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

by Bill Stackhouse

  After a nod from Isla, Griogair shouted, “Yuh heard the wizard, lads. Mount up and get those noses working.”

  While the dwarfs fanned out across The Uplands, hunting for the air vents, Finbar took Pádraig aside for a private conversation.

  Isla, who had been standing next to the two elves, arms folded across her substantial bosom, looked up at Brynmor and said, “I think our young wizard has grown up considerably.”

  Not glancing down at her, he let out a small sigh and replied, simply, “But at what cost?”

  “Cost, Paleface? Northmen and a bunch of traitors, is what. No cost whatsoever, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Cost to him, Dwarf,” Brynmor snapped.

  “To him?”

  “Odhran? The Northman he slew with his sword, without giving it a second thought? However many security forces in that cave with the Northmen who do not consider themselves traitors, but patriots?…He has crossed a line that can never be uncrossed. I fear what that might do to him. Mentally.”

  Isla switched her gaze to Cadwgawn. “Your feelings on this, Young Paleface?”

  Unlike his father, he did make eye contact with her. “Perhaps I am a bit more hopeful than my da, and that Paddy will be able to compartmentalize.”

  “Compartmentalize?”

  “That he will be able to differentiate between Pádraig the warrior, Pádraig the wizard, and Paddy the man. And that once this war is over and done with, he will be able to close the door on the ‘Pádraig the warrior’ compartment.”

  “Your son is not as world-weary as we are, Brynmor,” the dwarf said.

  A very thin trace of a smile appeared on the elder elf’s lips, as he clasped Cadwgawn’s shoulder. “And my hope is that he manages to always stay that way, Isla.”

  * * *

  “The fastest way for me to get to Dúnfort Cruachan,” Pádraig said, “is to travel with you down the Coastal Road to Ráth Árainn, then cut across south of the Sawtooth Mountains to the Central Road. By the time we arrive at the ráth, my guess is that Eógan and his security forces will have already taken it, imprisoned the defense forces, and set out for Ráth Callainn. I’m not so much concerned with Ráth Árainn, because Murchú and any other journeyman wizards will have gone south with Eógan; however, if I leave you at Ráth Árainn, you’ll be wizardless when you arrive at Ráth Callainn, and that’s where you’re really going to need some magic on your side.” He thought for a moment, then said, “Unless…”

  “Unless, what?” Finbar asked. He, the elves, and Isla had been sitting around one of the campfires, strategizing.

  The young wizard looked across the fire at Cadwgawn. “How fast can you and Taran make it to Cathair Béarra?”

  “Six hours, give or take.”

  “What’s at Cathair Béarra, laddie?” Isla asked.

  “Not a ‘what,’” he replied. “A ‘who.’ Two journeyman wizards whose hearts were not at all committed to the insurrection—Neasán, the senior journeyman wizard in Béarra Shire, and Labhrás, another journeyman. I need Neasán up there; but, if you could go and bring Labhrás, you’ll have yourselves a journeyman wizard at your disposal when you reach Ráth Callainn.”

  “Will he come?” Finbar asked.

  “If he knows what’s good for him, he will,” Pádraig answered. To Cadwgawn, he said, “I’ll give you a note to take to Neasán. Also, I had originally planned on getting to Dúnfort Cruachan on Fox Second. Now that I’ll be traveling with the group, here, to Ráth Árainn, rather than having to double back north of the mountains to the Central Road, I should make it a day sooner. Neasán was to send a message to Ríoghán, so that the prince received it on the third, detailing what happened over at Cathair Béarra and up at North Head. Have him send his message, so that it gets to the prince on the second, instead. Also, fill Neasán in on the Northman situation, as well, and have him include that in his report. I want Ríoghán to fully understand that no reinforcements are coming to assist him. Whatever troops he has with him are all he’s ever going to have.”

  Cadwgawn got to his feet. “Write your note, Paddy. I will go saddle Taran.”

