“I’m Brian,” Siollán told the two guardsmen on the afternoon watch, as he carried the prisoner’s supper tray to the guards’ table. “I hope your comrades from the day watch filled you in on me.”
“The potwalloper? The former pig farmer with no sense of smell?” one of the guards said. “Yep, they told us. And it’s a good thing, too. If the chamber pot weren’t bad enough, the odor from the cesspit is enough to choke a goat.”
Siollán set the tray down on the table, then looked over at Pádraig. “Vegetable pottage, rye bread, and ale,” he said. “They had two kinds of pottage, tonight. One with meat and one with fish. I thought you’d prefer the fish. If not, how about if you pretend, anyway, so as not to hurt my feelings.”
“I’m sure I’ll enjoy it,” the young wizard replied, picking up on the word ‘pretend,’ and realizing that Siollán was telling him to pretend that the meal was drugged.
The bowman looked at one of the guards and pointed at the cast-iron chamber pot sitting outside the cell by the pass-through door.
“Honored Sir?” the first guard said to Pádraig. “Please assume the position.”
When the wizard had moved to the far wall, with his back to the cell door, the guard gestured to the chamber pot, and Siollán went and picked it up.
“See you in a half hour,” the bowman announced, as he left the dungeon.
Once he had exited, the guards crossed to the cell, opened the pass-through door, and slid Pádraig’s tray through to him.
* * *
On this trip, Siollán picked up both the piggin and the tray with the drugged food, and took them through the postern to the cesspit outside the fortress wall.
This time, the guard didn’t wait until the stench of the chamber pot assaulted his nose. He stepped back well before the bowman reached him, muttering, “Better you than me,” as Siollán passed.
After scraping the food into the pit, he emptied the chamber pot and rinsed it.
Again concealing the piggin and the tray with the utensils behind the silver-dust bush, he crossed back into the keep and down the stone steps to the dungeon. Pádraig had finished his meal, and the tray with the bowl, spoon, and tankard sat on the floor by the guards’ table, along with the tray from the wizard’s midday meal.
The bowman exchanged the chamber pot for the two trays and called over to Pádraig. “Enjoy your meal, did you, Honored Sir?”
“That I did, Soldier,” Pádraig replied. “Honestly. And I’m not pretending, either. See you tomorrow.”
* * *
With the chamber pot back in its usual place and Siollán gone from the dungeon, Pádraig got up from his stool, feigned a yawn, and ambled over to the corner by the chamber pot. There, he cleared his mind and once again moved the magic-blocking barrier another inch away from the stone wall.
After washing his hands with the water from the piggin on his table, the young wizard bade his guards a good night and crossed to his cot. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he flexed his shoulder a few times.
The Revered Neasán had stopped in at midday, as he always did, to change the dressing on Pádraig’s arrow wound, received when he had been captured up in The Uplands. Earlier the tall, thin, journeyman wizard had remarked about how well the injury was healing:
“It’s looking good, Pádraig. Healing nicely. You should be back to normal in no time. It’s a shame, though, about the magic-blocking spell in here or we’d have mended it forthwith.”
“I’d be more than happy to accompany you outside the dungeon, Revered Sir,” the apprentice wizard told him.
“Oh, I’m sure you would,” Neasán replied with a slight chuckle. “But I think we’ll just let things take their course in a natural manner.”
Pádraig smiled at him. “Yes. Sometimes the old ways are the best ways.”
“Indeed.”
Satisfied that his wound had almost fully healed, Pádraig again faked a yawn, laid down with his back toward the cell door, pulled the blanket up over himself, and pretended to drift off to sleep, all the while making plans for his future escape.
Hazelday - Bear 53rd
Árainn Shire
Soaring high above the eastern slope of Stob Bàn, just below Droim Fiaclach, a fish hawk looked down on the thatched hut belonging to the Esteemed Sléibhín.
