by Mia Pride
“Mal’s men are hungry for power and gold. Take that away and he will lose them all,” Bryant said.
Reaghan rode alongside Brennain and grunted. “How do we achieve that without being seen?”
Mack looked at Bryant as if awaiting approval. When Bryant nodded, Mack smirked. “We were heading back to Miathi to report to King Ailbert. Mal plans to take a ship across the sea to Ériu and scope out an area where he and his army, along with the Rómánach, can land and start their march on Ériu. They have been loading up the ship, but it is not set to sail for a sennight. We had hoped to gather a band of men to help us take over the ship. If we can do it, we can sail away with all of their goods.”
A wide smile slid across Reaghan’s face and he let out an amused laugh. “’Tis a good plan. You would have been cutting close getting to Miathi and then traveling back here in time.”
“Aye, we intended to ride like the wind. I am not certain the four of us can manage it alone, however.”
“How large is the ship?” Brennain asked, running a hand through several days of dark stubble that had grown over his jaw. It had itched mercilessly the first few days, but he had grown to quite like it. He always kept a very short beard, but mayhap his extra growth would hide more of his features and help him evade Mal’s notice. His hair was a bit longer than he had worn it a few moons ago, as well. Suddenly, an idea took hold and his heart beat with anticipation.
“’Tis a merchant ship meant to carry cargo, but it would require more than us four to properly manage it,” Mack responded, scratching his head in deep thought.
Reaghan was silent as he stared ahead, but Brennain had the answer. “We need not make off with the ship. All we need is to destroy their cargo. Set it on fire at night while the men sleep, then ride off. Nobody will know who was to blame and there will be nay trace back to your people or mine.”
“Aye. It could be any group of Picts in the area who have been angered by the rise of the Rómánach and the devastation caused by Mal’s traveling army,” Bryant nodded.
“Mac Rochride’s men have set fire to many a village as they worked their way north from the coast,” Mack added as his horse came up alongside Brennain’s. “’Twould be the natural revenge any clan would seek.”
“Aye,” the rest of them said in unison. After several days of travel and heartache, Brennain was ready for adventure, anything to take his mind off Morna. Usually, he had a better plan mapped out in his mind, but as the walls of Barochan Hill loomed ahead, he knew they were going to have to scope out the area and come up with supplies for their idea and a way to get closer. Mal had seen all of them in the past. None could get near. It was only midday and there were still hours of sunlight left. That gave them time to observe the area and form a better plan.
* * * *
Several hours passed while the men settled into the forest surrounding the fort, tied up the horses and watered them, and sat down to eat a silent meal, being vigilant for the sound of voices or footsteps. They had stopped a good distance from Barochan Hill, but with the ramparts in sight, there was always the possibility that scouts could be patrolling the surrounding area. Brennain knew all too well that King Tuathal made certain to always have men watching the perimeter of Ráth Mór’s walls, and he had scouts high up in trees. If these foreign men were as advanced and militant as he had heard, he would not be surprised to find men wandering around, searching out invaders.
In his mind, Brennain continued to ponder all that had transpired in the past sennight. He had left Ériu in search of Mal and with hopes of reuniting with Morna. He had hoped to return to Ráth Mór with Morna by his side. Now, he sat in the middle of a forest just outside a Rómánach fort, where he planned to set a ship on fire to stop an army large enough to destroy Ériu, then deliver Morna’s traitorous husband back to Miathi, before heading back to Ériu without the woman he had hoped to make his wife.
A sour taste crept up his throat as bile surged. He was a bloody fool. He should be thinking about procuring the items needed to make pine tar, such as sap and charcoal, to set the ship on fire. They were in a forest full of pine trees, had plenty of wood for a fire, and he had a clay bowl in his satchel in which he could heat the charred stick and pine sap to make the concoction. That would not be a problem and he had done it numerous times. He was much more concerned with how they were going to get close enough to Caleb and how they would transport him back to Miathi.
