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

by Bill Stackhouse

  “Is there, perhaps, a third option, Honored Sir?”

  The use of the honorific was not lost on the apprentice wizard. Heretofore, Neasán had always addressed him, simply, as ‘Pádraig.’ He figured this was a positive sign, and said, “You both swear that you’ll no longer take part in this insurrection; and, that you’ll do exactly as I instruct you.” He held up a finger as Neasán was about to speak. “Before you say anything, let me assure you that if you lie to me, I will find out. And when I return, there will be just one and only one option left.” He jabbed his forefinger at the pile of ash. “Do we understand each other?”

  “Yes, Honored Sir,” Neasán said with a subservient bow.

  Pádraig looked over at Labhrás.

  The short, stout man duplicated the bow, saying, “Perfectly, Honored Sir.”

  “All right, then. Meig? I need to go outside, sit somewhere, and recharge my essence. I’m afraid you’re going to have to free the defense forces without me.”

  She turned from the body of her mother and wiped the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her cloak. “How do you want it handled?”

  “Labhrás and I can help, My Lady,” Neasán said. “No one will think twice about seeing either of us moving about the cathair.”

  “Can you hold your personal concealment spell long enough to get into the garrison?” Pádraig asked her.

  “I should be able to.”

  “Good. Releasing the defense forces is up to you. Labhrás, you need to disable the guards at the armory. Neasán, take out as many as you can between the garrison and the armory. Preferably without anyone knowing about it. Once the defense forces are released, leave it to the captain to decide how he wants to take the cathair. Then, provide whatever assistance he requires. Any questions?”

  The two journeyman wizards shook their heads.

  Máiréad sighed and said, “When we’re done here, Paddy, I can’t go with you. I have to stay and see to my ma.”

  “I understand. Don’t worry about it.”

  Neasán spoke up. “We will not be able to wait for Prince Ríoghán to return. So, as the senior journeyman wizard in Béarra Shire, it will now fall to me to conduct the passing-over ceremony for His Majesty. I’d be honored, Lady Máiréad, to conduct the countess’ as well, if you would like me to. Although, I’ll understand if you’d prefer to bring in someone else…if and when that can be arranged.”

  Wiping another errant tear from her cheek, she replied, “Thank you. But there’s no reason to wait—neither for someone else nor for my da.”

  She crossed to Pádraig and they shared a tender embrace.

  “What happened last night between us—” Máiréad started, not making eye contact, her voice barely audible.

  But Pádraig put a forefinger on her lips and whispered, “It was a private moment, Meig. And, though I’ll treasure it always, there’s no reason that Liam ever needs to find out about it.”

  Lying her head on his chest, she replied in a soft voice, “Thank you, my anam cara.”

  Breaking the clinch, Pádraig said to the two journeyman wizards, “I’ll inform the captain of the defense forces, after they’ve taken the cathair, but Queen Radha and Princess Teagan are to be treated with the utmost respect. Confine them to their quarters, but allow them access to their lady’s maids and the comforts they’re accustomed to.”

  “Yes, Honored Sir,” both men replied.

  “I’ll have Aednat see to it, Paddy,” Máiréad told him.

  “Also,” Pádraig continued, “Field Marshal Gormán is not to be incarcerated in the dungeon with the others. House arrest with two guards posted outside his quarters day and night. He, too, is to be treated with the deference due his office. Understood?”

  “Completely, Honored Sir,” Neasán answered. “What about Chancellor Ultan?”

  “Somebody has to see to the continued operation of the everyday tasks within the cathair. Don’t lock him up, but keep a watchful eye on him and his functionaries. Now, let’s get going.”

  The foursome exited the great hall. Máiréad concealed herself and suddenly disappeared. After Labhrás locked the door from the outside and pocketed the key, both he and Neasán assisted Pádraig into the ward.

  As he helped the young wizard to a sitting position next to the silver-dust bush, Neasán took a handful of the apprentice wizard’s cloak and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, the color of the cloak had changed from the gray, favored by people from the Western Shires, to the tan, worn by those in the North.

