All four had arrived within a half hour of each other.
The elderly wizard had reached the fort from Fortress Tulach, in the shire just to the west of Báinigh Shire. Summoned by the wizard’s fish hawk, Finbar had come from Fort Ceatharlach, in the shire just to the south, and Brynmor and Cadwgawn had ridden over from the Tangled Woods.
Taliesin had just broken the news to the other three that Pádraig had not returned to Sléibhín’s on the fifty-third, the date he had said that he would be there.
“He flew up the Central Road halfway to Béarra Shire and even waited an extra day,” the wizard said, speaking of the hawk. “He found no sign of Pádraig, I’m afraid.”
Finbar, who had sat there silently, finally spoke up. “I only wish we had a better idea of the timing of this plot.”
“I fear it might be soon,” Taliesin replied. “Earl Eógan and Countess Kyna left Cathair Tulach this morning for the Northern Shires. He, for Ráth Árainn; and she, for Cathair Béarra.”
“At least, they will be under the watchful eyes of their defense forces escort,” Cadwgawn offered. “Perhaps, we can glean something from the commander.”
The wizard shook his head. “The defense forces are going only as far as Dúnfort Cruachan. From there, the earl and countess will pick up contingents of Security Forces of the Northern Shires to ride with them the remainder of the way to their respective destinations.”
A frowning Finbar glanced over at Brynmor.
The elder of the two elves said, “Even though it is late, we can spend the night at Ráth Luíne, and be at the dúnfort late tomorrow afternoon.”
His son, Cadwgawn, nodded his agreement, then asked, “Is it time we told the High King, or at the very least Prince Liam, about what we suspect?”
Up until then, Liam had been led to believe that his kidnapping, years before, had been at the hands of bandits and horse thieves.
“Hold off on informing Déaglán, for now,” Taliesin told them. “But, Cadwgawn’s right. We do need to bring the prince up to speed. Use your judgment, Finn, on just how much to tell him.”
“We need to tell him the whole story,” Finbar replied. “Not only about Paddy’s current mission, but about what we suspect the real reason was that both of them were kidnapped ten years ago.”
“Like I said,” the elderly wizard reiterated, “use your judgment. And watch the sky. My winged friend will lead you directly to Sléibhín’s hut on the eastern slope of Stob Bàn, just below Droim Fiaclach. I feel the answers to Pádraig’s whereabouts start there. When you know something…anything…send the hawk back to me with a message.”
As the farrier and the elves rose from their stools, Taliesin raised a forefinger. “He’s a lazy bird, Finn. He’d much prefer a piece of fish caught by someone else, rather than exert the effort to catch his own.”
Finbar clapped the wizard on the back. “We’ll take good care of him, Venerable Sir, and let you know just as soon as we discover anything.”
Yewday - Bear 57th
Central Federal Region - Dúnfort Cruachan
“Ten years?!” Liam shouted. “For over ten years you let me believe that my kidnapping was the work of bandits and horse thieves?! Now, you tell me that it was really a plot hatched by Eógan, Odhran, and Cabhan to kill me, blaming it on the outlaws, so that the High King would name Eógan as deputy king in my place, and then have my da killed, so that Eógan would become King of the Western Shires? And that with both the Western and Northern shires under rebel control, they would bring back the Northman overlords, overthrow the confederation, and install Cabhan as High King?”
Finbar sat on the anvil in the citadel’s forge. Brynmor stood leaning up against the back wall. He and Cadwgawn, who was stoking the fire in the hearth, were content to allow the farrier to take the lead in their discussion with the crown prince. The trio had arrived at the end of the afternoon watch from Fort Luíne in the Eastern Shires.
“I think His Highness has a pretty good grasp of the situation, Finn,” Brynmor finally said.
“Why?!” Liam barked. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or, go directly to the High King with your suspicions?”
Finbar looked up at him and said, calmly, “Two reasons, Your Highness. Number one, because that’s all they were—suspicions. We had no solid evidence. To accuse a king, an earl, and a master wizard of high treason? It would have been sheer folly. And, number two, because we deemed that we had foiled the plot. You were rescued. Paddy was rescued. And the conspiracy fell apart.”
Liam looked from one to the other. Locking eyes with Finbar last, he asked, warily, “Why tell me all this now?”
“Because we have reason to believe that the treachery has been resurrected.”
“They’re going to try it again? Overthrow the Confederation and crown Cabhan High King?”
“I don’t think they can be quite that ambitious, this time,” Finbar said. “But, they’re definitely up to something.”
“Based on what?”
“We’ve received some intelligence of strange goings on up at North Head. From what we’ve heard, the Kingdom of the Northern Shires is expanding the beachhead there.”
“You know this for a fact?” Liam asked.
“No, Your Highness. Not for a fact.”
“Well, let’s send someone up there to look around? How difficult can that be?”
Finbar glanced at Brynmor. The elf gave an almost imperceptible nod.
“Do you remember Lairgnen?” the farrier asked.
“Of course,” the prince replied. “The elderly troubadour who was with us when we rescued Paddy from the kidnappers up in Cairbrigh Shire.”
