“I’ll reunite you with them sometime tomorrow. Now drink!”
“Will your magic be able to get us through the barrier?” Pádraig asked, inspecting the liquid in the bowl.
“No, my young farrier,” Siobhán said with a shake of her head. “Even the three of us combined aren’t powerful enough to do that. But, periodically, people come and go. We’ll sense when the force field is lifted. And when it is, we’ll have very little time to take advantage of it. So for now, do as Yseult says. Drink up.”
As Pádraig gulped and grimaced, and gulped and grimaced, now that he knew Finbar and the elves were somewhere close by, the two Hidden Folk crossed to the far end of the cavern.
“I still say he’s too weak to travel,” Yseult insisted.
“It’s not like he’s a fox kit that followed you home,” Siobhán replied. “You can’t keep him.”
The wood-nymph glared up at the phooka. “I have no intentions—”
“Yseult,” Siobhán said, softly and gently, reaching down and parting the twiggy hair from the nymph’s face. “I know full well how lonely it can be sometimes. But did you not sense Paddy’s power and that he has a purpose to fulfill?”
Yseult lowered her face. “…Yes,” she whispered, reluctantly.
The phooka took her hand, placed it on the little wood-nymph’s chin, and tenderly lifted Yseult’s face. A single tear trickled down the bark-like cheek from one of the nymph’s olive-brown eyes. “If, indeed, the son of the High King is in mortal danger, then Paddy’s purpose involves us, as well. You know what you must do, sweetie,” the dark maiden continued, bending down and kissing her warmly on the forehead. “You must let him go so that he may fulfill that purpose.”
Yseult’s countenance scrunched up as a tear escaped from her other eye.
Siobhán smiled knowingly, then wrapped her arms around the little wood-nymph, drawing her in close and almost smothering her in cleavage. “Let him go,” she softly repeated herself.
The only reply she received, as Yseult returned the hug with a strength that belied her size, was a sniffle.
Oakday - Wolf 48th
Gabhrán Shire
Prince Liam drove Colm’s farrier’s wagon, pulled by Stumbles the draught horse, with Bucky the buckskin-colored gelding tied to the tailgate. The Lady Máiréad rode beside him on her dapple-gray mare, Rionach. As they traveled westward from Fort Gabhrán toward the road to the citadel, neither had spoken since the girl had asked if Liam really believed that the kidnappers would release Pádraig once the ransom had been paid. For his part, the prince still hadn’t told her that the satchel that supposedly contained the ransom money held far less than the prescribed amount.
When they reached the S-curve that skirted Stag Pond, the wagon followed the road, taking the first part of the curve to the right. However, Liam then steered Stumbles away from the left portion of the curve and headed him straight through the tree line into the forest.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Máiréad protested, having to drop back and trail the wagon through the trees rather than continuing abreast of it.
“Just follow me and you’ll find out,” Liam called back to her.
No sooner were they completely obscured by the forest than they reached a small clearing. There on a fallen tree sat Finbar and Aednat, Máiréad’s lady’s maid, both huddled in their cloaks against the chill.
As the prince reined Stumbles to a halt, Finbar and Aednat rose and hurriedly approached the wagon. Aside from the gray wool cloak, the lady’s maid was dressed as was Máiréad, in leather breeches and shirt.
“Finbar?! Aednat?!” a surprised Máiréad said. “What are you doing here? I thought you two were out looking for the man who slipped the ransom instructions into the laundry.”
“Dismount quickly, My Lady,” Finbar said, holding Rionach by its bridle. “We don’t have any time to lose.”
“Dismount? Why should I—”
“For the love on An Fearglas, Meig,” Liam shouted. “For once in your life, will you please do as you’re asked without questioning it? Get off your horse, now! We’ll explain everything to you in due time.”
All four hastily performed the ritual act of submission, then Máiréad dismounted, fuming as she did so.
“Please, My Lady,” Finbar said, “exchange cloaks with Aednat.”
Máiréad glanced over at her lady’s maid. The girl had already doffed her own cloak and held it out toward her mistress.
