A Spark is Struck in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 1)

by Bill Stackhouse

  “It looks like a campfire. Let’s see if whoever it is wouldn’t mind some company.”

  Steering the wagon through the tree line, they came to a clearing, where, sure enough, a man and a woman sat around a fire beside a tanner’s wagon loaded with leather. Their lone horse stood hobbled nearby in a grassy area by a small stream.

  As the farrier’s wagon approached, the man, thick-set and somewhat past middle-aged, dressed in leather breeches and a sheepskin coat and hat, stood and waved. With a broad smile, he beckoned them over. “Come, lads, you’re pushing your luck being on the road this late. The missus has got a pot of goat stew going and some hot mulled cider. See to your animals, then come join us.”

  * * *

  With Stumbles and Clover taken care of and the introductions made, Pádraig and Liam sat near the fire, savoring the aromas of the stew and the spices in the mulled cider.

  “So,” Donnan the tanner asked, “what brings you two up this way in the winter time?”

  “We have a temporary contract with the Kingdom of the Northern Shires for farrier services,” Pádraig replied, stretching out his hands toward the warmth of the fire. “We’re on our way to the garrison at Ráth Cairbrigh.”

  “I thought Tadhg had that contract,” Donnan said.

  “He did,” Liam answered. “I’m sorry to say that he was murdered a little over a week ago down in Gabhrán Shire near the Central Federal Region.”

  The tanner seemed taken aback. “Murdered? Murdered, you say? Did you hear that, Ranait?” he called out to his wife. “Killian, here, says that Tadhg the farrier was murdered a week or so ago.”

  “For pity sake,” she said, bringing four bowls, spoons, and mugs from their wagon. “Who in the world would want to kill poor Tadhg, now?” Not quite as tall as her husband, and pleasantly plump, she turned her attention to the two boys. “We didn’t know him well, mind you, but our paths would cross every now and again. He seemed like such a nice man. A pleasant man.” She shook her head and clucked her tongue. “You just never know about people these days, do you, lads? I don’t mind telling you, I was a bit nervous, myself, when I saw your wagon approach. Didn’t I say so Donny? Didn’t I say, ‘Be wary of strangers’?” Handing bowls, spoons, and mugs to Pádraig and Liam, she then tucked an errant brown curl back under the hood of her full-length sheepskin coat.

  “That you did, lass. That you did. But once I saw you lads,” he gestured to the farrier and his apprentice, “I knew we were in no danger. Just a couple of tradesmen like ourselves.”

  “Well, we thank you both for your hospitality,” Pádraig told them. “Not being familiar with these parts, we were beginning to get a little anxious about finding a decent place to pitch camp for the night.”

  “And we’re right happy to have you and your cousin, Killian, Paddy,” Ranait said, using a folded-up cloth to take a pot from the fire and then pouring mulled cider into their mugs. “Here, now. Something to warm your innards on a winter night like this.”

  Both boys thanked her, then eagerly took gulps of the hot liquid in an attempt to chase away the cold.

  “Truth be told,” Ranait continued, “it’s nice to have a bit of company. I can’t begin to tell you how tired I get of hearing Donny tell the same old stories over and over and over again. It’s good to get a chance to talk with someone new every once in a while.”

  “Humph,” Donnan grunted, holding out his mug while his wife filled it with cider. “When she was but a young lass, she used to love my stories, lads. Neither of you are married, yet, I presume?”

  Both Pádraig and Liam shook their heads, then sipped more of the cider.

  “Well, think twice about it before you take the plunge,” the tanner told them. “But if you do marry, be prepared for how stupid you’ll start to become just as soon as you toss your oathing stone into the loch. Look at me, lads. I’m a prime example, I am. Long ago, before we were married, Ranait, here, not only used to love listening to my stories, but she would hang on my every word. It was as if when I opened my mouth, pearls of wisdom would spill out. I tell you, it made a man feel important, it did. But the day after the wedding, somehow I began to get stupider and stupider with each passing month. I’d say something as innocent as, ‘My, isn’t it a gorgeous day?’ and she’d glance up, just to make sure I knew what I was talking about. It was as if I’d be hard-pressed, being as stupid as I am, to know what a gorgeous day looked like. Other people would tell her the most fantastic of tales and she’d believe them without question. But her husband?” He let out another “Humph,” then shook his head. “Not a chance. Why, lads, why is that? I’ll tell you why. Because by definition, husbands are the dumbest beasts on the face of An Fearglas’ entire world, they are.”

