The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 2)

by Bill Stackhouse

  “No, My Lord,” Cian said, dismounting and joining the earl. “And after inspecting the scene, I’m not all that convinced that the perpetrators were bandits.”

  “If not bandits, then who?” the captain of the defense forces asked.

  “Precisely who, I’m not sure, sir. But my gut tells me they were rebels.”

  The captain of the security forces cocked an eyebrow. “Based on what evidence?”

  “Based on where the attack originated, sir. Bandits would have had to climb down a steep ridge on foot, then back up again, exposing themselves for nearly a half hour, if their intent had been to rob any travelers that they killed. No, sir. Whoever set this ambush did so with the express intent on simple murder. That, to me, says ‘rebels.’”

  “But, by your own admission,” the earl spoke up, “you have no hard evidence to back this up.”

  “Just one piece, My Lord,” Cian said, as he pulled down the cloth covering Eamon’s body. “There’s this.” He picked up the arrow that had killed the section leader and showed it to the three men.

  When Eógan shook his head and raised a palm, the reeve continued. “It’s of Northman design, My Lord.”

  “All the arrows were of Northman design?” the captain of the security forces asked.

  “No, sir. Just the one that killed Eamon. The first one fired, I might add.”

  “One arrow hardly points to rebels,” the captain said, skeptically.

  When the reeve remained respectfully silent, having just been contradicted by the garrison commander, Pádraig spoke up. “If I may, Captain. The ridge where the culprits lay in wait showed signs that they had been there for some time. Not too long before—”

  “You were with the troops, Pádraig?” Earl Eógan interrupted.

  “No, My Lord,” the young wizard replied. “I only came upon the scene much later.”

  “But, even so, My Lord,” Cian said, finding his voice, “the Honored Pádraig not only patched up the wounded, but provided valuable assistance in examining the scene of the crime.”

  “Did he, now?” the earl replied. “And what was it you deduced, my young wizard?”

  “In addition to what the reeve told you about how unlikely it was that bandits would attack from high on a ridge, forcing them to take nearly a half hour to climb down and back up again in order to rob their victims, there was every indication that the villains who ambushed the troops waited for an extended period of time up on that ridge. Also, Killian and I”—he patted the mule on its neck—“were overtaken by a lone member of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, a bowman by the name of Siollán. I believe he was bringing a message to you, My Lord.”

  Eógan gave a nod, and Pádraig continued. “About three quarters of an hour later, Section Leader Eamon and his squad passed us. With that short of a time span between Siollán and Eamon, Siollán would have had to pass Lamb’s Head Bay while the perpetrators of the ambush were hiding up on that ridge. Why would they not kill a lone bowman instead of waiting for a heavily-armed contingent of defense forces?” After pausing for a moment, the young wizard answered his own question. “Because they wanted to inflict as much damage as they could, My Lord. They knew Eamon and his troops were on the way, and they were lying in wait specifically for them.”

  “To what end?” the captain of the security forces asked.

  Cian shrugged his shoulders. “We haven’t gone away? We’re still here? And we can strike whenever and at whomever we please—even members of the armed forces?”

  “At first light, my men will fan out across the shire and see what we can find,” the captain of the security forces said. “Meanwhile, what’s your next move?”

  “I have none, sir,” the reeve replied. “Aside from this arrow, we were unable to find any other piece of hard evidence.”

  “And you, Pádraig?” Eógan asked.

  Glancing at the empty forge, Pádraig said, “Take care of Killian, check in with the Revered Murchú to find out about my training assignment, then get some supper and bunk over at the forge.”

  “When you’ve seen to your mule, you’ll find Murchú in the great hall of the keep,” the earl told him.

  “And my personal thanks, Honored Sir,” the captain of the defense forces said, “for administering to my wounded bowmen.”

  “I only wish I had been able to do something for the section leader and his other two bowmen,” the young wizard replied. To Eógan, he said, “I hope the Revered Murchú will permit me to attend Eamon’s passing-over ceremony.”

  “You knew my section leader?” the defense forces captain asked.

  “I considered him a friend, sir.”

