Eógan once again read aloud the note from Tierney, Chieftain of Callainn Shire: “‘Sorry, My Lord, but I only bet on sure things. Good luck to you, though.’” Tossing the note onto the table top, he asked, “What is this? What’s Tierney playing at?”
“Both sides, it sounds like, My Lord,” Murchú replied.
“Callainn Shire is critical to our plans,” the earl reminded the other three men.
The garrison captain gestured to the dispatch in front of him. “They’re awaiting your orders, My Lord.”
“They’re sure Tierney’s son, Garbhán, is in the bag, so to speak?”
“Fairly certain.”
“Give the order, then,” Eógan said, resignedly.
Murchú interjected, “But tell them not to execute it until mid-month. By that time, people may have more or less forgotten about that nosey troubadour up at North Head.” He looked over at the earl and raised an eyebrow.
“I agree,” Eógan replied.
The captain said, “I’ll see to it, My Lord.”
“And speaking of North Head,” the earl continued, “what about the bowman?”
“Already handled, My Lord. After I read the dispatch, I informed Siollán of his transfer and gave him sealed orders to deliver to the garrison commander up there. He’ll be leaving at first light tomorrow.”
Up until now, Ruari had remained silent. He now spoke up with a question. “Are you sure we don’t need a more permanent solution?”
“He’s a boy with a big mouth who’s been severely reprimanded by both the garrison commander at Ráth Callainn and by me. I also told him that had he any rank, he would have been dressed down, as well.” With a forefinger, he tapped the parchment in front of him. “I agree with the assessment in the dispatch. We can’t be having too many accidents.”
Everyone looked at the earl.
“I concur, as well,” he said. “The young bowman is the least of our problems. I’m more worried about the ambush of Section Leader Eamon that the dispatch says has already been arranged. They should have checked with us first.”
“It’s too late to worry, My Lord,” Murchú told him. “By now, it’s probably already happened.”
“Nevertheless, put the word out,” Eógan said, locking eyes with each one of the other men in turn. “In the future, any extreme measures are to be cleared with us first.”
The trio answered as one voice. “Yes, My Lord.”
Turning to Murchú, the earl continued. “When do you expect our young apprentice wizard?”
“Sometime this evening, My Lord.”
Eógan held up a cautioning finger. “Under no circumstances is he to be harmed in any way. Understood?”
“But, My Lord,” the captain began. “What if—”
“Understood?!” the earl reiterated.
Again the three replied as one. “Yes, My Lord.”
He waved it away. “I will not answer to my daughter if something should happen to Pádraig and it comes back on us.”
“If I may ask,” the captain ventured, “I was under the impression that the Lady Máiréad detested the young wizard.”
Both Eógan and Ruari let out wry laughs.
“Obviously, you aren’t married and know very little of the whims of the opposite sex,” the steward told him.
The earl added, “There is a very thin line between love and hate. It’s best if we ensure that my daughter stays on the hatred side of that line.”
After receiving acknowledgements from the others, Eógan continued. “Besides, we may have a use for our young apprentice wizard before this endeavor is over.” Raising his right arm straight up in the air with a closed fist, he declared, “Long live the Northern Alliance!”
The other three men copied the salute and repeated the pronouncement. “Long live the Alliance!”
* * *
Within the hour, a lanceman from Eamon’s troops, his horse lathered with sweat, galloped into the ward. He reported to the captain of the Cruachanian Defense Forces that his squad had been ambushed by bandits, as they traveled north on the Coastal Road, and that that there had been casualties—among them, Section Leader Eamon.
Because bandits were thought to be responsible, the investigation came under the purview of Cian, Reeve of Árainn Shire.
A quarter of an hour later, the reeve, his two deputies, and the lanceman set out with a wagon, south toward the ambush site.
“Do you want a contingent of security forces?” Eógan asked, his voice and countenance displaying a counterfeit concern.
