Morrighan's Champion

by C.S. Fanning

feet in front of her captors, and Aeden was certain he would have time to get between the obviously unprepared soldiers and Fianna before they could react.

  Fianna could see Aeden calculating, and it almost took her too long to recognize what he was planning. “No Aeden, there men are here to help. They have sworn their allegiance to our cause, and as such are under my protection.”

  Her words struck him like a slap in the face. “They have all but killed our families, and you would have me let them live?”

  “Lad, they treated us well despite their orders until the black robes came. A soldier does as he is ordered, it is the way of things” Curt said from behind him.

  Aeden could hear the murmurs of agreement from behind him, yet still he had cause for anger. “They killed you own father and mine” he hissed his fury threatening to break free.

  “They did no more nor less than we might have in their place” Fianna told him, moving to place herself between her new command and Aeden’s wrath.

  The soldiers were all fairly fixated on the glowing blade in Aeden’s hand. As soldiers, they had a better idea than most whose hand had enchanted such an artifact, though none of them had ever laid eyes upon anything of its kind before. Every man there simply knew that if the Champions blade turned against them, they would perish.

  The insanity of the night and the intensity of the drama before them prevented those who should have been on watch from noticing the horse and rider until he was already among them. The horse moved through the knot of soldiers slowly, the still form of a man draped over the horse he led. The soldier on the horse eyed Aeden warily as he approached. Aeden’s fury nearly claimed him as the torchlight revealed enough of the still man’s clothing for Aeden to recognize his father. An arrow still protruded from the body; Aeden could just see the top half of the fletched shaft.

  Fianna turned at his look, gasping as she too recognized the body. She could see that Gareth was atop his own horse, and that the soldier was one of the two recently dispatched to search. She backed up to Aeden, hoping still to curb his revenge, just as the rider turned the horse so that they could clearly see the body.

  The sight before them was so surprising that Aeden lowered his sword, the fire of his anger dying in a breath. There lay his father, propping himself up to see his son when one arm, while gingerly holding the arrow that had pierced his right buttock with the other.

  “Son, would you mind allowing someone to get this arrow out of my arse?” Gareth asked, so nonchalantly that it was easy to forget that the arrow in his backside was a serious injury.

  Fianna and Gareth both laughed out loud. Soon the soldiers and the people of Bretharc had joined in, and the wave of relief that swept over everyone drew Aeden along until he was laughing as well. Aeden had thought certain that his father was lost, and the surprising return drained away the last of his anger.

  Fianna, aware that the danger was now past, moved quickly to expedite the final phase of the rescue. Issuing orders like a seasoned veteran she had several soldiers retrieve the ferry, while more were sent to recover supplies and weapons. The remainder aided the former prisoners in gathering their scant possessions and loading the sick and elderly onto the ferry.

  In half an hour the ferry was laden with all the food and people it could carry, and they set off to cross the newly formed lake before the waters rose too high to cross for those that remained afoot. Even as they pulled the ferry across towards the steep slope that led to the forest road, the village healers worked on Gareth, whose good natured jests only stopped for the moment when they pulled free the barbed head of the arrow.

  Aeden listened to his father’s banter wondering where they man had come from. He couldn’t believe that the simple pig farmer that had raised him was the same man who had single-handedly planned a rescue, assaulted a garrison with a flaming battering ram, and now joked with the healers about how he was “really showing his arse now.”

  For that matter, how did the village healers, who as far as Aeden knew had never treated an injury worse than a hog bite, know how to treat arrow wound with such practiced skill? By the time the ferry was made fast to the shore, the evacuees had returned with the troops from the new dam. Once Commander Iollan had briefed his returning men, they regarded Aeden with some wonder, and made their pledge to serve Fianna. Fianna was getting frustrated with the time that was wasted on formalities, but at least with the garrison under her command there was no need to make hard decisions about who had to be left behind.

