by Fiona Faris
Finlay nodded and revealed the trinket he was carrying. It was a small, metal, toy knight riding a horse.
“That is my faither ridin’ the horse. He is a warrior who rides his horse intae battle like this knight.”
“Yer faither must be a brave man tae ride intae battle on his horse. No’ everyone can dae such a noble task.”
“He is no’ ‘ere onymore. They told me he rode his horse intae heaven an’ it would be a lang time ‘til I see him again,” Finlay said, his voice meeker.
This hurt Andrew like a sharp dagger to the heart. A rare tear trickled down his cheek as he remembered the feelings of confusion and loneliness he had when he was a boy.
“Remember, Finlay: yer faither fought fer ye. That is why he rode sae valiantly intae each battle. It was tae protect ye from a’ the horrors o’ this world. Always think o’ him when ye look at yer noble knight ridin’ his horse.”
Finlay’s innocent smile beamed at Andrew.
“Ye know, Finlay,” Andrew went on. “I hae a horse that needs tae be fed. Dae ye want tae help me?”
“Ye hae a horse? Where is he? I want tae feed him!”
“Grab some grass an’ follow me. I’m sure he is a hungry fellow.”
Finlay raced around the pasture and plucked as many patches of grass as he could carry. Andrew could not contain his laughter to see the joy in the lad’s eyes as the simple thrill to feed a horse enthralled him.
“Are ye ready, Finlay? I see ye collected plenty o’ food fer him. He will like ye fer it,” Andrew said as he led Finlay towards the stable where Andrew’s horse was resting.
“I cannae reach him,” Finlay complained as he was too short to reach the horse’s snout.
Andrew chuckled and grasped a wooden chair for the lad to climb onto to feed the horse. Finlay was in awe as the horse gulped the grass from his hands.
From afar, Freya and her mother spied saw Andrew bonding with the wee lad. Freya was touched by it.
“Ye’re tellin’ me that is the man who saved ye from the castle ye were held prisoner at?” Freya’s mother asked, a little dazzled by her foe’s compassion and devilish good looks.
“Aye, he is, Mither,” Freya replied.
She was witnessing the softer side of Andrew once again, which she grew attracted to when she was prisoner inside the dungeon. His rugged complexion and known tenacity on the battlefield camouflaged his soft soul and warm heart.
Andrew refocused on the task at hand after his moment with Finlay enabled him to reminiscence on his own challenging, fatherless upbringing.
“Sorcha, could ye please tell us how mony men left in the clan reside ‘ere? I need tae start building’ my army,” Andrew asked Sorcha, who had recently entered the stable.
“Ye met my uncle; nae need fer an introduction there.” She smirked. “There are only two ither Erskine warriors still ‘ere in the village. They live in those two cottages up ahead on the left. They were both banged up badly from the battle. I nursed their wounds mysel’ an’ it was a ghastly sight. Onyway, good luck!”
“Wait, ye’re no’ goin’ tae help me? I am a’ alone in this?” He was stunned to see her walking away towards a cottage.
“This is yer mission. I will let ye dae the talkin’,” she replied over her shoulder.
“Can ye at least tell Freya tae come ‘ere? I need somebody from yer clan tae help me convince ‘em.”
“She is busy with her maither. Ye are a big boy, Andrew o’ the Murray clan. Act like it!”
Not long afterward, Andrew approached the first cottage and winced as he tapped on the door.
No answer.
“Onybody hame?” he called out.
Finally, he heard movement from inside, and the door creaked open a crack.
“Hae ye gone mad? I am tryin’ tae rest,” a middle-aged man said, his voice severe.
“Hello, sir. Did ye take part in the invasion against the Murray clan?” Andrew asked him.
The man’s frown deepened to an angry grimace.
“Whit kind o’ injudicious question is that? Daes it look like I did? Ye tell me.” The man grumbled as he revealed an amputated leg below the knee.
Andrew felt like a fool for not noticing.
“I am terribly sorry, sir,” he said.
“Where are ye from onyway? I know ye are no’ from ‘round these parts,” the man said.
“Ye might no’ like where I am from, sir.”
Andrew pondered his choice of words, so the man did not reject him straight away.
“Let me start off by telling ye my mission. I am attemptin’ tae seek oot warriors, like ye, tae kill the chief of the clan who was responsible fer this. I am leadin’ a mission tae the Murray clan’s castle.”
“I will stop ye right there. I admire that ye want tae kill ‘em, but I cannae fight onymore. If I cannae fight mysel’, then I really dae no’ care. Good day!”
The door slammed in Andrew’s face.
“That was a waste of time,” Andrew mumbled under his breath and turned his attention to the cottage next door.
He knocked on the second door. The door was flung open.
“I o’erheard ye next door talkin’ aboot this plan o’ yers tae kill their chief. If it is true, then I want in. Those wretched demons a’ deserve tae die,” a younger man said before Andrew even spoke.
“Wait a minute… I know who ye are!” The man gasped as he recognized Andrew’s face. “They called ye the ragin’ boar that thirsted fer death on the battlefield.”
