A Spark is Struck in Cruachan

by Bill Stackhouse

  “My da, Field Marshal Gearóid, and Arch-Wizard Faolan are coming up with a strategy. I’ll be leading a rescue party up into Cairbrigh Shire as soon as we hear from the kidnappers.”

  “Suppose you don’t hear from the kidnappers?!” Máiréad said, her voice laced with incredulousness. “Suppose they already know that Paddy isn’t you? Then what? Why haven’t you left with a rescue party already?”

  “Faolan thought we needed more time to plan.” Even as he said it, Liam realized how lame the excuse sounded.

  The girl closed her eyes and shook her head slightly as she took in a deep breath, all the while clenching her little fists and controlling the urge to unleash a punishing magic spell against him. Finally gaining control, she opened her eyes, let her breath out slowly, placed both of her hands on Liam’s chest, and gently pushed him back down into a sitting position on the bed.

  Talking to him as if he were, indeed, Killian the halfwit cousin, she said, very calmly, “And is the Most Venerable Faolan’s best friend wandering around in the snow and freezing cold waiting to be rescued?”

  Liam sat there for a moment, unable to look her in the eye, as what Máiréad said sunk in. Finally, after a slight nod of acknowledgement that she was right, he glanced up and replied, “I’ve already selected the members of the rescue party earlier this afternoon. We’ll leave at first light tomorrow.”

  She patted him on the head. “Good boy. And you’ve got an additional recruit—me.” Raising a hand to cut off any disagreement, she continued. “No arguments. I’m going, and that’s that. You haven’t the foggiest notion where Paddy is, and I can sense him. You need me!”

  * * *

  When they had arrived at the citadel, Aednat, Máiréad’s lady’s maid, had gathered up the clothing that the earl, countess, and the Lady Máiréad had worn during the trip, and had taken the items to the laundress.

  Now, in the early evening, on her way back to the keep with the clean clothes wrapped up in a cloth, she was jostled by a young man in a tan hooded-cloak as she navigated the busy walkways between the buildings. The large bundle flew from her arms and landed in the middle of the path.

  “I’m so sorry,” the man said, bending down and recovering the package for her. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t paying a bit of attention to where I was going.” He handed the clothing bundle to the lady’s maid and brushed dirt from the wrapping cloth. “Please forgive me? And if you need me to come with you and explain the soil to your mistress, I’ll be more than happy to do so. I certainly don’t want you to get in any trouble on account of my clumsiness.” He hung his head in shame.

  Aednat smiled at him and said, “No need, sir. A simple accident is all it was. And it’s just the covering wrap that got a little dirty, not the clothing inside. Don’t give it another thought.”

  “I’ll try and watch where I’m going in the future,” the man told her as they parted, “and not be a hazard to any other unsuspecting lass.”

  Giggling at the young man’s awkwardness, Aednat returned to the keep with her package.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until she was in her own room and had begun separating out the laundry, creating three piles, one each for the earl, countess, and Máiréad, that Aednat came across a piece of parchment that had been shoved in between two of Kyna’s ruffled blouses. Picking it up, she gasped as she started to read the words scrawled on it:

  Send the farrier with 1000 gold tríbhís to the clearing where he and the prince were taken captive. He is to arrive at daybreak the day after tomorrow. Someone will make contact with him there and tell him where the exchange is to take place. He and the two meeting places will be under constant surveillance. If the farrier does not show up on time, the prince dies. If we see anyone other than the farrier, the prince dies. If we see anyone with the farrier, the prince dies. If the farrier does not bring 1000 gold tríbhís, the prince dies. You now have our terms. There will be no further communication.

  Tears streaming from her eyes, Aednat, note in hand, ran to Máiréad’s room, shouting, “My Lady! My Lady!”

  * * *

  In rapid succession, four separate meetings were convened in the keep’s great hall. Only one person, Déaglán, High King of Cruachan, took part in all four.

  The first meeting included Prince Liam, Field Marshal Gearóid, Arch-Wizard Faolan, Eógan, Earl of the Western Shires, the Lady Máiréad, and Aednat, Máiréad’s lady’s maid.