Deciding he needed to do more to stay busy, he jumped to his feet and wiped the loose debris from the forest floor off his arse. “Reaghan, I need you to see about collecting as much pine sap as possible in this bowl,” he ordered, as he opened his satchel and rummaged through it. When his fingers touched the cool clay surface of his bowl, he pulled it out and handed it to his fellow warrior. “I will start making the charcoal, so we can create pine tar to set the ship on fire.”
“Good thinking,” Bryant said with a nod, “I will help you gather the sticks.” Brennain nodded and set to work on the fire as the men dispersed into the woods to gather natural resources. Mack followed in Bryant’s wake, his head hung low as he stayed mostly silent. Brennain could not help but feel bad for the man and hated Caleb even more for having ruined this man’s life, as well. At least he now had men with him who not only knew the layout of the fort but also how to spot Caleb.
Within an hour, they had several sticks covered in the thick black flammable substance they would use to set the ship on fire. The pine tar was so flammable that the slightest spark would ignite it. All they needed to do was get close enough to throw it onto the ship’s deck and the substance would stick to the wood and send the ship and its cargo to the bottom of the sea in flames.
“That ought to do it,” Reaghan said with a satisfied smirk, his fingers as black as Brennain’s from handling the crushed charcoal made from burnt wood.
“Aye. The sun is going down and we need to be ready to set out. Once it’s dark, mayhap we can blend better with Mal’s men if we keep our hoods over our heads,” Mack offered.
“Mayhap…” Brennain was still not certain how they would stick to the shadows entirely. The sound of leaves rustling and twigs snapping close by made Brennain’s back stiffen and the hairs on his neck rise in alarm. Someone was approaching. A few words floated on the breeze but nothing he could understand or make sense of. The voices sounded foreign, thickly accented and he knew immediately that whoever approached were Rómánach scouts. Mayhap they had seen the smoke from their fire floating above the trees, in the same way Brennain and Reaghan had found Mack and Bryant.
While he knew it had been a risk, there had been no way to create their pine tar without a fire and he had hoped they were far enough away from the fort to not draw attention. As the voices grew louder, he wondered if the Rómánach warriors even realized how close they were to stumbling upon their camp. After all, their military expertise was known far and wide. Surely, they would not be talking and stepping so loudly had they known other men were nearby.
Placing his hand on his hilt, he looked in the direction of the voices, yet using his peripherals he saw his men also preparing to draw their swords if needed. Brennain was certain that the men approaching had no idea they were doing so, which may be even more dangerous. If they were caught unaware, they may be quick to attack, and without speaking the same language, there could be no communication. In all his travels, Brennain had met many men who spoke slightly different from himself depending on their region, yet the core language had always been understood. What these men spoke was unlike anything he had ever heard.
Raising a finger to his lips, he signaled his men to remain very quiet, though he knew it was unnecessary to do so. They all stood silently, poised for a fight. Two men wearing strange iron helms and metal armor plowed into their camp area and stopped mid-step, suddenly going silent and stiff. Their gazes darted from man to man, hovered over their swords, then they reached for their own. The familiar hiss of swords being drawn simultaneously echoed
in the thin dusk air.
“Whoa…” Brennain said low and calmly, also holding his sword with one hand, but holding up his other in a move of placation. “Step back, men. Let them know we do not mean to fight.”
The Rómánach’s helms hid most of their features, but Brennain could see they both had dark eyes and darker complexions than most of the men in Ériu or Alba, and their brows seemed to rise as all four of them stepped back in unison. “Slowly lower your weapons,” Brennain murmured once they were all at a safer distance from the new arrivals.
His men did as he commanded, and he did the same. Looking at the men, he spoke slowly. “Do you understand me?”
One man frowned but the other nodded slightly. “I know your barbaric language,” the man spat. “I wish I did not. Years on this land has forced me to do so.”