The bird had arrived about mid-morning, just in time to observe the oblate wizard leave on horseback for one of his herb-and-plant foraging ventures. Now, in the middle of the afternoon, it had been circling above the little cottage for over four hours, taking periodic rest breaks on one of the higher limbs of a large pine tree close by. During those respites, it had intermittently let out shrieks to announce its presence, but none had resulted in Pádraig making an appearance.
Again, the hawk spiraled down from the sky and came to rest on the tree limb. From there, it glided to the ground and hopped over to the shed that was attached to the hut, only to find it empty.
Flapping its giant brown-and-white wings, the bird took to the air once more. This time, though, it ventured northeastward into Cairbrigh Shire, tracking the north-south Central Road that bisected the Northern Shires from Saltwater Bay to Fortress Béarra. Although it spotted some traffic along the road, none of the travelers included Pádraig and Killian. Halfway to the Cairbrigh-Béarra Shire border, it circled around and returned to Sléibhín’s cottage.
From its perch on the pine tree, the bird looked around in the quickly-fading light for a few minutes before floating down to the ground. Again, it checked out the shed. The only animal inside the single stall was Hilma, the oblate wizard’s small, tan mare.
Flapping back up into the tree, the hawk decided to spend the night there. If Pádraig didn’t return by early morning, the bird would start its two-day flight back to Tulach Shire and the Venerable Taliesin, no reply message attached to its leg.
Ashday - Bear 54th
Árainn Shire
Sléibhín had just finished mucking out Hilma’s stall and was in the process of spreading out a bed of fresh straw for the small, shaggy-coated mare, when he heard a series of three whinny-brays from outside the shed attached to his hut. At the doorway, he saw Killian standing out in the yard, absent any tack.
He crossed to the brown mule and stroked its muzzle, as he called out, “Paddy?…Paddy, where are you?”
He received no answer.
Moving to the door of the cottage, the oblate wizard opened the door and called out once more. “Paddy, are you in here?”
Again, there was no answer.
As he slowly returned to the mule, Sléibhín gazed skyward, and a look of matter-of-factness registered on his face. After a deep sigh, he thought, So, it’s happened. I may feel a twinge of regret, Paddy, because I really did grow to like you in the short time we were together, but only a brief twinge. You see, it came out during one of the tutoring sessions at the Academy with the Lady Máiréad. I found out that it was she who was supposed to be selected by the Venerable Taliesin at that Roghnú. But instead, he chose you. When that happened, the Venerable Odhran, who had intended to pick me, then took her in my place. Although I didn’t realize it then, your selection set in motion a series of events that resulted in the death of my ma. Had I been selected at that Roghnú instead of the Lady Máiréad, I might have been awarded my purple mantle a year sooner. Also, I might have learned about fingerthorn as a substitute for foxglove a year sooner. If I had, I might have been able to prevent my ma’s death. So you see, Paddy, ultimately you were responsible for her death; and, for that, I’ve never forgiven you.
Taking hold of the mule’s mane, Sléibhín said to the animal, “Come on, Killian. You must be really hungry and tired. I was just getting ready to feed Hilma. Let’s get you brushed and fed, as well.”
He tried to lead the mule toward the shed, but it stopped and protested with another series of whinny-brays.
“What’s done is done,” the wizard said. “And it can’t be undone. Come on. I’ll spread another bale o
f bedding straw. I’m sure Hilma will enjoy having company again.” As Killian followed him into the stable, Sléibhín said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take you with me when I leave this place. No more deprivation posting for Senseless Sléibhín. The Revered Murchú promised that, right after Between-Season Day, I’d be transferred up to Béarra Shire, close to my da’s horse farm.”
Oakday - Bear 56th
Tulach Shire - Cathair Tulach
From atop the seaward tower, six bells sounded in three groups of two peals each, signaling the end of the third hour of the morning watch.
Next to the keep, ensconced in a carriage hitched to four matched black, draught horses, Kyna, wife of Eógan, Earl of the Western Shires, sat there waiting impatiently. The reason for her irritation was a discussion going on between her husband and the captain of the contingent of Cruachanian Defense Forces stationed at the fortress.
