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

by Bill Stackhouse

  “Now go, Your Highness,” Finbar told him. “Prepare your forces and pray to An Fearglas that we’ll not need to use them.”

  While both men made the ritual act of submission, the elf simply nodded at the prince.

  * * *

  Once the others had left—the dwarfs, with Sléibhín’s body slung over Killian’s back, and Liam, with his two soldiers—Finbar said, “Let me check inside for a scrap of parchment. We need to let the Venerable Taliesin know where we’re headed.”

  As the farrier crossed toward the cottage, Brynmor whistled for the circling fish hawk.

  Ashday - Bear 62nd

  Béarra Shire

  On the evening of the fifth day since their escape, Pádraig and Máiréad heard the sound of falling rocks, as someone made their way down the cliff face toward the beach cave where the two wizards had been holed up.

  “I sure hope that’s Siollán,” Pádraig whispered. “I’m starving.”

  He crossed toward the opening of their hideout. Máiréad hung back, conjuring up a small energy ball, just in case.

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” the bowman said, glimpsing the glowing sphere as he entered the cave. “It’s just me, Honored Madam. Bearing food.” He slipped the saddlebags from his shoulder and handed them to Pádraig.

  “Any news? Any problems?” Máiréad asked, extinguishing the energy ball and approaching him.

  “Unfortunately not, and fortunately not, in that order,” Siollán replied. “The same business as usual at The Black Swan, having to do with the coming planting season. ‘Will we have enough rain at the right time, or too much rain at the wrong time.’ What about here?”

  Pádraig shook his head. “Everyone’s still carrying on as if nothing’s happened.”

  Taking the saddlebags, Máiréad began laying out their supper on a flat rock just inside the cave opening. “That leads me to believe that our disappearance is a closely-guarded secret. I wonder how many people even knew that you were being imprisoned here, Paddy.”

  * * *

  Each day, from just below the top of the bluff, the twosome had been observing the fortress, periodically using far-seeing spells for only a few moments at a time to try and ascertain what was taking place. Although hampered by not being able to see inside the fortress, they were, nevertheless, able to keep track of people entering and exiting.

  Labhrás had come back two days before, with the eight guards he had with him, having traveled all the way down to Fort Cairbrigh and back without detecting any signs of the two apprentice wizards.

  * * *

  That memory of the journeyman’s return prompted Pádraig to consider what Máiréad had just said. “You may have something there,” he told her. “The only people who we know for sure have actually been looking for us are Neasán, Labhrás, and the nine dungeon guards who already were aware of my incarceration. And, of course, Odhran. My abduction may very well have been carried out solely on his authority.”

  As the threesome sat and began to eat the plowman’s lunch that Siollán had brought, the bowman pointed at Pádraig’s face. “The beard’s coming along nicely,” he said. “Besides being a good disguise, it makes you look more…Oh, I don’t know…more wizardly.”

  Pádraig had not completely shaved off the facial hair that he had grown while in captivity. With the aid of a magically-polished flat rock for a looking glass, his boot knife, and the red-hot end of a piece of driftwood that he had set on fire, the young wizard had simply trimmed and singed the beard, leaving half-inch-wide sideburns that grew into a tidy mustache, both joining with neatly-cropped chin whiskers that came to a point just below his jawline.

  “It makes him look sinister,” Máiréad said. “And yours,” she told the bowman, “just looks scruffy.”

  Since their escape, Siollán had deliberately not shaved in order to mask his appearance.

  From up in the fortress, the bell atop the northwest tower began to toll, but not in its usual manner, marking the half-hour of each watch. Now, it pealed continuously for a full two minutes.

  “What’s that all about, do you suppose?” Pádraig asked, scrambling out onto the apron of the cave opening.

  Although still before moonrise, the sky was clear and enough twilight remained, so that he could plainly see the first three sea-currachs in the Between-Season race, as the boats approached Fortress Béarra from the east.