  All four performed the ritual act of submission, then Ranait returned to the wagon.

  “I can remember one day she came home convinced that the two moons were made of cheese,” Donnan went on. “Cheese, mind you. Just because some stranger had told her that they were. And she believed him. Well, I said to her, ‘Think about it, lass. That just doesn’t make any sense, now, does it?’ You know what she replied? ‘How do you know?’ she says. ‘Have you been there?’ Now I ask you, lads, how do you answer a question like that? I finally said, ‘Well, has he?’ And you know what she tells me in return? She stands there with her hands on her hips, looks me square in the eye, and says, ‘He might have been.’ Can you believe that? ‘He might have been.’ Now what do you—”

  “Enough with the whining and griping!” Ranait interrupted with a sigh. “Besides, love, you’ve lost your audience.” She stood there, looking down at the young farrier and his apprentice, both lying on the ground sound asleep. “Now go harness the horses to the wagons while I get these two trussed up for the trip.” She took four lengths of rope and two leather hoods that she had been holding out of sight behind her back, knelt down next to Pádraig, and started binding his hands, scolding him in a motherly tone of voice, “Didn’t I tell you lads that you just never know about people these days, and that you should be wary of strangers?”

  Donnan, chuckling, crossed over to where Liam lay, an empty mug beside him. “Enjoy the cider, did you, lad?” the tanner asked, pouring his own untouched mugful onto the ground. Spying the dirk in the prince’s belt, he bent down and plucked it from its scabbard. As he turned it over and over in his hand, admiring the brass guard and pommel, the ebony grip, and the eight-inch blade, he said, “Sleep well, Your Highness. We’ll be at your final destination long before you wake.”

  Yewday - Wolf 41st

  Cairbrigh Shire

  Pádraig had been doing stable inspections with his father, Finbar, and lately solo, for a few years now, just one of the many duties a farrier performed to assure the health and overall well-being of the horses under his care. Some stables, like the one at Fort Callainn, were excellently maintained. A few had been downright appalling. Most fell somewhere in between, but at least acceptable, once any noted deficiencies had been corrected.

  As the young farrier, lying on a thin mattress of straw-filled burlap, gradually began to come to, all he could imagine was that he had fallen asleep inside one of those atrocious stables and had somehow licked the floor during the night. He tried to start the saliva flowing in his mouth, but to no avail. Willing his eyelids open, he found himself inside a small, twenty-foot-square, twelve-foot-high, log structure with a thatched roof. There was but one door, made from logs with iron strappings holding them together. The only illumination penetrating the room came from three small, barred windows up near the roof-line, one on each of the other walls.

  Although the room was chilly, the position and relative size of the windows had prevented most of the frigid night air from entering the building.

  Raising himself up on one elbow, he spotted Liam, a few yards away on another mattress, beginning to stir. The only other items in the room were an iron chamber pot in one corner, a wooden bucket of water with a wooden ladle in the corner across f
rom it, and two leather hoods in the center of the room on the dirt floor.

  Pádraig threw back his cloak, which had been covering him, staggered to his feet, and stumbled over to the water bucket. Taking a ladle-full of the tepid liquid, he swishing it around in his mouth, then spat it onto the floor. It helped, but barely. He took a second dip with the ladle, this time swishing and swallowing. Again, his mouth tasted a bit better, but not by much.

  Leaving the prince to awaken by himself, Pádraig crossed to the door. The young farrier ever-so-quietly attempted a slight push on the door, then a slight pull on the handle. Neither effort budged the door in the least.

  Bolted from the outside, no doubt, he reasoned.

  There was a peep-hole, eye-level in the center, blocked by an iron disk on the outside. The boy tried to move the disc with his finger but found it to be latched also. At the bottom of the main door was a smaller pass-through iron door. Hinged on the other side as well, it, too, was bolted shut.