“But, My Lord,” the captain entreated, “if you and the Countess Kyna are going to travel through all three kingdoms, it just makes more sense that you use defense forces to escort you the entire distance. We’ve always accompanied you before when you’ve traveled to Ráth Árainn.”
A squad of defense forces who would serve as escort had already mounted up and were awaiting Eógan’s signal to move out. Their dark-blue tabards, as well as their round shields, displayed a gold tríbhís—the conjoined triple spiral symbolizing the confederation—with a lightning bolt in its center. The soldiers sat there, wrapped in their dark-blue capes, anxious to get going, as the onshore wind whipsawed them.
Huddled in his cloak, astride a light-chestnut stallion with a flaxen mane and tail, the earl looked down at the captain and replied, “I appreciate that, but the party is splitting up at the four corners of Callainn, Árainn, Cairbrigh, and Gabhrán Shires. I’m going to Ráth Árainn, and the countess is journeying on up to Cathair Béarra to visit our daughter. You just don’t have that many men to spare for that long a time.”
“We can pick up a second squad at Dúnfort Cruachan,” the captain persisted.
“Captain, my mind’s made up. Once we’ve reached Dúnfort Cruachan, I’ll release your men, then send word to both Ráth Gabhrán and Ráth Callainn. They’ll each provide a squad of security forces to conduct us the remainder of the way through the Northern Shires.”
Realizing that the earl was not going to budge on this issue, the captain sighed and, with a slight bow of his head, said, “As you wish, My Lord.”
Before giving the signal to get started, though, Eógan said, “But I am grateful for your offer, Captain.”
He gestured to the squad leader of the military escort and the party started up—the squad leader, a bowman, and a lanceman, followed by the coach with the Countess Kyna and her lady’s maid, with the earl riding alongside, then the wagon with Kyna’s personal belongings, and a swordsman, lanceman, and three bowmen bringing up the rear.
Observing the proceedings from the doorway of the keep, Taliesin, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Western Shires, waited until Eógan and his party had exited the fortress through the main gate, then pulled the hood up on his black, wool cloak, and headed across the ward to the stables. It would take him the better part of the day to ride to where a meeting of his fellow Watchmen would take place.
* * *
The fish hawk had returned to the top floor of the five-story round tower on Taliesin’s island, in the middle of Salmon River, the night before, no message from Pádraig tied to its leg.
The elderly master wizard had emptied his mind, gently put his hands on either side of the bird’s head, closed his eyes, and cast a spell that would allow him to see what the hawk had seen during the days that it had been gone, searching for the young apprentice wizard. The experience had turned out to be dizzying, as Taliesin speeded up the memory of the bird circling Sléibhín’s cottage on the eastern slope of Stob Bàn in Árainn Shire, rising and falling with the thermals. The wizard also observed the empty shed and the road to the north and back.
When Taliesin had finally broken the spell, he attached a message of his own to the fish hawk’s leg and had sent the bird southeast to Finbar at the Fort Ceatharlach forge, then farther east to the Tangled Woods of Muraisc Shire in the Kingdom of the Eastern Shires to search out the elfin Watchmen, Brynmor and Cadwgawn.
Oakday - Bear 56th
Béarra Shire - Cathair Béarra
With the wind picking up and the snow falling heavier, Máiréad’s training had been moved back inside Fortress Béarra. The exercise of the day had her sitting in her chambers on the second floor of the keep, mentally probing that floor as well as the floors above and below, in an attempt to detect the presence of the apprentice and journeyman wizards whom the Venerable Odhran had placed in various rooms throughout the building. They had been at it for most of the day, with only two hours off for the midday meal and brief rest breaks, morning and afternoon. So far, the young apprentice wizard had sailed through every drill, accurately pinpointing each wizard without misidentifying any of the other people who roamed the keep.
Now that break-time was over, and Odhran had once more rearranged his underlings, Máiréad closed her eyes and again mentally explored her surroundings as deeply as she could manage, trying her best to separate out the various people whom her mind encountered as her mental probe extended outward, upward, and downward. As she sensed each of her fellow wizards, she called out their names and locations.
