The swordsman lost no time scrambling to his feet. Clambering up onto the bay’s saddle, he gave the animal a heel in the ribs and they dashed off to the northeast.
“Demon?!” Uaine spat out again. “Really?!”
Siobhán changed herself back into her dark-maiden form and asked, “Where’s your red-haired friend, Paddy?”
“Change of plans, I’m afraid. It’s just me.”
“So I’m not to be a beast of burden after all,” Uaine said. “Fine by me. Are we going home, now?”
Siobhán looked over at Pádraig. “Are we?”
“In a roundabout way. We have to get to Dúnfort Cruachan as soon as possible; but first, I have to retrieve Killian from over in The Uplands.”
“Your choice,” Siobhán told her filly. “You can either come with us or head for home.”
“See you back at our poulaphouca,” Uaine said, changing into her horse form. After rearing up and letting loose with a whinny, she galloped off to the southwest, in the direction of the Central Road.
“Are you going to tell me what happened,” Siobhán asked.
“It’s going to be a long ride,” Pádraig replied. “I’ll fill you in on the way.”
The young wizard carried his packsack over to the upside-down coracle, and climbed up on the boat, as if it were a horseman’s mounting block. The phooka once again shapeshifted into a black mare and trotted over next to him.
Hollyday - Bear 63rd
Béarra Shire - The Uplands
It was almost the end of the evening watch by the time Siobhán and Pádraig reached the snow-covered path through the forest, near where the young wizard had left Killian, and Pádraig was feeling the effects of being constantly on the go since he and Máiréad had been so unceremoniously dragged out of the dungeon early that morning.
With his acute hearing and sense of smell, he could pick out the sounds and odors of horses not far off.
Slowly making their way through the trees, they reached the clearcut area, brightly illuminated by a nearly full Golden Owl and a waning gibbous Silver Nightingale. The snow had abated during their journey; and, from the tree line, they could see lamp light flickering through the windows of the stables. However, no grooms nor animals were out and about.
“Now what?” the phooka asked.
Pádraig sluggishly dismounted, setting the packsack on the ground. “I’ll have to use a personal concealment spell to get near enough to the stables and see if I can spot him.”
“Will he come if he’s called?”
“Probably. Along with the grooms. And, the last time I was here in The Uplands, there was a wizard, most likely a journeyman, and soldiers. One of them shot me with a drugged-tipped arrow. I’d rather forego a repeat of that experience.”
Pádraig was about to move out from the tree line toward the corral gate when the gravelly call of an owl came from somewhere off to his left. The young wizard thought nothing of it, until he was halfway to the gate and heard the churring of a nightjar.
Turning around, all lethargy now gone from him, he made a dash back to the tree line and Siobhán.
“Those aren’t night birds,” he said. “They’re signals. We’ve been spotted. Let’s go!”
Struggling to climb back up on the phooka’s back with the packsack slung across his shoulder and without the aid of a mounting block, Pádraig was brought up short by a whispered, “Paddy? Is that you?”
The young wizard peered back into the forest. In the moonlight that filtered through the trees, he saw the blond horsetail and pearlescent face of Cadwgawn, peeking around a fir.
“Wh…what are you doing here?” Pádraig asked, also in a whisper.
“We are on our way to North Head to find you.”
“We?”
“Yes. We. My da, your da, a somewhat unpleasant dwarf princess, and a small dwarfish army.”
Pádraig couldn’t help but snicker. “Did you just make a joke, Cadwgawn? I didn’t know your people joked.”
After a moment of perplexed thought, the elf said, “Allow me to rephrase. An army of some fifty dwarfs. Now, come, bring your horse. I’ll lead you back to the others.”
“Um, Cadwgawn, this isn’t my horse. This is my friend, Siobhán. She—”
“I understand fully, Paddy. I consider Taran a friend, also. But, come—”
Pádraig shook his head. “I don’t think you do understand.” Turning to the black mare, he gestured with an upturned palm.
Siobhán wriggled, and after shapeshifting into her dark-maiden form, fixed her yellowish-brown eyes on the elf.
