He was answered with a snort.
“Okay, then. Lights out.” With that, he snapped his fingers and the orb of light disappeared. He and Yseult then retreated to her lair beneath the hawthorn tree.
* * *
Wizard and nymph entered Yseult’s phosphorescently-lit underground cavern, and the loamy scent brought back pleasant memories of the days Pádraig had spent there recuperating. He smiled at the recollections, as he set his bedroll and saddlebag down.
“You’ve had a long day, my pinkie,” Yseult told him. “Go ahead and eat your yucky meal, and pull up a saddle of your choice for a pillow. I still have to tend to my charges and make sure they’re ready for bed, too.”
She stood on her tiptoes, gave him a soft kiss on the lips, then scampered back up out of the cave.
Ashday - Bear 14th
Árainn Shire
Pádraig had not gotten away from Yseult’s until early that afternoon. He had been more tired from the long ride the day before than he had realized, and hadn’t woken until mid-morning.
After bringing fresh water to Killian and letting the mule finish the last of the oats he had brought with him, the young wizard had turned the animal out into the compound while he used the remains of a broken plank to muck out the former prison.
Once he had polished off the last of his meat and cheese, while the wood-nymph clucked her tongue at him in disgust, Pádraig and Yseult had taken a quick tour of the remains of the compound. Seeing it in the light of day, the wizard had agreed with Yseult’s assessment of the night before on how long anything would be left standing as a reminder of the camp’s prior usage.
“In the years that have gone by, none of the rebels have ever returned here to check things out?” Pádraig asked.
“Never,” she replied. “They may have been inept at kidnapping, but they wouldn’t have been that stupid to risk ever using this compound again. On an irregular basis, I’ve seen defense forces ride through. Besides, they have other encampments farther up north.”
“Are you sure, Yseult? Where?”
The little wood-nymph’s shoulders drooped and, before answering, she let out a big sigh that belied her diminutive size. “I’m positive, Paddy. But I’m not sure exactly where. Just somewhere north.”
“If you don’t know where, how can you be positive?”
Looking up and locking her olive-brown eyes onto his deep-blue ones, she sadly replied. “Because I’ve felt it. So have many of my sister keepers of the trees. We’ve sensed the cries of so many trees, as they’ve been chopped down. Many more than were felled to make this compound. The camps in the north are probably five times this large.”
With that, Yseult put her arm around Pádraig, leaned into him, and hugged him tightly.
The young wizard returned the hug, bent down, spread her twiggy hair, and kissed her on the forehead. When her teary eyes once again looked up at him, the twosome exchanged a long and tender kiss on the lips.
Breaking the embrace, he told her, “If I should come across any of those camps, Yseult, rest assured, I will exact retribution.”
* * *
Halfway up to Droim Fiaclach, on the eastern slope of Stob Bàn, the narrowness and steepness of the winding path made for slow going, especially in the failing light. Even though it was still early evening, the sun had already disappeared behind the Sawtooth Mountains.
Hearing the ringing of metal on rock, Pádraig reined in Killian and sat there, trying to get a fix on the sound.
After a moment of two, a female voice uttered a cry of defiance. “Even with half a sword, I’ll still cut your ears off, beasty!” In a less confident tone, though, she yelled, “Help! Someone! Anyone! Help me!”
Again, there was the sound of metal on rock.
The young wizard quickly dismounted. Grabbing Lairgnen’s hand-and-a-half sword from the wood-core scabbard covered in black leather, which hung down from Killian’s saddle, he ran toward the clamor. As he rounded an outcropping of boulders, he spotted a woman, her back up against the side of the mountain, with her foot solidly wedged between two rocks. Holding a broken hand-and-a-half sword, she fended off a cougar that was looking for an opportunity to attack.
Although small in stature, at under five feet, the woman was not slight by any means, but rather stocky and compact. She wore buckskin breeches and brown leather knee-high boots. A buckskin shirt, open at the neck, showed an ample amount of cleavage under a white, goatskin cloak, fastened at the neck with a silver pin in the shape of a thistle. Her round, fair, somewhat flat face sported a goodly amount of freckles, and she wore her chestnut-colored hair in crop-rows, their long braids hanging midway down her back.