  “I’ll put in a word with the Revered Sir.”

  “As will I,” the earl added.

  “Thank you. Thank you both,” Pádraig said.

  * * *

  After the two captains and the earl had left the ward, the two deputies took the wagon over toward the infirmary, where the bodies would be prepared.

  Cian stood there, the Northman-designed arrow still in his hand. He looked up at Pádraig and said, “You recognized the design immediately, didn’t you?”

  Unable to meet his glance, the young wizard looked down at the ground in front of the reeve and said nothing.

  “It’s all right, Honored Sir,” Cian told him. “We had only just met. I, too, would have held my own counsel had I been in your situation. But I hope you’ll believe me when I say that, although I report to Steward Ruari, and hence, to Earl Eógan, I am not political. My only concern is law enforcement within Árainn Shire. If you ever have any thoughts that would assist me in performing my duties, I’d be more than happy to hear them. Perhaps, we could talk more at supper?”

  “I look forward to it,” Pádraig answered with a smile.

  * * *

  Checking in with the head groom, Pádraig received a stall assignment for Killian—one of the best and roomiest ones, since the groom remembered that the young wizard was also a farrier. Pádraig then cleaned the mule’s hooves with his homemade, wrought iron, hawk’s-beak hoof-pick, brushed and rubbed the animal down, and made sure he had adequate fresh food, fresh water, and clean bedding straw.

  After cleaning the tack, Pádraig gave Killian one last pat on the neck and said, “So, what do you think? Pretty nice, huh? The only better stalls house the earl’s prized stallion, Steward Ruari’s, and the two captains’ horses. Don’t let it go to your head, though. My guess is once we move on from here, the accommodations won’t be anywhere near this grand.”

  Just as he was about to leave, Siollán entered the stables to check on his mount before heading over to the mess hall.

  Noticing the troubled look on the bowman’s face, the young wizard called out to him. “Siollán! Why so glum?”

  Attempting a smile, the soldier gave a small wave of acknowledgement. “I’m sorry, Honored Sir, I didn’t see you there.”

  Approaching the young man, Pádraig said, “What’s the problem?”

  Quickly looking around to assure that no one else was in the stable, Siollán replied in a hushed voice. “I’ve been transferred. Up to North Head.”

  “Why so?”

  “The dispatch I brought from the captain down at Ráth Callainn to the captain here at Ráth Árainn contained a report of what I said in the mess hall to you and Section Leader Eamon. I guess it’s a punishment. The captain told me that if I had had any rank, he would have busted me down; and, that maybe spending the rest of the winter up in North Head would teach me to keep my mouth shut about things which don’t concern me.”

  “Again, I apologize, Siollán. I’m so sorry I asked you about it.”

  He waved the apology away. “Spilled cider, Honored Sir.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “At first light tomorrow morning.”

  Reaching into a pocket of his breeches and bringing out his hawk-beak hoof-pick, Pádraig said, “You’ve been doing quite a bit of riding lately. With no farrier here
at the moment, at least let me check out your horse’s hooves. Remember, I told you I worked with my da as an apprentice farrier.”

  “Sir, I couldn’t let you—” the bowman started to protest.

  “Nonsense. Besides, I like to maintain my skills.” He unlatched the door to the stall where a four-year-old gray stallion stood. It had a black mane and tail, a white blaze, and white fetlocks on its front legs. “What’s his name?” the young wizard asked?”

  “‘Brian,’” Siollán replied. “I raised him from a colt.”

  Pádraig suppressed a smile, recalling his introduction to Ultan, Chancellor to King Cabhan of the Northern Shires, some years prior. “Good name,” he said. “I even gave that name to a horse many years ago, myself.”

  “One of your own?” the bowman asked.

  “No. This particular horse was owned by a noble who hadn’t seen fit to give it a name, so I named it ‘Brian.’”

  Approaching the horse, he let it become familiar with him, then stroked its muzzle. “I’m sorry, Brian,” he told the animal. “Back in my farrier days, I always carried lumps of sugar in my pocket.” Then to Siollán, he said, “Walk him down the aisle toward the door and back again, if you would.”