  Pádraig put his ear to the logs in an attempt to find out if his highly sensitive hearing would allow him to deduce anything at all about his captors. Birds chirping and horses whinnying and snorting were the only sounds he was able to pick up.

  A stable? he thought. Perhaps a garrison? But if a garrison, then there should be other noises as well.

  He closed his eyes and focused his mind on where he thought the bolt would most probably be located on the door, and visualized it moving back to its unlocked position. Not wanting the bolt to make any noise as it slid, Pádraig initially sent out just a minuscule ripple of mental energy toward the mechanism, planning to increase it gradually as, and only if, it became necessary. Immediately his eyes popped wide open and he jumped back from the door, gasping in surprise.

  Just as he had been able to sense Máiréad’s magic when she caused the willow root to rise in Liam’s path, tossed energy beams at his backside, and unsuccessfully attempted to light the New Year’s Eve bone-fire, when Pádraig had tentatively used his magic just then to probe the door, he had perceived magical power in return—but of an intensity much, much greater than Máiréad’s.

  Did whoever it is sense me? he wondered. He ran his actions back through his mind. No…I don’t think so. I didn’t use that much energy. But if they have that kind of power, maybe they did.…But I probed for only a fraction of a second. Perhaps, since no one was expecting it, it went unnoticed.…An Fearglas willing, I hope it went unnoticed.

  He quickly performed the ritual act of submission, then mulled over the situation. A rogue wizard, perhaps? But what level would he have to be? Certainly not a simple novice or oblate, Pádraig thought, referring to the first and second levels of wizardry. He’d have to be at least an apprentice, I would imagine. Until I know more about what’s going on, I’d better not give away the fact that I have magic of my own. Even if mine’s not as powerful as whoever has cast this spell, I’ll want to have the element of surprise on my side when and if I have to use it.

  He turned to find Liam sitting up, licking his lips, and holding his head in his hands.

  “What happened?” the prince asked, rubbing his eyes at first, then shrugging off his cloak and looking around, wide-eyed. “Where are we? And what is that taste in my mouth?”

  “Kidnapped. I don’t know. And the dregs of drugged, mulled cider, would be my guess,” Pádraig told him, fetching a ladle of water from the bucket and bringing it to his friend. “Here. Rinse, spit, then take another mouthful and swallow.”

  “And that’ll take care of it?” Liam asked, stretching out his hand for the ladle.

  “No. But it’ll make it slightly less unpleasant.”

  The prince rinsed, spat, rinsed, and swallowed, then grimaced. “Not even slightly.” Rising unsteadily to his feet, he wobbled toward the bucket to return the ladle, saying, “I trust that you’ve already tried the door?”

  “Yep.”

  Liam crossed over to it and examined it. “Hinges are on the other side. It opens out.”

  “Right now it doesn’t open at all.”

  Testing it himself just to make sure, the prince then put his shoulder to it three times in succession, each time with increasing force. Slapping it in frustration, he said, “I guess it’s time for you to use a little of your—”

  The final word, ‘magic,’ was smothered by Pádraig’s hand over Liam’s mouth, and a strong and stern head-shake.

  The prince made a face that carried the question, ‘What?!’

  Pádraig held up the index finger of his hand as he slowly removed the other hand from the prince’s mouth and led his friend back to the center of the room. Perceiving that Liam was already stressed out due to the situation, he made a snap decision not to share any information about the magical spell for the time being.

  Putting his lips right up next to the prince’s ear, the young farrier told him, in a soft whisper, “We have absolutely no idea where we are or how many captors we have. We also don’t know whether we’re being monitored or not. It’s best if we keep all conversation, other than normal stuff, mouth-to-ear only. Better to keep the element of surprise on our side and not let whoever is out there know that I have magic.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “Wait and think.”

  “For what and about what?”

  “Wait and see what happens next, and think of a way out of here that doesn’t include magic. Start checking all the walls for weak areas.”