  At dawn, she mounted her horse and led her new force into the deep forest escorting the ragtag band of refugees that were now her responsibility. For much of the morning they moved so slowly that Fianna wondered if they would ever reach the hills before they were set upon by enemies. She was casting about for a place to halt and give the injured a much needed rest when they were discovered.

  Iollan was trying to put her mind at ease for the third time since the dawn, explaining that they were making very good time with their refugees, when one of the scouts sounded the alarm.

  “Hooded riders closing on our position from the rear, sir!” yelled one the veteran soldiers that served as Iollan’s second in command.

  “How many?” Iollan asked, already moving to gather men and weapons.

  “Uncertain sir, but at least a score” came the reply.

  Fianna’s fledgling hopes failed her utterly. A score or more of these dark priests would be their end. Not even Aeden could hope to stand against so many.

  “Commander, put an escort with the refugees, and have the balance arrange whatever defenses you think best” Fianna ordered.

  Iollan turned to Aeden. “Do you think you could topple that big oak there across that narrow ravine at the top?”

  Aeden nodded, having already concluded that the commander’s chosen defensive line was their best option, and spurred his horse forward up the hill. He had his own plan for defending the refugees but it almost certainly wouldn’t remove the threat entirely. He could only hope that it would give them a fighting chance. It took only a moment to topple the giant oak tree across the road once the last of the refugees had passed, and as soon as the task was finished he rode laterally along the ridge, intending to find another ravine in which he could skirt the attackers flank. His plan was simple. Wait until the dark robes stopped to threaten the defenders, then attack from the rear, killing as many as he could. Perhaps if he managed to slay enough of them his friends would escape.

  Fianna watched as Aeden rode out of sight. She knew what he was doing and though usually his brash actions infuriated her, this time she thought it might be the only chance that they had to save the refugees. She had little time to ponder however, as the sound of dozens of hoof beats could be heard upon the road, thundering toward their makeshift defenses.

  The majority of her soldiers assembled behind the barricade swiftly, while a squadron with Iollan leading them hid themselves in the brush on the uphill side of the trail. Their enemies might win through and carry the day, but they were going to pay a price in blood. As Fianna and her group engaged the enemy head on from behind their barricade, Iollan’s force would flank them giving them a tactical advantage for all the good that might do. With Aeden coming at the enemy from his own vantage point as well, perhaps they would get lucky, or at least they might cause sufficient havoc to allow the refugees the chance of escape.

  Moments later the line of riders came into view, galloping up the road two abreast, and immediately Fianna knew that they were facing something unexpected. The riders hurtling toward them, robes billowing in the wind, were indeed wearing hooded robes, but not in the black robes of their adversaries. The white and gray robes of druids were what they wore and Fianna’s hopes rose. She knew this could be a ruse, but if it were she could not divine its purpose. Surely the enemy would not expect her to order her men to stand down based on the clothing alone, did they?

  The rid
ers drew up short, perhaps thirty yards from the barricade. The dense brush around the trail here would make circumventing their barricade take at least several minutes on horseback; minutes in which they would be completely exposed to the hail of arrows that would rain from behind the big oak. The enemy would have little choice but to attack or retreat, yet these riders did neither. At a signal from the leader, they held their ground while he and one other approached slowly. If the was a trick, Fianna vowed, these two would be the first to die.

  Both of the approaching riders extended their right hands in a gesture of peace. They were perhaps twenty feet from the barricade when they reigned in their horses. “I would have expected a warmer greeting from such a dear friend” Riordan said, lowering his hood and casting a wry smile at a much stunned Fianna.

  Fianna quickly disciplined herself, shouting “Aeden, it is Riordan! Do not attack!”

  Riordan blanched slightly, realizing too late that the defenders on the road were not the only hazard in these woods. Iollan brought his flanking force out of hiding just as Aeden galloped up the path. Even with their power, many of the druids might well have died had they actually engaged an enemy. Riordan realized that he needed to educate himself in strategy before