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

by Bill Stackhouse

  After receiving a nod from the wizard, who entered the darkness of the forge itself, Finbar circled around the outside of the building toward the house. He had hardly gotten to the cottage door when a blow to the head sent him reeling into blackness.

  * * *

  The farrier awoke on the floor of Colm’s cottage. He put a hand to the back of his head and winced as he touched the goose-egg-size bump. Moaning, he rolled to his right. There lie Colm, unconscious.

  A voice from the stool at the table said, “I’m sure glad I didn’t alarm him, Finn.”

  Finbar managed to sit up, placing his back against the table leg. “What happened?”

  “Apparently he had already been troubled,” Labhrás replied. “He was on guard and smacked you upside the head with a hammer. Good thing you had your hood up. The blow didn’t break the skin.”

  Once again, Finbar touched the bump and flinched. “What happened to Colm?”

  The wizard shrugged. “A small energy pulse. He should be coming around shortly. Here, drink some of this.” Labhrás held out a tankard toward the farrier.

  “Mmm,” Finbar said, sipping the hard cider. “Don’t know whether it will cure the welt; but, another tankard of this, and I won’t care.”

  Just then, Colm groaned and tried to sit up. “Finn?” he said, looking to his left. “What are you doing here? And what happened to you?”

  Finbar handed him the tankard and said, “You happened. You hit me with a hammer.”

  “That was you?”

  “Yeah, it was me.”

  “Thought you were a looter. Ever since the majority of the security forces withdrew earlier, we’ve had some problems. Figured you were one of ’em.” Sitting up and looking over at Labhrás, he asked, “Who’s that?”

  “The guy who hit you.”

  “With what? A sledge hammer?”

  “An energy pulse. Notice the blue mantle? This is the Revered Labhrás. Labhrás, this is Colm, a not-so-revered farrier.”

  Colm gave a little two-fingered salute in the wizard’s direction, then struggled to his feet, offering a hand to Finbar.

  When both farriers had seated themselves at the table, Finbar asked, “Where’s Beibhinn? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. When Earl Eógan and a bunch of security forces arrived yesterday at Ráth Callainn and imprisoned the defense forces, I suspected trouble, rushed home here, and sent her up to her sister’s place. And trouble is what we got. By the bucket-load. You saw what happened to the port buildings? I almost lost the forge. What’s this all about?”

  “The Northern Shires have declared their independence. Eógan and his troops from Ráth Árainn, along with a couple of journeyman wizards, have taken over Ráth Callainn. Prince Ríoghán, along with security forces from Cathair Béarra, Ráth Cairbrigh, and Ráth Gabhrán are facing off with the troops from Dúnfort Cruachan and defense forces and security forces from the Eastern Shires.”

  “Which one of them has Odhran?” Colm asked.

  “Neither,” Finbar replied. “Odhran’s dead. Paddy killed him.”

  “Killed a master wizard? Paddy? Nooo.”

  Labhrás finally spoke up. “Oh, yes, Colm. I was there. And believe me, the Honored Pádraig is not your typical apprentice wizard. He has more power than I, a journeyman, have. Way more.”

  Colm looked over at Finbar. His fellow farrier simply nodded.

  “What’s the plan?” Colm asked. “I assume this wasn’t just a social call in the dead of the night with a war going on.”

  “You’re more familiar with Ráth Callainn than anyone,” Finbar said. “Tell me about the layout. Especially the dungeon. We have troops of our own standing by for an assault; but, we need to find a way to release the defense forces imprisoned in the ráth.”

  “Releasing them’s not a problem. I’ve got duplicate keys hanging on hooks at the forge for every lock in the place, the dungeon and armory keys among them. It’s getting in without causing suspicion that’s the problem.”

  “Do you know anyone who could assist us?” Labhrás asked.

  Colm thought for a minute, then said, “Parnell, Reeve of Callainn Shire.”

  Finbar cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure we can trust him?”

  “Without a doubt. It was Parnell who helped Paddy and Prince Liam uncover the truth about who really murdered Tadhg those many years ago. When I was released from the lock-up over in Ráth Gabhrán, Parnell told me the whole story. He lives in a small wattle-and-daub cottage about halfway from here to Ráth Callainn, where Crooked Brook trickles over the cliffs and into the Sea of the Evening. He’ll be more than happy to help us.”