The Revered Neasán, standing by the door to her chambers, checked the names off the list he held, without telling her whether or not her identifications had been correct. Although his countenance did not betray any emotion, the journeyman wizard was privately in awe of her abilities.
It won’t be long until she receives her blue mantle, he thought, then, who knows? There’ll come a day when we’ll all be working for her. He smiled inwardly. But if that is the will of An Fearglas, so be it. He mentally performed the ritual act of submission. She has been given a remarkable gift.
All of a sudden Máiréad’s eyes snapped open and she sat bolt upright on her stool, as if struck by an energy spike. Cocking her head to one side and frowning, she thought, Paddy?!
“My Lady?” the tall, thin, journeyman wizard asked. “Are you all right?”
“It…it’s been a long day, Revered Sir,” she lied. “I just lost my concentration for a moment. Sorry. Let me continue.”
Calming herself, Máiréad again probed to the farthest reaches of her mind—so far, in fact, that she could detect the soldiers in the garrison and the horses in the stable. But, there was no sense of Pádraig. Not anywhere.
Why do I continue thinking about him? she wondered. What do I have to do to prevent him from intruding into my mind?
But after experiencing so many thoughts and feelings of her former soul friend over the past week or so, she no longer exhibited the anger or frustration that had vexed her at first. And, with those experiences, she found that the prior hurt and the anger she had exhibited toward Pádraig had dissipated considerably.
Although time might not have healed Máiréad’s wounds, it had reduced the pain of them considerably.
Resuming the exercise, she correctly identified four more of Odhran’s minions. Then, as suddenly as it had happened the first time, off in the farthest reaches of her awareness, she again sensed the former love of her life. But, just as quickly, the sensation winked out.
What’s going on? she mentally questioned. He’s all the way down in Árainn Shire. He shouldn’t…Or is he?
Six more to go, Máiréad, thought, and quickly identified Odhran’s half-dozen remaining subordinates.
After a slight smile and a nod from Neasán, she said, “That’s all I can handle for today, Revered Sir. I’m tired and hungry.”
“Very well, My Lady. The Venerable Odhran will be pleased with how you’ve fared. Your training is progressing nicely. You’ve earned your rest. I’ll meet with our master and see what he has in store for you tomorrow.” With that, the
journeyman wizard turned and exited the room.
* * *
As he returned from the corner which contained the chamber pot and sat on his cot, Pádraig tried his best not to smile.
Half-inch by half-inch, over the time he had been incarcerated, he had managed to move the magic-blocking barrier in his cell two feet out from the right-hand wall. With his back up against that wall, his body now fit in the unblocked space. Twice in the last hour, he had attempted a personal concealment spell for just under ten seconds each time. Both tests had worked perfectly. Not wanting to push his luck by trying the spell again or for an extended time period, lest the Venerable Odhran or the Revered Neasán detect the use of magic, he had quit, confident that when he needed to use it, it would work as he had planned. Although he was also convinced that he could, in fact, cancel the magic-blocking spell from the two-foot space beyond its barrier, he refrained from doing so, deciding, instead, to let things play out a while longer, so that he could get a better idea of what the rebels’ plans were.
Wonder what’s for supper, tonight? Pádraig mused. And how will I alert Siollán when the time for escape has come?
* * *
After the Revered Neasán had left her quarters, Máiréad had continued to sit there for a few minutes. As much as she tried, though, she couldn’t shake the dual impressions she had just had of Pádraig. Thoughts of him were becoming all too frequent of late, and it troubled her deeply.
For over ten years, she had harbored a seething resentment and an anger toward him that had almost consumed her. Resentment, because she had been so sure that the Venerable Taliesin would pick her at that year’s Selection. Anger, because she had blamed Pádraig for somehow stealing that honor from her, despite his many protestations to the contrary. But now, with these recent intrusions into her thoughts, the hurt she had fostered over the years was gradually becoming tempered with concern—the same trepidation she had felt when Pádraig and Liam had been kidnapped all those many years ago.
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan Page 22