  A tearful Aednat told, retold, and retold yet again the story of her encounter with the hooded man on her way back from the laundress. Despite Máiréad’s assurance that she had done nothing wrong and would not be punished, the girl felt so stupid at not being able to recall anything about the man except his hood, his supposed shyness, and his politeness. She remembered nothing at all about his features, apart from the fact that he was slim and about a foot-and-a-half taller than she.

  Finally, determining that further questioning would be pointless, Déaglán gestured to Máiréad, and she dismissed her lady’s maid with a kiss on the cheek.

  Déaglán dreaded the second meeting. He asked everyone to leave the room with the exception of Faolan, then sent Liam to fetch Finbar.

  * * *

  The farrier sat midway down the table, with the High King at one end, the Arch-Wizard at the other, and the prince across from him. No one said anything as Finbar read and re-read both the initial ransom demand brought back by Liam and the directions for the delivery of the payment that was stuck in the laundry bundle.

  Contrary to the tumultuous scene Déaglán had expected, when Finbar finished, he calmly set the two pieces of parchment in front of him, looked over at the High King and said, “May I speak with you in private, Your Majesty?”

  “Anything you have to say to—”

  “In private, please?” Finbar repeated without raising his voice in the slightest.

  The High King sat there for a few seconds—a few seconds during which Finbar continued to meet his gaze. Finally Déaglán looked at both his son and the wizard, and head-gestured toward the door.

  Both men said nothing. They simply got up from their stools and exited the room.

  Once the door had closed behind them, Déaglán turned his palms upward and said, simply, “Finn?” signaling the start of meeting number three.

  “Even though you probably instructed the prince earlier against telling me that you were not going to pay the ransom, Your Majesty, I fully understand that you cannot,” the farrier said, matter-of-factly. “And, because we now know that we’re being monitored, you can’t send that contingent of troops that Prince Liam was selecting this afternoon.”

  Somewhat taken aback, Déaglán replied, “I must confess, I didn’t think you’d react this calmly.”

  Finbar shrugged. “I’m a practical man, Sire. And, as such, I have a practical suggestion.”

  “Please,” the High King replied. “I’ve been trying to think of one myself, and I’m at a loss.”

  “At the end of the War for Independence, Your Majesty, I became a member of a secret organization.”

  Déaglán smiled. “Although no one could ever come up with any proof, we suspected that you were a Watchman, as was your late wife.”

  “Apparently, I still am. And while we Watchmen performed outside the law, we were…we are, first and foremost, patriots.”

  The High King’s smile widened a bit. “That’s why we purposely chose to remain ignorant and never attempted to find out more about the organization or dissolve it. Outlaws, perhaps. But our outlaws. There were situations when the Watchmen were able do things that needed doing. Things that a government could not nor should not do.”

  “Well said, Your Majesty. I firmly believe this to be one of those situations.”

  “I’m listening,” Déaglán said. “I don’t have a plan, and you obviously do.”

  “Yes, Sire. But first, I need your assurance that the only people privy to this plan will be you and your son.”

  “
But, surely, Finbar, the Arch-Wizard can be—”

  “No, Sire! No one but Prince Liam and yourself. Perhaps you overlooked an item in your son’s report, Your Majesty, but the kidnapping was not random. The prince was specifically targeted. And whoever took him and Paddy knew where the lads would be and when they would be there. Right now I can vouch for only four people, aside from my fellow Watchmen, who I know did not arrange that kidnapping—you, Sire; me; Paddy; and the prince himself. I need your word.”

  Déaglán spent about fifteen seconds mulling over what Finbar had just told him, then finally slapped his hand on the table. “As I said, I have no plan. I’ll go with yours. We not only have to get your son back, but we need to find out who was involved in the plot. You have my word. You, me, and Liam.”

  “And the Lady Máiréad, Your Majesty, but without full knowledge of the plan.”

  “Máiréad? But why?”

  “You’re aware, of course, that she’s a gifted one?”