A dwarf! Pádraig thought. Well I’ll be. She’s a dwarf!
He had seen quite a few male dwarfs at the marketplace in the Central Federal Region, but realized that this was the very first time he had ever encountered a female of the species.
Whistling, shouting, and waving his sword, he attempted to distract the mountain lion. However, the big cat took one disparaging glance at him, then returned its attention to its trapped prey.
For that moment when the cougar had become aware of Pádraig’s presence, the dwarf had glimpsed him, as well, spotting his red mantle.
Parrying an attempt by the cat to get inside her defensive circle, she shouted, “Are yuh just gonna stand there, laddie, and watch; or, are yuh gonna be of some use tuh me, now? Dinna just wave it around like a broomstick. Use your sword tuh kill the beasty, yuh dunderhead.”
Instead, the young wizard conjured up a small ball of energy and hurled it at the cougar’s backside.
The animal howled and leapt backward about three feet, once again turning its attention to Pádraig, before ignoring him yet another time and closing in on the dwarf.
“I said, ‘kill it,’ laddie, dinna play with it,” the woman shouted. “Either use your sword or your magic, but kill the dratted beast.”
“I’m not going to kill it,” Pádraig yelled back, as he hurled a larger, more potent, energy globule at the cougar, again scoring a direct hit to its rump.
The cat turned toward him, this time curling its lips and snarling.
“’Tis good, Wizard,” the dwarf shouted again. “Make the beasty more angry. That’ll improve the situation. Now quit messing about and kill it!”
This time, Pádraig conjured up two spells. With the first, he struck the dwarf mute. With the second, he redoubled the power of a third energy sphere; and, as the big cat sprang toward him, he launched the ball of lightning, catching the mountain lion squarely in the chest.
Falling to the ground with a yowl, the cougar shakily struggled back to its feet, shook itself, and then hurried off in the opposite direction, giving one final snarl and shake before disappearing from sight.
The dwarf gave a new meaning to the phrase ‘hopping mad,’ as she bounced up and down on the one foot she could move, trying to scream out epithet after epithet at the young wizard, and growing more outraged and frustrated by the minute, at not being able to do so.
As Pádraig approached her, he removed the spell and caught just the tail end of her tirade.
“…yuh dunderhead! Why didn’t yuh kill it?!”
“Because it didn’t need to be killed,” he replied. “Now stand still, before you injure your foot more.”
“Didn’t need tuh be killed?! It’s a mountain lion, yuh dunderhead. Yuh kill mountain lions before they kill you, laddie. ’Tis the way here on the mountain.”
“Well, it’s not my way,” the young wizard replied, setting his sword down on the ground and kneeling beside the woman, examining her wedged-in foot. “It’s gone. And, you’re welcome. Now stand still, while I set you free.”
Although she did stand still, she didn’t give up on her harangue. “And what if it attacks me next week and kills me? Then what, huh?”
Pádraig looked up into her brown eyes, quickly taking in the rest of her up close. Though quite stocky, she wasn’t fat, and
seemed well proportioned, nicely so, for her size. And her face could almost be described as comely. “Then I’ll feel badly about my decision,” he told her, “so, please try and not let yourself get eaten next week. I’m generally a pretty happy fellow and I don’t like feeling badly.” With that, he cast a spell that moved the two rocks apart, freeing the heretofore wedged foot.
Sitting down on one of the boulders, she set the broken half of her sword on the ground, removed the boot from her injured foot, and rubbed her ankle, wincing as she did so.
“Here, let me have a look at it,” he said, taking the ankle in his hands and gently checking for any sign of broken bones, moving his hands halfway up her shin.
She pulled the foot away from him, saying, “So yuh can feel me up, laddie? Is that your game? Huh?”
Swiftly, Pádraig cast two more spells. The first turned her mute again. The second froze her in place like a statue. While in that state, he closed his eyes, wrapped both hands around the woman’s ankle, and used his gift of healing from An Fearglas to take away the pain.