Andrew was taken aback by the name that they had bestowed upon him. It was not what he wanted to be known for throughout the lands.
“Listen, I dae no’ want tae be reviled an’ feared as a monster. Ye heard what I said. I am tryin’ tae prevent attacks, like this one, from happenin’ again. I desire peace in a’ the lands, the Highlands an’ lowlands. If I dae no’ kill oor chief, peace is no’ possible. There will be nothin’ but rape, pillage, an’ murder in a’ clans o’ this region. Are ye in or oot tae help me defeat him?”
The man considered the question for a moment before he looked at Andrew with a sadistic-like grin.
“I am still in! I hae nothin’ tae lose by goin’ tae war. If it means protectin’ the women and bairns who remain in this clan, then I will fight tae the death tae protect ‘em,” the man proclaimed.
“Very well. I can honor that,” Andrew stated, pleased that he had recruited his first soldier.
“Where is the rest o’ the battalion ye are leadin’ intae battle?” the young man asked.
“Yer lookin’ at it. We hae a lang way tae go afore we are ready fer battle,” Andrew replied.
The man’s jaw dropped. “Ye cannae be serious! It is jist ye and I in this ragtag rebellion?”
“Aye, ‘til I can recruit more soldiers. Where can I find more men tae join oor ranks?”
“Ye need tae travel south o’ the village. It is aboot a day’s ride through the fields.”
“If that is where I must go, then sae be it. I will no’ rest ‘til I am confident we hae enough competent men tae be victorious. Ye stay ‘ere in the village an’ protect the women an’ children,” Andrew commanded his soldier. “See if ye can convince Sorcha’s uncle tae join us. He is the last abled body male in this village an’ we need a’ the help we can muster.”
The soldier nodded in agreeance to the two tasks Andrew assigned him, and Andrew mounted his horse to ride off into the distance. The length of the journey could have been one day or one hundred days; Andrew was determined to gather the troops he required for his mission.
The sunlight beamed at the peak of the turquoise sky, but clouds in the distance signaled impending rain. Andrew set off in a steady gallop to reach his destination before the weather impeded his progress.
Chapter Thirteen
Villages in East of Fife Region, Scotland, a few days later
Andrew’s horse galloped with remarkable pace through the fields as the bright high noon sun reflected off its b
lack coat. Andrew was relentless with his demands for his horse to bolt quickly through the fields.
“Yah, yah, yah!” Andrew shouted.
Miles into the distance were nothing but pastures and farm meadows. Picturesque barns became clearer in the distance surrounded by wooden and dry stone walls. Bales of hay nestled in the prairies provided meals for the horses and ox which roamed endlessly within each farmer’s land.
The nearest village, supposedly a one day journey by horseback, was nowhere to be seen. Grey clouds swelled in the distance and drifted through the sky. There was an ominous stare from the unforgiving storm clouds over Andrew as he directed his attention to a pair of trees whose yellow and orange leaves hung low enough to provide cover from the rains for him and his horse. He veered them both into the path of the trees, but the rain pounded directly on top of them. The horse’s reigns whipped ferociously as the autumn rain had a knack for leaving even the strongest warrior ill for days on end.
He tied his horse’s harness to one of the low hanging branches and Andrew grimaced at the dreary rain which flooded the lowland meadows. Hours passed, but he remained motionless with his eyes glued on the never-ending downpour.
At his wits end from waiting for the rains to cease, Andrew sat down and laid his head back on the bark of the tree and let the sound of the downpour carry him to sleep.
During Andrew’s slumber, the rains ceased, the clouds dissolved, and a maddening clamor played itself within his subconscious. The clatter of wood and blaring voices reverberated inside Andrew’s dream. He grimaced in his sleep against the tree, and it soon became too much of a nuisance, and his slumber was shattered.
Andrew opened his eyes to two lads locked in a sword fight, but they fancied wood as their material of choice instead of steel. Andrew stood baffled at the display.
The taller, more sculpted of the youths maneuvered his sword with grace, and he thrust with pure aggression. He blocked all of his counterpart’s strikes without breaking a sweat. Every handful of thrusts or slices made contact with his overwhelmed opponent during their half-speed duel. The lad capped off his display with a perfectly timed maneuver of his wooden sword along the wrist of his adversary. He twirled his sword around his opponent’s wrist and flung the sword mid-air to signal victory.
“Wow, whit a display o’ swordsmanship, lad. How did ye ever learn that at yer age?” Andrew asked, still in shock.
“I taught mysel’ everythin’,” the tall, slender lad replied with a tone of defiance.
He causally tossed his sword freely, unafraid to catch it from any position.
Andrew chuckled. “Who are ye tryin’ tae intimidate with that wee little twig, lad? I want tae see whit ye can dae with one o’ these.”
He grasped his broadsword from behind his back, and both lads stared in awe seeing the finest broadsword in the flesh.
“’ere ye go! Give it a few test runs,” Andrew remarked as he placed his prized broadsword in the hands of the baby-faced youth.
The weight of the sword bogged the lad down, and his thrusts and slices were slow compared to the wooden sword.