  Before the younger elf could leave, however, Brynmor said, “Just a minute,” and picked up a stick. Scratching a crude map in the snow, he continued, “If you bring Labhrás down the Central Road, then across Árainn Shire south of the mountains, you could link up with us somewhere between Ráth Árainn and Ráth Callainn.”

  “Lamb’s Head Bay,” Pádraig said. “That’s probably where I’m going to leave the rest of you.”

  “Lamb’s Head Bay it is, then,” Cadwgawn replied. “I will see you there on Between-Season Day.”

  Hollyday - Bear 63rd

  Béarra Shire - North Head

  The watch bell on top of the garrison tolled twice, with a pause, then once more, marking one-and-a-half hours into the first watch. The knells interfered with no one’s sleep. All the members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces were wide awake and at their assigned posts. The Security Forces of the Northern Shires were in the garrison’s dungeon, also awake, pondering what their impending punishment might be for sedition.

  Regardless of having an official title of swordsman or lanceman, because of cross-training, tonight every defense forces soldier was a bowman. Those on top of the garrison ramparts gazed out toward the sea. Their comrades, either on the bluffs overlooking the beachhead, or on the beach itself, kept watch on the opening to the underground cave that they had blocked up with logs that had been dumped over the cliffs onto the beach.

  The snow had let up some time ago, and the two moons lit up the clear sky almost as if it were daylight.

  Iollan, stationed midway down the winding path from the garrison to the beach, muttered, “I sure hope this goes down tonight. I don’t know if the lads can stay on top of their game if we miss too much sleep and have to keep this up night after night.”

  “It will, sir,” Siollán replied, standing next to the squad leader. He had traded his dark-red livery of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires for the dark-blue of the Cruachanian Defense Forces. “So far everything has gone just as it did over at Cathair Béarra.”

  At the twosome’s feet burned a small campfire; however, it provided little warmth. That was not its purpose.

  In the early evening, the first three sea-currachs had rounded North Head. As the security forces had done at Fortress Béarra the day before, the defense forces at North Head had rung the watch bell for a full two minutes in welcome. Now, with the last of the twelve currachs having passed some hours ago, it had become a waiting game.

  Iollan’s eyes were drawn to the cave opening, as a contingent of bowman closed in on it, arrows notched. He could detect movement among the logs. So, too, had the bowmen on the beach, who began to fire into the wood barricade. That was the sign for which Siollán had been waiting; and, he stood there impatiently, his bow in his left hand and an arrow wrapped with a lamp-oil-soaked rag in the other.

  The captain beckoned for more bowman to join in. As another contingent arrived, they also began firing their arrows into any gaps in the barrier.

  In addition to the movement of the logs, wisps of smoke began to curl out from the cave. No one had counted on this development, but the captain quickly signaled to a handful of troops on the bluffs right above the opening.

  Those soldiers pushed two barrels over the side of the cliff, both crashing down onto the logs sticking out, breaking apart and spilling their contents of lamp oil over the entire blockage.

  Raising an arm and pointing it up at Iollan, the captain rapidly brought it down in a slashing motion.

  The squad leader glanced at the bowman next to him and yelled a single command—“Fire!”

  Siollán dipped his arrow into the flames at this feet, notched it, and let it fly toward the cave opening.

  As the soldiers on the beach watched the blazing arrow arc through the darkness, they each fired one more of their own arrows into the logs before retreating some two
rods back toward the shore.

  Siollán’s arrow stuck into the centermost section of logs, and, within ten seconds, there was a gigantic ‘Whoosh!’ as the barricade became engulfed in an inferno.

  The members of the defense forces cheered loudly, but only until their ovations became drowned out by the screams coming from the cave.

  An eerie quite descended on the soldiers, as they stood there listening to the cries of anguish.

  After about thirty seconds, the captain shouted, “Move up, lads! Don’t let ’em burn! Finish off as many as you can, as quickly as you can!…And may An Fearglas have mercy on their mutinous souls.”

  At the mention of the Deity’s holy name, no one bothered with the ritual act of submission. In silence, every bowmen moved forward, firing into the gaps in the burning logs at those inside who were trying desperately to escape.