“No, My Lord,” Cian replied. “According to the lanceman, here, the bandits are long gone. I’ve already declined assistance from the defense forces. Too many people and horses will contaminate the scene and destroy any evidence there might be pointing to the bandits’ identity.”
“Very well, then. But, know that whatever or whomever you need is at your disposal.”
“Thank you, My Lord. I appreciate that.”
Birchday - Bear 10th
Árainn Shire
It was early afternoon when Pádraig and Killian, riding north on the Coastal Road, crossed the border from Callainn Shire into Árainn Shire.
For the previous few hours, the young wizard had been able to see the sharp peak of Stob Bàn above the treetops, one of the highest summits of the Sawtooth Mountains, its pinnacle crowned with white quartzite.
“You know, Killian,” he said to the mule, “the fingering on this tin whistle is identical to that of the chanter on the elbow pipes. How about that? Do you like the sound of the whistle better than the pipes?”
He had been toying with the instrument for the past half hour, playing a variety of tunes that he had learned for the pipes. Whether or not Killian cared one way or the other, the mule didn’t respond.
“I’ll bet you do,” Pádraig continued. “Your ears aren’t laid back like they are when I play the pipes.”
* * *
Having become bored with the tin whistle, Pádraig had passed the time during the latest hour by casting various spells along the roadside, causing stones to pile themselves up into cairns, making flowers bloom that normally wouldn’t until late spring, and teasing a couple of foxes by making them see rabbits hopping just beyond the reach of their paws and jaws.
As the road curved to the right around Lamb’s Head Bay, the young wizard spotted a squad of soldiers from the Cruachanian Defense Forces sitting on the side of the road, their horses tethered nearby. With them were three men dressed in buckskin—two on horseback and one in an open wagon pulled by a single horse. Even from a distance, Pádraig could make out three cloth-draped forms laying on the bed of the wagon.
Continuing on toward the group, he was halted by one of the leather-clothed horsemen.
“May I ask your name and where you’re headed, Honored Sir?” the man asked.
Although pleasant, there was no doubt in the young wizard’s mind that this man was in charge of the scene.
“My name’s ‘Pádraig,’ and I’m on my way to Ráth Árainn,” he replied.
Despite the grim circumstances of their meeting, the horseman managed a smile. “I’m Cian, Reeve of Árainn Shire, and I spent a few days with the Lady Máiréad searching for you and Prince Liam when the two of you were kidnapped some years ago,” he said. “My hat’s off to you, Honored Sir, risking your own life like you did for the life of the prince.”
Although his ears turned red, Pádraig shrugged off the compliment. “He was my prince and my friend. It was the right thing to do,” he mumbled, eyes cast down on Killian’s mane.
“Just the same, right or not, there’s not many who would have done it. For now, it’d be best if you held up here for a while, then you can ride along with us. It’s a shame, though, that you won’t be able to see the Lady Máiréad. She and the countess left Ráth Árainn for Cathair Béarra three days ago. If the truth be told, back ten years ago, I wasn’t entirely sure who she was searching for more intently—Prince Liam or you. You two
must have been really close. And especially now, having spent all those years at the Academy together.”
Pádraig let a small smile show on his lips that belied the regret he felt in his heart, as he noncommittally said, “That we were, Reeve. That we were.” Changing the subject to the present, he pointed to the troops on the roadside and asked, “What’s happened, here? Those’re Section Leader Eamon’s men, aren’t they? They passed me some hours back.”
“You know the section leader?”
“He’s a friend of mine,” Pádraig replied. “Where is he? I don’t see him with his men.”
Cian glanced down at the ground for a moment or two, then briefly returned his gaze to the apprentice wizard before looking off toward the soldiers on the side of the road. “I’m afraid Eamon’s troops were ambushed earlier. Appears to be bandits.”
There was something about the way in which he said it that struck the young wizard as odd.
“And…Eamon?” Pádraig asked, hesitantly.
Cian head-gestured toward the wagon. “Didn’t make it. According to his mates, he was the first one to go down. Arrow to the heart.”
