Morrighan's Champion

by C.S. Fanning

were thrown wide, and a greatly depleted but still sizeable force marched out abandoning their posts; leaving the garrison itself to burn.

  She had not choice now, Aeden would have to deal with the battle within the walls; she had her own battle to fight. She had to slow or stop these troops or their efforts would all be in vain. Slipping from the ferry she skirted the deepening water around the stockade intending to come at soldiers from the far side.

  To her surprise the soldiers had come to a stop in the rising water just over half way to the stockade. The one who Fianna presumed to be their captain was arguing with one of the robed clerics, who was growing increasingly animated. Both of them were gesturing toward the stockade, clearly in disagreement. With a final gesture of disgust the commander of the garrison issued a command, and his soldiers turned to face the east and the last of the fleeing villagers and began to march toward the high ground. The captain brushed past the cleric in the waist deep water and forged on toward the receding shoreline. The sorcerer screamed in anger and raised his hands, dark magic crackling between his fingertips, obviously prepared to punish the captain for his impudence.

  Without even thinking, Fianna brought up her bow and fired in one smooth motion. Sixty paces was a long shot in the full light of day, and at night it was all but impossible. To her surprise and relief, her arrow flew true, striking the sorcerer just above the ear. The power he had intended to release rebounded on him, engulfing him for a moment in magical fire as he fell dead into the water and slowly began to drift away.

  The captain and his troop stopped as he looked around carefully, unsure what had just happened but certain that someone had just saved him from the fate he had committed himself too. Several of his men were drawing weapons but the captain barked an order and they stopped, returning swords to scabbards. Staying in formation, they began moving directly toward Fianna’s position again, as she cursed herself for not letting the cleric reduce their number before she had to face them. Knocking another arrow, she prayed that Aeden would be successful and made ready to take as many with her into the afterlife as possible.

  Just as she was about to release, taking careful aim at the captains head, he held up a hand and his troop stopped. She waited, hoping he would order his troops away again. She watched tensely as drew his sword and placed the tip of it in his left hand, holding it high overhead in a traditional signal of surrender, before moving forward again. His soldiers didn’t move as he walked slowly closer. By the time he started, indicating that he had finally seen Fianna in the shadow of the wall, he was no more than five paces away. Far too close for her to miss.

  “You must be the hunter that has my soldiers terrified of the woods” he said, his accent undeniably identifying him as a son of Eire. When Fianna made no move to speak or to lower her bow he continued. “I am Commander Iollan of the Longford Regulars, and I formally surrender myself and my garrison to your command.”

  Fianna couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was surrendering, to her? Certainly this must be a trick. “And what are the terms of your surrender?”

  Iollan looked at her in surprise, perhaps only now recognizing her youth. “You serve the druids if the stories surrounding you and your companions be true. To long have we been ruled from afar by foreign powers bent on destroying our people. King or no, I will not serve a man who does not serve the people any longer. I and my men have served the wrong master, and for that you may demand justice. If that is your wish, understand that my men have only followed orders, and I ask that you exact whatever justice you see fit from me Fianna.”

  Fianna hadn’t realized that their exploits were known to the people, but there was no other way that he could know her name. She had little choice but to trust him, so lowering her bow she approached him carefully. When he made no movement, she addressed him formally. “Do you vow to serve Eire under my command; to keep her safe at the price of your own life until such time as you are released of duty?”

  Extending his sword hilt toward her Iollan took a knee, the swirling water coming nearly to his chin. “I vow to serve you until you release me, Lady Fianna.”

  He had altered the wording of the vow subtly but she could find no fault. “Get me inside the stockade, and have your men prepared to assist the prisoners” she ordered.

  “Aye! There are still two of those robed devils within” he added.

  “I’m aware, my companion is inside fighting them now and I need to get in there to assist him” she replied.

  Iollan nodded. “I will do as you ask, but I fear this may be the briefest command in military history.”