  Soon there was silence—both from inside as well as outside the cave. However, the quiet was shortly broken by the tolling of the watch bell.

  All eyes went to the top of the garrison, where the troops stationed on the ramparts pointed out to sea. In the light of the two moons, three Northmen longships could be seen approaching from less than a mile out to where the Sea of the Evening met the Sea of the Dawn.

  The warriors on all three crafts dropped their sails, and the boats sat there bobbing in the water. After about three minutes, one of the longships, under oar-power, advanced toward the beachhead on a reconnaissance run.

  The fire in the cave opening still burned brightly, and the soldiers retreated to their pre-assigned defensive positions, the swordsmen and lancemen retrieving their primary weapons, while still holding on to their bows and quivers.

  Having moved to within a half furlong of the beach, the longboat came to a stop, while those on board assessed the situation.

  The moonlight, which had allowed the defense forces to see the Northmen, also permitted the enemy to gather intelligence about the military status on the beach.

  As the soldiers held their positions in silence, they looked at their comrades and ran the calculations in their minds. They had roughly six squads of seven men each—a total force of forty-some men. Each of the longships carried seventy Northmen.

  Knowing what his men were thinking, the captain called out, “I make it just about an even contest, according to skill level.”

  Chuckles and snickers rippled through his ranks, as the tension began to diminish somewhat.

  At least ten minutes passed, then the longship retreated to where its companion vessels waited. After another few minutes, all three ships turned northward, raised their sails, and headed for home.

  The defense forces maintained their silence. But once the last ship had disappeared over the horizon, pandemonium broke out on the beach.

  “So the Honored Pádraig and Máiréad were right,” Iollan said, throwing an arm around Siollán’s shoulders.

  “That they were,” the bowman replied, beaming with pride. “And we got to be a part of it.”

  * * *

  “It’s still a possibility that they might return,” the captain of the Cruachanian Defense Forces said to the squad and section leaders who had gathered for a brief after-action review, “but highly unlikely. Iollan, I know the lads want to celebrate, but have them get to bed. I need your squad to ride out at first light for Cathair Béarra. Give the captain a full report on what happened here tonight.”

  “Yes, sir,” the squad leader replied.

  “About the cave?” one of the section leaders asked. “There had to be a couple of hundred Northmen and quite a few members of the security forces in there.”

  “I’ll talk to the captain of the security forces and see if he’ll tell me how many. Meanwhile, leave two squads on guard at the opening all night. Let it burn itself out. Tomorrow we’ll decide whether to unplug the opening and hunt for survivors or leave it as is for a while longer.”

  Another squad leader asked, “Where did the initial smoke come from? Whoever was inside was trying to escape from smoke long before we ever ignited those logs.”

  “My guess is someone at the other end of the cave did the same thing we did. Plugged the opening and set it on fire. Poor rogues didn’t stand a chance.”

  “Well,” Iollan said, as he got up from his stool to gather his squad, “I won’t be shedding any tears for them. Hopefully, the Honored Pádraig has gotten word all the way down the line about the start of the rebellion and the powers that be are ready for Prince Ríoghán and Earl Eógan, when the rebels arrive at the border.”

  “I think the fact that the cave was blocked at the other end is probably a pretty good sign that he has,” the captain replied. “Okay. Good night, Iollan. The rest of you, stay sharp.”

  Oakday - Bear 64th

  Árainn Shire - Ráth Árainn

  Early into the evening watch, the dwarf army galloped down on the fort, puzzled at the cheers from the skeleton contingent of security forces who had been left behind when Earl Eógan, journeyman wizard Murchú, and the bulk of the rebels had left for Fort Callainn, after overpowering the defense forces and imprisoning them.

  Having been told that the Northman would be coming down the Coastal Road from Béarra Shire to buttress the forces at Saltwater Bay, the guards, upon seeing strange-looking horsemen charging toward the fort in the fading light of the evening, thought them to be their awaited allies. Only when the riders had gotten within a quarter furlong did someone actually recognize them for who they actually were; but, by then, it was far too late to prevent the inevitable. The fort was overrun and more than a dozen defenders killed in the process, whether they needed to be or not.