  Máiréad and Siollán joined him. Neither wizard needed a far-seeing spell to make out the identification on the vessels. The red flags at the top of their mainmasts, as well as their mainsails and headsails exhibited a tríbhís having its left and right legs in black and its top leg in gold—the symbol for the Kingdom of the Northern Shires.

  “I guess that extra preparation’s paying off,” Pádraig said, recognizing the three currachs from the training session he had observed when he had used his far-seeing spell at Saltwater Bay.

  “What do you mean?” Máiréad asked.

  “I watched them practice near the finish line last Mid-Winter Day. Those oarsmen were working their tails off.”

  Siollán chuckled. “Unfortunately, King Cabhan’s going to lose his wager. For some reason, he had higher hopes for his men.”

  “How so?” Pádraig asked.

  “He bet that they’d cross the finish line today.”

  “How could he even think that? Everyone knows that the currachs go against the wind coming north in the Sea of the Dawn.”

  Holding up his hands, Siollán said, “Hey. I was just the messenger, remember? And Cabhan won’t be alone in his disappointment. I don’t know what the earl’s wager was, but the Chieftain of Cairbrigh Shire picked the sixty-third of the month. That’s not going to happen, either. The only one with a chance at winning, unless the earl allowed Garbhán to place a wager after his da was killed, is Scolaí, Chieftain of Gabhrán Shire. He picked the sixty-fourth.”

  Pádraig scratched his head. “I don’t understand. Everyone knows that the first currach has always crossed the finish line at Saltwater Bay either on or within one day of Between-Season Day. Wagering on today or even the sixty-third would be just plain…” He stopped and rubbed his beard with his hand as he thought about it.

  “Just plain stupid,” Máiréad finished for him.

  Holding up a finger for quiet, he closed his eyes and pondered some more. Finally, he said, “But what if…what if those supposed bets weren’t bets at all?”

  “What, then?” Siollán asked.

  “What else could they be?” Máiréad echoed.

  “I don’t think they were wagers on when the currachs are expected to cross the finish line. I think they were confirmations from each shire chieftain that he’s on board with the conspiracy, and the day when the rebellion is expected to start in his particular shire.”

  Met with looks of skepticism, Pádraig continued. “Hear me out. Suppose this is where the uprising begins, first here at Cathair Béarra, then at each of the ráths, in turn. I’ve got a bad feeling about this. If I’m right, then tonight we’re going to see the security forces overpower the defense forces here; and, tomorrow morning a contingent of security forces will head south, picking up more troops at Ráth Cairbrigh, then at Ráth Gabhrán.” He gestured to the currachs. “And when those boats pass the garrison at North Head sometime tomorrow, the same thing will happen there. The security forces will take the entire garrison, then send troops southward, picking up their Northman allies in The Uplands where they already have horses stashed, then reinforcements at Ráth Árainn and, finally, Ráth Callainn.”

  “To what end?” Siollán asked.

  “Independence for the Northern Shires. That beachhead expansion at North Head has a twofold purpose. Its primary function is to accommodate the skeið-class longships of the Northmen who are assisting Cabhan in this mutinous undertaking. And, if they’re landing warriors every night, who knows how many are already hidden in that cave I told you about. In addition, the new docks will enable trading vessels to still do busin
ess with the Kingdom of the Northern Shires after the insurrection.”

  Again Pádraig recalled his far-seeing exercise at Saltwater Bay:

  As the sea-currachs reached the inlet to the bay, two oarsmen from each boat quickly pulled down the sails. The remaining four oarsman stuck out their oars, braking the forward motion of their boats and allowing them to coast to a stop in the harbor inlet.

  After congratulations all around, the oarsmen rowed their currachs into Saltwater Bay, turned them around, and maneuvered them back out to sea, straining against the wind, as they headed in the direction from which they had come.

  Upon seeing the mental image of the currachs, stopped in the small inlet to the bay, and the oarsmen slapping each other’s hands, the rest of the plot all came together for the young wizard. Snapping his fingers, he persisted. “They’re going to sink those currachs in the inlet channel to Saltwater Bay, in effect, cutting off all shipping to and from the island—except in the North. They don’t plan on invading the other kingdoms. They just want to defend their own and cripple the Central Federal Region and the Kingdoms of the Western and Eastern Shires. Once trade is cut off, the other two kingdoms and the Central Authority will be forced to agree to King Cabhan’s demands for independence.”