Brennain wanted to scoff at that. Nobody had bloody asked the man to be here and he could very well go back to wherever he came from, but at the same time, Brennain knew well enough that a warrior went where commanded. Both of them had been told by powerful men to be here, and so they were. Whether the man considered them savages or not was of no concern to Brennain. In fact, he preferred to let the man think they were nothing but imbeciles with no knowledge or fighting skills. Mayhap it would make the man less wary of them.
“What is the name of the language you speak?” Brennain asked.
“The only language that should matter. Latin. And you will all learn it once our empire has conquered this land.” The man had a very thick accent and was hard to understand, but Brennain could make most of it out. So Tuathal had been correct. These men intended to continue expanding their reach. Already they had taken over Albion and attempted to take over Alba, though the Picts were fighting fiercely to stay independent. The enormity of this moment sat heavily on Brennain’s shoulders.
If he did nothing, these men would attack his land, his people. He had no doubt that they could. Why they had not yet done so remained a mystery but with Mal’s influence, they had clearly decided to take on the task. If Reaghan and Brennain failed, their land would be destroyed. Everything they held dear, taken away.
“Who are you?” the man said, looking from Brennain to the others. “Why are you camped out so close to our fort?”
The men did not seem to recognize Mack or Bryant, which proved most beneficial. He could not get too close to Mal but needed some sort of confirmation that Mal was indeed here plotting with the Rómánach. “We are from a small village to the south. Several of our men joined Rochride’s army and we are seeking them out. One, in particular. That is all we want. Once we have him, we shall leave.” Of course, they would not leave until the ship full of cargo was at the bottom of the sea, but that detail was not necessary to say and Brennain hoped desperately the men did not notice the bundle of pine tar-covered sticks tucked beneath their pile of satchels.
The warrior looked sideways at his fellow warrior who had stayed silent, yet looked confused the entire time. They began to speak once more in their Latin language before addressing Brennain again. “Any man who has joined Rochride is under our protection.” The man scowled and Brennain looked at him carefully, taking in the leather sandals that wrapped up his legs, and the short knee-length tunic beneath what looked like a short skirt made of leather and iron studs. His metal armor wrapped down his chest with long strips of iron that seemed to overlap for better protection. Ties ran down the front of the armor to secure it. No doubt they were well protected, much more so than Brennain with his plain tunic and wool trousers.
The other warrior said something in their language and the taller one Brennain had been speaking with nodded. Both of them gripped their swords and got into a fighting stance. “You will come with us.”
Reaghan scoffed and raised his sword. “Not bloody likely.”
The taller Rómánach looked at Reaghan strangely as if he did not understand such a response. Brennain decided he would make it quite clear.
He raised his sword and spread his legs just as Bryant and Mack did the same. “We will not be going with you,” Brennain said in a low clear voice. He knew they would end up as slaves, or even worse, dead. None of them would comply and agree to join their cause. “You will have to fight us, and you will lose.”
A sinking feeling came over Brennain and his stomach clenched. He knew at that moment that he needed to kill these men. He hated taking a man’s life, but now that they had been discovered, these men would never simply allow them to walk away. Nor could they. Though it had been confirmed that Mal Mac Rochride was within those walls, they still could not leave until they had destroyed his supplies and found Caleb. Neither would happen if they were brought forward as hostages.
“You savages think much of yourselves,” the man growled. “You have inferior weapons and no armor.”
“I do not wish to kill you,” Brennain warned, readying his sword, feeling its familiar weight in his calloused hands. “Allow us to pass, find the man we seek, and you shall keep your lives.”
The man only laughed mockingly at him and then whispered something once more to the man beside him in their own language. A menacing scowl spread across the man’s face as he shifted his sword. Aye, these men needed to die. It was an unfortunate truth that sat heavy on Brennain’s soul, yet they were clearly not going to stand down or be reasoned with, nor could his men allow themselves to be captured. The entire fate of Ériu depended on him and Reaghan completing this mission.
