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

by Bill Stackhouse

Both squad leaders looked at each other and grinned.

  “We can do that,” Iollan said.

  “Yeah, we can,” his comrade agreed. But, then, he raised a question. “What are the security forces going to do tonight at Cathair Béarra, though, when we don’t show up?”

  “They’ll either figure you’re late, or they’ll be so busy rounding up your colleagues already in the cathair, they won’t notice,” Máiréad said.

  “Hard and fast,” Pádraig reiterated. “And when you’ve taken the garrison, don’t forget about that cave opening on the beach. There are logs piled up not too far from it. Move them over to the cave and use them to block the opening as best you can. Even with as few bowmen as you’ll have, you’ll control the high ground and be able to pick off any arriving Northmen, as well as any trying to get out of the blocked up cave. Now go! And may An Fearglas be with you.”

  All seventeen bowed their heads and touched their foreheads, chests, and mouths with the first two fingers on their right hands, making the ritual act of submission.

  Ashday - Bear 62nd

  Béarra Shire - Cathair Béarra

  It had taken Pádraig and Máiréad a while to walk back to the bluffs above their beach cave. As they neared the fortress, keeping just inside the forest tree line, they could hear three bells peal from the northwest tower, marking one-and-a-half hours into the first watch.

  “My ma should have reached here by now,” Máiréad said. “I’m going to go find her.”

  Not wanting to get into an argument, Pádraig simply replied, “How are your personal concealment skills?”

  “Fairly good. I’ve been able to maintain it for a half hour or so. Why?”

  “Humor me, Meig. Don’t go in there recklessly until we determine exactly what the situation is. Let’s take a secretive look first.”

  She sighed, also not up for a quarrel. “I suppose it wouldn’t hurt. Especially, if she hasn’t yet arrived.”

  They kept going, using the woods for cover. Once they got opposite the cesspit, Máiréad pointed toward the outside wall of the fortress and said, “Look, Paddy. Although there are now two guards, the postern is still open. Let’s go in through there rather than the main gate.”

  “Here’s hoping that Odhran or Neasán don’t have probes out.”

  Both wizards cleared their minds and concentrated on conjuring up personal concealment spells. Within fifteen seconds, the entire scene appeared to them to be bathed in a yellowish-green light, a side effect of the spell.

  The twosome made their way from the tree line toward the postern, slowly and deliberately, as their feet made crunching sounds in the snow. Fortunately, near the gate itself, the snow had been trampled down quite a bit, and they were able to walk noiselessly, single file between the two guards without being detected.

  They didn’t have to go very far inside the fortress wall to see what was happening. Stopping next to the silver-dust bush near the keep that Siollán had used to stash his piggin, they had a commanding view of the entire ward.

  There, in the center of the courtyard, a contingent of security forces’ bowmen and swordsmen had the members of the defense forces encircled. A pile of weapons lay at the feet of Gormán, Field Marshal of the Kingdom of the Northern Shires.

  “Shall we take them to the dungeon, Your Majesty?” Gormán asked.

  Before King Cabhan could answer, the Venerable Odhran, who stood next to him and Prince Ríoghán, said, “Shackle them in the garrison, Field Marshal. I have other plans for the dungeon.”

  Pádraig had to bite his lip to keep from laughing and giving away their position. I’ll just bet you do, Odhran, he thought. Us. Well, don’t count your chickens before they’ve hatched.

  The security forces led their prisoners into the garrison, and a handful of soldiers began lugging the pile of confiscated weapons to the armory.

  All of a sudden, both apprentice wizards froze.

  Máiréad’s mother, Kyna, had exited the keep. Dressed in a green ruana, with the wolf fur-trimmed hood swept back to reveal her red tresses, braided and done up in a bun, she came within a rod of them as she purposefully strode toward the king, prince, and master wizard. “Are you sure you’ve captured all of them?” she demanded.

  “Yes, Countess,” Cabhan answered. “They won’t cause us any problems. And when the squads arrive from Ráth Cairbrigh and the North Head garrison, we’ll be ready for them, as well.”

