the men decide it would be safer to be on the move.

  Grumbling, I snatch my reins up.

  “Mount up, Daisy,” Cathmor demands, reining in beside me.

  “No. I’ll go with the group, but I’m not letting myself get plucked out of the saddle. You idiots can either go slow or walk with me.” Walking forward, I ignore Murphy, Egan, and Onyx.

  With a confident stride, I head north and hear the jangle of harnesses as the men pass and ride in front of me. Onyx lumbers along at the rear, whether at Cathmor’s behest or by his own choice, I don’t know.

  The further north we go, the more prevalent the stench of troll becomes. The moon has risen, and I can see streaks and smears along the rocks. Coming to a standstill, self-preservation kicks in.

  “We can’t keep going. We’re walking straight for them. This — ooze — is fresh. They’re up there. If we keep going, they’ll be on us.” I peer around, seeing a cave opening far in front of us. “Right there. I think that’s their den. See how messy the entrance is? They may be out hunting now, but I don’t think we need to chance getting any closer.”

  “I say we keep going. You may be used to traveling without magic, but you have us now, Daisy. We’ll be fine.” Cathmor rides past, taking the lead, a shimmer of a spell flowing around him.

  The first sign that things are going horribly wrong is the outraged roar from Onyx. Spinning around, I see the sparse-haired head of a troll over the dragon’s shoulder. One meaty hand stretched around attempting to gouge out Onyx’s eyes.

  Onyx gives a full body shake while giving a mighty heave of his wings and taking to the skies. The troll hangs on tenaciously, both hands circling the dragon’s horns.

  One troll has come out, now, to see where the others are. I don’t have to wait long.

  Time stretches out as I crouch, pulling my sword and assessing the turmoil happening around me. Egan is assisting Cathmor, fighting off a second troll, while Murphy spins around a third, throwing up shields of water between myself and the green slimy mo
nster.

  ”Distract him for a little while longer, Murphy, then let him at me!” Giving Murphy and the troll my back, I slide my sword back into its scabbard and leap for the cliff looming above me. Scrabbling against loose rock, I stretch for handholds, extending my legs into any toehold I can find. Adrenaline roars through my body, giving my weakened body a boost to climb.

  I find a ledge large enough to stand on, once again eyeing the various fights on the road below and the spinning dragon soaring above us.

  “We’ll be fine, he says. We have magic.” I scoff. I bellow down a growly, ”Now, Murphy!”

  But the stubborn man shakes his head at me, having been knocked off his horse, he’s currently throwing balls and vines of water at the troll. All which are repelled by the slime coating the troll’s body.

  ”Hey, you big pile of snot! Over here!” I wave my sword, hoping the glint off the metal will draw the troll’s attention.

  But Murphy, the big lug, jumps on the troll’s back. He can’t get a good grip through the slime, and the creature uses that fact to his advantage. As I watch in horror, Murphy’s arm is gripped, and the troll flings my bondmate like a rag doll against the cliff side.

  My eyes fill with tears as Murphy lays still, blood pouring from a wound in his head. “No!”

  Outraged, I squat, pick up a rock, and peg the troll in the forehead. “Come and get me, you slimy bastard!”

  The troll shakes his head and raises a palm to his head. Lumbering my way, he stretches his arms to pluck me off my perch.

  Bouncing on the balls of my feet, I hold my sword aloft and calculate. I have to time it just right. One breath. Two. Then with a cry, I launch myself, bringing my sword around and through the neck of the troll. Big slimy arms grip my torso, crushing my ribs.

  Holding my breath against the stench, I ride the troll down to the ground, using my momentum to force the sword deeper. The creature falls, arms falling off of me, and deep-crimson blood seeps out, covering us both. Rolling away, I gasp, struggling to get air into my starved lungs.

  My whole body shakes as I roll to my hands and knees, crawling past the very dead troll to Murphy. “Cathmor! Egan! Get him restrained then cut off his head!”

  I trust them to follow my directions as I strip off my ruined sweater, then my tunic. Shivering in just my undershirt, I fold my tunic and carefully lift Murphy’s head, needing to staunch the flow of blood.

  Tears drop on his face as I check his breathing. Shallow but still alive.

  “Murphy, wake up. Please wake up.” The adrenaline that has fueled me is leaching out of my body, and I collapse at his side. “Please.”

  Loud thumps sound around me, but I keep my focus on Murphy. I stroke his face, futilely wiping blood and slime off his cheeks and brow with my sleeve. “Stay with me, Murphy. Please, please.”

  19

  The heavy weight of a cloak drops over me, then strong hands grip my shoulders and attempt to pull me away from Murphy. I fight against the hold until Cathmor appears at my side, rough hands gently holding my hands, “Let go, Daisy. Egan has you. Please. I can help Murphy.”

  In a daze, I stare blindly at Cathmor. Nodding, I release my hold on my bondmate and allow Egan to drag me away.

  “Onyx?” I listlessly turn my head, searching for the dragon.

  “He did well. He’s . . . disposing . . . of the bodies.” If Egan’s sour look is any indication, the dragon is having a late dinner.

  “Okay.” I grit my teeth against the intense tremors wracking my body.

  Egan sits on the ground, legs bracketing my body. Snuggling into his chest, I watch as he extends his palms and makes lazy circles in the air. His hands flare with fire for a moment before returning to normal.

  I want to ask what spell that was, when Egan’s body warms, penetrating the cloak he wrapped me in and seeping into my body. Taking my hands in his, he slowly rubs, warmth spreading across my cold fingers and traveling up my arms.

