The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan (The Chronicles of Pádraig Book 2)

by Bill Stackhouse

  There’s a reason why I’m getting these impressions of him, she thought. There has to be. Something’s radically wrong.

  Instead of calling for Aednat, her lady’s maid, and putting in a supper order, Máiréad grabbed her loden-green ruana from a peg and quickly left her room.

  When she exited the keep, the evening light was already fading rapidly. Pulling up the ruana’s hood, she snuggled into the wolf-fur trim and crossed to the center of the ward. Starting with the forge and stables on the east side of the fortress, the apprentice wizard emptied her mind and once more probed her surroundings. This time, however, she had only one very specific target in mind—Pádraig.

  Her first attempt resulted in nothing at all.

  She turned her body in an anti-sunwise direction and expanded the probe to include the Venerable Odhran’s round tower. Even knowing that the master wizard would probably detect her intrusion, at this point she didn’t care. She had sensed Pádraig—twice this evening. Of that, she was certain.

  Still nothing. Nothing on any of the five floors of the tower.

  Máiréad turned again and again.

  * * *

  Siollán exited the garrison into the ward, pulled his dark-red cape around him and his hood up to ward off the chill of the evening and the heavily falling snow, and crossed to the bush by the keep where he had stashed his piggin. Picking up the wooden pail, he was about to take it over to the well-head by the forge when he noticed the Lady Máiréad standing in the center of the ward.

  She stood as still as a statue, wrapped in a loden-green ruana with wolf-fur trim, facing the Venerable Odhran’s tower on the sea-side rampart of the fortress. The bowman could see that she must have been there for some time, as the snow had accumulated on her shoulders and on the ruana’s hood.

  Finally, she turned toward the garrison, where she once more assumed her statue-like stance.

  Siollán hesitated for a moment, then crossed behind the apprentice wizard to the well-head. There, he went about his business, trying his best not to be noticed by the young woman, and returned to the silver-dust bush. Setting the bucket of water once again behind the shrub, he crossed back to the garrison to get Pádraig’s drugged supper from the cook in the mess hall.

  * * *

  Extending her mental energy toward the garrison, then the keep, Máiréad still could not detect the presence of her former soul friend.

  Doubt began to seep in. Maybe I was mistaken, she told herself. Perhaps it was just the fatigue from all the exercises. Her shoulders drooped and she sighed. Probably nothing that some supper and a good-night’s sleep won’t cure.

  As the young wizard started to return to the keep, she stopped abruptly. Wait! she rebuked herself. There’s something wrong.

  Once again, she probed the keep.

  Still, there was no indication of Pádraig on any of the four floors. However, there was also no trace of the dungeon at all. It was as if the cellar of the keep ended at the bottom of the staircase from the first floor, where one burly guard, dressed in the livery of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, stood as a sentinel over…nothing.

  For a third time, Máiréad probed the keep’s dungeon. She hadn’t been mistaken before. There was no dungeon.

  Running up the steps and into the keep, she hurried to the staircase and sprinted down the stairs to the cellar, ruana flowing behind her.

  At the bottom, she encountered the guard. Behind him was the dungeon.

  The burly man stepped in front of her. “I’m sorry, My Lady, but no one is allowed down here,” he said, courteously.

  “You obviously know who I am, Guardsman, and therefore, you also know that I am permitted to go anywhere in this cathair.”

  “The orders come directly from the Venerable Odhran, Honored Madam. Aside from the hand-picked guards, only he and the Revered Neasán are permitted entry.”

  Máiréad reached out, gently put a hand on the guard’s shoulder, looked directly into his eyes, and said, “You mean that aside from the hand-picked guards, only the Venerable Odhran, the Revered Neasán, and I are permitted entry?”

  The guard’s eyes glazed over slightly and he replied, “Yes, My Lady, that’s exactly what I mean.” He stood aside, so that the apprentice wizard could enter.

  As Máiréad strode purposefully down the few steps into the dungeon proper, both guards there leapt from their stools to intercept her.