  After turning control of the fort over to the Cruachanian Defense Forces and replacing them in the dungeon with the surviving members of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, Pádraig, Finbar, Isla, and Brynmor retreated to the great hall of the keep, where the captain of the defense forces briefed them on the number and types of forces with Eógan, and the time that the earl had left for Fort Callainn.

  Pádraig asked that Ruari be brought in, to ascertain if the Steward of Árainn Shire had any other pertinent information to offer.

  The man was defiant. “You’re too late,” he said, a trace of a sneer on his lips. “The liberation of the Northern Shires has begun, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.”

  “Is that what yuh’re calling it, laddie?” Isla asked. “Because there are quite a few of us here in the Northern Shires who happen to like things the way they are.”

  “Nothing will change for the dwarfs,” Ruari said. Then, holding up a forefinger, he sniggered. “Actually, one thing will change which I think you’ll welcome. You’ll no longer have to pay taxes to the Central Federal Region.”

  Isla looked over at Finbar and said, “Hmm. The lad does make a good point.” Then with a head-shake that sent her braids flapping, she continued. “Nae. I dinna think so. Now why dinna yuh tell us what yuh know?”

  “I already have. The liberation of the Northern Shires has begun. And you’re too late to stop it.” He raised his right arm into the air with a closed fist and shouted, “Long live the Northern Alliance.”

  In a fluid motion, Isla drew her hand-and-a-half sword from the scabbard across her back, and as she said, “But not so much yuhself, laddie,” she ran him through.

  “Can you please stop doing that?!” Finbar rebuked her, as the dwarf wiped her sword blade on the steward’s tunic.

  “He might have had valuable information, that I possibly could have extracted from him,” Pádraig added.

  “And what would he know that the captain, here, doesn’t?” she asked.

  “We’ll never know, now, will we?” the young wizard replied.

  Isla looked over at Brynmor, and raised a palm, as if to ask, ‘Well, are yuh going tuh support me?’

  The elf shook his head. “Finn and Paddy are right, this time, Dwarf. You should have let him live until after we finished questioning him.”

&nb
sp; Letting out a sigh, she said, “Water under the bridge. Let’s get some supper and figure out tomorrow’s agenda.”

  * * *

  Pádraig entered the shire reeve’s lock-up and found Cian and his two deputies sitting on stools, guarded by a section leader and a swordsman from the Cruachanian Defense Forces.

  “Crime way down, here in Árainn Shire, Reeve?” the young wizard asked.

  Cian answered, wryly. “About the same, Honored Sir. Some livestock rustling up toward Béarra Shire. Reports of a highwayman plying his trade over on the Central Road. The usual number of tavern fights.”

  “And you can investigate all those offenses from right here in the comfort of your office? Man-oh-man, you are really good at your job.”

  The Reeve of Árainn Shire gestured to the two members of the defense forces, but didn’t speak.

  “How long have you been based at Ráth Árainn?” Pádraig asked the section leader.

  “A little over two years now, Honored Sir.”

  “In that time, have you ever known Cian or his deputies to be political?”

  “No, sir. Never.”

  The young wizard looked over at the reeve. “Do you plan on starting now?”

  Cian shook his head. “Regardless of who controls the kingdom, or who we report to, me and my deputies serve the people of Árainn Shire.”

  “Good. Now why don’t you get out of here and resume doing just that. For the moment, you’ll be reporting to the captain of the defense forces.” To the section leader, he said, “You’ll let your commander know?”

  “It’ll be my pleasure, Honored Sir.” He clapped Cian on the back, as he and the swordsman left the lock-up.

  Oakday - Bear 64th

  Iorras Shire

  Late in the evening, the sea-currach from Blessed Island dropped its sails and entered the inlet to Saltwater Bay without incident. With members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces providing oar-power, the boat approached the docks belonging to the Kingdom of the Western Shires near Fort Iorras and anchored there.