“She’s a phooka,” the young wizard said. “She’s the one who saved me from the kidnappers years ago.”
Cadwgawn’s countenance showed absolutely no emotion whatsoever. “I remember,” he replied. With a slight bow of his head to the dark maiden, he continued. “I am pleased to finally make your acquaintance, Siobhán.”
“Likewise,” the phooka responded. “Which shape do you think more appropriate for your”—she smirked at him—“small dwarfish army?”
“Definitely the black mare,” he answered. “Most definitely.”
Siobhán wriggled; and, once more a horse stood with the elf and wizard.
* * *
After exchanging forearm clasps with his father and Brynmor, Pádraig crossed the two paces to where Isla stood, his arms starting to open for an embrace.
“Yuh hug me, Wizard, and I’ll run yuh through,” she whispered between clenched teeth, roughly grasping his right forearm with her right hand.
He whispered back, “Oh, right, just one of the lads, aren’t you?” As the dwarf princess increased the pressure of her grip, bringing tears to his eyes, he said, “Good to see you again, Isla.”
“And yuh, too, laddie. Your da was beginning tuh worry.”
“I still am worried,” Finbar said. “We’ve got goat stew over at the campfire. Come, eat, and tell us what you know.”
As they walked over to the small fire, burning in a hole the dwarfs had hollowed out, Siobhán wandered over to within earshot and pawed the ground, moving the snow from some vegetation. She munched on the grass and listened, as Pádraig, in between spoonfuls of stew, relayed all that he had experienced since he had left Sléibhín’s hut.
* * *
“So, Odhran, Cabhan, and Kyna are dead,” Finbar said, once Pádraig had finished with his report. He didn’t press his son on the death of the master wizard. He’d discuss that with him later, in private.
“Both North Head and Cathair Béarra are secured?” Brynmor asked.
“Yes, sir,” Pádraig said.
Isla raised a forefinger. “And the opening of the cave at the beachhead has been blocked?”
“With logs that were hewn from the clearcut area where the stables are, hauled to the bluffs, and tossed over onto the beach. By now the Northmen and security forces secreted in that cave must realize that they’re on their own, and that no more of their comrades are going to be joining them.”
Cadwgawn spoke up. “There very well may be over two hundred of them in that cave. Should they escape here in The Uplands and get to those horses, I fear we may not have enough troops to adequately handle the situation.”
Standing, Isla said, “Lead us first tuh the stables, Paddy. We’ll release and scatter the horses; then, yuh can show us where that cave opening is, and we’ll deal with it, as well.”
* * *
Pádraig had not left the packsack at the campsite, like Finbar had advised him to do. The young wizard didn’t want to let Odhran’s ancient book of spells out of his sight.
Arriving back at the clearcut area with the large corral and four stables, he said, “The last time I was up here, there were four grooms seeing to the horses and mules. Be careful when you disperse the animals, though, Killian’s among them, and I need to find him.”
“Nae, laddie, he’s not,” Isla said. “Somehow he escaped on his own and made his way back tuh Sléibhín’s. I had the lads take h
im tuh our mountain cavern. Dinna yuh worry. He’s being well taken care of.”
“I hid his tack, saddle, and saddle bags under a fir tree, along with Lairgnen’s lute, elbow pipes, and hand-and-a-half sword. I’m going to take the sword, and stick the pipes and lute in the packsack, along with my tin whistle”—he produced the whistle from a pocket of his cloak and pointed with it in the direction of the fir—“but I won’t be able to take the saddle, the saddle bags, or the tack. Could one of your people take them with you?”
“Why dinna yuh just use the saddle and tack on that horse of yours?”
Siobhán let go with a loud snort.
Pádraig quickly nixed that idea, saying, “She’s…um…not been trained to the saddle or bridle. And, at first light tomorrow, we’ve got to be on our way to Dúnfort Cruachan. I don’t want to chance introducing her to them at this point.”
“Okay, then, laddie. We’ll take care of ’em. They’ll be waiting for yuh when yuh come tuh pick up your mule.”