  The bowman complied.

  “Doesn’t appear that he favors any leg,” Pádraig said. “That’s a good sign.” While stroking the horse, he felt up and down each of Brian’s legs. “Muscular structure seems to be nicely developed and uniform. Now let’s check out his hooves.” He leaned up against the stallion to make sure that it was standing solid on the other three legs, then gently lifted the left forefoot off the ground.

  The horse didn’t protest.

  “Good boy, Brian,” the former farrier told him. Using his hoof-pick, he cleaned the debris from the hoof and around the shoe, checking to make sure the shoe was secure.

  “I’ve never seen a hoof-pick like that before,” Siollán said.

  “It’s one-of-a-kind,” Pádraig replied, as he moved to the left hind leg and repeated the procedure with that hoof. “Made it myself in my da’s forge. See? Here? That small stone there in the frog of the hoof?”

  Once Siollán had bent over to look over his shoulder, Pádraig continued. “The way I’ve fashioned the hawk’s beak, it can remove a stone with no effort at all, without injuring the soft tissue on the inside of Brian’s hoof.” He set the point of the beak under the stone and rocked the pick slightly.

  The pebble popped right out.

  “Slick,” the bowman acknowledged.

  As the young wizard checked the remaining two hooves, he asked Siollán, “ You were about three quarters of an hour ahead of Eamon and his squad. Now, thinking back on it, does anything strike you as having been out of the ordinary as you rounded Lamb’s Head Bay?”

  “Aside from my transfer, I’ve thought about little else since Eamon’s men returned and I found out what happened. I’ve wracked my brains, wondering if there was some sign I missed. And the answer’s ‘no.’ I distinctly remember looking up at that ridge, too. I didn’t notice a thing. I liked the section leader. I’m going to miss him. I wish I could stay for his passing-over ceremony, but there’s no point in even asking my captain, after the chewing-out I got.”

  When Pádraig had finishing cleaning the horse’s hooves, he gave the animal another pat on the neck, saying, “You’re good to go, Brian.” Turning to Siollán, he continued. “The shoes are tight and still serviceable, but show quite a bit of wear. When you get up to North Head, have the farrier take a look at them. They’re going to need to be replaced sooner rather than later.”

  “I’ll do it, Honored Sir. And both Brian and I appreciate you checking things over for us.”

  “As I said, I like to maintain my skills. Will I see you over at the mess hall later?”

  The bowman grimaced, slightly. “No disrespect, Honored Sir, but I’m probably better off eating by myself, if you know what I mean.”

  Pádraig clapped him on the shoulder. “Then I’ll say goodbye, now. You and Brian have a safe journey tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Next, the young wizard reported to the great hall in the keep. He found Murchú already sitting at the head of the long table waiting for him.

  A much younger man than Pádraig had expected, the journeyman wizard was slight of build, with short blond hair and a short beard. He sported a thin mustache above thin lips—lips that seemed to be frozen in a perpetual smirk, bordering on a sneer.

  “Revered Sir,” Pádraig said with a slight bow of his head. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long, but I had to—”

  Murchú waved the apology away with the back of his hand, as if swatting a fly. “I believe you farriers have a saying: ‘No hoof; no horse.’ I trust you took proper care of your mount, and not just his hooves, but his general comfort as well.”

  “That I did, Revered Sir.”

  “Good. Good. Because where you’ll be heading, Pádraig, you’ll need a sure-footed animal.”

  “Sir?”

  “I understand that Section Leader Eamon was a friend of yours.”

  “Yes, Revered Sir, he was.”

  “The captain of the defense forces stationed here has dispatched a section leader and two squad leaders to Eamon’s sister’s bee yard to inform her of her brother’s tragic death. Pending her agreement, Eamon’s passing-over ceremony has been scheduled for the day after tomorrow, Alderday. The day after the ceremony, you will report to the Esteemed Sléibhín for the start of your training here in the Northern Shires. He lives in a thatched hut on the eastern slope of Stob Bàn, just below Droim Fiaclach. It’ll more than likely take you a full day’s ride. He knows you’re coming, just not when.”