Noting the serious looks on both Finbar’s and Aednat’s faces, Máiréad slipped out of her dark-blue ruana and handed it to the lady’s maid. Aednat, in turn, gave Máiréad the gray cloak.
As both girls donned each other’s garments, Finbar said to Máiréad, “Quickly, My Lady, into the back of the wagon. And stay out of sight.” As he helped her up and over the tailgate, he directed his attention to Aednat. “You’re clear on what to do?”
“Keep the hood up. Take my time getting back to the dúnfort. Leave Rionach by the stables. Go directly to Lady Máiréad’s room and change into my own clothes. Tell everyone that my mistress isn’t feeling well and wishes not to be disturbed.”
“Good girl,” Finbar told her, cupping his hands and interlocking his fingers in order to give her a foot up onto the dapple-gray mare.
Aednat had barely situated herself in the saddle when Finbar yelled, “Let’s move!” And as Liam gave Stumbles the go-ahead, the farrier scrambled over the tailgate and into the wagon. There he was met by a frosty Máiréad.
“Start talking!” she ordered as Finbar drew the back curtain closed.
Less than three minutes had passed as the farrier’s wagon, accompanied by a girl dressed in leather, wearing a dark-blue ruana with the hood covering her face, exited the forest and continued on toward the road to the citadel.
Oakday - Wolf 48th
Cairbrigh Shire
Yseult the wood-nymph and Siobhán in her shape-shifted black-mare form had watched the two-dozen archers who had arrived at the kidnappers’ compound during the morning and early afternoon, as they had set up sheaves of straw to form a series of shooting blinds on the camp-side of the stream near the ford. When the boss-man and Northman had reviewed and approved the placement, the bowmen then had set up another set of sheaves as a makeshift archery range. There, for the remainder of the afternoon and into the early evening, they competed against each other in both precision aiming and shooting rate.
The two Hidden Folk observed that, while the maximum rate for the best of the archers seemed to be ten to twelve arrows per minute, their accuracy at that speed was abysmal. The majority of the bowmen could hit a man-sized target only by shooting at a rate of about six arrows per minute.
* * *
Pádraig sat there on the edge of the makeshift bed in Yseult’s cavern. He had slept most of the day, waking every three hours or so. Each time he did, the little wood-nymph had forced another bowl of root-and-herb broth on him. Initially, he had thought that he’d get used to the disgusting taste of the soup. He’d been wrong. The last helping had been as revolting as the first.
The young farrier had to admit, though, that the concoction, combined with the sleep, was, in fact, restoring his heath. However, he wondered if, perhaps, a bit of hay that Siobhán the phooka had spoken about earlier wouldn’t be a pleasant change of diet.
Having retrieved Liam’s clothes from the roots of the hawthorn, Pádraig once more let his mind cycle through the dreams of the night before, hoping that postponing his escape until the next day would not prove to be too late for Liam. And to ease the boredom of waiting, he now sat there with miniature lightning bolts emanating from his fingertips which he formed into a glowing ball in the palm of his hand. Not wanting to attract the attention of the magic-wielder in the compound, Pádraig kept the size of the lightning ball to about three inches in diameter.
“What are you doing?!” Yseult screamed at him, her normally lilting, musical voice transformed into a high shriek. “This is a f
orest, you fool! Put that out! Immediately!”
As she ran toward him, her bark-like face registering terror, Pádraig switched his focus from the glowing ball to the nymph. The lightning in his hand dissipated with a sizzle.
“Sorry,” he said. “I wouldn’t have let it go. Honest.”
Yseult shook her head in frustration and took in a couple of deep breaths to calm herself.
With a throaty chuckle, Siobhán came up behind her and put a hand on the wood-nymph’s shoulder. “And you wanted to keep him,” she chided. “Silly girl.”
Looking around her cave and seeing that the three pilfered saddles she used for furniture had been moved, Yseult asked, “You didn’t like the way I had things arranged?”
“No. I mean, yes, it was fine. I was just testing out my gift to see if it had returned. I’ll put them back if you like.” He stretched out his hand toward the closest of the saddles and concentrated on it. Within a few seconds, it moved across the cavern floor back to its original position.”