  “My Lady!” the first guard said. “How did you get by…” He attempted to look around her to the guard at the dungeon entrance.

  “You’re not allowed here, My Lady,” the second guard said, lightly taking hold of her upper arm with his right hand, attempting to turn her around.

  Máiréad’s eyes narrowed as she glared at him, glanced at his hand, then again looked him squarely in the eye. “I assume you’re right-handed, Guardsman?”

  “Um…Yes, My Lady. But what—”

  “Unless you relish the thought of going through the rest of your life being called ‘Lefty,’ I’d suggest you unhand me.”

  The guard’s eyes widened.

  “Now, Guardsman!” she commanded.

  He did as he had been bidden, and Máiréad looked over at the closest cell.

  Sitting on the edge of his cot, disheveled and with a seven-day growth of beard on him, Pádraig touched his forehead in a little salute with the end of the tin whistle. “Honored Madam.”

  “Paddy, what are you doing…” She turned to the guards. “What is he doing in there? Never mind. I don’t care. Let him out. Immediately!”

  “I can’t do that, My Lady,” the first guard replied, respectfully. “Master Odhran’s orders.”

  Máiréad waved a hand in his direction in an attempt to send him flying across the room and into the stone block wall, but the gesture resulted the same as if she were sweeping a gnat away from her face. Puzzled, the young wizard tried again, with the same effect—nothing.

  “Odhran’s placed a magic-blocking spell on the entire dungeon, Meig,” Pádraig said. “Our powers won’t work down here.”

  She crossed to the bars and said, “It can’t cover the entire dungeon. On two brief—”

  Seeing Pádraig, with his right forefinger on his lips, give her a miniscule shake of his head, she stopped short. However, because of her position relative to the two guards, neither of them had a view of their prisoner’s face.

  “What did you do, Paddy?!” she asked, accusingly.

  He shrugged his shoulders, taking a moment to decide how much to tell her, so that she wouldn’t end up in an adjoining cell. Finally, opting to tell her nothing at all at this time, he replied, “Thought I’d take a little trip and come up here and visit my old classmate. I guess, somewhere along the way, I committed a transgression of some kind.”

  “What kind of transgression?”

  Again the shoulder shrug accompanied by a head shake. “Not sure, Meig.”

  “We’ll just see what Master Odhran has to say about this,” Máiréad spat out at the two guards, as she turned from the cell and stalked toward the dungeon exit.

  “Meig?” Pádraig called out after her. When the young woman had stopped and turned to him, he continued. “If you should see Brian the bowman out there, would you kindly ask him where my supper is? He’s been taking very good care of me ever since I’ve been here.”

  After a brief furrowing of her forehead, she gave him a minute nod, indicating that the hidden message had been received. “Brian the bowman?”

  “Yes. It’s odd that he and his horse have the same name, don’t you think? The…uh…‘Brian’ part. Not the…the ‘bowman’ part.”

  “I figured that out for myself, Paddy. However, after my talk with the Venerable Odhran, you’ll be eating your dinner elsewhere tonight.” With that, she stomped up the steps and out of the dungeon.

  “Well, what do you think, Guardsmen?” Pádraig asked, once Máiréad had left. “Should I start packing, now?”

  “I’d hold off on that,
if I were you, Honored Sir,” the first guard replied. “I don’t think we’ll be seeing the Lady Máiréad back here anytime soon.”

  “She can be very persuasive,” the young wizard continued.

  “However, the Venerable Odhran can be quite insistent,” the second guard countered. “Better figure on being our guest for a while longer. Besides,”—he looked down at a scrap of parchment on the guards’ table—“both we and our colleagues on days need the extra time to win some of our money back at Hazard before you go.”

  Both guards laughed, and Pádraig joined in, as well.

  * * *

  In the reception hall on the first floor of the Venerable Odhran’s round tower, the master wizard sat at the head of the long table. Standing to his right, the Revered Neasán was in the process of briefing him on the results of Máiréad’s training sessions.