  “The rebellion has begun, My Lady,” Ríoghán said. “Tomorrow, at first light, I’ll lead the majority of our security forces to Ráth Cairbrigh to pick up reinforcements. Then, it’s on to Ráth Gabhrán and the Central Federal Region.”

  “High time,” she muttered. Fixing hard, green eyes on Odhran, she asked, “What of that meddlesome apprentice wizard and my daughter? Are you any closer to finding them?”

  “It’s just a matter of time, My Lady.”

  “That time had better be soon. As the prince said, the rebellion has begun. It’s too late in the game this time to abort our plans, like we were able to do ten years ago when the young farrier interfered. Find them! But,” she shook a warning finger at him, “under no circumstances is Máiréad to be harmed.”

  “If she should attempt to use her magic, it may be—” the master wizard began.

  “Just what part of ‘under no circumstances’ do you not understand, Odhran?”

  Once he fell silent and lowered his eyes, Kyna executed an abrupt about-face and stalked back toward the keep.

  When the countess passed by them again, Pádraig felt Máiréad’s hand in his, squeezing and holding on, as if her life depended on it. He glanced down at her. Tears rolled down her alabaster cheeks, and he was afraid she would lose her concentration and break her concealment spell. He waited for Kyna to enter the keep, then whispered, “Follow me! Quickly! I know just the place to hole up for the night.”

  “Where?” she whispered back, fighting off the despair she felt.

  “The last place they’d ever think to look for us. The dungeon.”

  * * *

  The stairs down to the cellar of the keep, as well as the dungeon itself, were in total darkness. The two apprentice wizards didn’t light any of the lamps along the way, but simply stuck out their arms and went by feel. As they entered the dungeon proper, their magical concealment spells dissipated.

  “Good,” Pádraig whispered. “I was hoping for that.”

  “Why?” Máiréad asked, still holding on to his hand.

  “With all the confusion surrounding my escape, Odhran forgot to remove his magic-blocking spell. It means that, when things settle down in the ward and garrison, even if he or Labhrás or Neasán send out mental probes, they won’t be able to detect us.”

  In the darkness, the twosome felt their way to the cell where Pádraig had been imprisoned.

  “At least it’s warm and dry down here,” Máiréad said, expressionlessly. “What’s our plan for tomorrow? And, Paddy, I am so sorry that—”

  “Don’t, Meig. It’s not necessary. I know.” He gave her hand a slight squeeze, then answered her question. “Once Ríoghán leaves in the morning with the majority of his troops, and things return to some semblance of normality, we’ll go up top and use our personal concealment spells to free the defense forces in the garrison. We’ll then have to confront Odhran, Neasán, and Labhrás directly, in order to give the defense forces a chance to take over the cathair. Meig, I’m not sure whether our combined power will be enough to do it, but we have to try. We have to stop this rebellion in its tracks.”

  “We take out Labhrás first,” she said. “He’s the weakest link; and, although he’s a journeyman wizard, his power is far less than mine. Then Neasán. He’s more powerful, but I’m not sure how ruthless.”

  “I got that same feeling myself,” Pádraig agreed. “He was actually quite nice to me. That leaves the Venerable Odhran himself.”

  Recalling the bolt of energy that the master wizard had shot at Lorcan those many years
ago when the reeve had attempted his escape, after Pádraig had tricked him into revealing his complicity in Tadhg the farrier’s murder, the apprentice wizard shuddered. Lorcan’s body had been burned to a crisp.

  “I’ve seen Odhran’s power in action when he’s angry, Meig.”

  Máiréad grasped his hand more tightly. “But he’s yet to see ours combined, Paddy. And, although I’m deeply hurt, I’m angry, too. Very angry.”

  After making sure that the cell door was open all the way, Pádraig said, “You take the cot, Meig. I’ll use what’s left of that blanket you shredded, plus my cloak, to make a bed for myself on the floor.”

  In the total darkness, she found him and pulled him close to her, whispering, “You’ll do no such thing. The cot will accommodate us both.” She then kissed him, forcefully, full on the lips.

  As their arms encircled each other in the blackness, the pent-up feelings that each had had over the years all spilled out at once, as if a dam had broken. Máiréad interrupted the embrace and hastily pulled Pádraig over to the cot, pushing him down onto it.