“May I…” Pádraig felt his mouth go dry, and had to move his tongue around to get the saliva flowing again. “May I see him?”
The other man simply said, “Come with me.”
Both men dismounted, and Cian led the way over to the wagon bed.
After the reeve had pulled the covering cloth down to Eamon’s waist, Pádraig reached out with his right hand and placed it on the dead man’s forehead. He then bowed his own head, closed his eyes, and mentally said, Until we meet again, my friend, may An Fearglas hold you in the hollow of His hand. With that, the young wizard withdrew his hand and, still with head bowed, used the first two fingers of that hand to touch his forehead, chest, and mouth, while reciting the ritual act of submission to himself.
As Pádraig opened his eyes, his gaze fell upon an arrow at Eamon’s side. It was crafted from a birch shaft, and had a bloodied, tanged, trefoil-shaped iron head attached with pitch and lashed with tendon. Pinion feathers of a goose formed the fletchings.
Turning to the reeve, he asked, “The arrow that killed him?”
Cian simply nodded, as he pulled the cloth back up over the section leader’s body.
Not knowing for certain whether the reeve was friend or foe, Pádraig didn’t mention his observation that the arrow was neither of Cruachanian nor elfin design, but one commonly used by the Northmen, the former overlords.
“Aside from these three,” he asked, gesturing to the bodies in the wagon, “how are the other men?”
“Two of them are in need of medical attention. If there’s anything you can do before we move them, Honored Sir, it would be greatly appreciated.”
“I’ll get my bag and do what I can,” Pádraig said. Returning to where he had left Killian, he retrieved his sack of medicinal herbs, thinking, This will also give me a legitimate reason to question the other members of Eamon’s squad.
* * *
The two injured members of the Cruachanian Defense Forces, both bowmen, as had been the two men killed along with Eamon, had been wounded in the initial salvo of arrows that were fired by the bandits from a ridgeline high above the road.
Due to the cold, someone had built a small fire at the roadside. Pádraig asked one of the soldiers who was not hurt to boil some water. Utilizing a mixture of herbs, ground with his mortar and pestle, and cloth bandages, provided by the soldiers, he made poultices for the wounded to draw out any poisons from their systems. In addition, he laid hands on them, employing his gift from An Fearglas to speed up the healing and painkilling processes.
While he worked, the young wizard kept up a running conversation with the soldiers, covertly slipping in questions about the ambush, along with the general chatter.
What he learned was quite informative. Of the seven members of the troop, in addition to Eamon, the four felled in the first barrage were bowmen. The two lancemen and the swordsman had come through unscathed.
As soon as those first arrows had been fired on them, the unharmed members of the troop had quickly dismounted and took cover down the incline over the seaward side of the road, pulling their felled comrades to safety. Although they were lancemen and a swordsman, they had cross-trained with the longbow, and, while not as proficient as their bowman colleagues, were able to return suitable covering fire. After two more assaults from the ridge, the bandits, no longer with direct line-of-sight to their targets, fled.
“Out of curiosity,” he asked one of the wounded men, “why was Section Leader Eamon leading you on this run. Isn’t that normally the function of a squad leader?”
“Our squad leader came down with a case of the trots back at Ráth Árainn the night before we were to ride out,” the man replied. “Something he ate, no doubt. He spent the entire night camped out in the latrine. Eamon told him to stay home, that he was in no condition to ride.”
“I’ll look in on him tonight,” Pádraig said. “If he’s not quite recovered, I have a few things with me that may give him some relief.”
He repacked his herbal kit and started back toward where he had tethered Killian, taking a longer route by the edge of the road where the troops had sought cover. Not seeing any enemy arrows, he stopped and went back to the soldiers.
“The arrows that the bandits fired at you,” he said. “I don’t see any of them.”
The second wounded bowmen held up a quiver full of arrows. “I had the lads retrieve them, Honored Sir. Some of them are still in good shape. No sense in letting them go to waste.”
