A Spark is Struck in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 1)

by Bill Stackhouse

  “Our…our n…names, Your Highness?” the first sentry asked, slightly bewildered.

  Liam looked down on him. “Am I to assume that your ma didn’t give you a name? Poor fellow.”

  “N…no, Your Highness. Not at all. I’m Alroy, and this is Cahal,” he replied, gesturing to his partner.

  “Well, Alroy and Cahal,” the prince continued, “Had you let me through without a challenge, then, let me assure you, you would indeed be sorry. I’ll be sure to mention your diligence to the field marshal. Now,” he went on, dismounting and pointing at the first man, “Alroy, please go and tell Gearóid to meet me in the High King’s chambers immediately, and then have the avener see to Bucky’s comfort. And, soldiers, no one—I repeat, no one—is to know of my arrival except the field marshal. Understood?”

  “Yes, Your Highness,” came twin replies.

  “Good.” The prince once more covered his head and face with the hood, walked forward, and handed the horse’s reins to Alroy.

  “Um…uh…Your Highness?” the man said, as Liam strode by him.

  The prince turned. “Yes, Alroy?”

  “B…Bucky?”

  “Bucky!” he replied, gesturing to the gelding. “Bucky the horse! You have a name. He has a name. His is ‘Bucky.’ Now go! And make sure he’s well taken care of.”

  As the prince hurried through the gatehouse and into the citadel, he chuckled out loud, thinking about what Pádraig had told him the day they had set out from Fort Callainn on their way to Fort Cairbrigh:

  “My guess is that, aside from Field Marshal Gearóid and some of the senior officers in the Cruachanian Defense Forces, you don’t even know the names of most of the soldiers who serve you, much less the names of the chieftains and local officials. You have to go out and about and talk to people. See how they live. Get to know them. Find out their concerns.”

  Paddy sure has had an influence on me, he realized. Pretty soon I’ll be calling every soldier, servant, horse, dog, and cat by name. I’ll have to travel with a scribe just so I can remember all of them. Growing serious, his thoughts turned to his friend. I sure hope he’s had enough time to escape and is evading his captors. As soon as I talk to Da, we’ll arrange for the ransom and see about getting a rescue party organized.

  Alroy, hastening toward the garrison to find Field Marshal Gearóid before turning the buckskin-colored gelding over to the chief officer of the stables, couldn’t help but think, I don’t believe that a member of royalty ever even knew my name, much less called me by it. Prince Liam will make a great king someday.

  Another thought also crossed his mind. If I’m to tell no one other than the field marshal of the prince’s return, how, then, do I explain why I’m bringing Bucky directly to the avener instead of to one of the grooms?

  * * *

  Inside the citadel’s keep, a grim-faced Déaglán, High King of Cruachan, sat at the head of the table in the great hall, the ransom note that had been stuck to Liam’s bronze torc in front of him. He had just finished reading it for the fifth time. Nothing had changed. The words remained the same:

  We have Prince Liam. The price for his return is 1000 gold tríbhís. You will be contacted for the time and place of the exchange. Attempt to find him, and you will find him dead.

  Shall I have the chancellor start getting the ransom money together, Your Majesty?” Field Marshal Gearóid, standing at his sovereign’s left side, asked. There was a somber expression on the old warrior’s face.

  Without looking up at him, the High King replied, “They’ll be no need for a ransom, as you well know.”

  Liam, sitting at the table to his father’s right, came part way off his stool as he roared, “What do you mean, ‘No need for a ransom’?! They’ve got Paddy, and they think it’s me!”

  “But it isn’t you, is it?” Déaglán said, raising his hard eyes from the parchment and focusing them on his son.

  “But they have Paddy!” the prince persisted.

  “They’re terrorists, Your Highness,” Gearóid said, softly, placing a hand on Liam’s shoulder. “You know His Majesty’s position on the subject. We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

  Shaking off the hand, Liam met his father’s hard eyes with matching ones. “But what if it were me, Da? What would you do, then?”