“No more, Paddy,” the dark maiden cautioned. “Right now, whoever is maintaining the force field has his hands full; and, although he knows that our little wood-nymph, here, has some magical power of her own, we don’t want to take a chance on him detecting any force greater than what he expects out of her. You’ve run your test. You’ve determined that your power is returning. Now let’s give it a rest, hmm?”
Pádraig sighed, then responded, reluctantly, “Okay.”
“It’s a sure sign he’s on the mend,” Yseult said to Siobhán. “He’s getting bored.”
“Where’s his hoof-pick,” the phooka asked.
The wood-nymph pointed to one of the hawthorn roots. “Over there. Why?”
Crossing over and retrieving the pick, Siobhán replied, “It’s getting dark. Let’s air him out for a little bit. Clean some of the cobwebs from his mind and perhaps alleviate the boredom.” Bringing the hoof-pick to Pádraig, she said, “Yseult told me about you using your cloak as a ruse. Here, cut a hole in the center of the brown blanket and slip your head through the hole. Let’s go for a little walk-about.”
The young farrier’s face brightened up considerably. “That’d be great! Thanks!” He grabbed the hoof-pick and did as the phooka had directed.
“Since you’re feeling so well, you can carry your own chamber pot outside and empty it,” Yseult told him. “And once we’re out there, stay very close to Siobhán and me. I don’t think your captors are still looking for you, but the combined essence of two Daoine Dofheicthe should mask your presence from them if they are.”
* * *
Darkness had fallen on the compound, and thick clouds had rolled in, covering the sky. Neither Silver Nightingale nor Golden Owl, Cruachan’s two moons, were visible through the shroud, and small, soft snow flakes had begun to fall lazily to the ground.
Bundled up in the horse blanket to guard against the cold, Pádraig stood next to the hawthorn near the pond and gulped down the fresh air, so welcome after two days of inhaling nothing but the loamy scent of Yseult’s underground cavern.
“The dogs roam freely at night,” the little wood-nymph whispered. “So if I tell you to head for the cave, do so without delay.”
The young farrier nodded, as he drew his blanket more tightly about him.
Flickers of either hearth or lantern light were visible from only one of the kidnappers’ buildings—the large main one, farthest from the pond.
“Hmm,” Siobhán mused as she stood beside the boy and the nymph, thinking back on Pádraig’s ball of lightning. “That largest structure, Yseult? The one with the lights? How far in is it from the edge of the forest?”
“Maybe five rods or so. The nasty pinkies murdered many of my charges for their precious building, even though there are rocks all around that they could have used, instead.”
“If it were to catch fire, would the flames reach to the forest?” the dark maiden asked.
“The distance is too great,” the wood-nymph replied. “And with the snow, the grass wouldn’t spread the flames. Why? Do you want to burn it down? Believe me, I’ve seriously considered it.”
“When the force field is lifted tomorrow, a diversion of some kind would be most helpful in allowing Paddy and me to get across the ford and into the woods, without having to dodge too many arrows.”
“Consider it done,” Yseult answered, menacingly. “It will be my pleasure.”
After a few minutes of silence, Pádraig said, “I appreciate you two bringing me out here, but I really think I’ve had enough fresh air for now. I’m going to go back to the cave and lie down.” He stooped over and retrieved his chamber pot from the snow.
“I’ll take you, Paddy,” Yseult told him, reaching up and grasping his upper arm with her hand. “Then I’ll fix you another bowl of nice broth.”
“Oh, swell,” the boy replied. “You coming, Siobhán?”
“Soon,” she answered. “But, first, I think I’ll take a swim. There’s a half-sheaf of hay on the other side of the pond with my name on it.” Walking down to the edge of the pond, she dove fluidly into the water without even making a ripple.
“She’s stunning, is she not?” the wood-nymph asked.
“Yes,” Pádraig answered, still gazing at the spot where dark maiden had gone under.
“Seductive, even?”
“That, too.”
Yseult touched her twiggy hair. “Her hair is sleek and beautiful.”