An image of Morna’s sweet, bonnie face flashed before his eyes, her laughter ringing in his ears. He had not heard her beautiful laughter in two years, but he longed to hear it once more, even if it came from her being reunited with her true love. He longed to see Glennis’s wee smile once more, and even though the wee lass should mean naught, she truly meant the world to him. Seeing Glennis in Morna’s arms had been the moment that made Brennain realize all he had yet to accomplish in life. All that he had ever avoided was now all that he could think of, like a continuous loop playing in his mind, torturing him. He thought of all the other innocent women and children that needed to be protected, all his wee cousins, Flynn’s child that was yet to be born. They all depended on him, at this moment, even if they did not know it.
With that thought in mind, he pushed away all his reluctance and prepared to do the very last thing he ever wanted to do: take a man’s life. Brennain signaled the man with his hand. At this point, no language barriers existed, for every man in this small copse of trees was more than familiar with the language of battle.
The man next to him also braced himself and both raised their sword at once on Brennain. Fear was not even a consideration. Mayhap if he was alone, he would have a serious battle on his hands, fighting two men covered in armor at once while all he had was a plain tunic and naught else. However, he had Reaghan. He was not at all certain if Mack and Bryant would raise a sword to protect him, but he knew unfailingly that his mate would come to his side.
In the blink of an eye, he saw all three of his companions with swords raised high, ready to defend Brennain from his disadvantage. He believed in one-on-one combat. Honorable men would not attack one man together, but these men clearly did not care about honor the way a warrior from Ériu or Alba did. To them, honor was all that mattered, and a man was naught without it.
His sword clashed with the taller enemy’s shorter, slimmer one at the exact moment Reaghan’s sword intercepted the weapon of the other enemy who would have gladly sliced through Brennain’s skull while he was occupied elsewhere.
With his boot, Brennain grunted and shoved the man back a few steps, putting enough space between them to reposition himself and prepare for the next attack. Reaghan had successfully pushed his opponent far enough away to keep the fight fair, and Bryant and Mack watched carefully with swords at the ready, in case their new companions should need assistance. Never in his life had Brennain fought a man wearing so much armor and he quickly scanned the warrior, wondering if he had a vulnerable place anywhere
on his abdomen.
It did not appear to be so, but he had to refocus when his enemy came at him once more, this time aiming straight for his unguarded heart. Brennain pivoted to the side just in time to avoid a fatal blow, but the blade still grazed his side. He felt the sting of injury just as keenly when he felt the trickle of blood. He grunted but narrowed his eyes. The man may seem impenetrable from his head to his waist, but his legs were fully exposed.
The Rómánach warrior made another swipe at Brennain’s chest, but he deftly stepped back, evaded it altogether, then crouched low and thrust his blade into the man’s muscular thigh. The warrior roared in pain and stumbled back as blood freely flowed from his leg. At the sight of so much blood, Brennain knew he had struck a mortal wound, hitting a major artery. As the man crumpled to the ground, Brennain breathed deeply, feeling the sting to his own flesh. Saying a silent prayer to his gods for the man’s soul, he stepped away and watched just as Reaghan took his enemy down with a precise slash to the throat. The man gurgled and dropped to his knees. Brennain looked away and took a deep breath.
He would never get used to watching the light of life leave a man’s eyes. He was no longer capable of being squeamish by the sight of blood, but he had compassion enough for all life to feel the sharp sting of loss when he had to end one. Closing his eyes, he reminded himself that he had needed to kill them, lest they were killed themselves. He gave them a chance to walk away. Instead, they both attacked him.
“Now what?” Reaghan’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he ran a hand through his hair. Reaghan looked at him and frowned. “He injured you.”
For the first time, Brennain looked down at the blood staining his now destroyed tunic. He moved his left arm and felt a slight twinge of pain but could tell it was not a bad wound. “I will be all right. ‘Tis not too deep.”
“I will not argue with you, mate, but we will need it tended to at some point.” Brennain scoffed. He doubted any healer at this fort would take a moment to clean or bandage his wound. “The sun has set. Bryant and Mack,” he turned to the new men. “Though you had nay need to fight, I saw you prepared to do so if needed. My thanks.”