  “If you’re right, Paddy,” Máiréad said, “then, somehow…some way…we’ve got to stop this. My ma should be arriving tonight. She’ll know what to do.”

  “For the love of An Fearglas, Meig,” Pádraig said, so exasperated that he didn’t even make the ritual act of submission at the mention of the Deity’s name. “Are you blind? Who started this sham betting pool? Your da! You don’t think your ma knows about and supports the rebellion?”

  “Of course not! And neither does my da! How could you even think that! They’re both loyal to the Confederation. Those wagers might mean exactly what you say they mean, Paddy; but, I guarantee you, my folks aren’t involved. Someone else is behind this plot. More than likely it’s just Cabhan and Odhran. And, if I had to pick the traitor who convinced my da to initiate this bogus betting pool, it would be Murchú, the senior journeyman wizard in Árainn Shire. He’s nothing but a toady, always sucking up to Odhran. You just wait, when my ma gets here, she’ll be able help us discover the truth, so we can quell this uprising.”

  “Uh…Honored Sir and Madam?” Siollán spoke up. “Regardless of who knows what or who’s done what, what do we do? Right now, this minute?”

  “You’re right,” Pádraig replied, considering the situation for a moment. “The squads of defense forces that patrol the Coastal Road haven’t yet arrived from either North Head or Ráth Cairbrigh. We’ve got to stop them from entering the cathair. Meig, we have to split up.”

  “We’ll continue our conversation later,” she said solemnly. “But for now, tell me what to do.”

  “Siollán and I’ll go on foot and intercept the squad from North Head. You take Siollán’s horse, and meet up with the squad coming from Ráth Cairbrigh. Convince the squad leader to bypass the cathair, come through the forest, and join up with us. I’ll fill everyone in then. Let’s go! We’re running out of time!”

  As they left the beach cave, Máiréad said, “You’re wrong about my folks, Paddy. They are not involved in this insurrection.”

  * * *

  Running up the Coastal Road as fast as they could manage in the bitter cold, Pádraig and Siollán encountered the seven-member squad of Cruachanian Defense Forces from North Head about a half league out from Cathair Béarra.

  The two men stood in the middle of the road, panting, and waving their arms for the riders to stop.

  The squad leader signaled for a halt, drew his short sword, and edged his horse forward about three feet. The four bowmen moved their mounts up next to him and notched arrows in their bows. The two lancemen and solo swordsman took up defensive positions, peering into the forest and back up the road from where they had come.

  With the sky being clear, Silver Nightingale, in its waning gibbous phase, and an almost full rising Golden Owl provided plenty of visibility for everyone to make out the others’ features.

  “Identify yourselves!” the squad leader commanded.

  “I’m Pádraig,” the young wizard replied, spreading his arms in a non-threatening gesture. “An apprentice wizard under the tutelage of the Venerable Taliesin, Guardian of the Black Stone and Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Western Shires.”

  “If so, you’re a long way from home,” the squad leader said. “But, I don’t see a red mantle. What’s your game? And be quick with your answer, if you know what’s good for you.”

  Rats! Pádraig thought. He does have a point, though. I’d be suspicious of me, too, if I encountered myself on a lonely road at night. He sighed. I guess we do this the hard way.

  With a flick of Pádraig’s right hand, the soldiers suddenly lost control of their weapons, fumbling them as they fell to the ground, the bowmen’s arrows flying off harmlessly.

  “What?!” the squad leader cried out. The other members of the squad looked about, fearfully.

  “Sorry about that,” Pádraig said. “No red mantle at the moment, but magic, nevertheless.”

  The horsemen attempted to dismount, but found their backsides stuck to their saddles.

  “I’m a bowman with the Security Forces of the Northern Shires,” Siollán offered. Looking directly at one of the squad’s bowmen, he asked, “Don’t you recognize me, Conall?”

