As they neared the heavy forest marking the entrance to Glenn Ceoch, they slowed their pace, then halted to stare at the broad tree line stretched out before them. The thick forest, unnerving at the best of times, looked even grimmer beneath the grey curtain of pelting rain.
Liath Luachra raised her hand to brush the rain from her face as she considered the best path out of the valley. There were two possible routes, one located on either side of the stream that ran down the valley and disappeared into the trees. The first, and most commonly used, was a narrow path wedged between the forest and the base of the southern ridge. This tight trail followed the ridge for several hundred paces before branching out and subsequently merging into the flatland forest beyond the Sliabh Bládhma hills.
The other option was the precarious path through An Talamh Báite – The Drowned Land – a large section of flatland that stretched from the right bank of the stream to the northern ridge. Initially forested, the ground quickly transformed into a dangerous marsh caused from poor drainage of the widening valley stream and flow-off from the nearby ridge.
Liath Luachra considered the pros and cons of both routes. Because of the dense forest it would be extremely challenging for the fian to locate Glenn Ceoch unless they were exceptionally lucky or had a clear idea of its location. Under the current weather conditions, it was also likely that the rain would wipe away any tracks the runners might make. Nevertheless, the risk always remained that imprints left in the mud would solidify, leaving a clear trail for any keen-eyed tracker. ‘We’ll take the low route,’ she said at last. ‘Through An Talamh Báite.’
Aodhán looked at her in surprise. ‘That’ll take much longer.’
‘It doesn’t matter. We can’t afford to leave a clear trail. We can swing south afterwards. The Talamh Báite route comes out at the far end of the ridge. If we do leave any tracks when we get through the marshland, it’ll be too far away to associate with this area.’
Aodhán grunted, acknowledging the logic of her argument.
Traversing the stream, they entered the trees, relieved to get out of the open and into the relative shelter of the wide canopy of oak and pine. Little of the actual downpour penetrated the upper branches, however the irregular showers of individual drops that did get through were cold and uncomfortable. The interior of the forest was quite oppressive, sombre and filled with twilight shadows, a place where every direction looked the same for anyone unfamiliar with the area.
After a time, the character of the land changed, the forest gradually giving way to lower ground where the trees grew further and further apart and the ground grew increasingly soggy. Soon, the trees had all but disappeared, replaced by a scrubby swamp and wide pools of black water spotted with mucky isles of reed and willow. Taking their time, they plodded slowly from hummock to hummock, using a trail assiduously worked out over three years of habitation in Glenn Ceoch and marked by well-disguised reed pointers. It was slow, monotonous work and difficult to keep their footing on the treacherously greasy surface. On two occasions, Aodhán slipped, the second time falling deep into the bog water. Only Liath Luachra’s quick reactions prevented him from being sucked into the bottomless mire. Dropping to all fours, she reached out and grabbed his hair before he disappeared beneath the surface, hauling him painfully back to more solid ground. As he lay wheezing and coughing, the óglach stared fearfully at the still waters that could so easily have been his grave.
‘I thought my father asked you to protect me.’
Liath Luachra was too breathless to respond. She looked down at one of the mouldy pools, watching the patterns of silt swirling in the dark waters. This was Black Lung territory. Lung-rot country that the inhabitants of the settlement generally avoided given its association with disease. She briefly recalled one of her younger brothers from her childhood in Luachair. The boy had been little more than a babe but she’d been close to him and had enjoyed his company. He’d caught a fever after spending time with her parents in similar territory and ended up dying, coughing up phlegm and then blood until there was no more to cough up.
She shivered.
Old days. Best forgotten.
Bowing her head, she silently continued walking. Behind her, Aodhán considered her departing back and shook his head. Picking himself up, he tramped after her, following footsteps that were already filling up with black bog water.
***
The runners halted at noon, taking the time to eat, rest and change out of their sodden clothing. Oppressed with thoughts of the challenge they faced, they spoke very little. To her surprise, Liath Luachra found herself missing Bearach, wishing the irrepressible youth was present to improve her humour.
Refreshed, they started out again but moved more slowly, with much more caution. Although only a few days had passed since Liath Luachra had last travelled in this area, the land now looked very different to her eyes. The snow, of course, had gone, melted away except for a few tenacious clumps clinging to the higher, colder sections of the ridge. The forest and scrub land looked even more bleak and dangerous without the virginal white mantle.
It was late in the afternoon when the grainy outline of Drom Osna finally came into sight, its forested bulk heaving about a closer hill like the body of a lethargic giant. By then, the rain had eased, the sun clawing its way through the clouds to spill a greasy sunshine over the land. The woman warrior drew to a halt and leaned against a nearby oak tree as she considered the route ahead of them. They were quite close to where the Tainted One’s camp had been located, a short march north-east of their current location, by her reckoning. The approach to Drom Osna they had chosen had also brought them up against a wide hill. It ran in an east-west direction and, by Liath Luachra’s estimation, lay directly between them and their destination. Although it wasn’t particularly high, the slopes of the hillside rose steeply, culminating at a broad plateau that lay well above the canopy of the surrounding forest. After working the logistics through in her head, she pointed to a section where the climb did not look so precarious. ‘We’ll go up there.’
