When they finally did so without being told, Liam fetched the bowls, brought them over to their mattresses, and whispered, “If it turns out you’ve succeeded in getting me released, I’ll be sure to bring you some decent food when I lead the troops back for you.”
When fifteen more minutes had passed, there were no thumps on the door, just the sound of the peep-hole being unlatched and rotated back.
Neither boy heard it, however. They were both sound asleep, sprawled out on their mattresses, food half eaten, and the remaining contents of the bowls spilled onto the floor.
The last thought that had gone through Pádraig’s mind before he passed out was, For the love of An Fearglas, I sure hope this food is merely drugged and not poisoned. Although he had begun to perform the ritual act of submission to the Deity, he had been unable to finish it.
Alderday - Wolf 44th
Central Federal Region
Dúnfort Cruachan
Having galloped most of the day with his borrowed horse from the garrison at Fort Iorras, crossing Iorras Shire, the north end of Luíne Shire, and the northwestern tip of Seanaid Shire, Finbar came up on the Citadel of Cruachan from the south near the end of the first watch.
He had originally thought about taking his mount down to the Iorras Shire docks at Saltwater Bay and coming across the bayside to the Central Federal Region docks, but, although a shorter distance, with the ships being loaded and unloaded and the waterfront traffic, he knew it would be slow going and that he wouldn’t arrive at the citadel until well into the middle watch of the next day.
* * *
About midday, a piercing shriek had caused Finbar to look up from the horse he had been shoeing.
The fish hawk, perched on the top of the forge roof, head cocked and looking at him, had given a second screech, apparently, just for the fun of it. With that additional alarm, the bird had flapped down to the rail of a hitching post and had raised its talon with the parchment tied to it—an unspoken but not so subtle: ‘Mail call!’
Finbar had quickly crossed to the bird and removed the note. As soon as he had done so, the hawk had taken off eastward, giving a third shriek as it departed.
The message on the parchment had been concise and to the point:
Paddy and Liam missing
Search underway
Go to Dúnfort - Now
Hurrying from the forge, Finbar had hunted up the head groom, and, within twenty minutes, had left the fort for the Central Federal Region.
* * *
Once through the gatehouse and inside the citadel, Finbar had gone straight to the barracks and had met with Field Marshal Gearóid. Gearóid, in turn, had taken the farrier directly to the great hall in the keep. There, the field marshal, High King and Arch-Wizard had briefed him on the status of the missing lads.
“May I have a fresh horse, Your Majesty?” Finbar asked, when the update had been completed. “I’d like to leave at once.”
“And go where?” Gearóid asked.
“To search for my son, Field Marshal. And for the prince.”
“We have scores of deputies and soldiers out there looking for them, Finn. I understand your concern, but at least wait until we get some sort of report back from the people in the field.”
“With all due respect, Field Marshal, it’s my son who’s missing.”
“As well as mine,” Déaglán, High King of Cruachan, reminded him, softly. “All we know for certain at this point is that the lads left Ráth Callainn last Oakday morning and planned on going to Ráth Cairbrigh. Do you have any idea of how many thousands of hectares of forest there are between those two garrisons?”
“But, Your Majesty,” Finbar protested, “we can’t just sit here and do nothing.”
“Put aside for a moment that I’m the High King,” Déaglán told him. “I’m speaking to you now as one da to another who is as concerned about the welfare of his son as you are about yours. As soon as we receive a mere crumb of information about where the lads are or have been, Field Marshal Gearóid will lead a contingent of soldiers to follow that clue wherever it takes him.”
Gearóid nodded his agreement. “Wait, Finn. Wait with us for some hint of their whereabouts, then you can ride with me and the troops.”
Finally Faolan, Arch-Wizard of Cruachan, joined the conversation. “The search parties aren’t alone in the hunt for the lads, Finbar. There are journeymen, apprentice and oblate wizards, as well, who are applying their craft in seeking them out. Even though the prince and your son left Ráth Callainn four days ago, the search for them has been going on now for only one day. Wait another day or so more and see what develops. Give the search parties and the wizards some time. Besides, you’ve been in the saddle all day. Rest tonight and let’s see what news tomorrow brings.”
Realizing that the Arch-Wizard at least spoke the truth about his physical condition, Finbar reluctantly relented. “I’ll wait through tomorrow,” he said, before raising a cautioning finger. “But I’m not a patient man where the welfare of my son is in question.”
Alderday - Wolf 44th
Central Federal Region
With a scowl set on his face, Finbar strode purposefully through the marketplace without even a glance at the stalls, ignoring the aromas from the food vendors as he headed directly to the artillator’s booth. There, to his surprise, he found the two elves, Brynmor and his son, Cadwgawn, waiting for him, quivers of arrows slung over their shoulders and bows in their hands. In addition, there sat the old troubadour, Lairgnen, sharpening his hand-and-a-half sword with a whetstone. All three were dressed for the trail.
“Saw you ride by a while ago, Finn,” Lairgnen said, looking up with a grin on his face. “I presume we leave at first light tomorrow?”