Detecting a note of dejection in her lilting voice and realizing where the conversation was leading, the young farrier said, “Like a horse’s mane, which befits a phooka. Just like your cute little branches befit a wood-nymph.”
“Do you really think my hair is…cute?” Yseult asked, unwinding one of the strands and looking at it.
Putting his arm around the little wood-nymph’s shoulders, he replied, “I think you’re cute all over.”
Although Pádraig couldn’t really tell from looking at Yseult’s bark-like skin in the dark, he thought, perhaps, he detected just a hint of a blush.
Oakday - Wolf 48th
Gabhrán Shire
Midway into the first watch, Liam turned Stumbles and the farrier’s wagon through the opening in the gate to Tadhg’s forge. Snow had been falling for well over two hours and the poor draught horse’s head hung low with exhaustion.
“We’re here, Big Fellow,” the prince told the big black horse. “There’s a warm stable just ahead. And your buddy Clover is there waiting for you. Just a rod or so farther.”
That rod or so brought them to the front path of the living quarters.
From the back of the wagon, where he and Máiréad had been riding out of sight, Finbar said, “Go up by yourself, first, if you would, Your Highness, and make sure no one else is around.”
Without responding, Liam hopped down from the driver’s seat and hustled up to the front door.
Before he could knock, however, the door opened and Neave, astonished at seeing him, said, “Your Highness? What are you doing here at this late hour? Come. Come in out of the cold.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” he replied, “but I need to tend to the horses first. Stumbles, here, has had a rough go of it today, I’m afraid. And I’ve brought back the horse you lent me. If you could point me toward the stalls you’d like me to use, I’ll take care of things.”
“Of course, Your Highness, let me get my cloak.”
As she started to turn away, Liam said, “Ma’am, is there…is there anyone else here with you?”
Neave stopped and turned back toward him, shaking her head. “No, Your Highness. Just me. I’ll grab my cloak, we’ll get the horses stabled, and then I’ll warm up some left-over mutton stew for you. You look chilled to the bone.”
“W…would there be enough of that left-over stew for three helpings, ma’am?” the prince asked.
“Why of course. There’s a full pot. I just made it tonight. Are you that famished, Your Highness?”
“N…no, ma’a
m. I have two other people with me.”
Considering that to be their cue, both Finbar and Máiréad stuck their heads through the curtain at the rear of the wagon.
“Finn?” Neave said, straining to see them in the dark. “What are you doing back there? Get yourself in here where it’s warm. And bring the boy with you.”
Climbing over the tailgate next to the buckskin-colored gelding, Finbar helped Máiréad clamber down. “I know it’s dark, Neave, and although dressed like a boy, this is the Lady Máiréad, daughter of Eógan, Earl of the Western Shires.”
“I’m sorry, My Lady,” Neave replied with a curtsy. “Please come and warm yourself by the fire. As soon as I help Finn and His Highness—”
“Just point, Neave,” Finbar told her. “I’ll see to the horses while you make the prince and Lady Máiréad comfortable.”
Liam started to protest, but the farrier waved him off. “You’ve been fighting the wind all day and the snow for the past couple of hours, Your Highness, while I’ve been in the back of the wagon. Go! I won’t be long.”
* * *
With Stumbles and Bucky fed, watered, brushed, and bedded down for the night in stalls on either side of Clover the chestnut draught horse, and Liam, Máiréad, and Finbar fed and warmed by the fire, Neave addressed the eight-hundred-pound bear in the room.
“The last time you were here, Your Highness, you told me that it was important that no one knew about your visit. I gather that caution still holds?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liam replied. “It’s of the utmost importance. You see, the same people who held me captive still hold Finbar’s son, Paddy. We’re on—”
“I’m so sorry, Finn,” Neave said, taking the farrier by the forearm. “Is there anything I can do?”
“As the prince says, Neave, keep our visit a secret. We’re on our way to rescue Paddy, and the fewer people who know about it, the easier our task will be.”
“You can count on me. And whatever else you need, just ask.”
A Spark is Struck in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 1) Page 26