Aodhán looked at her quizzically. Like the warrior woman, he was familiar with the hill from a previous hunt. He knew that steep cliffs on the other side of the hill would prevent a descent to the north.
‘You don’t want to go closer?’
Liath Luachra shook her head. ‘No. The last time I moved in close the Tainted One became aware of my presence.’ Her eyes narrowed and her gaze briefly flickered around the surrounding forest as though fearful of his sudden appearance. ‘That hill will give us a good view of their camp. Once we’ve confirmed they’re still there, we can decide what to do next.’
Approaching the base of the hill, they scrambled upwards, grasping low hanging tree branches for support on the steeper gradient where the mucky, slippery slope made progress more challenging. As they climbed, Liath Luachra became aware of a growing unease, a chaffing disquiet beneath her skin that she was unable to shake off. It was only when they reached the crest and paused to catch their breath that she realised what was disturbing her. There was no sound. No breeze, but more alarmingly, no birdsong. In an area that usually teemed with birds.
The hairs rose on the back of her neck and a nervous tickle passed down her spine. She’d never encountered such silence in the Great Wild before. Belatedly, she realised that she hadn’t seen any animal sign for some time either. The local wildlife had fled, instinctively deserting the area in response to some undefined danger.
Perhaps not that undefined.
Dropping to her knees, Liath Luachra loosened the cord around her chest and removed the wicker satchel. Rummaging through it, she located the leather pouch Bodhmhall had given her. She glanced inside, relieved to find that the flask it contained hadn’t leaked any of the contents so crucial to the plan.
The plan.
The woman warrior stifled a quick flicker of doubt. Bodhmhall’s scheme was, admittedly, simplistic to the point of artlessness. She shivered involuntarily, possessed
by a sudden dread of her inevitable confrontation with the Tainted One. Her skin crawled as she recalled the rogue draoi’s touch and interference with her mind. The incident had seriously shaken her, much more than she’d admitted to Bodhmhall.
Focus on your revenge. Do not dwell on tainted concerns.
The plateau on which they found themselves contained wide slabs of exposed rock interspersed with thick patches of scrub; predominantly gorse and bramble. The height provided good views of Drom Osna to the north and the surrounding forest which seemed to lap at its sides like a hazy green sea.
The pair spent some time negotiating the scrub at the centre of the plateau before reaching a dangerously narrow precipice on the northern edge that pointed towards Drom Osna like some accusatory stone finger. Peering over its craggy lip, the Tainted One’s camp was immediately discernable, pinpointed by a tall plume of smoke to their south-west. Even at that distance, Liath Luachra instantly recognised the unusual depression with its standing stone and the cave behind it.
Six tiny figures were visible, five of them clustered about the cave mouth. From their posture and body movements alone, it was easy to tell that they were warriors, probably the Tainted One’s bodyguards. Sitting in isolation by the granite monolith – just like the last time she’d seen him – was the hunched and hooded form of the draoi himself. Even as Liath Luachra’s eyes came to rest on that distant figure, she somehow sensed a shift in its demeanour. The hooded head abruptly turned and stared up at the plateau.
Gods!
An icy flood of panic surged through her and she dropped closer to the ground, scuttling backwards from the edge of the cliff. Aodhán was immediately behind her. ‘He saw us.’ The óglach’s face was pale as he struggled to appreciate the enormity of what had just happened. ‘He knows we’re here. How does he know?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Liath Luachra attempted to sound confident but her voice sounded thick and phlegmy, even to her own ears. With a grunt, she rolled onto her stomach and wriggled forward to peer down at the campsite again. The Tainted One had resumed his previous position before the fire with his back towards them but three of the other figures were nowhere to be seen.
Cursing softly, she pulled back from the edge, greatly relieved that she’d taken the precaution of choosing a view point that was difficult to access from the Tainted One’s camp. Nevertheless, they were, once again, on the back foot, responding to events rather than instigating them.
She turned and kicked Aodhán in the side of the leg. ‘Get up. We need to get off this plateau. Three of his bodyguards are coming to kill us.’
***
It was on the descent of the southern side of hill that Liath Luachra noticed the faint line of shadow, a kind of waning in the otherwise thick vegetation that curved through the forest below in a rough north-easterly direction. Back down on the forest floor, she immediately led the nervous óglach towards the area in which she’d seen it.
It didn’t take long to locate what she’d seen and have her suspicions confirmed. Nodding in satisfaction, she stepped onto a beaten scrub trail that was wide enough for a single man to travel at speed. Liath Luachra had seen these before. Deer trails beaten into the bush by the repetitive movements of the animals then appropriated by humans and worn down even faster.
Crouching, she studied the trodden earth. Beckoning Aodhán forward, she pointed out a number of footsteps in the muddier patches. ‘They use this path,’ she whispered. ‘Regularly.’
Plucking a stem of grass from the side of the path, she popped it in her mouth and chewed on it thoughtfully. Humans, by nature, were creatures of habit. If the Tainted One’s bodyguards were coming towards them, they would likely use an established trail, one they were familiar with and that they knew to be easier to travel.