“Less than a month ago, Lairgnen went up to North Head to investigate. He died up there.”
“What?” Liam responded. “How?”
“That we do not know, Your Highness,” Cadwgawn finally joined the conversation. “It was reported as an accident. That he lost his footing on the cliffs and fell to his death.”
“Well, let’s send someone else.”
“We have,” Finbar replied. “Paddy went up there to have a look around. He hasn’t been seen nor heard from since.”
“I thought you said that you three were going up to Árainn Shire to see him. And that you thought I might like to accompany you.”
“No, Your Highness. I said that we were going up North to see Paddy, and that we’d welcome your company.”
“Well, you’re going to get my company, all right, Finbar. And a contingent of defense forces, as well. When do we leave? I’ll talk to my da tonight and get everything arranged.”
“No, Your Highness. Just you—”
“What do you mean, ‘No’? If we have to scour the entire Northern Shires, we’re going to—”
“Absolutely not, Your Highness. Remember reason number one? All we have are suspicions. And, if those suspicions are correct, a contingent of defense forces is only going to tip our hand that we suspect something’s in the works. All anyone needs to know is that we’re going on a friendly visit to see Paddy where he’s currently on assignment. You, me, Brynmor, Cadwgawn, and two of your best swordsmen. That’s all. And no uniforms or livery. You and your men will dress like you do for a hunt.”
“But I have to let the High King know.”
“Know what? When we actually do know something, then, yes, most assuredly. But, right now, we know nothing. The four of us and two swordsmen. That’s it. If you tell your da, you’ll have an entire company of defense forces pouring over the border, and we’ll lose the element of surprise. And should that happen, and if Paddy’s still alive, he won’t be for long.”
“It is better this way, Your Highness,” Brynmor said. “You must trust us on this.”
After a few moments, Liam sighed and asked, “When do we leave?”
“First light, tomorrow,” Finbar replied. “And, Your Highness, neither of the swordsmen should be from the Northern Shires.”
“They won’t be. Both of the men I have
in mind are from the Western Shires. Men I’ve known for years, in whom I have complete trust.”
Yewday - Bear 57th
Béarra Shire - Cathair Béarra
Máiréad’s training session of the day had been an exercise in shape-shifting, where the Revered Neasán had pointed to an assortment of objects, and the young apprentice wizard had endeavored to take on their form.
They had started outside, with a walk through the forest surrounding Fortress Béarra. By midday, Máiréad had successfully turned herself into a number of boulders, logs, and medium-size trees, as well as a small, one-person coracle that they had found pulled up and tipped upside-down on the shore of Loch Crystal. The only complete failure she had had was when she had attempted to take the shape of one of the boulders that formed a stepping-stone path across Crystal River. She hadn’t been able to manage mentally separating the rock from the icy water that flowed out from the spring-fed loch. That resulted in her being drenched in the stream itself for a few seconds.
Neasán had had to quickly use his magic to heat up a large boulder on the shoreline in order to warm the sputtering young woman and dry her clothes.
Because the wind and snow had intensified during the morning hours, the afternoon session had been moved into the keep. There, Máiréad had shape-shifted into numerous chairs, tables, and chests, and in the great hall, various stuffed animals that were on display.
During breaks and the midday meal, the apprentice wizard had plotted how she and Siollán were going to break Pádraig out of the dungeon that evening. She had been up half the night before, evaluating various schemes. However, they all had failed to conquer the one major hurdle—magic wouldn’t work in the dungeon. And, if she used her magic from outside the dungeon to remove the magic-blocking spell, Odhran would know in an instant.
The plan she had outlined to the bowman the night before only brought them to the dungeon at an appointed time. There was no way to rescue Pádraig without anyone knowing who was responsible for his liberation.
* * *
Siollán had gone about his standard daily routine, except for three variations. Late that afternoon, he had gotten Brian from the stables and had secreted the horse in his hiding place in the thicket of pines about a furlong southwest of the fortress. While he was there in the copse, he had changed out of his uniform, donned buckskin clothing and a tan wool, hooded cloak, and picked up his bow and a full quiver of arrows. Back at the fortress, he had hidden his bow and a quiver behind the same silver-dust bush near the keep that he used to conceal the oak piggin and food tray.
Now, midway into the evening watch, he had just finished rinsing Pádraig’s chamber pot in the cesspit and had returned through the postern to the ward. Once he rehid his bucket and the cleaned supper dishes that had the drugged food, he crossed to the keep carrying the chamber pot, with the bow and quiver slung over his shoulders.
At the head of the steps down to the dungeon, the bowman found the Lady Máiréad waiting for him. She had abandoned her finery for deerskin breeches, tunic, and boots, and a gray wool, hooded cloak. A tan canvas packsack sat beside her, stowed in a corner.
“Are you ready?” she asked.
Siollán shrugged his shoulders. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
She head-gestured toward the steps. “I’ll give you a little lead time.”
Chamber pot in hand, the bowman started down the steps, smiling, as always, and whistling a happy tune. Nodding to the burly guard, he crossed down the few steps into the dungeon, stopped, and announced, “The potwalloper returns. Miss me?”
The two guards, sitting at their table, snickered.