Finbar shook his head slightly as a slight smile crept onto his lips. “How did you find out?”
“A little birdie told me.”
“Little, indeed. More like a big brown-and-white one, no doubt.”
After exchanging forearm grasps with each of the three in turn, Finbar sat on the proffered stool and said, “The powers that be want me to wait a few days until they receive better intel from the search parties.” He rolled his eyes.
“You have had a long ride, today,” Brynmor said. “I suppose one day of rest might be prudent.”
“But I’m not going to hang around here indefinitely. I need to get out there and do something.”
“We have ears and eyes among the searchers,” Lairgnen told him. “If they come across anything, we’ll know about it.”
Cadwgawn pulled on one of his pointed ears, then gave voice to his thoughts. “If the search is being concentrated up near the four corners of Callainn, Árainn, Cairbrigh, and Gabhrán Shires, like we understand it to be, and if we do not hear anything tomorrow, perhaps it would be worthwhile if I headed up that way on Ashday. For any word to be passed on, unless it is done master wizard to master wizard through the seeing-stones, it would have to come by messenger down the Central Road. I believe my stallion, Taran, is faster than any horse the military has in its stables. We would know the information well ahead of those powers that be inside the dúnfort. And,” he said, holding up the forefinger of his right hand and winking, “we would know the unfiltered version, if you get my meaning.”
Had Brynmor been human, his countenance would have positively beamed at his son’s suggestion. Instead, only his eyes twinkled as he clapped Cadwgawn on the shoulder. “We will need to know where you will be lurking in case we have to find you.”
“Tadhg’s forge is up that way on the Gabhrán Shire side of the road,” Finbar said. “Check that area periodically. If we need to get in touch with you, that’s where we’ll go.”
“Is his widow a Watchman?” the young elf asked.
Lairgnen shook his head. “Not that I’m aware of. So don’t involve her in any way unless it becomes absolutely necessary. In this matter, we can only count on people whose loyalty we’re certain of beyond a shadow of a doubt.”
“Like Lairgnen and I keep telling you, Finbar,” Brynmor said, as the two once again traded forearm grasps. “A Watchman is a Watchman forever. Whether he acknowledges it or not.”
The old troubadour laughed, then added, “And I’m sure a fellow Watchman wouldn’t let me pay for a room at the inn when there’s a perfectly good extra cot at the forge.”
Finbar sighed and said, “Get Killian. I’ll have the head groom put him up in the dúnfort’s stables. And, yes, Lairgnen,” he quickly added, “for free.”
Hazelday - Wolf 45th
Cairbrigh Shire
He had almost forgotten the appalling residual taste that Donnan the tanner’s drugged mulled cider had left in his mouth. Almost, but not quite. Now, as Liam tried to will his eyes open, that identical taste had returned with a vengeance. He smacked his lips together and rolled his tongue around in his mouth, trying to start some saliva flowing.
Finally able to partially lift one eyelid, he wondered for a second if he had been struck blind, then realized that dawn was just beginning to break. Slowly the prince moved that half-open eyeball from right to left, then up and down, inspecting his surroundings.
The farrier’s wagon, he thought. I’m in the back of the farrier’s wagon.
Now able to open both eyes, he rolled on his side, looking around in the dim light for the goat-skin water bags, hoping he’d find one of them still with liquid in it, however stale it might be. As he shifted his body, muscles sore from being jostled around in the wagon bed, something slid off his chest and clanged onto the wooden floor—his bronze torc, the neckwear that identified him as a prince. One of the wolf-head ends of the torc had been roughly pushed through a jagged and torn piece of parchment.
Crawling to the end of the wagon bed, Liam threw back the cloth covering, and in the slowly increasing light of day, read the simple directive scrawled on the parchment:
We have Prince Liam. The price for his return is 1000 gold tríbhís. You will be contacted for the time and place of the exchange. Attempt to find him, and you will find him dead.
The prince reread the message, then smiled. You did it, Paddy! he thought. You saved my life! But now I have only a limited amount of time to save yours.
Quickly rummaging around in the wagon, Liam found a nearly full water bag. Leaning out the back over the tailgate, he rinsed and spat twice, then rinsed and swallowed. Grimacing at the still-disgusting taste in his mouth, he stoppered the water bag, tossed it aside, and clambered to the front of the wagon. Yanking the curtain aside, he silently praised the Deity, quickly performing the submission ritual. The two draught horses, Clover and Stumbles, were harnessed to the wagon. As he took in his surroundings, he recognized where he was—the tanner’s camp where he and Pádraig had come across Donnan and Ranait, near the four corners of Cairbrigh, Árainn, Gabhrán, and Callainn Shires.
All I have to do, he thought, is head east and I’ll reach the Central Road. From there, it’s due south and I’ll be home late tomorrow.
Hastily, Liam unharnessed the horses and led them to the small pond. While they were drinking, he ran back to the wagon for the water bags and refilled them.
As the prince started to reharness the animals, he had to smile, thinking about his short time as an apprentice farrier. Without that experience, he wasn’t so certain he’d have been capable of unharnessing and reharnessing a team of horses.