‘Well set up and wait for them here,’ she decided. ‘Let them do all the running around.’
***
‘You should not tell your brother such stories,’ Liath Luachra whispered. She was sitting motionless on the exposed root of an oak tree off to the left of the little trail.
Aodhán, stretched the length of an ancient bough above her, looked down in surprise. ‘What stories?’
She shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘But - ’
‘Quiet. Something comes.’
The óglach scowled but dutifully lapsed into silence, pushing himself even flatter against the girth of the bough. Pulling the hood of her cloak up over her head, Liath Luachra drew the remainder of the covering about her before easing back against the trunk of the tree.
For a long time nothing happened despite the woman warrior’s warning. Seasoned hunters, both were accustomed to waiting and remained completely still. While she waited, Liath Luachra raised her eyes to where the óglach was barely visible. Although Aodhán had seen some action during the attacks on Ráth Bládhma, she was conscious of the fact that these had been little more than skirmishes with long-range weapons. She had faith in the youth’s ability but she did not know for certain how well he’d react in a combat situation. The truth was, he remained untested in the most brutal hacking and cutting into which hand-to-hand combat usually degenerated.
At that point, an even more intense silence seemed to overlay the forest. Liath Luachra, once more, became aware of the distinct lack of bird song. The burned flesh on her hand began to sting.
Fool! Think of something else.
She returned her attention to the trail. A few moments passed then there was a gentle rustle in the bushes about thirty paces away where the track curved out of sight. A male figure suddenly appeared, moving cautiously along the trail.
Liath Luachra studied the newcomer with wary curiosity. He was tall, dressed in unusually dark furs and wearing a leather helmet of a kind she’d not seen before. In his right hand he carried a single javelin, in his left, a vicious-looking metal war-axe. A long knife was tucked into the leather belt around his waist.
The key trait that fascinated her, however, was the bloody scarring and the black tattoos that covered most of his face. The latter markings, in particular, gave him an eerie feral appearance, one that was not altogether human.
Some sixth sense seemed to alert the Tainted One’s bodyguard for he froze suddenly, warily scanning the nearby plateau and then the length of the trail ahead of him. As his eyes swept over her location, Liath Luachra fought the urge to move further into concealment, impressed despite her situation by the man’s instincts, the sixth sense that was alerting him to her presence.
Despite sitting in the relative open, she knew she was practically invisible, her shapeless grey cloak blending easily against the mottled shadows of the forest background. It was only fear that would give her away. Fear, because fear provoked movement and any movement, no matter how miniscule, would catch the watcher’s eye.
Fortunately, she knew how to control her fear.
This one’s a killer.
She couldn’t say how she knew but there was something in the man’s face, something beyond the grotesque tattoos that left her in little doubt that he’d killed before. He exuded a savagery, an incoherent sense of violence that she’d only ever seen in the most crazed and lethal of Na Cineáltaí. She shivered: part fear, part excitement. A bitter smile formed upon her lips as she recognised familiar feelings she hadn’t experienced for a very long time. The old instincts were returning, past habits reasserting themselves in response to that odd, peer recognition.
Like knows like.
Slowly, very slowly, she raised her eyes to meet those of the óglach who was looking down at her, his features tight as a drawn bowstring. ‘Stay still,’ she mouthed. She raised the fingers of her left hand off the ground beside her, out of sight from further down the trail, and gently mimed a pressing down gesture.
Stay where you are.
The bodyguard’s impatience seemed to have prevailed over his initial instincts for he slowly straightened up and gestured to someone behind him. Two other sh
adowy figures emerged from the undergrowth around the curve to join him, both bearing similar tattoos and scars on their faces. Spreading out in single file, they advanced along the trail.
As they drew towards her, Liath Luachra assessed her opponents with predatory dispassion. The threesome was demonstrating a curious overconfidence that surprised her. While it was true that the Tainted One had most likely alerted them to the number of intruders they might face and that they had both the advantage of a superior force and the support of the Tainted One to call on, it was a mistake to assume that their quarry would flee.
Intent on reaching the plateau, the little war party passed their hiding place, each of the three figures going by without a second glance. Liath Luachra waited until the third warrior had passed then moved like a ghost. Slipping about the tree trunk that separated then, she lunged onto the moving figure in one smooth, single movement. Her left hand clamped about his mouth, her right swinging the blade upwards in a tight, deadly arc. There was a brief sensation of wet lips against her fingers, the stink of sweat then the knife entered through the skin at the base of the warrior’s neck, up into his brain. A fountain of hot scarlet spurted from the wound, spraying the side of her face, the strong iron taste and smell momentarily blotting out all other physical sensation.
The attack had been so swift, so brutal, that the warrior had no time to cry out, to resist. He simply died. Instantly.
He slumped, a dead weight in her arms but she’d already transferred her attention to his comrades. Despite the relative silence of her attack, some subliminal instinct had alerted them to the threat behind them. The nearer warrior slid to halt and glanced back. Seeing his murdered friend, he released a violent snarl and turned to rush at her, a metal-headed club raised high to smash down on her skull.
Fionn- Defence of Ráth Bládhma Page 17