  * * *

  Finbar, Colm, Labhrás, Cadwgawn, and Griogair walked their horses across the small bridge over Crooked Brook and up toward the front yard of Parnell’s cottage.

  Stepping up on a flat rock that served as the front stoop, Colm held up a hand and said, “Stay here. Let him see me, first.” As the others waited, Colm approached the front door and rapped three times.

  The door opened about a span in width, and a little stoat-faced man peered out.

  “Colm?” he said, as his dark, beady eyes darted back and forth from the farrier to the other members of his party, widening at the sight of the dwarf and elf. “What…what’s going on?”

  “Plenty. We need to talk. Can we come in?”

  The reeve cautiously looked around the yard. “Wait a moment.” Turning his head toward someone inside, he said, “Hon, everything’s all right, but take the kids into one of the bedrooms and stay there. It’s business, and I have to talk to some folks.” After another minute, he opened the door all the way, and motioned to those outside. “Come. Come, quickly.”

  The cottage was small—one large room that served as a combination kitchen, dining, and living area, two bedrooms, and a small workroom off the greatroom at the back of the cottage.

  After the introductions, Colm said, “You’re aware that the security forces have completely taken over the ráth and have imprisoned the defense forces?”

  “I was there when the earl and his troops rode in. In fact, I saw you hightail it out of there shortly afterwards.”

  “I could smell trouble,” Colm replied. “I wanted to get Beibhinn away from the cottage and on her way to her sister’s place, farther northeast.”

  “Is she okay?”

  “Yeah. She was well gone before the fireworks began at the harbor. Anyway, we need your help. Finn, here, is the Honored Pádraig’s da, and—”

  “Is he, now? Good lad, your boy.”

  “Thank you,” Finbar replied. “But, as Colm said, we really need your help.”

  “Say the word. Whatever you need.”

  “We need to break the defense forces out of the dungeon and retake the ráth.”

  Momentarily stunned, Parnell sat there for a few moments before shaking his head. “Can’t be done. There’re too many security forces.”

  “We have forces, too, laddie,” Griogair spoke up. “And we plan tuh use ’em tomorrow morning after the majority of the security forces leave for the bay.”

  “Having the defense forces armed on the inside would be a great help to us,” Cadwgawn added.

  “Can’t be done,” Parnell repeated. “Can’t be.”

  “You know that there’s looting going on down by the bay, don’t you?” Labhrás asked.

  Parnell looked a bit irritated. “Of course I know. Me and my deputies’ll be heading down there in the morning to see if we can put a stop to it.”

  “That would be after you bring one of the looters into your lock-up first thing tomorrow after the troops leave,” Finbar said.

  “What looter?”

  The farrier spread his arms wide, then brought his hands in toward his chest. “That would be me.”

  “What?”

  “You’ll bring in your prisoner, Finn, in the morning,” Colm said. “The Revered Labhrás, here, will accompany you, after he’s engaged a personal concealment s
pell. And I’ll already be at work in the forge. I’ll get the key to the dungeon, give it to Finn, and handle the armory myself. You take Finn over to the dungeon and ask that the guards put him in with their prisoners, since you and your deputies will be gone most of the day, hunting looters.”

  “Ohhhh,” Parnell groaned. “I don’t know, Colm.”

  “I’ll be with you all the way,” Labhrás said, “concealed, of course. Once you and your deputies leave for the bay, we’ll take care of things at the ráth.”

  “Ohhhh.”

  Yewday - Fox 1st

  Callainn Shire - Ráth Callainn

  At first light, the majority of the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, under the command of the captain from Callainn Shire, accompanied by the Revered Oisín, the senior journeyman wizard in Callainn Shire, rode out through the main gate of the fort toward Saltwater Bay. Their mission was to relieve those troops who had been stationed at the port overnight with the captain from Árainn Shire and the Revered Murchú, the senior journeyman wizard in Árainn Shire. Earl Eógan and Chieftain Garbhán again remained at the fort to lead from behind.