  The defense forces’ bowman frowned and stared at him more intently, finally saying, “Siollán? Is that you? That beard had me fooled.” To his leader, he declared, “He’s who he says he is, sir. I’ve practiced with him on the range up at North Head.”

  * * *

  Having ridden through the forest, Máiréad, astride Siollán’s horse, Brian, had stopped at the edge of the woods near the Coastal Road, a league south of the fortress. She didn’t have to wait very long before the sound of hooves approached from the direction of Ráth Cairbrigh.

  I sure hope this is the squad of defense forces and not Labhrás and his guards hunting for me, she thought. Well, let’s find out.

  Máiréad urged Brian out onto the road in the path of the oncoming riders, sweeping the gray hood back off her head to reveal her long, flame-red hair. The curls, like tendrils, billowed in the icy offshore wind.

  Extending her arm toward the approaching squad, the apprentice wizard conjured up a spike of energy that looked like a short blazing spear, as she called out, “I need you to stop right there!”

  The squad leader signaled for his troops to halt, then, in a surprised voice, said, “Lady Máiréad? What are you doing out here on a night like this? Is something wrong?”

  Equally surprised, Máiréad extinguished the energy spear. As she kneed Brian closer to the squad, she said, “Iollan? I see you’ve been given a promotion since I last saw you.”

  Ten years earlier, the squad leader had been a mere soldier with the Cruachanian Defense Forces, stationed at Fort Gabhrán.

  “Four years, now, My Lady,” he replied. “But, what’s wrong? Why are you out here?”

  “Quite a bit is wrong, I’m afraid.”

  After relating a brief version containing the bare essentials of what Pádraig suspected was going on, she said, “You and your men need to come with me right now. We’re going to bypass the cathair and meet up with your comrades coming down from North Head. We have no time to lose.”

  “Lead on, My Lady,” Iollan said. “We’ll be right behind you.”

  Máiréad wheeled Brian around, but before taking off into the forest, she said, “And since it seems that you’ve been riding this circuit for a while, now, we’ll talk more at another time about you not contacting Aednat when you’ve been at Cathair Béarra. Shame on you!”

  Giving Brian a heel in his flanks, the horse and wizard took off into the woods, with the squad of defense forces right behind them.

  Iollan didn’t relish the thought of continuing that particular conversation. Ma
ny years ago, when he had been stationed at Fortress Tulach, he had had a romantic relationship with Máiréad’s lady’s maid.

  * * *

  After Máiréad and Iollan’s squad had met up with Pádraig and the squad from North Head, and Pádraig had given a full explanation of what he thought would happen the next day when the sea-currachs rounded North Head, Iollan said, “With there being only fourteen of us, we’re going to need the element of surprise, as well as a lot of luck, if we’re going to take control of the garrison tonight.”

  “Fifteen of us,” Siollán piped up. “They’ll be fifteen of us. I’m going with you.”

  “Well, only a medium amount of luck then,” the other squad leader said with a chuckle.

  The rest of the soldiers in both squads laughed, as well.

  Siollán reached into his pocket and withdrew Pádraig’s hoof-pick and Máiréad’s diamond-shaped, unending-knotwork silver barrette. Handing the items to the two wizards, he said, “I’ve got to do this, Honored Sir and Madam. I really do.”

  As Pádraig accepted the hoof-pick, he replied, “I understand, Siollán. And thank you for all your help.”

  Máiréad kissed the young bowman on the cheek, saying, “Stay safe.”

  “Okay, let’s do this,” Iollan said. “Mount up.”

  “If,” Pádraig interjected, holding up a forefinger, “instead of trying to take the garrison tonight, you wait until tomorrow morning, camping in the forest overnight, with one squad on either side of the garrison, you may be able to double your numbers.”

  “How’s that?” Iollan asked.

  “At first light, the squads of defense forces will leave on patrol for Cathair Béarra and Ráth Árainn. Once you intercept them and explain the situation, your combined troops can ride into the garrison hard and fast from both directions and overpower the security forces before they know what hit them.”