  The door flew open and the apprentice wizard herself strode in without knocking, a frown on her face.

  “Máiréad!” Odhran said, looking up. “Neasán and I were just going over your scores from today’s exercise. Impressive, I must say.”

  “Why is Paddy being kept in the dungeon?” she demanded, crossing halfway to the other two wizards.

  The master wizard glanced briefly at Neasán and gave him a head-gesture toward the door. Once the journeyman wizard had exited the room, Odhran pointed to the stool on his right. “Come. Sit,” he said.

  Máiréad didn’t move. “Why has he been arrested? What’s he done that warrants this kind of treatment? And, does the Venerable Taliesin know about this?”

  The master wizard’s eyes narrowed. “Do not presume to question my motives or my authority. As you very well know, my brother wizard has no sway here in the Northern Shires.” Once again, he motioned to the stool and commanded, “Now, come and sit!”

  The young lady lowered her eyes, slowly crossed to the table, and sat where she had been directed.

  “First of all,” Odhran said, “Pádraig is not under arrest. He’s simply being detained in protective custody for a little while.”

  Máiréad’s green eyes flashed. “He’s in the dungeon!”

  “What better place to protect him.”

  “From what?”

  “From himself.”

  “From himself?”

  “Quite.” The elderly wizard reached over and patted Máiréad’s hand. “There are crucial matters that are taking place that you know nothing of. Your ma is due to arrive at Cathair Béarra by the end of next week. When she gets here, everything will be thoroughly explained to you. Then, you’ll understand why what you’ve discovered is necessary.”

  The young apprentice wizard removed her hand from under Odhran’s. “What does my ma have to do with this?”

  “Everything, my dear. Everything. But until she arrives, young Pádraig will remain where he is, as the guest of our good King Cabhan. Once these matters which I have spoken of have come to fruition, he will be released and permitted to return to the Western Shires, unhindered. Until then, Máiréad, you will have no further contact with him. Go about your business. Continue your training. And everything will be made clear to you in good time.”

  “Is my da coming here as well?”

  “No. He’s on his way to Ráth Árainn. The countess is coming by herself. Now, go to your quarters and get a well-deserved rest after an extremely-productive day.” The master wizard made a slight movement with the back of his hand.

  Recognizing a dismissal when she saw one, Máiréad feigned submission and stood. “My ma will explain everything when she gets here?”

  “Indeed, she will,” Odhran replied.

  “Then I bid you a good night, Master,” she said with a slight bow, then turned from him and left the room.

  * * *

  Outside the round tower, Máiréad glanced across the ward. Although the snow continued to fall, enough light from a combined full Silver Nightingale and a waxing gibbous Golden Owl glowed through the clouds, allowing her to glimpse Siollán the bowman exit the keep with Pádraig’s chamber pot. She watched as he crossed to the bush by the postern and picked up both the piggin of water and the tray with the drugged food, and took them, as well as the chamber pot, through the postern to the cesspit, nodding to the guard at the gate as he went out.

  Quickly, but at a distance, she followed him, recalling what Pádraig had said, earlier:

  “If you should see Brian the bowman out there, would you kindly ask him where my supper is? He’s been taking very good care of me ever since I’ve been here.”

  Unseen by Siollán, Máiréad watched from the shadows, as he scraped the food into the pit, then emptied the iron chamber pot and rinsed it. Just as he was about to turn around, she made a small movement with her left hand, and the bowman rose six inches off the ground.

  “Whoa!…Wh…wh…wh…what’s going on?” he whined.

  “You tell me,” the apprentice wizard whispered.

  Siollán turned his head. “M…M…My Lady? I…I’m just going about my nightly chores.”

  “You are Brian the bowman? The one who’s been taking care of Paddy?”

  “Y…yes, My Lady. P…please put me down.”

  “What is the name of your horse, Bowman?”

  “M…my horse?”

  Máiréad moved him directly over the cesspit. “I don’t have all night. And it’s not a trick question. What is the name of your horse?”

  “B…Brian, My Lady.”