  Pádraig winked a thanks, saying, “Good luck. And may An Fearglas bless you both.”

  All three wizards bowed their heads slightly and touched their foreheads, chests, and their mouths with the first two fingers of their right hands, as they mentally recited: May His tenets be always in my mind, in my heart, and on my lips, completing the ritual act of submission.

  While Pádraig sat there on the ground with his back up against the fortress wall, the two journeyman proceeded with their assigned tasks. Snow had once again started to fall, so Pádraig wrapped his now-tan cloak more tightly around his body, drew his knees up, folded his arms over them, and laid his hooded head down in his arms, allowing the elemental forces in the earth to flow into him.

  * * *

  The scene in the middle of the ward was reminiscent of the one the night before; however, the positions of the Cruachanian Defense Forces and the Security Forces of the Northern Shires had been reversed. This time, it was the security forces who were encircled by the members of the defense forces; and, a pile of weapons lay at the feet of the defense forces captain, slowly being covered with the snow that had continued to fall.

  With help from Máiréad, Neasán, and Labhrás, the operation had taken less than two hours; and, injuries on both sides had been minimal—eight for the security forces and three for the defense forces, all non-life-threatening.

  “The dungeon, Honored Sir?” the captain of the defense forces asked Pádraig. He, Máiréad, Neasán, and Labhrás had formed in a group around the young apprentice wizard.

  “Yes, but just six at a time. And let them bring their own mattresses and bedrolls from the garrison. Also, their food is to be the same as what’s served in the mess hall to the defense forces.”

  The captain raised an eyebrow, and Pádraig explained. “When this mutiny is over, there’s no way we’re going to keep every soldier in the Security Forces of the Northern Shires locked up. There’ll be a loyalty oath of some kind, I’m sure, but then they’re going to be set free. The fewer hard feelings now, the better. The future of the Confederation depends on restoring some semblance of mutual respect and trust.” He had already described to the captain, as he had to Neasán earlier, the proposed treatment of Queen Radha, Princess Teagan, Field Marshal Gormán and Chancellor Ultan.

  “Point taken,” the captain replied.

  “May I approach?” Gormán called out from the center of his cluster of troops.

  Pádraig beckoned him over. “Please do, sir.”

  When the elderly soldier reached the group, he said, “There’s a rumor going around that His Majesty and the Countess Kyna were murdered by the Venerable Odhran, and that Odhran himself was subsequently killed by you, Honored Sir.”

  “What would the military be without gossip,” the young wizard replied. “I won’t go into details, but, yes, it’s true.”

  The old warrior fought back the tears. “I assume that the Revered Neasán will be conducting the passing-over ceremony for His Majesty?”

  “As senior journeyman wizard in the shire, it’s now his responsibility.”

  “I would like to request that my men be permitted to attend, Honored Sir. And that our bowmen be allowed to fire the flaming arrows into His Majesty’s funeral pyre.”

  When Pádraig didn’t answer immediately, Gormán continued. “On my honor, as their commanding officer, I personally guarantee that none of them will attempt to escape. My word on it.”

  �
��Your word is good enough for me, Field Marshall,” Pádraig told him, “but you will be limited to just six bowmen with only one arrow each.”

  “Thank you, Honored Sir.” He started to rejoin his men, but stopped, turned back to Pádraig, and added, “For this honor…and for what you did to Odhran.” At the mention of the master wizard’s name, he spat on the ground, then returned to his men.

  Pádraig looked at the members of his group and saw both the captain and Neasán smiling.

  “Well done, Honored Sir,” the captain said.

  “The cathair is yours,” Pádraig replied, as Máiréad hugged him. “I need to get to Odhran’s quarters, then I’ll be on my way. I’ll also need the loan of a horse for a short while and a soldier to bring it back to you.”

  “I’ll have one saddled and waiting for you, Honored Sir. And, good luck.”

  * * *

  Up on the fifth floor of Odhran’s round tower, Pádraig sat at the master wizard’s desk, staring down at a polished, red orb, about a hand in diameter, sitting in a small indentation on top of an ancient wooden box.