  Déaglán’s countenance softened somewhat as his eyes became moist. He reached over, covered one of the prince’s hands with one of his own, and said, gently, “I would mourn your passing every single day for the rest of my life; and, I would expend whatever resources were necessary to hunt down the kidnappers and hang every last one of them.…But I would not…I cannot bend to their demands, otherwise I might just as well declare open season on every member of royalty and every person in authority.”

  Father and son sat there in silence for a few moments longer.

  Finally, Liam switched his gaze to Gearóid, and asked, “Can you have a rescue party assembled immediately? I’ll lead it myself.”

  The fourth person in the room, who had sat silently at the foot of the table during the entire discussion, finally spoke. “We’ll need to take a day or two to adequately plan this rescue attempt,” Faolan, Arch-Wizard of Cruachan, said. “We can’t go galloping off with half-strung bows.”

  “But, Most Venerable Sir,” Liam protested. “Paddy might not have a day or two.”

  “If he has escaped and is as resourceful as I think he is from your account of things, Your Highness, we can afford the time for proper planning. Besides”—he gestured to the parchment in front of the High King—“the note says that we’ll be contacted. We haven’t been, yet. Even if the kidnappers have recaptured the farrier whom they think is you, they won’t harm him until the ransom has been paid. Moreover, you require rest. If you’re to lead the rescue party, you’ll need all your wits about you. There’s nothing more you can do at the moment. Go, now. Get yourself cleaned up. You smell like a badger. Also, get something to eat and some well-deserved sleep. His Majesty, Field Marshal Gearóid, and myself will start the planning process today and work out a strategy.”

  “But, Faolan”—Liam started.

  Déaglán raised a hand and cut him off. “Liam, go! You know the Arch-Wizard speaks the truth. Don’t argue.” Moderating his tone, the High King forced a small smile and said, “Go, son. Tomorrow you can personally select the members of the rescue party and have them ready to leave here once we’ve been contacted by the kidnappers.” As Liam stood, the High King continued. “By the way, Finbar is here, staying at the forge. And he’s chomping at the bit to ride off and rescue you and his son. Stop by the forge before you go to your quarters, bring him up to speed, and invite him to join the rescue party, but,”—the High King raised a cautioning finger—“do not, under any circumstances tell him that we aren’t going to pay the ransom demand.”

  “When we set off without a satchel of tríbhís, you don’t think he’s going to notice?”

  “I’ll explain things to him, Liam, but only at the last possible moment. Now go.”

  Ashday - Wolf 46th

  Cairbrigh Shire

  Thrice during the night and into the morning hours, Pádraig had awoken briefly from his fitful sleep, each time still delirious with fever.

  It had been during the third incident that his olfactory sense had told him that he must have fallen asleep in a stable. He grasped the edge of the horse blanket that covered him and pulled it tighter up to his chin, still shivering and wondering why he felt burning up and freezing at the same time.

  In his peripheral vision, the young farrier thought he detected a movement to his right. Rolling his head that way, he couldn’t quite focus his eyes, but thought he saw mottled-brown icicles hanging down into the cavern where he lie.

  What kind of stable is this? he wondered.

  Again he thought he saw movement, but, try as he might to focus, all he could make out were the icicles, although a few of them seemed to quiver for a moment.

  Once the young farrier ha
d fallen back into an erratic slumber, Yseult crossed over to him from the hawthorn’s roots where she had been keeping watch. Taking a cloth dipped in a wooden bowl of cool water, she applied it to his forehead and face, all the while softly humming a soothing melody.

  * * *

  The wood-nymph had ventured outside a few times during the morning hours to scrutinize the activity of the guards. She knew from past experience that the magic-wielder had been well aware of her presence, having periodically detected an energy probe ever since the pinkies had arrived some months before. But she didn’t care. She was, after all, one of the Hidden Folk and her business and pinky business rarely coincided.

  Consequently, Yseult had made absolutely no effort to avoid the occasional probe that she now felt as it attempted to seek out Pádraig’s whereabouts. Besides, the wood-nymph knew that it would never detect her patient beneath the hawthorn. Not only was it not directed to pick up anything below ground, but, as a precaution, she had placed a concealment spell of her own on the cave. Not that her magic was any match for the one who had cast the concealment/containment spell over the compound, but sufficient enough to keep her abode concealed from the prying probe should it accidentally penetrate the forest floor.