  The High King nodded.

  “What you probably don’t know is that Paddy is also a gifted one.” After an eyebrow raise from Déaglán, Finbar continued. “His ma was one, Sire.”

  “I see.”

  “I believe that there is a connection between my son and the Lady Máiréad. They may be able to sense each other as they get in proximity to one another.”

  “But she’s not to know the plan?”

  “Not the full extent of it. Loose lips, Your Majesty. Now if you would allow me to bring Prince Liam back in the room, I’ll lay it out for you.”

  The High King’s answer was a simple gesture toward the door.

  Meeting number four was about to begin.

  Hollyday - Wolf 47th

  Cairbrigh Shire

  Yseult had returned to her lair periodically during the day to make sure that Pádraig still slept and had not shed his covers. Now in the early evening, she ventured back outside once again and continued to go about her tasks, as would be expected of her kind, moving from tree to tree, shaking the snow from their branches so that the boughs would not break under the added weight. All the while, she hummed her calming tune.

  From her perch, she watched as a rider fast approached on the path through the forest, bringing his horse to an abrupt stop at the boulder on the other side of the concealment/containment area. One of the guards, upon seeing the horseman, took off at a run toward the longhouse. Within minutes, the spell was partially lifted in the area of the ford, permitting the rider to see into as well as enter the compound. Instead of leaving his horse at the corral, a horse lathered in sweaty foam from being ridden so hard, the messenger raced directly to the main building. As he jumped off his mount and ran inside, Yseult sensed the re-establishment of the concealment/containment spell just beyond the ford.

  However, the spell didn’t last long. A quarter of an hour later, it dissolved again as four guards emerged from the longhouse, mounted their steeds, and galloped across the ford, exiting the compound. They rushed through as if on some mission of great urgency, then separated, each taking a different route once they reached the path.

  * * *

  Within an hour the four scouts returned, each accompanied by a separate group of riders—those that had been dispatched early that morning. As all the riders galloped across the ford, making their way directly to the longhouse, the little wood-nymph realized that it had been awhile since she had detected the energy probe.

  They’re recalling the search parties, Yseult thought, surprised at what she saw. Why? Have they given up? Again, why?

  But then, sensing the concealment/containment spell being re-established, she wondered, Is this a good sign? Or not?

  * * *

  While checking on her patient again, Yseult sensed another change in the spell. Leaving the sanctuary of her cave, she ventured forth once more to see what the kidnappers were up to.

  With darkness having now settled in, she watched by the moonlight from the limbs of her hawthorn. All the horses were being led single file from the corral, across the ford, through the tree line, and out of the compound. Under the supervision of the boss-man and the Northman, pairs of guards stood on both sides of the stream and on both sides of the tree line. As the horses walked between each pair of guards, the men made sure that their escaped prisoner was not among them.

  Hmm, the little wood-nymph thought. Are the pinkies leaving?

  Her answer came as the last horse exited the compound and the concealment/containment spell was reinstituted. Aside from the four mounted guards who had accompanied the horses, the wolfhounds and the rest of the guards had remained.

  Hollyday - Wolf 47th

  Central Federal Region

  It was the middle of the first watch. Finbar sat in the artillator’s booth with his former Watchman colleagues, Brynmor the elf and Lairgnen the old troubadour. He had just finished briefing them on the plan he had discussed earlier in the day with High King Déaglán.

  “Surely they must know by now,” Lairgnen said with a grunt. “I’d bet that there’s no one here in the marketplace who hasn’t heard about the prince’s return.”

  “Without a doubt,” the elf agreed. “The kidnappers cannot seriously think that the High King is going to accede to their demands. Why the second note, then? What is their game?”

  Finbar shook his head. “The only thing I can come up with is that they know full well that the High King will try and use the ransom payment as a ruse to find them; and, that they believe they can, somehow, steal the money without getting caught.”

  Again a grunt from Lairgnen. “That’s just plain stupid.”

  Brynmor raised a cautioning finger. “That is just plain arrogance…and greed.”