It was only then that he remembered what Pádraig had told him the night before, back in their prison:
“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.”
I have to give Paddy as much time as possible, Liam realized, standing there holding the harness in his hand. And that means getting from here all the way to Dúnfort Cruachan without anyone recognizing me along the way.
“Okay,” he said to the two draught horses. “Which one of you wants to be my royal steed for a couple of days?”
Looking them over, he selected the less sleepy-looking one. “It looks like you’re it, Clover. I hope you’re up to the task, because we’ve got a long way to go and a short amount of time to get there.”
Liam took Stumbles back near the pond and tethered his harness securely to a small tree, assuring that the animal could reach the water if he chose to and that there was enough vegetation for him to graze on until someone found him.
Hunting up a half dozen pieces of nearly week-old barmbrack from the back of the wagon and putting them in one of his saddlebags, he then took the saddlebag and one of the full water bags and mounted his royal steed. Dreading the two-day ride ahead of him on the bare back of a draught horse, the prince set out in the direction of the north-south Central Road that bisected the Northern Shires, recalling the remainder of his conversation with Pádraig—the part where he had asked where Pádraig had intended to escape to, since they had no idea where they were:
“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.”
“Count on it, Paddy! Even with a hood on, I’ll memorize every step of the route. I promise! Count on it!”
Liam felt a chill envelope him. But I was unconscious, he realized. I have absolutely no idea what route they took to get here. Or how long it took.
Tears filled his eyes as he slapped the rope he had fashioned into reins, encouraging the horse for more speed. Somehow I’ll find you, Paddy, he vowed.
Hazelday - Wolf 45th
Cairbrigh Shire
Temporarily ignoring the foul taste in his mouth, Pádraig quickly glanced over at the second mattress as soon as he was able to focus his eyes. In the pre-dawn light creeping in through the three small windows, he saw that the bed was empty.
Raising himself up on one elbow, he looked around the cell. No Liam. He was alone—alone and worried.
How will I know whether they’ve killed him or let him carry the ransom note to Dúnfort Cruachan? the young farrier wondered. With a small sigh, he answered the question pragmatically. If he leads a rescue party back here or not.
Pádraig crossed over to the bucket of water and attempted to flush out his mouth. He hadn’t expected any outcome other than what he had experienced the first time he had been drugged, and this morning’s results didn’t surprise him.
Standing there in the corner, he looked up at the western window. No Liam meant no boost up to peek out. But his enhanced hearing still permitted him to take notice of what was happening outside. Porky and Slim went about their morning chores, grumbling, as usual.
The young farrier retrieved his hoof-pick from the interior of his straw-filled bed, pulled the mattress back, and scratched one more day into the crude calendar in the dirt floor of the prison—Hazelday, the forty-fifth day of the Month of the Wolf and his fifth day as a prisoner.
The three thumps on the door that Pádraig had been waiting for came within minutes of his secreting the hoof-pick back in the mattress. They were accompanied by the anticipated directive: “Hood on! Stand in the center of the room, facing away from the door!”
By the time the boss-man was halfway into his spiel, the young farrier was already in position. Hearing the peep-hole cover being unlatched and rotated, he wondered if he should ask about Liam, then decided against it.
The pass-through door was unbolted and opened, and Pádraig detected the sound of the morning slop being slid in. As had been the case the day before, when the peep-hole cover and pass-through were resecured, no one told him to remove his hood, nor did they sarcastically tell him to enjoy his breakfast.
It’s now a waiting game, he surmised as he removed his hood and retrieved his bowl of pigswill. They wait for the ransom to be paid before they kill me,
and I wait just long enough for Liam to get far enough from their grasp before I make my escape. Grimacing, he hoped that his wait turned out to be shorter than theirs.
Tuning in again to the two grooms out in the corral, Pádraig remembered something that the rider had said the day before when he and his comrade had brought in the last batch of horses:
“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.”
Under the cover of darkness, the young farrier thought, scooping up a spoonful of the thin porridge. Under the cover of darkness…tonight. That should give Liam a day’s head start. He then soberly considered the other alternative. Assuming that he’s still alive.
Hazelday - Wolf 45th
Árainn Shire
It was late afternoon on their second day out. The search party headed up by Cian, Reeve of Árainn Shire, consisted of the same personnel as the day before—a section leader and lanceman from the Cruachanian Defense Forces, a squad leader and bowman from the Security Forces of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires, as well as the Lady Máiréad, sore though she was at having ridden now for two days in a standard saddle.
The first day, they had gone out in a southeasterly direction from Fort Árainn, skirting the southern foothills of the Sawtooth Mountains, then directly eastward over to the Central Road that bordered with Cairbrigh Shire. With the light fading, they had returned the same way they had come.
Today, Hazelday, they had set out from Fort Árainn on a similar southeasterly path, but, this time, continued in that direction until they reached the border with Callainn Shire. From there, they headed due east toward the Central Road, staying just within the confines of their own shire.
A Spark is Struck in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 1) Page 19