  The snow had stopped sometime during the night, leaving a four-inch blanket of white. Now, at sunrise, from high in the branches, she watched as the concealment/containment spell temporarily dissolved just in the area of the ford to allow four sets of riders to exit the compound. On the other side, they split up, each group heading out in a different direction.

  Also at first light, other guards and the wolfhounds had resumed their search inside the compound.

  This is good, the little wood-nymph thought, smirking slightly. They don’t know whether he escaped into the forest last night or is still here within the confines of their encampment. They’re blindly searching everywhere in the hopes of stumbling across him. This is very good. But then she cautioned herself. Don’t alter your routine. Just go on with your business as usual. Don’t give them any reason to suspect.

  Hollyday - Wolf 47th

  Cairbrigh Shire

  Pádraig continued to be wracked with fever, delirious and thrashing around on the horse-blanket bed of leaves in Yseult’s sanctuary.

  Sticking to her routine as best she could, the little wood-nymph would duck into her cavern every hour or so for a few minutes to check on her patient. There she would bathe his face and head with cool water, straighten out his covers, and hum to him.

  “Yes, my pinky, you’re burning up,” she cooed to him softly in her lilting voice. “Just be patient and keep your covers on. It will pass. It will pass. Soon your fever will break. Be patient and stay warm.”

  When out tending to the needs of her beloved trees, Yseult still managed to keep track of the kidnappers. There had been no change in their routine from the previous day. They blindly searched inside and outside the compound without any clue as to her patient’s whereabouts.

  Smiling, she sent a mental message to Pádraig. Don’t worry, my pinky. They have no idea where you are. Just rest and get well.

  Hollyday - Wolf 47th

  Central Federal Region

  Dúnfort Cruachan

  As much as Prince Liam had hoped to keep his return confidential, it had to have been the worst-kept secret in the citadel. Even though he spent the better part of the morning huddled with the High King and Field Marshal Gearóid, going over the roster of the members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces billeted at the citadel, by the beginning of the forenoon watch, everyone seemed to know that he had escaped his captors.

  Déaglán and Gearóid turned out to be invaluable in the selection process. While the defense forces were comprised of soldiers from all three kingdoms, the field marshal and High King were able to not only identify those who were from just the Western and Eastern Shires, but soldiers whose fathers had served with the two men in the War for Independence.

  By early afternoon, Liam had completed his list and had decided on a contingent that included lancemen, swordsmen, and bowmen.

  Walking over to the forge, the prince sat down with Finbar and showed him the list.

  “Your Highness,” Finbar said, after Liam had explained his reasoning, “that seems to be quite a large number of troops. With all due respect, the kidnappers more than likely have lookouts strategically placed, and they’ll know we’re coming when we’re still leagues away.”

  “I want them to know, Finbar. I want them to quake in their boots at the overwhelming force they’re going to have to face. Remember, Paddy’s already escaped. He’s no longer being held prisoner.”

  “So you think, Your Highness.”

  “But Paddy had a plan, Finbar. He had a good—”

  “Had, Your Highness. Had. And while it may have seemed like a good plan at the time, we don’t know that he had an opportunity to execute it.”

  “But, Finb—”

  “Or if he did,” the farrier interrupted, “whether it was successful or not. He may still be their prisoner.”

  Liam scratched his head. “What would you suggest instead?”

  “A much smaller force, Your Highness. One with stealth, that can get in without drawing attention to itself, rescue Paddy, and get out.”

  “But there are soldiers from the Northern Shires involved, Finbar. Paddy saw one of them. We need soldiers to counter soldiers. And lots of them.”

  Seeing that the boy would not be dissuaded, Finbar decided that there was no point in arguing. Instead, he said, simply, “All I ask is that you think about it, Your Highness. Just consider what I’ve told you? Will you do that, please?”