  After two hours of recharging his essence, he felt that he was ready, but there was still a sense of trepidation, as he prepared himself to attempt a scry. Emptying his mind of all irrelevant thoughts, the young apprentice wizard gazed directly into the sphere, concentrating solely on his mentor, the Venerable Taliesin.

  The stone began to glow, dimly. Pádraig took in a deep breath, and beads of perspiration appeared on his forehead, as he endeavored to increase his power. The glow intensified, and within thirty seconds, an image of the elderly wizard flickered across the desk from him.

  The concern on Taliesin’s face gave way to relief at the sight of his apprentice. “You surprise even me with your power, Pádraig. It is so good to see you.”

  “And you, Venerable Sir.”

  “But quickly, now, while you can maintain the scry. Tell me all that you know.”

  “They’re going to block the inlet to Saltwater Bay, Master. With sea-currachs from the race. When the three teams from the Northern Shires sail into the inlet, they’re going to sink their currachs. You’ve got to get word to Iorras Shire and have them close the watergate. The currachs can’t be allowed into the inlet. Also, alert Liam. Prince Ríoghán is marching down the east coast, forming an army as he advances. And there’re Northmen who will be trying to join up with Eógan at Ráth Árainn and proceed down the west coast.”

  The image of Taliesin faded out for a moment. When it rematerialized, Pádraig sped up his report, quickly telling the master wizard that the garrison at North Head had been secured, explaining to him what had occurred at Fortress Béarra, and describing what he had observed in The Uplands.

  “Bring the orb with you, Pádraig,” the elderly wizard instructed him. “And Odhran’s book, as well. It’s important that you bring both the book and the orb to Arch-Wizard Faolan.”

  “What kind of book?” Pádraig asked, looking around the room. “There are books all over the place.”

  “It’s old. It’s thick, with a leather binding. It’s probab—”

  But the image had winked out, and the glow of the red orb had faded. Once again, Pádraig’s essence had been depleted.

  Old. Thick. Leather binding, he thought as he scanned the shelves. They’re all old with leather bindings. Thick. Find the thickest book in the batch.

  It took him a quarter of an hour of rummaging before he found it. The thick, leather-bound book measured a foot-and-a-half wide by two feet long by five inches thick, and looked to be the oldest book he had ever seen. Most of the pages in the front were so yellowed with age that they were barely readable.

  Spells, he thought, leafing through it. It appears to be a book of spells from like…forever. This has to be it.

  Odhran’s belt-bag had been incinerated with the master wizard, so Pádraig crammed the red sphere into a pocket of his cloak. Searching the room again, the only thing he could find with which to carry the book of spells was a way-too-large, old, tan canvas packsack, similar to the one which Máiréad had used to carry their changes of clothing. Climbing down five flights of ladders proved to be a challenge, weakened as he was from the scry; but, with the pack slung over his shoulder, he managed, nevertheless.

  Exiting the round tower, he spotted a member of the Cruachanian Defense Forces on horseback next to the stables. Standing beside him were Neasán and Máiréad. She held the reins of a second horse, a bay mare with a white diamond on its forehead, all saddled and ready to go. Pádraig walked across the ward toward them.

  Handing the packsack to the journeyman wizard, he mounted the horse. “I’ve alerted Master Taliesin,” he said. “He’ll get word to Liam and the High King about the situation up here.”

  “But, how, Honored Sir?” Neasán asked, a curious expression on his face.

  Pádraig reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out the red orb. “Odhran’s seeing-stone.”

  “Y…you were able to…to use it?”

  “For a little while, anyway.” He repocketed the stone and stretched out his arm.

  An astounded journeyman wizard handed him the packsack.

  “Also, Neasán, I need you to get word to Prince Ríoghán and provide him with a full report of what’s happened up here. He needs to know that both Cathair Béarra and the garrison at North Head are under the control of the defense forces; and, that no more reinforcements, either Northmen or security forces, other than those he already has, are coming to his aid.”