Released from the dual spells, the dwarf was just about ready to launch into another tirade when she realized that the discomfort had faded.
“What?…How?” she sputtered.
“It’s what I do,” Pádraig said, picking up his sword and standing. “My name’s ‘Pádraig,’ by the way. And, again, you’re welcome.” A bit light-headed at expending some of the life-force with which An Fearglas had blessed him, he turned from her and started back to where he had left Killian, hoping that the cougar, having been deprived of a dwarf dinner, had not decided to eat the mule.
“What about your payment, laddie?” the woman called after him. “Surely yuh aren’t gonna leave without that.”
He stopped and turned. “A simple ‘thank you’ will suffice, as well as your name.”
“I am Isla, daughter of Bhàtair, the Mountain King.”
“And, My Lady?” he said with a slight bow, waiting for the expression of appreciation.
“And I am no one’s lady but my own. We dwarfs dinna use inconsequential titles tuh proclaim our worth, as men seem prone tuh do. That’s why I did not and will not refer tuh yuh as ‘Honored Sir.’ The only one on this mountain with a title, and a rightly-earned one, at that, is the Mountain King himself.”
“As you wish, Isla. And, once more, you’re welcome.” Again, he turned from her.
“Duh yuh expect me tuh beg yuh to take your payment, Wizard?” she called out.
Yet again Pádraig stopped and turned to her, thinking, The females are every bit as surly as the dwarf males I’ve come in contact with. Maybe, even more so. I’m beginning to think I should have just let the cougar eat her. But, then, I’d have to delve into my herb bag to give the animal something for its upset stomach. Letting out a sigh, he said, “I simply asked for a ‘thank you.’ You’re free to give it or not, as you so choose, but you owe me nothing more.”
“Well, yuh have that, laddie. But, we dwarfs pay our own way. I’ll not be in your debt. Now, name your payment.” She stood there, having picked up the hilt of her broken sword, arms crossed in front of her, tapping her bare foot on the ground. “Well?”
Oh, man, Pádraig thought. I guess I’m going to have to ask for something. What should it be? Finding it difficult to take his eyes off her ample cleavage, he noted the woman’s silver cloak-pin in the shape of a thistle. “Okay, how about that pin?” he said, gesturing toward it. “Give me the pin and we’ll call it square.”
“Oh?” she said, reprovingly, rocking back and forth on her heels. “So ’tis fine silver yuh want, is it? For chasing away a mountain lion that yuh should have killed in the first place with that sword of yours? Is that what yuh think it’s worth?”
The young wizard’s shoulders drooped. I’ve got to get out of here before that cougar eats Killian. “Fine. Just forget about it, then. I’ve got to get going while there’s still a bit of light left.”
Before he could turn to go, she quickly said, “How about this sporran, huh?” Holding up the brown leather and badger-fur sporran, worn on a brown leather belt, she continued. “See, laddie? The belt buckle’s got the same thistle as on the pin.”
He looked. Even from a distance in the failing light he could see that the buckle was made of iron. Then he remembered what he had learned from observing dwarfs at the marketplace. They never set prices on their wares. When asked a price, they most always would respond with, ‘Make me an offer.’ When the potential customer did, they would then counter with a lower offer, and haggling would ensue until a price, agreeable to both parties, was arrived at.
Ah, I see, he said to himself. This is the dwarf way. That’s what it is. I offer; she counters. Now, I guess, it’s my turn. “A purse with an iron buckle for saving the life of the daughter of the Mountain King?” he asked, with mock incredulity. “Maybe I can get a better deal by negotiating directly with your da. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. In a day or so, I’ll come by and see him. Tell him how that cougar almost ate his daughter, and see if he thinks a purse with an iron buckle is a fair price for rescuing her.”
Again, he turned to leave.
“Well, yuh’re not getting the silver pin, laddie. If not the sporran, then what else would yuh suggest?”
What I’d suggest is that I’d better be going soon, he thought, or I’ll be trying to find Sléibhín’s hut in the pitch dark. And, besides that, it’s starting to snow. Swell!