  The prince sighed, then said, “Okay. I’ll consider it. I’ll even run it by Field Marshal Gearóid.”

  “Good. That’s all I ask, Your Highness. Give it due consideration.” What he said to himself, though, was, Meanwhile Lairgnen, Brynmor, Cadwgawn and I may just have to do this alone.

  * * *

  After the prince left him, Finbar walked about the streets of the citadel, watching and listening. And what he heard, he didn’t like. There were far too many people who knew that the prince had returned.

  Not good, the farrier thought. With this many people knowing that Liam is here, then the kidnappers will know it soon enough. If Paddy hasn’t managed to escape by the time they do find out, then he’ll soon be reunited with Aislin in An Saol Eile.

  * * *

  The Lady Máiréad and her parents arrived mid-afternoon from Fort Árainn, having spent one night on the road in northeastern Callainn Shire, and were brought up to speed by the High King and Field Marshal Gearóid on the basics of the kidnapping and the prince’s escape.

  When Máiréad asked why the prince wasn’t at the briefing, Déaglán told her that Liam was holed up in his quarters, trying to keep a low profile until they received further word from the kidnappers.

  Máiréad ran to his room and pounded on the door.

  “Okay, okay!” Liam responded, grumpily, from inside. “I’m coming. Just hold your horses.”

  As he opened the door, he was met with a two-handed shove that knocked him back about three yards and almost caused him to lose his balance.

  The girl, green eyes blazing, followed him, slamming the door behind her and again shoving him backward. “Two days ago, I came across a search party from Gabhrán Shire who had found the farrier’s wagon and were bringing it down to Ráth Gabhrán,” she screamed at him. “I couldn’t figure out why I could sense more of you in that wagon than I could Paddy. Now I know! Why did you leave him?!” she demanded, then pushed him once more.

  This time he tripped, falling onto the bed.

  “Why did you leave him?!” Máiréad asked again, removing Liam’s dirk by its ebony grip from her belt and throwing it at him, deliberately missing his shoulder by three inches. She stood there, looking down at the prince, malice in her eyes.

  “It was his idea, Meig,” Liam responded weakly, raising a hand to deflect
a blow he hoped was coming instead of a magic spell. “Honest it was. Paddy planned it all out.”

  “That doesn’t mean you had to go along with it,” she shrieked at him, attempting a face-slap but connecting with his forearm instead. “You left him there to die! In your place!”

  “No, Meig! No!” He sat up on the edge of the bed and grabbed both her wrists to avoid getting slapped again. Instead, he received a kick to his shin.

  Wrestling the girl onto the bed next to him, he rolled over, pinning her there with his hands still holding her wrists and one leg immobilizing both of hers.

  “It’s not what you think, Meig! Paddy’s escaped! He had a plan!”

  Still struggling, she tried to bite him, then screamed at him. “It sounds like you had a plan, Your Highness! A plan to leave the commoner to die in your stead! You’re despicable!”

  Máiréad turned her face away from Liam, her body went limp, and the tears streamed down her alabaster cheeks onto the bedding.

  “No, no, Meig,” Liam said, releasing his grasp and taking her into his arms. “Believe me, there’s a plan. The kidnappers were going to kill us both, but Paddy had me trade clothes with him; then, he convinced them to let me go and deliver the ransom note in person. He was going to use his gift to escape two nights ago and hide out in the forest, evading our captors until I came back for him with a contingent of defense forces.”

  Having buried her face in his shoulder while she sobbed, Máiréad raised her head, wiped the tears away with the back of her hand, and asked, “So you know where he is, then?”

  “Uh…n…not exactly.”

  “What do you mean, ‘Not exactly’? You either know or you don’t know.”

  Liam turned away, unable to meet her gaze. “I d…don’t know exactly. I was drugged when they took me from the compound.”

  “Then you don’t know at all!” She pushed him away from her and struggled to her feet. “You have no idea where Paddy is. I’ve just come from up north and it’s snowing up there. He’s wandering about in the freezing cold waiting for you to rescue him, and you don’t have the slightest idea where he is.”