  “I’ll dispatch a rider at first light tomorrow.”

  “No. I need you to hold it for a day or so. I probably won’t arrive in the Central Federal Region until Fox Second. Send the rider, so that your report reaches Ríoghán on the morning of Fox Third.”

  “As you wish, Honored Sir.”

  “What are you going to do with the horse for only so short a time?” Máiréad asked. “Then what?”

  “I’ve got another horse waiting for me. Actually, two.”

  “Where?”

  “At Loch Crystal, I hope. I’ll tell you all about it when we see each other again.” With a nod to the soldier, he slung the pack over his shoulder and said, “Let’s ride. I’ve lots of ground to cover yet today.”

  As the two men galloped out through the main gate of the fortress, Máiréad waved to them.

  Neasán could only stand there in awe and reflect upon the apprentice wizard’s extraordinary power—power that even he, a journeyman wizard, did not possess.

  Hollyday - Bear 63rd

  Tulach Shire

  The Venerable Taliesin allowed himself just a few moments to marvel at his protégé’s power.

  I’ve seen it take months for journeymen wizards to even make a psychic connection with the seeing-stones, he thought. And Pádraig managed to not only connect on his first attempt, but to maintain the scry for a respectable amount of time, as if it were second nature to him. Truly amazing.

  He then cleared his thoughts, gazed into his own black orb, and re-established contact with the other members of the Sodality of Master Wizards.

  * * *

  After Taliesin had finished his report, Faolan, Arch-Wizard of Cruachan, said, “Pádraig’s power at this stage of his training is almost beyond belief. But, we’ll talk much more about that at a later date. Right now, we need to take action. As soon as we’re finished here, I’ll send riders to Ruadhán, Chieftain of Iorras Shire, and have him close the watergate.”

  “I’ll ride for Iorras Shire as well,” Taliesin said. “If Eógan is heading south from Ráth Árainn with his Northman allies, picking up security forces on the way, he’s bound to have at least a few journeyman wizards with him. Murchú, for sure.”

  “Then I’ll set sail with some journeymen of my own from the Academy,” Coinneach said. “We’ll be able to debark in Saltwater Bay and send our sea-currach back to Blessed Island before the watergate is closed.”

  “Besides coming to Dúnfort Cruachan to lend my
support, what would you have me do?” Fergal asked.

  “Get word to Queen Dyddanwy in the Coedwig Dryslyd,” the Arch-Wizard replied. “Ask Her Majesty to send elfin archers to both the dúnfort and the watergate. Time is running short. Between-Season Day is only two days from now. Two days until those currachs reach the inlet to the bay.”

  Hollyday - Bear 63rd

  Béarra Shire

  Pádraig, followed by the soldier from Fortress Béarra, reined in his borrowed bay mare next to the overturned coracle on the bank of Loch Crystal.

  “Siobhán?!” he called out. “Are you here, Siobhán?”

  From about a rod-and-a-half out into the loch, the water started to roil, and two dark maidens emerged, walking toward the shore.

  “I was beginning to worry about you,” Siobhán said, wringing out her long black hair.

  The soldier’s eyes widened at the sight of the two phookas. “What manner of demons are these, Honored Sir?” he cried out, as he drew his short sword.

  Uaine glanced over at her dam, incensed. “Demon! Did he just call me a demon?”

  Sheath your weapon, Swordsman,” Pádraig told the man. “They aren’t demons, they’re phookas—members of the Daoine Dofheicthe. And they’re here at my request.”

  The two dark maidens had reached the shore, and Siobhán wriggled, shapeshifting into her black-mare form.

  While Pádraig had been holding tightly to his mount’s reins, the swordsman was in the process of returning his sword to its scabbard. When their two animals reared up in fear, the young wizard was able to control his horse. The swordsman, however, landed on his backside in a snowbank; and, his steed bolted for the stable back at the fortress.

  “Here,” Pádraig told him, as he dismounted. “Take this one back with you. And thanks for the escort.”