  She nodded with satisfaction, moved him over away from the cesspit, and deposited him on his backside. As Siollán scrambled to his feet, moving farther away from the edge of the pit, she asked, “Why are you scraping the food in there?”

  “B…because it’s drugged, My Lady. Each evening, the cook fixes a special tray for Pádraig, and I hide it behind a bush and get him another supper from the chow line that isn’t drugged. He eats that and pretends that it’s the food especially prepared for him. When I rinse out his chamber pot, I get rid of the drugged food as well.”

  “If there’s a magic-blocking spell on the dungeon, why is his supper drugged?”

  “Extra protection, My Lady. I guess the Venerable Odhran isn’t taking any chances with him.”

  “Okay, Brian, tell me everything you know about why Paddy’s here in the dungeon.”

  “My name’s actually ‘Siollán,’ My Lady. I’m just using ‘Brian,’ so no one will know who I really am. But, please, I don’t want to change my routine. Let me get back to the dungeon with the chamber pot, pick up the supper tray and dispose of it; then, I’ll meet you anywhere you want and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  “Are you staying in the garrison?”

  “No, My Lady. I’m bunking out in the woods in a copse of pines about a furlong from here.” He pointed in a southwesterly direction. “I come to the cathair only to take care of Pádraig and see to Brian. Otherwise, I make myself scarce.”

  “Finish your chores,” Máiréad told him, “and I’ll meet you there.”

  “It’s pretty well hidden, My Lady. I’m not sure you’ll be able to find it.”

  She gave him a condescending look. “I’ll be able to find you, Siollán. Now go!”

  * * *

  They had been sitting on a log that the bowman had dragged into his hiding place. Even though the copse of pine shielded them from the wind and most of the snow, Máiréad had used her magic to heat up a pile of rocks, so that they’d have some warmth, as well.

  Siollán had told the young wizard everything he could remember since that evening at Fort Callainn when he had disclosed Earl Eógan’s betting pool to Pádraig and Section Leader Eamon. He had gone on to tell her about the ambush on the road between Fort Callainn and Fort Árainn, and that Pádraig and Cian, Reeve of Árainn Shire, suspected rebels rather than bandits. He had also told her about his banishment to North Head, and about seeing a prisoner being brought into the garrison there.

  Taking Pádraig’s wrought iron hawk’s-beak hoof-pick from the p
ocket of his breeches, he had relayed to her how he had gotten it, and that he had then realized whom the prisoner must be.

  Next, he told Máiréad about how, the following evening, when he had heard that the prisoner had been transferred to Fortress Béarra while he had been out on patrol that day, he had asked for time off to visit his family, but instead, had come down to the fortress to see if he could do anything for Pádraig.

  The apprentice wizard had listened intently to the bowman’s story without interruption. When he had finished, she sat silently for a few minutes before saying, “A betting pool? But my da doesn’t gamble, Siollán.”

  “I collected the betting slips, My Lady, from all the chieftains in the Northern Shires, including King Cabhan himself. Every one of them placed a wager except for Chieftain Tierney in Callainn Shire, who declined to participate.”

  Máiréad frowned. “Tierney was killed on a wild boar hunt a couple of weeks ago. His son, Garbhán, is the new Chieftain of Callainn Shire.”

  “I hadn’t heard.”

  “Do you have any idea why Paddy was up at North Head in the first place?” she asked. “Was that where he was supposed to be?”

  “I have no idea, My Lady. The last time I saw him was at Ráth Árainn.”

  “How much contact do you have with him now?”

  “Not much. I’m not allowed to approach his cell until the guards have him stand and face the back wall.”

  “You said that you came down to Fortress Béarra to see if you could do anything for him,” Máiréad said. “Does that include helping me break him out of that dreadful dungeon?”

  “I’d be honored to help in any way I can, My Lady,” Siollán replied. “Just tell me what to do and when to do it.”

  “The ‘when’ is tomorrow evening after supper. Now, here’s the ‘what.’ Pay close attention, Bowman.”