“It is a wee bit different I know! That is because this is a sword built fer a Rebrov man an’ no’ a wean,” Andrew joked, despite receiving dirty looks from both lads. “Hae ye ever practiced with a real sword?”
They paused, and Andrew grinned as he waited for their reply.
"Nae, only this makeshift wooden one has ever been in my grasp. I would love tae get my hands on a beauty like that.”
“I hae a proposition fer ye,” Andrew commented with his palm grasped over the youth’s shoulder.
They both glared at Andrew, wondering what he had up his sleeve. Andrew grasped the shoulder of the young lad who had won the duel and enlightened him about the scenario and the army he was building. The lad’s keenness to enlist in the army almost astounded Andrew.
“Ye dae know whit ye are gettin’ yersel’ intae, right, lad? Ye could get yersel’ killed. I am talkin’ aboot brutal Highlanders, no’ yer wee friens,” Andrew warned him.
“I dae no’ care how dangerous ye say they are. It has been my dream tae become a master o’ the sword. Please train me in the art,” he begged. “They dae no’ train us in oor village tae use the sword ‘til we are older, but this wait I can suffer nae longer.”
“Aye, ye will learn that an’ much more. I dae hae tae ask though: how old are ye? I hae tae know with ye sportin’ that unshaven face.” Andrew chuckled.
“We are both sixteen. We hae ne’er left this wee village. I hae been yearnin’ fer a way oot fer a while now.”
“Now is yer chance, lad! I need help buildin’ this army an’ ye want oot o’ yer village. This benefits both o’ us,” Andrew explained to the eager lad.
“I only hae one condition. My friend comes alang with me. I know he is no’ as skilled o’ a swordsman as I, but he will fight valiantly fer ye.”
“Ye still need tae train with a real sword afore ye call yersel’ a swordsman.” Andrew snickered. “Ye need tae return the favor an’ help me find these villages ‘round ‘ere.”
Andrew had a deal with the young, enthusiastic lad and his army size soon doubled, and would likely double again once they escorted him to the next village.
Andrew trailed the lads as they led the way to the next village. His spirits lifted when about two dozen men waltzed out of their cottages. They were not scrawny youths like the first two recruits, but grown men who each possessed their own weaponry.
This was Andrew’s enormous opportunity to recruit the troops he required to give himself a fighting chance against Donald and the Murray fighters sure to defend him. He spoke valiantly and from his heart to the gathering of potential warriors:
“My good countrymen, I hae come tae ye a’ today in a desperate need o’ assistance. My clan has been overrun with a rogue chieftain an’ my fellow clansmen blindly follow his command. He has soiled the good name o’ oor clan an’ spread fear an’ panic from oor Highland castle throughout oor neighborin’ lowland clans. I come tae ye a’ today in the hope that ye a’ will join me fer an onslaught tae slay this beast afore his reign o’ terror spreads tae yer fertile land. Will ye a’ join me in this crusade tae vanquish this tyrant?”
“Whit will oor village gain from blindly sendin’ oor warriors tae fight yer battle?” a voice asked from the crowd.
“I offer ye assurance that his brutality ne’er reaches yer village. I offer a peaceful alliance with no’ only yer wee village, but the rest in these lands. That is my gratitude fer yer service,” Andrew replied.
Whispers could be heard amongst the men in the village as they contemplated the potential consequences of joining Andrew’s quest.
“This man is sincere in his request. I know it. He needs a’ the help we can offer,” the skilled lad already committed to the journey pleaded to the villagers.
One of the villagers laughed. “Ye are draggin’ a wean intae this fight. Ye truly must be in trouble then.”
“I will take ony skilled fighter ye hae. The more warriors we hae in oor battalion, the brighter oor chances become.”
The inhabitants of the village proved to be more difficult to convince than Andrew imagined. The lads might have been willing to jump into a fierce battle without fear of the consequences, but the rest of the villagers were more deliberate in their thought processes.
One of the men who appeared to be the leader of the village signaled to them all for a meeting away from Andrew’s presence. Andrew thrust his sword into the ground in frustration, and he kneeled on the dirt softened by the previous downpour.
A few minutes later, the group of villagers returned.
“Alright, Highlander, we hae a’ deliberated yer message an’ we will offer ye five o’ oor fighters tae join yer quest,” the leader told Andrew.
Andrew was bewildered that they would only offer five warriors. They had an abundance of able-bodied men to battle alongside him.
“Please, sir, I ask ye tae r
econsider an’ offer a larger crop of soldiers,” Andrew requested. “We will be slaughtered with this feeble battalion.”
“We will no’ leave oor village vulnerable tae invaders tae fight yer battle. I hae these men who are willin’ tae accompany ye in yer mission. I suggest ye be on yer way,” the leader stated.
Andrew analyzed his would-be recruits. They did not look to be the ‘cream of the crop’ of the village.
“Sae, this is a’ ye can provide me, eh? Nae offense, lads, but ye dae no’ like ye hae ever seen a battlefield,” Andrew commented.
“We will fight with bravery an’ nobility fer ye like we would oor own village,” one of the recruits said.