  “You did so great, Mo Chroí. I saw that leap you took. You saved Murphy’s life with that act of bravery.” Egan’s voice is low and comforting in my ear.

  Cathmor grunts. “It was stupid. You could have gotten yourself killed. What were you thinking?”

  “Really? That was stupid?” My vocal cords are shredded, but I put as much disdain as I can into my reply. “What happened to ‘We’ll be fine, we have magic?’ Most spells just slide off trolls. Did you know that? Next time I say we need to not confront trolls, listen to me!”

  Cathmor ignores me, using his magic to create a plant-based salve that bonds to Murphy’s wound. My unconscious bondmate is rolled on his side, facing me; and I will him to open his eyes.

  Goddess, please help my bondmate.

  “Watch him, I’m going to round up the horses and our weapons. They need to be cleaned. Egan, do you think you can burn off the slime?” Cathmor rises to his full height, tilting his head left and right to stretch out the muscles.

  “No.” With a shake of my head, I answer before Egan gets a chance. “Spells won’t get it off. If you can make some soap, they just need to be washed clean, then we can oil them and buff out any residue that’s left.”

  “Soap?” Cathmor gives me a skeptical look.

  “Not everything needs to be solved with magic, Cathmor. Often the Mundane way is best.”

  “Noted.” Striding off, Cathmor flexes his hands at his side. While his hands may be sore, I think he’s probably stopping himself from wringing my neck. I take a bit of pleasure at getting under his skin.

  “You shouldn’t poke the bear, Sage.” Egan turns me, so my left side is pressed against his chest. “Are you okay? Any new bruises or scratches?”

  “My entire body feels like one large bruise. That troll managed to squash my ribs a bit on the way down. But I don’t feel any worse than I did. That might change in the morning, but right now, I’m too worried about Murphy to care.”

  Gazing up at Egan, I notice he has streaks of slime across his cheek, and a cut above his left brow. “Are you and Cathmor okay? When I looked over, you both seemed to have been able to keep your troll at a distance.”

  “We are both unscathed. It took a bit of plotting and cooperation, but Cathmor managed to get enough vines around the creature for me to lop off his head.” Egan rubs a hand over my shoulder. “Thank you for that direction. Without it, I have no doubt we’d still be fighting.”

  I want to argue that they should have listened to me. Being the one with the most experience on this road, they should have trusted I knew what I was talking about. But now is not the time. Relaxing into Egan’s embrace I continue my watch over Murphy.

  We end up camping in the middle of the road. Egan builds a fire, I place the eggs in the hottest section, and Cathmor sets up our tent above where Murphy remains still. At some point, Egan brings in water for us to clean up, and when we’re done, we place our slime-covered clothes in the bucket to soak. It’s an unspoken agreement that until we know the extent of his injuries, it’s best not to wake Murphy.

  When I wake up, the first thing I notice is that Murphy is gone.

  “Murphy!” Sitting up abruptly, I groan and hold an arm to my ribs. I guess that troll squeezed a little tighter than I remember. With a little more caution, I turn and shake Egan’s shoulder. “Egan, Murphy’s gone.”

  Propping himself up on his elbows, Egan peruses the inside of the tent. “I think everything is alright. Cathmor’s gone, too. They’re probably just outside.”

  “I’m hurt, Daisy.” Cathmor bends his head and enters the tent. “You noticed Murphy was gone but didn’t even see that I was missing as well.” He sets up two skinned and skewered rabbits over the fire. “We went out and caught some meat. We have some bread left, and we can save whatever is left for lunch.”

  Murphy enters at a slower pace and places two bows against the inside wall of the tent. With a broad smile, I slowly stand and meet him before he’s taken three steps.

  He gives me a tilted grin then slide
s his gaze from my face down my body. He’s reached my torso when his face suffuses with a blush, and he hurriedly enfolds me in his arms.

  “Love! Your shirt . . . it’s. . . . I can see. . . . Egan, toss me a blanket.” Murphy stumbles over his words as he tries to walk me backward and keep me in his clutches.

  Glancing down, my face warms as I remember I’m just in my sheer undershirt, and I just walked across the tent in full view of all the men. I fear my face will look sunburned by the end of this trip from the constant attention from them.

  “I, for one, don’t mind the view.” Cathmor keeps his back to me, though, as he seasons the roasting meat.

  Egan hurries forward with a cloak, which I thankfully tie and hold closed. When I turn to thank him, he stops my words with a quick peck. “I didn’t expect such a pleasant sight this morning, but I’m not objecting, either. I’m thinking you may have hit your head harder than we thought, Murphy. You don’t usually blush at the sight of Sage.”

  “Feck off, Egan.” Murphy stomps to the fire to help with the meal.

  Ducking my head, I scurry to my saddlebag and pull out a clean tunic. Changing the subject seems like a wonderful idea, so I ask, “Was there any sign of Ciaran and his accomplice when you were out?”

  “There was evidence of a campsite. Though, the embers were cold. There was also troll slime on the ground. I don’t know if the trolls found them before or after they settled down, or if they escaped the trolls, and that was just what dripped off Ciaran and his companion.” Cathmor stands, grabs a blanket, and herds me into a corner. “Dress back here. The blanket will shield you.”

  Surprised at his chivalry, I allow myself to be herded. “No peeking.”

  Cathmor lifts one eyebrow and grins. “No promises.” But he holds the blanket high above eye-level.

  Egan takes the time to change while I’m occupied, and we are all as fresh and clean as we can be in these conditions, when we sit to break our fast. The dragon eggs glow orange in the bottom of the fire, and I pray the Goddess has been watching over them.