  Gone was the clear sky from the day before, replaced by air heavily laden with moisture and completely overcast. Also, the onshore wind had picked up during the night, adding to the damp coolness. It didn’t take a wizard to predict that there’d be rain or snow or both by evening.

  Once the troops were out of sight, Parnell, Reeve of Callainn Shire, entered the fort on horseback. Trailing behind him on foot, hands tied to a two-rod’s-length piece of rope secured to the reeve’s saddle, Finbar staggered along. Parnell reined in his horse in front of the reeve’s office and lock-up, where he was met by his two deputies. He handed Finbar’s quarterstaff to one of the men, while the other untied the farrier and led him inside.

  From across the ward, Colm exited the forge and called out, “Here, Reeve, I’ll get that horse from you.” He crossed to Parnell; and, while taking the reins of the horse, he surreptitiously passed the reeve the duplicate key to the cells in the dungeon.

  “Thanks, Colm,” Parnell said, pocketing the key. “Just keep him saddled at the forge. I’ll be leaving for the bay in just a little while.”

  * * *

  From there, the plan went smoothly.

  While Parnell took Finbar to the dungeon, Colm dispatched the guards at the armory and unlocked the door. Once the reeve and his deputies had left the fort to hunt for looters at the port, the Revered Labhrás subdued the guards in the dungeon and Finbar unlocked the cell doors.

  The Cruachanian Defense Forces made their way to the armory, while Finbar snuck back to the reeve’s office to retrieve his quarterstaff.

  On cue, the first diversion arrived, occupying everyone’s attention. Three riderless horses galloped into the ward and headed straight for the stables.

  The earl and chieftain were summoned; and, as they stood there looking at the two horses that the messengers had ridden out on the night before, plus the third horse that they didn’t recognize, belonging to Prince Ríoghán’s messenger from Gabhrán Shire, the now-well-armed Cruachanian Defense Forces initiated the second diversion—an attack on the remaining Security Forces of the Northern Shires.

  With everyone now occupied with the fight inside the fort, the dwarf army came storming through the main gate, virtually unhindered, making short work out of any resistance.

  At the first sign of the dwarfs, though, Eógan hopped on one of the messenger’s horses and broke for the unattended postern gate next to the keep. As he reached the outside, he found out why the gate had been deliberately left unguarded. Finbar’s quarterstaff caught him squarely in the chest, and the earl found himself on the ground, sitting on his backside, momentarily stunned.

  “My Lord!” Finbar said, with a slight bow, twirling the staff in his hands. “I rather thought you’d find a way to escape the battle. And here you are. But not an escape, I’m afraid. Take a last look around you, Eógan. This is where you die.” The farrier lunged and caught the earl in the shoulder with the tip of his staff, as Eógan struggled to regain his feet. The man went down in a heap.

  “We can work this out, Finbar,” the earl said, scrambling backward. “There must be something you want. A title? Wealth? And I can give it to you. Reinforcements, along with well over a hundred Northmen, are on their way as we speak. The Northern Alliance will win. The Kingdom of the Northern Shires will have its independence. And I will be king.”

  Finbar chuckled and said, calmly, “No one’s coming, Eógan. No reinforcements. No Northmen. No Odhran. They’re all dead.” He pointed his staff at the other man. “And soon, you will be, too.” The farrier kept coming toward the earl, still smiling and twirling his quarterstaff.

  Eógan kept crawling backwards until he was able to get his footing.

  “And as to what we could possibly work out?” Finbar continued. “There’s absolutely nothing except your death. You tried to kill my son on two separate occasions, now. You’ll not get a third opportunity.”

  Eógan drew his short sword and his face hardened. “Have it your way, Finbar. Someone will most certainly die here, today. But blade against wood? It will not be me.”

  He attacked with an overhead slash, which Finbar easily blocked, then twirled the staff, knocking the earl’s feet out from under him.

  Just then, three figures emerged through the postern from the ward—Isla, the dwarf, and Brynmor, the elf, followed by Labhrás, the journeyman wizard.

  Relief flooded Eógan’s face, as he once more scrambled to his feet. “Labhrás! Thanks be to An Fearglas! Do something!”