“Also,” the young wizard said, pointing to the piles of felled trees stacked up in five flatbed wagons, their trunks stripped of boughs, “don’t let all the animals run off without capturing enough of them to hitch to those wagons.”
“You have a plan?” Finbar asked.
“When we get to the cave opening, we might just find a use for those logs.”
“Ahh, plug up the opening,” Brynmor guessed. “An excellent idea.”
As the apprentice wizard packed the musical instruments, including the tin whistle, in the packsack, along with Odhran’s book, and retrieved his red mantle from the saddle bags and donned it, Finbar, the elves, and the dwarfs made short work out of freeing the animals and capturing the grooms.
Pádraig had slung the scabbard of the hand-and-a-half sword over one shoulder, the packsack’s strap over the other, and had managed to clamber up onto Siobhán’s back. Riding over to the stables, he found the dwarfs had the four grooms trussed up, and his father just finishing a conversation with Isla.
“They’re not a danger to us. Just leave them here. There’s no way they can warn the others in the cave before we get there.”
“Whatever yuh say, Finn. Whatever yuh say,” Isla answered, walking away toward Hilma, the small, tan, shaggy-coated mare that had belonged to Sléibhín.
But, as Finbar crossed over to him, Pádraig wondered about the small head-gesture that Isla had made to Griogair, and her head dwarf’s equally-small nod in return.
The incident had all but left his mind by the time the company rode out with the five flatbed wagons of tree trunks, heading for the cave, though, and he failed to notice that Griogair had stayed behind with two of his comrades.
However, the unspoken message between the two dwarfs had not been lost on the elves. Cadwgawn turned toward his father and raised an eyebrow. Brynmor simply answered with a small shrug, as the twosome edged their horses up to the front of the company.
* * *
Leaving the wagons and most of the dwarfs some ten rods behind them in the forest, the young wizard led Finbar, the elves, Isla, and three of her companions on foot up to the tree line from where they could observe the entrance to the underground cave.
As when Pádraig had been there before, a section of the forest floor, some ten feet square, had been lifted up on one end like a trapdoor and propped open by two eight-foot-long logs on the corners.
Five men stood in the opening. Three wore the dark-red livery of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, and were huddled in their capes with the hoods up. The other two, Northmen, being more accustomed to the cold, had their rust-colored, wool cloaks open. Their blond braids hung down the sides of their faces from under white, knit pointed caps. A small fire burned in a depression in front of the quintet.
Isla turned to the elves. “Five of ’em. How fast can yuh shoot, Palefaces?”
“Before someone sounds an alarm?” Brynmor replied. “Fast enough to get four of them for certain.”
“Humph,” she growled.
“Besides, we don’t know just how close those inside are to the opening,” Finbar added. “It’s too risky at this point. Paddy, what can you do?”
“Let me conjure up a personal concealment spell and get closer, so that I can see into the cave. If all’s clear, I’ll take out two of them right then and there with energy pulses. Brynmor and Cadwgawn can pick off the other three with arrows.”
“But don’t take any unnecessary chances,” Finbar cautioned. “We may have only one opportunity at this. If there are more just inside the opening, come back and tell us so we can plan something else.”
Isla gestured toward the cave. “Have at it, laddie. We’ll be watching.” To the other three dwarfs, she said, “Station yourselves within sight of each other at intervals between here and the rest of the lads. On my signal, get them up here in a hurry.”
As Pádraig vanished from sight, the three dwarfs took off and did as Isla had instructed them.
There in the tree line, the elves knelt on one knee and took out two arrows each from their quivers, sticking one into the ground next to them and notching the other in their bows. With Isla and Finbar, they gazed intently at the five men at the cave opening, illuminated by the campfire and the moonlight.
“He’s leaving footprints in the snow,” Cadwgawn observed. “Look sharp, now, in case someone else notices.”
Isla drew her hand-and-a-half sword, and raised her other arm, ready to signal the first dwarf, who stood watching her.
Finbar took a firmer hold on his quarterstaff.