The young wizard crossed over to him and removed a few of the spent projectiles from the quiver. All of them had been crafted by a Cruachanian artillator. “Waste not; want not, hmm?”
“You got that right, Honored Sir.”
On Pádraig’s way back to Killian, Cian stopped him. “Many thanks, Honored Sir. We’ll be moving out in a little while, if you’d care to ride along with us. With the wagon and the wounded, we won’t be setting any speed records to Ráth Árainn.”
“My thanks, Reeve. I’ll be along momentarily. But first, I’d like to take a look up on that ridge before we go.” He gestured to where the ambush had originated.
“My deputies have been up there already. If I may ask, what do you hope to find that they didn’t?”
“Won’t know until I get there,” Pádraig replied. “But, perhaps, a different set of eyes…and skills”—he pointed at his red mantle—“may glean something that even the eyes of trained investigators may have…overlooked.”
Cian thought for a few moments, then said, “Couldn’t hurt. I’ll lead the way.”
Pádraig had hoped to look the area over by himself, but couldn’t very well protest having a chaperone. “It would be my honor to have you accompany me,” he told the reeve with all the sincerity he could muster.
* * *
The going was steep, and it took all of fifteen minutes for the twosome to clamber up to the top of the ridgeline. Looking back down at the road, Pádraig noted the high-ground position to be the perfect spot for an ambush. Any riders coming north on the Coastal Road, as it skirted Lamb’s Head Bay, would be sitting ducks for the bandits secreted up there.
The trampling of grasses also confirmed what the young wizard had learned from the soldiers. There were probably about a dozen or so bandits involved in the affair. However, two other details that he observed, details which he shared with Cian since he wasn’t sure whether or not the deputies had noticed them and had reported their findings to the reeve, were an area in a copse of birches that had been used as a latrine, and various plugs of smoke-weed, knocked from the bowls of pipes.
“This doesn’t have the appearance of a chance encounter,” he mused. “They had been waiting here for some time.”
Cian stood there, lips taut and brow furrowed. Clearly, his deputies had not performed that thorough an examination of the scene. “It seems different eyes were warran
ted, Honored Sir,” he said, finally. “But things my deputies should have noted.”
The way in which the reeve behaved swung Pádraig’s assessment of the man more to the ‘friend’ side of his calculation, rather than ‘foe.’ Although he still decided not to share his thoughts about the arrow that had felled Eamon, he did offer up another observation, asking, more or less conversationally, “How long did it take us to climb up here?”
“About a quarter of an hour,” the reeve answered.
“Bandits lying in wait for prey?” Pádraig continued, reflectively. “Hmm. Who then have to climb down to the road, relieve their victims of any valuables, and then climb back up to where they’ve left their horses? All the while hoping that no one else comes up or down the road and spots them?” He raised an eyebrow at his companion.
After a moment of thought, Cian told him, “Why don’t you go see to your mule, Honored Sir. There’s no reason for my men to have any animosity toward you.”
He winked, and Pádraig took his leave.
Once the young wizard had climbed back down from the ridge and had rejoined Killian, the reeve came to the edge of the ridgeline, put his thumb and second finger into his mouth and let out a shrill whistle. When his deputies looked up at him, Cian crooked the first two fingers of his right hand and beckoned to them.
“Uh-oh,” Pádraig whispered to the mule. “Somebody’s going to the woodshed.”
Birchday - Bear 10th
Árainn Shire - Ráth Árainn
It was late in the evening watch by the time Pádraig and Killian, along with Cian, his deputies, and the remainder of Eamon’s troops arrived at Fort Árainn. They were greeted by the captains of both the Cruachanian Defense Forces and the Security Forces of the Northern Shires, along with Eógan, Earl of the Western Shires.
While the three uninjured members of Eamon’s squad assisted their two wounded comrades to the infirmary, Eógan crossed to the side of the wagon where the three bodies lay, and asked, “Any trace of the bandits?”
The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan Page 8
