A Northman? Pádraig thought. Here with kidnappers and a member of the Security Forces of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires? But why?
“Why are you here?” the man-in-charge asked the horseman, clearly irritated. “There’s supposed to be absolutely no contact until this business with the prince is over. You know that.”
Pádraig recognized the voice at once as the one from the other side of the door.
“New orders,” the rider replied. “Apparently everyone now knows that the prince and farrier are missing. I have no idea how that happened.”
“We’ve heard,” the boss-man said, disgustedly. “A stroke of dumb luck. The Lady Máiréad showed up at Ráth Árainn. Somehow she had the impression that the lads were going there after leaving Ráth Callainn. A scout was sent to Ráth Callainn and got confirmation that the farrier and prince were heading to Ráth Cairbrigh. A member of the defense forces was dispatched there last night and verified that the prince never arrived. Now, people from Ráth Cairbrigh, Ráth Callainn, Ráth Árainn, Ráth Gabhrán, and Dúnfort Cruachan are scouring the forests from here to the Central Federal Region. You said you had new orders. What are they?”
“Because of all this, the timetable’s been moved up. You’re to kill the farrier and take his wagon to the spot where the tanner and his wife intercepted him and the prince.”
There was now no doubt in the young farrier’s mind about the nationality of the man in the rust-colored cloak. The boss-man turned to him and translated what the rider had said in a language that Pádraig didn’t recognize.
“And remember,” the rider continued, “this must appear to be nothing more than a simple, straight-forward kidnapping for ransom. Leave the ransom note in the wagon on the farrier’s body where it can be found by one of the search parties.”
Again, the man-in-charge translated for the Northman. This time, the Northman asked a question in return.
“What about the prince?” the man-in-charge relayed the query to the rider. “Do we kill him, too?”
“Not yet. We’ll let you know once we’ve collected the ransom. I’ve got to get back, now. If anyone fouls this up, they’ll pay with their lives.” Sticking his right arm straight up in the air with a closed fist, he said, “Long live the Northern Alliance!”
“Long live the Alliance!” the boss-man repeated, giving the same salute.
As the rider turned his horse around and headed back out of the clearing, across the ford, through the tree line, and down the forest path in the direction from which he had come, the man-in-charge translated the answer for the Northman. All four men then headed toward the prison. The two dogs, who had followed the rider as far as the stream, separated and went off snuffling in opposite directions.
So, you can pass through the concealment spell, just not hear through it, Pádraig reasoned as he hopped down off Liam’s shoulders. And the rider had to wait for the spell to be lifted before he could enter the compound because he wasn’t certain where the ford was. That must mean that you can’t see through it from the other side, either. Interesting. But not nearly as interesting as the presence of a Northman. And what is this Northern Alliance?
“Well?” the prince asked. “Did you learn anything useful?”
“Do you trust me?” Pádraig asked, quickly, in return.
“Of course I do. Why?”
“Then trust me now and don’t ask any questions. Hurry! Exchange clothes with me.”
“But, why?”
“No questions! Just do it!,” he said, stripping off his own clothing. “We don’t have any time to waste!”
Liam hurriedly began to remove his own garments, but still wanted to know the reason for it. “What is it that we’re—”
“Less talk; more action!” Pádraig told him as he donned the prince’s clothes as fast as Liam took the items off. “I’m trying to save both our lives, here. Our captors have rarely seen us without the hoods. We look very similar to each other. The primary way they’ve been able to tell us apart is by our clothing. From now on, you’re me and I’m you.”
“What is that going—”
“Trust me! No matter what they say or what happens, just trust me, Liam. Please! For both our sakes!”
Just as the boys finished pulling on each other’s boots, their captors thumped three times on the door and the boss-man called out the now-familiar order: “Hoods on, now! Face away from the door!”
“Do it!” Pádraig whispered. “And remember, trust me!”
As soon as they had complied with the man-in-charge’s directive, they heard the peep-hole open, then the door, then footsteps rush in.
“You! Over there!” the boss-man shouted, pushing Pádraig toward the far wall. “And don’t move!” To the other captors he commanded, “Take the farrier!”
Two men grabbed Liam and began to drag him toward the door.
“Get your hands off me!” the prince shouted. “Where are you taking me?!”
“Shut up!” the man-in-charge told him, striking him in the face with his fist. “Just do as you’re told!”
Hearing Liam groan and fall to the floor, Pádraig spoke up. “If you do anything stupid, like kill the farrier, you’ll pay with your own life.”
The man laughed. “You’re hardly in a position to be making any threats, Your Highness.” The title was delivered with all the sarcasm that the man could muster.
“Not a threat,” Pádraig said, matter-of-factly. “Just a word to the wise.”
After a brief hesitation, the man-in-charge let out a “Humph,” then asked, “And what wisdom would you impart to us, Your Highness?” Again the ‘Your Highness’ was laced with disdain.
“My guess is that the people you work for are counting on a nice payday for my safe return. If you think that the High King is going to part with a satchel full of gold tríbhís coins without proof of life, you’ve got another think coming. And, if it turns out that you’re the one responsible for killing that proof of life, well, I don’t need to tell you how unhappy that will make your masters.”