At a loss for what to haggle for next, Pádraig turned around and his eyes zeroed in on the half a sword she held. “When you’re not breaking your sword fending off cougars, are you actually any good with it?”
Isla reacted as if slapped in the face. “I’ll have yuh know I am one of the most proficient swordspersons on the mountain. Even with half a sword, I’ll bet I’d still be able tuh best the likes of yuh, Wizard.”
“No doubt,” he replied, suppressing a smile at having made her rise to the bait. “Especially since I’ve never used this sword before except once to cut down water reeds. It belonged to a friend of mine. He died and left it to me.”
“’Tis a weapon, yuh dunderhead, not a gardening tool,” she said, furrowing her brow.
“Which brings me to my request for payment,” the young wizard continued. “Teach me.”
“Teach yuh what?”
“Teach me how to use the sword.”
The dwarf stood there considering his request for a few moments.
Pádraig could guess at the mental calculations she was going through. All he had asked for was time, not something of material value.
Finally, she said, “For how long?”
“Until you deem me capable enough. If you are, as you say, ‘one of the most proficient swordspersons on the mountain,’ it shouldn’t take all that long. After all, if I could master the rigors of the Academy, I can’t be a complete dunderhead, now, can I? How about four days a week? An hour session each day?”
“And ’tis up tuh me tuh determine how many sessions total?”
“Until you think I’m a capable swordsman. The decision’s yours.”
“Agreed,” she said. “Here at this place on Yewdays, Willowdays, Hazeldays, and Hollydays. At midday.”
“I’ll be here, Isla.”
“Yuh’d better be,” she cautioned. “Because I’ll wait no longer than a quarter hour for yuh. Otherwise yuh forfeit that day’s lesson, laddie.”
“And if I have to wait longer than a quarter hour for you, that silver pin is mine.”
Although she tried not to let it show, a smile of admiration crept across the woman’s lips.
A bargain had been struck.
“Until tomorrow, Wizard.”
“At midday, Isla.”
“At precisely midday.”
Ashday - Bear 14th
Lorg Shire
A different campfire in a different clearing of a different forest in a different shire, but the same covert band of Watchmen sat around it, except for Pádraig an
d Cadwgawn.
* * *
Earlier that afternoon, Irial, a section leader with the Cruachanian Defense Forces, had ordered his helmsman to steer their sea-currach toward the dock at Blessed Island, ostensibly to check in with the Venerable Coinneach, to see if the Master of the Academy for the Spiritually Gifted had noticed anything out of the ordinary in the Sea of the Evening near the island. In reality, what Irial actually wanted was to have Coinneach contact the Venerable Taliesin, Court Wizard of the Kingdom of the Western Shires, and arrange a meeting for that evening.
* * *
Once the section leader had re-embarked his sea-currach, Coinneach checked the position of the sun, then retreated to his top-floor rooms in a round tower at the Academy.
After seating himself on a stool in front of a table, the master wizard lifted the lid of a small wooden box, removed a round, polished, purple orb, about a hand in diameter, closed the lid, and set the sphere in a small indentation on top of the box.
Taking in a deep breath, he emptied his mind of all anxieties and distractions and gazed directly into the orb, concentrating his thoughts solely on one of his fellow members of the Sodality of Master Wizards—Taliesin, Guardian of the Black Stone. The purple orb began to glow. In a few minutes, an apparition of his brother wizard manifested itself in the stool across the table from him.
“Cosaint, Taliesin,” Coinneach said, using the language of the ancients for the word ‘protection.’ He then grinned and continued with, “Did I wake you?”
From the top floor of a five-story round tower on an island in Tulach Shire’s Salmon River, Taliesin sat at a desk with a round, polished, glowing black orb in front of him. On a stool opposite sat a manifestation of Coinneach.
“Agus Seirbhís,” Taliesin answered, wearily, completing the greeting between Watchmen with the ancient words that meant, ‘And Service.’ With a sigh and a slight shake of his head, he confessed, “The naps are becoming more and more frequent these days, my brother.”
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 2) Page 11