  Esteemed? Pádraig thought, at the mention of the honorific for an oblate wizard. A level-two oblate wizard? What’s going on, here? What he said, though, as respectfully as he could manage, was, “And…um…what am I to do there, Revered Sir?”

  “Why, learn, Pádraig. Learn.”

  “If I may ask, how long will I be assigned to the Esteemed Sléibhín?”

  “Until you are told differently.”

  Murchú’s smirk had become a full-blown sneer, and his piercing, gray eyes twinkled.

  He’s enjoying this, the young wizard noted, and now comprehended exactly what was going on. It was the same phrase that Master Odhran, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires, had said to him back on Mid-Winter Day at the Citadel of Cruachan:

  “If I may ask, sir, how long will I be with the Revered Murchú?” Pádraig asked, using the proper honorific for a journeyman wizard.

  “Until you are told differently. Now go. Get some well-deserved rest. Have a nice visit with your da, then head up to Ráth Árainn.”

  I’m being punished, Pádraig realized. Plain and simple. I’m being shuffled off to some forsaken place and assigned to an oblate wizard as punishment for foiling their plans ten years ago. Okay. Two can play this game. This may very well work to my advantage. What better way to snoop around than being out of sight and out of mind.

  Paraphrasing what he had told Odhran at the citadel, Pádraig bowed to the journeyman wizard, and said, “Thank you for allowing me to attend Eamon’s passing-over ceremony, Revered Sir. And, I look forward to my time here in the Northern Shires.”

  * * *

  Before heading over to the mess hall, Pádraig looked in on the supposedly-ill squad leader whom Eamon had ordered to remain at Fort Árainn. Not only did he find the soldier still genuinely suffering from an intestinal disorder, but wrought with survivor’s remorse, as well.

  “It should have been me!” he wailed. “Section Leader Eamon took that arrow for me! It’s all my fault!”

  “The fault belongs to the person who fired that arrow, and to no one else,” the young wizard told him. “You being killed would have been every bit the tragedy that Eamon’s death is.”

  Although unable to fully convince the soldier of his lack of complicity in the squad leader’s murder, P
ádraig was able to give him an herbal remedy for his malady.

  * * *

  After checking on the condition of the two wounded bowmen and changing their poultices, Pádraig considered his situation on the way out of the barracks.

  Somehow, some way, I have to get word to Da and let him know where I’ll be. Got to think this through. Who can I trust? Cian?

  By now, the young wizard believed the reeve to be solidly on the ‘friend’ side of his ‘friend or foe’ calculation.

  I’ll broach the subject with him at supper tonight. However, thinking more about it, he vetoed the idea, deciding, But there’s no way Cian can reach Da down at Ráth Iorras. What to do? What to do?

  “Honored Sir!” a voice called out from behind the young wizard.

  Pádraig turned. It was the Captain of the Cruachanian Defense Forces stationed at Fort Árainn.

  “Yes, Captain?” he replied.

  “Are you looking for accommodations here?”

  “No, sir. I’m bunking over at the forge. I just stopped in to check on your incapacitated squad leader. Gave him something for his stomach. He should be good to go by the day after tomorrow. Your two bowmen will take a bit longer, I’m afraid. They’ll be out of commission for at least another week.”

  “I appreciate all that you’ve done for my men, Honored Sir.”

  “I’m only too happy to be of assistance. Besides,” Pádraig said with a laugh, “as an apprentice wizard, still a wizard-in-training, I’m not allowed to accept payment for my services. I receive a stipend from my mentor-wizard until I reach the rank of journeyman. After that, I’ll be able to hire myself out. That stipend comes from your taxes, so the least I can do is see that you get your money’s worth.”

  “I’ve gotten that and more,” the captain replied. “If ever you need anything while you’re here, you just let me know.”

  “Thank you, Captain, I’ll remember that.” But then, Pádraig thought, Wait a minute. Why not? “Sir, by any chance, will you be sending a dispatch with the details of today’s incident to Dúnfort Cruachan?”