But it wasn’t the footprints that gave Pádraig away. He had gotten to within five feet of the men at the cave entrance when another man, this one wearing a tan cloak and a blue mantle, exited the cave.
Pádraig froze in his tracks, remembering his father’s oft repeated warning over the years:
“Magic draws magic.”
“Did any of you hear anything or see anything suspicious?” the journeyman wizard asked, a concerned frown on his face.
The three guards looked from one to the other for a moment, then one of them said, “No, Revered Sir. Nothing. Why? Did you sense something?”
“Stay quiet for a minute,” the wizard told them.
One of the guards translated for the Northmen, and all five of them drew their weapons and stood perfectly still, looking around at the forest beyond their small clearing.
Pádraig could tell that the journeyman was sending out a mental probe. He maintained his position, thinking, confidently, You may detect my presence, but you can’t see me. What the wizard did next, though, puzzled him.
The journeyman again said, “Stay perfectly still,” to the guards and Northmen. “And, you two, give me your shields.”
Two of the guards handed him their round shields.
Setting one of the shields on the ground, face down, the journeyman wizard used the other as a scoop, shoveling up snow and heaping it onto the first shield. When he had a sizable pile of snow, he gestured to the guards to lift the shield. Then, he conjured up a small vortex that blew the snow from the shield out away from the cave entrance.
Within fifteen seconds, the miniature snowstorm had reached Pádraig, and the young wizard suddenly realized that ‘concealed’ did not mean ‘invisible.’
“There!” the journeyman shouted, pointing to where the young apprentice wizard stood out in the darkness like a child’s snowman. “Get h—”
The rest of the exhortation sounded like a gurgle, as Brynmor’s arrow struck him in the throat.
Isla signaled for the remainder of her troops and, along with Finbar, rushed to Pádraig’s aid.
As they ran toward Pádraig, short swords raised, the three members of the security forces went down with arrows in their chests.
Pádraig, instead of expanding the concealment spell to include the snow, dispensed with it, drew his hand-and-a-half sword from the scabbard slung across his back, and he and Isla handily dispatched the two Northmen in le
ss than a minute.
Finbar caught two more guards as they exited the cave, and gave them a lesson on the proper use of a quarterstaff, before knocking them both senseless.
The other dwarfs had arrived, but Isla held up a hand for them to hold their positions.
Brynmor and Cadwgawn approached the cave, arrows notched. Joined by Finbar, Pádraig, and Isla, they peered into the opening. The path into the cave slanted downward for about six rods before flattening out. No one else could be seen, only the glow of small campfires farther off inside.
“Bring up the wagons just tuh the tree line,” Isla instructed her dwarfs. “From there, have the lads carry the trunks over here and stuff ’em intuh the cave. But be quiet about it.”
* * *
The stocky dwarfs, strong as oxen, had no trouble at all moving the logs from the wagons to the cave opening. After a couple dwarfs with war hammers dragged the two unconscious guards into the forest, the remainder of them didn’t just plug up the opening itself, they quietly stopped up the slanted passageway first, then used a second batch of logs to plug up the opening.
“Nobody’s getting out this way,” Griogair told Isla. “What now?”
Instead of answering, she looked at Pádraig and raised both an eyebrow and a palm.
“You know the air vents you showed me in the mountainside where your mines are?” Pádraig asked her.
“Aye. So?”
“The rebels have them from here to the beachhead. We need your troops to get them plugged, too.”
“Are you sure you want to go that far?” Finbar asked.
“Da, if there are over two hundred Northmen in that cave, like Cadwgawn figures, can we really take a chance on mere containment?”
“But, Paddy, how will they find the vents in the dark?”
“By smell.” The young wizard turned and tossed two energy balls at the logs blocking the cave opening. So powerful were they that even as wet as the tree trunks had become, sitting out in the open, the wood immediately burst into flames—flames that quickly spread to the second batch of logs.
The pair of dwarfs who had dragged off the two unconscious guards took their war hammers, blood still dripping from the hammer heads, and struck the logs propping open the section of forest floor. The trapdoor slammed shut with a gigantic thud.
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 2) Page 32