  The boys crossed to the wall opposite the door, then separated, inspecting as much of their prison enclosure as they were able to reach. When they finally met back at the door, they both looked at each other and shook their heads.

  Retreating toward the center of the room, Liam put his hand on the empty black-leather scabbard where his dirk normally resided. “So much for hacking our way out,” he said, drawing Pádraig’s attention to the sheath.

  “Apparently, whoever took us didn’t consider this a weapon,” Pádraig replied, removing the hoof-pick from his belt. “Better to not let them have a second look at it.” He squatted down by his mattress and hid it amongst the straw.

  “Yeah,” the prince responded, wryly, “maybe we can scrape our way out with the hawk’s beak.”

  Looking around their prison again, Pádraig fixated on the small windows. “Hmm,” he said, crossing over to the one on the side of the building where he had heard the horses. Beckoning Liam over, he whispered, “If I stand on your shoulders, I should be able to see out this window.”

  “Hey, I’m no longer your apprentice, I’m your prince,” the other boy snapped, although still in a whisper. “How about if I stand on your shoulders?”

  Pádraig withheld a retort and said, simply, “As you wish, Your Highness.”

  Kneeling down, he waited until Liam had climbed up on his shoulders and steadied himself with the aid of the wall before rising to a standing position himself.

  “What do you see? he whispered.

  “A tree right outside the window with some kind of vine growing on it,” the prince whispered in return. “A little further off, a corral with at least four dozen horses. And beyond that, a small pond with a stream coming from it that circles around to the left.”

  “Four dozen horses?”

  “Do you want me to stand up here and count them?” Liam replied angrily.

  Again Pádraig fought the urge to respond in kind, and calmly asked, “Any markings on their livery?”

  “No livery. Just horses.”

  “Can you see the mountains?”

  “The trees are too high to see anything else,” Liam answered. “Except there’s a thin layer of snow on the ground and on the trees.”

  “So, somewhere north,” Pádraig said. “Let’s try the other two windows. If we can get a glimpse of the Sawtooth Mountains, it’ll give us a much better idea of our location.”

  The sound of three quick thumps on the door caused Liam to immediately jump down from his perch. The boys turned in the direction of the door ju
st in time to see the peep-hole cover rotating open and an eye looking through at them.

  “Hoods on, now!” a man’s gruff voice bellowed.

  Liam took one step toward the door and shouted back. “What do you want with us?”

  “Hoods on, now, or die!” the voice barked again.

  Both Liam and Pádraig crossed to the center of the room, reached down, picked up the leather hoods, and donned them.

  “Face away from the door!” the voice directed.

  The boys complied, wondering what was coming next.

  What they heard was the small door being unbolted, opened, something being slid into the room, then the sound of the small door being closed and rebolted.

  The voice called out again. “Hoods off! Enjoy your breakfast!”

  As they doffed the hoods, they heard the peep-hole cover being relatched.

  At the foot of the door were two wooden bowls of thin porridge. Each bowl also contained a wooden spoon and a thick, dry slice of bread.

  Liam ran to the door, banging on it and shouting, “What do you want with us?! Who are you?! And why have you taken us prisoner?!”

  No reply came from the other side of the door.

  After waiting for a few moments in the silence that followed, he lashed out and gave the door a kick, then picked up the bowls and crossed back to the center of the room, handing one to Pádraig and saying, “This doesn’t look fit for pigs.”

  “But better than nothing. We need to keep up our strength.”

  Both boys spoke the truth. The food was awful; however, they ate it anyway.

  About a quarter of an hour later, someone again banged on the door three times and barked, “Bowls and spoons by the door! Hoods on! Stand in the center of the room facing away from the door!”

  Grabbing the prince by the arm before he could yell back at the voice, Pádraig whispered in his friend’s ear. “Be compliant, for now. Let them think we’re intimidated. Sooner or later they’ll grow careless and relax their vigilance.”

  Although Liam pulled away, he did heed the advice, taking both empty bowls and spoons and placing them next to the small pass-through door. When he returned to the center of the room, Pádraig handed him his hood. No sooner had they donned the hoods and faced the far wall, then they heard first the peep-hole cover open, then the pass-through door.