  “They have to know we’ll set a trap,” the troubadour countered.

  “Maybe they have set one of their own. The note did say that the farrier—Pádraig, supposedly, but Liam, in reality—is to come alone. Finbar’s plan calls for a covert force—us. Perhaps that is exactly what they want us to do. If they see a contingent of troops, they call it off. If we follow Finbar’s plan, they follow theirs. It is a matter of whose plan is better conceived and better executed.”

  Lairgnen pondered it for a few moments, then said, “Okay, so if we go with Finn’s plan, they’ll know about it. They’ll expect a hidden force. That’s a given. Advantage, them. But they’ll also expect that hidden force to be comprised of members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces. That’s advantage, us. We’re much better than anything they expect they’ll encounter. The only question that remains is, what about Paddy?”

  “They either have him or they don’t,” Finbar replied, simply. “And by now they know that he’s not the prince. So if they have him, he’s already dead. However, from what you relayed to me from Taliesin about how strong Paddy’s power is, I’m betting that he was able to use his gift and has escaped as he had planned. He’s holed up in the forest somewhere waiting for us.”

  “And that is where the Lady Máiréad comes in,” Brynmor said. “We need to avoid their trap, spring ours, and, at the same time, keep Máiréad safe, so that she can locate Pádraig.”

  “Piece of cake,” the troubadour said with a chuckle. “I’d sure hate to be in the kidnappers’ boots come day after tomorrow.”

  The elf came awfully close to a smile.

  Finbar laughed, then said, “It’s settled, then. We head out before dawn tomorrow and you two link up with Cadwgawn. The rest of us will join you later in the day.”

  “Cosaint,” both Brynmor and Lairgnen said, simultaneously. With eyebrows raised, they looked expectantly at Finbar.

  The farrier tightened his lips, replying, softly, “Agus Seirbhís!”

  Oakday - Wolf 48th

  Cairbrigh Shire

  In the early hours of the middle watch, Pádraig’s fever worsened and, with it, the turbulence of his sleep. Despite the efforts of the little wood-nymph, covering him with a second stolen horse blanket, and periodically applying cool-water compres
ses to his forehead, the young farrier tossed and turned and groaned as incidents from the past week or so played over and over in his mind without any semblance of order to them.

  At Fort Gabhrán, it was his conversation with Feidhelm the head groom, after Pádraig had inspected the stables, confirming his decision to go on up to the garrison at Fort Árainn once he had taken care of the horses at Fort Callainn. Shire Reeve Lorcan had just asked him a question:

  “Is there a problem, Paddy?”

  “No, it’s just as I’d suspected. My da agreed that I would provide farrier services to the Kingdom of the Northern Shires for just two weeks. I figured it would be pointless for me to come back here after I’ve finished up at Ráth Callainn with Tadhg having just been here, but I wanted to check anyway. From what I just saw, I think my time would be better spent if I went up to Ráth Árainn instead.”

  “Oh, no, you don’t want to be doing that, lad,” Feidhelm said. “Going up there, by the Sawtooth Mountains? No, sir, not in the middle of winter. It’s going to be cold and could be snowing and slow-going. You’ll never make it up there and back again in the one week you’ll have left after you’re done at Ráth Callainn. My suggestion would be to come across Callainn Shire to the Central Road, then diagonally up across Cairbrigh Shire to Ráth Cairbrigh at Northeast Head. That way, you’ll be south and east of the mountains. It’ll still be cold, mind you, and you’ll probably run into some of the white stuff; but, since Tadhg finished up there about three weeks ago, and it’ll be four by the time you get there, they should have something for you to take care of by then.”

  What followed was his conversation with his father at Fortress Tulach, when Pádraig had returned from the phooka-pool and had found out about the Northman washing up on the beach below the cliffs:

  “Da, what’s with all this talk about a Northman? His boat had to have been pushed way off course by these high seas. After being driven off the island by the Confederation of the Three Kingdoms, with the assistance of the dwarfs and elves, I’d think that the Northmen certainly would have learned their lesson.”