  No one bothered to make the ritual act of submission at the mention of the Deity’s name. However, the wizard made a small gesture with each of his hands, and both Finbar and Brynmor fell to the ground unconscious, struck by energy pulses. “Oh, I fully intend to, My Lord,” Labhrás told him.

  Isla turned, drew her hand-and-a-half sword, and hissed, “So, an enemy in our midst.” However, before she could do anything else, she was rendered immobile and mute by another gesture from the wizard.

  “Is what the farrier said true?” the earl asked. “Are the others all dead?”

  “I’m afraid so, My Lord,” Labhrás replied. “And all due to the efforts of the farrier’s son, the Honored Pádraig.”

  Eógan’s lips twisted into a sneer. “Where is this meddlesome apprentice wizard?”

  “He should be arriving at Dúnfort Cruachan sometime later today, My Lord.”

  “Then we should send out a welcoming party to meet him.”

  “I think not, My Lord,” Labhrás said, again gesticulating with his hand and turning the earl into a second stationary, unspeaking object.

  Ignoring Eógan, the wizard addressed Isla. “You didn’t see the Honored Pádraig and the Lady Máiréad together. But I did. And there was more than just mere affection that I observed. Much more. I believe that they are deeply in love. They are each other’s anam cara. That’s why I had to intervene here, Isla. There’s no way I could allow Pádraig’s da to kill Máiréad’s. It would cause a wound so deep in their relationship that, I fear, nothing could mend it. However…” He made a motion with his hand, and the dwarf was released from the spell.

  “However,” Isla growled, “if Eógan were tuh be killed by a bloodthirsty dwarf, no one would question it. Is that what yuh mean, laddie?”

  Labhrás simply shrugged, turned, and walked back toward the postern.

  “Where duh yuh think yuh’re going, Wizard?”

  “Eógan was right about one thing, Isla. We need to get a welcoming party together—for the security forces and for the Revered Murchú who will be returning from the port.”

  “I understand that Murchú’s powerful, laddie. Duh yuh think your magic is strong enough tuh take him?”

  Stopping and turning back to the dwarf, the wizard said, “The Honored Pádraig has taught me quite a bit in the short while I’ve known him. One of those things is that sometimes magic i
s overrated.” He drew a blackthorn-handled dirk with a seven-inch blade from his belt. “But, I believe I can, as you put it, take the Revered Murchú.” Before turning once again toward the postern, he made another small motion with his hand, canceling the immobility spell on Earl Eógan.

  Yewday - Fox 1st

  Gabhrán Shire

  Pádraig, astride Siobhán, had left Finbar, Brynmor, Isla, and the dwarf army at Lamb’s Head Bay in Árainn Shire on the Between-Season Day marking the beginning of Spring. They had ridden south of the Sawtooth Mountains, then east, and spent the night at The Old Forge Inn in northern Gabhrán Shire, operated by Neave, widow of the late farrier, Tadhg.

  With money that she had received from Prince Liam for her hospitality when the prince had been released by the kidnappers many years’ earlier, she had converted her late husband’s forge and outbuildings into a first-rate tavern and six-bedroom inn, complete with stables for her guests’ horses.

  * * *

  Now in the early evening of their second day away from the dwarf army, wizard and phooka arrived in southern Gabhrán Shire, just north of where the two armies faced off. The last half of their trip had been slowed by a cold mixture of rain and snow.

  Trotting over to the side of the Central Road and into the forest about a rod, Siobhán stopped at a tree stump for Pádraig to use as a horseman’s mounting block.

  The young wizard, hand-and-a-half sword over one shoulder and the tan canvas packsack with his instruments and Odhran’s seeing-stone and spell book in the other, hopped off the sleek, black mare’s back onto the stump and, from there, to the ground.

  “This is as close as I want to get,” he said, setting the packsack on the stump. “Will you be able to get through the lines okay?”

  Siobhán wriggled and shape-shifted into her dark-maiden form. “From what I could see up ahead, there are plenty of horses milling around. I’ll just casually join them and make a break across the lines when I see an opportunity. Will you be able to get through? I’d hate to have gotten you this far only to see you captured at the end of our journey.”