Again a hesitation, then, “What proof of life?”
“The farrier, you stupid oaf,” Pádraig replied with enough arrogance in his delivery so as to reinforce the illusion that he was of the nobility. “What did you intend? Just to leave a ransom note somewhere and expect the High King to meet your demands without knowing that I’m still alive?”
“Why are you telling me this?” the boss-man asked, skeptically. “What’s your game?”
“To stay alive,” Pádraig answered, simply. “As I would think yours should be, too. If the High King doesn’t pay the ransom, I have no doubt that I’m on my way to An Saol Eile. And if you’re responsible for the High King not paying that ransom, I’m not sure which of us will be dispatched there first. The High King knows the farrier. Assuming you still have his wagon, you’ll find my bronze torc in a saddlebag. Send the farrier with my torc and your ransom demand to the High King. The farrier will vouch for the fact that I’m still alive. You and your masters will get your ransom. And you and I will postpone our inevitable trip to An Saol Eile. It’s as simple as that.”
Complete silence enveloped the small room.
After about fifteen seconds of whispering, again in a foreign tongue, Pádraig heard first the scurrying of feet, then the slamming of the door, followed by the ramming home of the bolt. He waited a few more seconds, then tentatively removed his hood.
Liam, lying on the floor, had just begun to regain consciousness. The young farrier ran to him and yanked off his hood. “Are you okay?” he asked, reaching out and taking his friend by the upper arm. His voice betrayed the trepidation that he felt.
The prince rubbed his jaw, then looked up. Panic colored his features. “How does switching places save my life?” he spat out in a hoarse whisper, slapping Pádraig’s arm away. “‘Trust me,’ you said. Right! Trust you? It seems like the only life you’re interested in saving is your own. Give me my clothes back!” He stood and pushed P
ádraig away. “Right now!”
“I didn’t have time to explain to you before what I heard through the window,” Pádraig whispered back to him, “but now I do. It doesn’t matter whether or not your da pays the ransom, Liam, their plan is to kill us both, either way. What I did by switching clothes with you is buy us some time and guarantee that at least you’ll survive.”
“What?!”
“Yeah, that’s right. You’re welcome, Your Highness. While you were taking your little nap, courtesy of the boss-man’s fist, I managed to convince him that he should let you go so that you could confirm to the High King that I, the prince, am still alive and, thus, assure that the ransom would be paid.”
Liam took a moment to process the information before the realization hit him. “B…but when I get home and they find out, then what? What…what happens to you, Paddy?”
“Remember what you said to Meig back at Fox Pond less than a month ago? When she was bragging about becoming the most powerful wizard in Cruachan? You reminded her that the first tenet of wizardry was Seirbhís a Tír agus Rí? Well, the same goes for friendship, Liam. Once I’m sure that enough time has passed for you to have gotten away safely, but not enough time for our captors to have received word back about their error, I’ll use my magic to escape.”
“Escape to where, Paddy? We don’t even know where we are.”
“Then you’d better pay real good attention when they take you out of here, so you’ll be able to lead a contingent of defense forces back.”
The prince put both hands on his friend’s shoulders. “Count on it, Paddy! Even with a hood on, I’ll memorize every step of the route. I promise! Count on it!”
Pádraig couldn’t resist a final dig. “I do, Liam. Unlike you, I trust my friends.”
The prince dropped his arms to his side and stood there gazing down at the floor, unable to look Pádraig in the eye.
Alderday - Wolf 44th
Árainn Shire
Although an experienced rider, even at her young age, the vast majority of Máiréad’s horseback experience had been on a sidesaddle. Today, wearing leather breeches and sitting astride a strange horse on a standard saddle for the better part of five hours, she hurt in places that she hadn’t heretofore thought much about.
She had initially whined when Cian had saddled up a sorrel chestnut mare for her rather than Rionach, her own dapple-gray mare, which she had brought along on the trip. But the Reeve of Árainn Shire had patiently explained to her that if, in fact, the prince and farrier had been kidnapped, as everyone now had assumed, the search party needed to have an element of stealth about it. To illustrate his point, he gestured to the other members of the party who would be accompanying them. All rode horses of varying colors of brown.
A second round of whining took place when Cian requested that Aoife, wife of Ruari, Steward of Árainn Shire, take away Máiréad’s dark-blue ruana and replace it with a plain, tan wool hooded-cloak.
Again he reiterated the need for covertness, motioning to the other members of the party. Although the other four were soldiers—a section leader and a lanceman from the Cruachanian Defense Forces and a squad leader and bowman from the Security Forces of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires, they had traded in their identifying tabards for buckskin clothing like Cian himself wore.
Periodically during the morning, Máiréad had asked Cian to halt the search party and have the members of the security forces and defense forces quiet their steeds so that she could concentrate, probing that area of the forest with her mind. Unfortunately, the results had been negative each time.