  * * *

  About four rods south of the fortress, two sleek black mares peered out of the forest from across the road. They had been watching, as best they could through the main gate, as the Security Forces of the Northern Shires had rounded up the members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces. From their position, the two horses also had direct line-of-sight to the postern gate by the keep. However, because Pádraig and Máiréad had concealed themselves before venturing out of the woods, the phookas hadn’t witnessed them cross the road and enter the fortress.

  “What do you suppose is happening?” Uaine asked.

  “Nothing good, I’ll wager,” Siobhán replied. “It appears that there’s some sort of revolt underway.”

  “What do we do?”

  Siobhán glanced down at her filly. “Go back to the loch and wait for Paddy and his lady-friend to come to us.…Maybe, sometime tomorrow.”

  “And, if they don’t?”

  “Then, perhaps, they’ll come the following day.”

  Uaine shook her mane and snorted. “How long are you prepared to wait?”

  “As long as it takes. It’s fairly obvious that nothing more will happen tonight. Let’s go.” She backed up and trotted off through the trees in the direction of Loch Crystal.

  Uaine followed her dam, thinking, It’s a good thing that that loch is a very nice pond, and that Spring is coming soon. We may be here awhile.

  Hollyday - Bear 63rd

  Béarra Shire - Cathair Béarra

  From atop the northwest tower came the sound of the bell tolling twice, then a pause, followed by another double peal, denoting the two-hour mark into the morning watch.

  At the first knell, Prince Ríoghán, astride his red-chestnut stallion, gave a hand signal, and the mounted four sections of security forces cantered out of the fortress through the main gate, their dark-red capes buffeted by the chilly morning breeze. From in front of the keep, King Cabhan, Queen Radha, Princess Teagan, the Venerable Odhran, and Countess Kyna reviewed the troops as they rode by. As a token of respect, each lanceman from all eight squads, dipped the point of his weapon as he passed the king.

  At Ríoghán’s right rode a captain. On his left, his sister Fionnuala, dressed in black deerskin and a black ruana, its black bear-fur-trimmed hood covering her raven hair. Circling her head, a roundlet of fine silver filigree contained a single polished black moonstone in its very center.

  While the soldiers faces were resolute, thinking about what might lie ahead, Fionnuala was all smiles. To the fourteen-year-old girl, this was the beginning of a grand adventure.

  Bringing up the rear of the double column, the head of a four-man team—all four experienced with both bow and sword, and having three winged stripes on their shoulders designating them all as sergeants and team leaders—bowed his head to the king. His team’s primary function would be to protect the Princess Fionnuala, unbeknownst to her, and to make certain that she never got anywhere close to the fighting, if and when there was any action.

  As soon as the contingent cleared the gate, Odhran and Kyna exchanged glances and separated themselves from the others.

  * * *

  Asleep in each other’s arms down in the dungeon, after an exhausting evening chasing down defense forces, Pádraig and Máiréad were oblivious to the sound of the watch bell. However, what they did hear some twenty minutes after the last knell had faded out was the clang of the cell door being slammed shut.

  Jarred from sleep, both apprentice wizards sat upright on the cot. As lamps were being lighted in the guards’ area of the dungeon, Pádraig slipped into his buckskin tunic, while Máiréad struggled to do up the staghorn buttons of her deerskin top.

  Kyna, Odhran, Neasán, Labhrás, and three guards stood on the other side of the bars, one of the guards turning the key in the lock. Once they realized what Máiréad was doing, the guards and the journeyman wizards averted their eyes.

  “I told you it was just a matter of time, Countess,” Odhran said, a smirk on his long, pinched face. “Like rats in a trap.”

  Kyna simply shook her head in disgust at her daughter. “Look at yourself,” she said with a hiss. “Like a unrefined scrubber. And with the likes of him—a commoner.”

  Defiantly, Máiréad said, “At least he’s not a traitor, ready to betray his country for who knows what.”

  “Traitor?! Let me remind you that this is your country, Daughter. You were born at Ráth Árainn, here in the Northern Shires. We are not traitors, we are patriots!”