  He clearly felt as though this was a fool’s mission, but he turned and barked orders to his men who began to move without hesitation. “I should send someone after the rest of my men” he said, looking to her for approval.

  “There are two horses tied to a ferry just beyond the gate. Send a man on horseback to get word to your patrol, and send another to look for signs of our compatriot that caused that” she ordered, pointing at the garrison, now engulfed in flames to the water line.

  Aeden was holding his own against the leader of the foreigner sorcerers, but holding was insufficient to his needs. He was getting stronger though as the sword drank of the dark power and used it to fuel his strength. It was only a matter of time before his assailant faltered and Aeden would have him. The only question was would the clerics allies come to his aide before Aeden could finish him. Alone, the leader could only hold him at bay, but it took all of his strength to hold him back, and if his defenses waivered even for a second, he would be lost.

  Aeden was just beginning to hope that the sorcerer had thought himself so powerful that he had come alone until he saw the furtive shadow moving along the side of one of the huts that dotted the ground inside the stockade. This simple trap was going to be his end. Just like in Bretharc, he was being flanked, only this time his friends could not get to him to lend aid.

  Another shadow moved behind the first, but Aeden ignored it; two were enough, more didn’t seem to matter. It wasn’t until the new shadow approached the first, who was now in a perfect position to strike, that Aeden noticed anything odd about the new arrival. He couldn’t put his finger on what it was until the last second before the first struck, but it was apparent that the second was dressed differently. Rather than the staff the sorcerers he’d fought thus far carried, the newcomer seemed to be carrying a heavy cudgel. Just as the first raised his arms to cast his spell at Aeden, the second swung the cudgel overhead and with a sound like that of a walnut cracking, stove in the sorcerer’s skull. The resonating crack could be heard across the walled area.

  The leader looked away in surprise and for just a moment his attention waivered. Aeden took advantage, hurling himself forward toward the cleric, sword held high. At the last possible second the sorcerer raised his arms extending his power like a shield, and Aeden saw him smile. His smile turned to a rictus of pain as the Morrighan’s enchantment cleaved the spell and the cleric’s arms where they crossed, narrowly missing his head in its explosive decent. The shockwave of magic expelled by the shattered defense knocked both combatants to the ground.

  As quickly as he could Aeden rose, but the cleric was gone. His unexpected ally lit a torch and in its glow Aeden saw Faolan’s father, Tierney, still holding the bloody cudgel with which he had brained the would-be assassin.

  “Aeden? Is Faolan with you?” Tierney asked.

  “He is with Riordan. They left for Caledonia just after midwinter” Aeden informed him.

  “He is alive though?”

  “Yes sir, alive and well when last I saw him.”

  Others were coming into the light, mostly faces that Aeden had known all his life growing up in Bretharc, though they had been happier and less gaunt. The people he had known as a robust and healthy farming community now looked as though they had been visited by some horrific wasting plague.

 
; “How long have you been here?” Aeden demanded. His father had not mentioned how long the village had been incarcerated.

  Curt, Riordan’s father, smiled at Aeden. “Since the day our young heroes went off to save the world” he said, allowing only a little of his bitterness into his quavering voice. “It was not always this bad, the soldiers kept us well fed and warm, and in the summer the men got to return to Bretharc to sow the fields and tend the herds. This fall the black cloaks showed up, and things got bad, most of us haven’t eaten for days.”

  Just then the gates burst open and Aeden, furious at the treatment of his people, rushed the gate with his sword ready to slaughter whoever came through. The mailed soldier, obviously a ranking officer who was pushing open one side of the gate, narrowly missed losing his head as he flung himself back.

  “Aeden, stop!” Fianna’s voice rang out.

  Aeden pulled up short, uncertainty warring with rage. Sword swept up and behind him, he stood ready to cut down anyone that moved. The gate opposite where he’d attacked the commander continued to creak open, filling the night with the sounds of ungreased hinges scraping through the rust that had formed upon them. Fianna stood behind that gate, calm despite her captivity. She was several