One of them said, “You know the drill by now, Brian.”
Máiréad had given Siollán just enough of a head start so that, as the burly guard turned to watch the bowman enter the dungeon, the apprentice wizard managed to sneak up on him before he had a chance to turn his head back and notice her. Since his post was outside the magic-blocking area, he immediately crumpled into a slumbering heap when she put her left hand on his shoulder.
As soon as Máiréad entered the dungeon, both guards immediately stood.
The first one approached her. “My Lady,” he said, slightly exasperated, “you know you’re not supposed to be down here. Didn’t the Venerable Odhran caution you?”
With the distraction that Máiréad’s presence had created, Pádraig hurriedly, but quietly, crossed from his cot to the space by the wall, beyond the magic-blocking barrier, where he conjured up a personal concealment spell. He had not been prepared to escape this soon; but, with Máiréad locating him, and she and Siollán seemingly taking matters into their own hands, he now had no choice.
Ignoring the guard’s protestation, Máiréad looked over at the cell and quickly crossed to the bars.
“Where have you moved him!?” she shouted, holding on to the bars and pushing her face as far as she could manage between two of them, so that she could peer into the entire enclosure.
Both guards and the bowman glanced over at her. Expressions of astonishment showed on their faces, as well.
The cell appeared empty, except for two little mice that scampered about near the stone wall where the chamber pot normally sat.
Amid epithets from the confused bowman and guards, as they, too, crossed to the bars, Máiréad turned and shouted again, “What have you done with him?!”
“N…nothing, M…My Lady!” the second guard replied, backing up a bit. “Honest! He was just here a minute ago!”
“Open the door!” she commanded. “Right this instant!”
The guard ran back to his table for the key. Quickly returning, he pushed it into the lock and turned it.
The four of them stumbled into the cell, one behind the other. All they saw were the two mice.
“Where is he?!” Máiréad demanded, pushing the first guard back away from her with both hands.
All the man could do was stammer, “I…I…I…I…”
The second guard got down on his knees and looked under the cot. “He’s not here,” the man whined, wondering what the Venerable Odhran would do to them. “He’s not anywhere.”
While the guard was still on his hands and knees, one of the mice started out from the wall toward him. As soon as the rodent had traveled two feet and into the magic-blocking area, it simply vanished.
“What?” the guards and Siollán said, simultaneously, frozen in place and staring at the floor where the little mouse had disappeared.
But Máiréad instinctively knew ‘what.’ She grabbed the cast-iron chamber pot from the bowman and struck the standing guard in the head with it.
The guard, propelled backward toward the one remaining mouse, came very close to crashing into the stone blocks until an invisible force seemed to catch him.
Pádraig stepped away from the wall, and his personal concealment spell, as well as the second mouse, were immediately negated as he encountered the magic-blocking spell.
“Your bow, Brian?” Pádraig said, shoving the stunned guard atop his still-kneeling comrade.
Coming out of his stupor, Siollán quickly took the bow from his shoulder, drawing and notching an arrow.
Máiréad ran to Pádraig’s side and threw her arms around him, kissing him on the neck first, then smacking him on the shoulder and saying, “Showoff!”
The first guard, shaking off the cobwebs from his head, staggered to his feet, drawing his short sword.
His comrade followed suit, inching away from his friend, saying, “Your magic won’t work in here, Honored Sir and Madam.” Looking at Siollán, he continued. “And you have only one arrow, Bowman.”
“Ahh, but which of you wants it?” Siollán responded with a smirk. “And does the other think he’s quick enough to take me out before I can draw, notch, and fire another? Now drop your swords, kick them over here, and sit on the floor.”
The guards looked warily at the bowman, then at each other. It was obvious that neither would make the first move and
die in the process. Therefore, they did as they had been ordered.
While Pádraig went to fetch the sleeping man outside the dungeon, Siollán kept both guards covered, as Máiréad tore strips from the cot’s bedding and tied and gagged them.
Once the burly guard had been bound and gagged, as well, Pádraig grabbed his cloak from the table. Saluting with the tin whistle, he said, “Forget about how much you owe me for my Hazard wins, Guardsmen. The pleasure of your company has been payment enough.”
After locking the cell behind them and tossing the key to the farthest reaches of the dungeon, Pádraig, along with his two co-conspirators, made their exit.
Before going up the winding stairs to the first floor, Pádraig said, “Hold on for a second.”
Máiréad looked up at him as if he were daft. “We don’t have a second. Keep moving.”
“Meig, wait!”
“What is it?” she demanded, stopping, as did Siollán.
“Be quiet for just a second.”
Máiréad stood there, impatiently, while Pádraig cleared his mind of extraneous thoughts. Making a small gesture with his right hand, both their gray cloaks suddenly turned tan, the customary cloak color for citizens from the Northern Shires.
“Wow!” the bowman said.
Máiréad reacted with surprise, as well. “Where did you learn how to do that?”
“The senior journeyman wizard in Ceanannas shire taught it to me. Now, let’s go.”
Stealthily, the threesome made their way up the stairs and out of the keep.
Yewday - Bear 57th
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan Page 24