  “Oh, please!” Máiréad replied, turning away from her.

  Pádraig, who had been examining the tops of his boots, thinking about how big a fool he had been to fall into Odhran’s snare, looked up at the guards and broke the silence that had followed the mother/daughter exchange, saying, “Game of Hazard, anyone?”

  The three guards fought back smiles. No one else thought the remark to be the least bit amusing.

  Odhran reached into his brown-and-black leather belt-bag and removed a vial of greenish liquid, which he handed to Labhrás. “You’ll each take a sip of this,” he told the two apprentice wizards, “and we’ll continue our conversation upstairs in the great hall.”

  The short, stout journeyman wizard and Pádraig had already taken a couple of steps toward each other when Máiréad said, “And suppose we don’t?”

  “Then you will rot in this cell until you come to your senses,” Kyna replied. “Now stop this foolishness and drink the potion.”

  “It’ll suppress our powers?” Pádraig asked, matter-of-factly, looking at Neasán. “The same drug that you put in my food?”

  The tall, thin journeyman wizard gave a nod. His countenance, though, registered a lack of enthusiasm for the task.

  I see regret, Pádraig thought. Perhaps we read him correctly He isn’t fully committed to this rebellion.

  Taking the vial from Labhrás with his left hand, the young wizard turned and crossed toward Máiréad, holding out the potion. “We have no choice, Meig,” he said. But when he reached her, he whispered, “Challenge me and run to the wall by the chamber pot.”

  “I’m not taking that potion!” she screamed at him, reaching out and attempting to knock the vial from his hand, before darting to the wall, as she had been instructed.

  Pádraig followed her. Once he had gotten to within two feet of the wall, he confirmed what he had hoped for and smothered a smile. Either no one had bothered to tell Odhran about Pádraig’s invisibility trick, or the master wizard had simply forgotten to re-extend the boundary. The guards that had come with him that morning were not the ones he had fooled during the escape, so they had no knowledge of the ruse.

  Making a small gesture with his right hand over the vial, he said, “Your ma won’t let any harm come to you, and I doubt that Odhran would want to incur Taliesin’s wrath by injuring me. At least not too badly.” With his face away from their captors, he held out the vial and wh
ispered, “It’s okay now. Drink it; and, in a few minutes pretend that you’re getting sleepy.”

  Máiréad balked and turned away from him.

  “We have no choice, Meig,” he said, again at full volume for the onlookers to hear. After drinking half of the liquid in the vial, he held the small bottle out to her and whispered, “Trust me.”

  With tears in her eyes, she took the vial, swallowed the remaining half of its contents, and handed it back to him.

  After turning to Odhran and tipping the container upside down to show him that it was empty, Pádraig crossed back to the cot, tossed the vial onto it, and picked up both his and Máiréad’s cloaks. “Well, what now?” he asked the master wizard.

  Hollyday - Bear 63rd

  Béarra Shire - North Head

  At first light, Siollán, back in his uniform as a member of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, waited outside the main gate of the North Head garrison as the two squads of Cruachanian Defense Forces cantered out to begin their patrols of the Coastal Road—one, on its way toward Fort Árainn; the other, headed to Fortress Béarra.

  When the final soldier had cleared the gate, the young bowman nudged Brian, and the horse trotted into the ward. As luck would have it, the first person whom Siollán encountered, aside from the entry guards, was his section leader.

  “Back early, I see,” the man said. “We didn’t expect you until Between-Season Day.”

  “S…s…seeing the folks was great, s…sir,” Siollán replied, making it up on the fly. “But I had my f…fill of p…pigs.”

  The section leader laughed. “I hope you left the stench behind in Cairbrigh Shire, Bowman.”

  “Yes, sir. Washed myself and my clothes thoroughly.”

  “Good. After you’ve seen to your mount, checked in with your squad leader, and gotten rid of that ridiculous-looking beard, take yourself over to the archery range and get in some practice. If all goes according to plan, we should have an assignment for you by this afternoon.”

  Siollán didn’t bother asking, ‘What plan?’ He just kept a straight face, thinking about the defense forces plan that would commence in less than a half hour, and said, “Will do, sir. And it’s good to be back.”