The night before, her father, Eógan, Earl of the Western Shires, had revealed to Ruari that she was a gifted one, and had told him that she had a special connection to Prince Liam. Máiréad maintained that deception not only for her father’s benefit, but for the search party as well. In truth, she probed not for the prince, but for her soul friend, Pádraig.
* * *
Just before the party was to break for lunch, Máiréad, once again, asked Cian to halt and have the men settle their horses. Closing her eyes, she mentally probed the surrounding area as deeply as she could manage, trying her best to separate out the sound of the breeze through the trees and the noises of all the forest creatures that her mental power encountered as it extended outward. Cocking her head to one side and frowning, she raised a hand for even more silence. Off in the farthest reaches of her mind she heard it again—the faint sound of horses.
Opening her eyes, Máiréad pointed to the north and whispered, “Horses! A group! I can’t tell how many, but certainly more than a few.”
The bowman from the security forces, who rode next to Cian, whispered, “How far, My Lady?”
She shook her head. “Not close, but they’re there. I’m certain.”
Looking at Cian, the soldier whispered, “If we all go together, they’ll hear us coming for sure. And if they’re far, they’ll be able to outrun us. Let me scout the area alone. A single horseman won’t alarm them.”
The reeve looked over at both the squad leader from the security forces and the section leader from the defense forces. When both men nodded, he whispered one word—“Go!”
The bowman headed out and the remainder of the search party waited, still keeping their horses calm. Five minutes went by, then ten, then fifteen. Although everyone watched intently, there was no sign of the scout.
Finally the squad leader from the security forces waved his arm and directed everyone’s attention to the north. It was the bowman returning, twice as rapidly as he had set out, taking no care about any noise he made.
“You were correct, Lady Máiréad. There were horses, all right,” he said, reining in his mount next to her and the shire reeve. “A search party from Ráth Cairbrigh that had strayed across the shire lines. They’ve been out all morning, too, and haven’t come across any trace of the prince or the farrier.”
Máiréad’s shoulders slumped and her eyes grew moist. “I’m sorry,” she murmured to Cian.
“No, no, My Lady! Don’t be!”
The section leader from the defense forces echoed the reeve’s sentiments. “Without you, My Lady, none of us would have ever known that another party was in the area. If it had been the prince and his kidnappers, we would have missed them entirely.”
“You did good, My Lady,” the squad leader from the security forces agreed.
With a weak smile, she said, “Thank you,” to the three men.
Alderday - Wolf 44th
Cairbrigh Shire
Because of Liam’s stressed-out condition, not only did Pádraig continue to keep the presence of magic from him, but the existence of the Northman and the Alliance, whatever that was, as well.
After their altercation with the boss-man, the Northman, and the other two guards that morning, nothing more had been heard from their captors until lunchtime, when the now-standard triple thump sounded on the door and the order was given to don their hoods and stand in the center of the room, facing away from the door.
Lunch was slid in by way of the pass-through door, and fifteen minutes later the same order was given and the utensils collected.
Nothing else was said during either of those encounters; and, although Pádraig wanted very much to ask what the verdict was on allowing his ‘farrier friend’ to deliver the ransom note to the High King, he refrained from doing so.
* * *
Periodically that afternoon, the boys took turns standing on each other’s shoulders and spying out the western window. The only movement they saw was that of the two grooms and the dogs going about their business.
In the early evening, during a break from exercising, Pádraig sensed the concealment spell dissipate and heard the sound of horses—not just the usual horse sounds from the holding pen, but hoof-beats as well.
“Something’s going on out there,” he said, crossing to the window. “Get me up there. Quickly!”
Liam complied, and Pádraig spotted two buckskin-clothed r
iders leading a group of about twenty horses through the tree line, across the ford, and into the clearing. They were greeted by the ever-present wolfhounds. As the trailing rider entered the clearing, the concealment spell was re-established.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do with any more,” he heard the groom they had nicknamed ‘Porky’ tell the first rider, as he herded the last of the horses into the corral. “We barely have enough room for these. Plus, we’re running low on feed.”
“Not to worry,” the man said. “They’ll all be moved northward under the cover of darkness tomorrow night. We’ll bring you fresh feed and supplies with the next batch.”
“When will that be?” the groom to whom they had given the name ‘Slim’ asked, having just returned from the north side of the compound.
“Not until way after this other matter has been resolved. There are too many patrols out and about right now. It was sheer luck that we didn’t get caught with this last batch earlier. Fortunately, we had a friend with one of the search parties from Árainn Shire. Somehow they heard us in the forest, although I don’t know how they could have. We were fairly distant from their position. Anyway, our friend covered for us and told the others that we were a search party out of Ráth Cairbrigh.”
Before Pádraig could relay the information to Liam, three thumps sounded on the door.
Pádraig jumped down. Both boys hurried to the center of the room and donned their hoods even as the order to do so was being given.
The peep-hole cover was unlatched and rotated, the small pass-through door was unbolted, opened, and something slid in. Then the pass-through door was closed and rebolted, and the peep-hole rotated shut and relatched. As had been the case at midday, no one told them to remove their hoods.
A Spark is Struck in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 1) Page 18