The Embers are Fanned in Cruachan Page 14

  “Just in time, laddie,” she admonished the young wizard. “Another minute or so more and yuh would have forfeited your first lesson.”

  “What?!” Pádraig replied, sliding off the mule’s back. “You said midday.” He pointed upward at the sun. “It’s midday.”

  “If yuh’ll recall, I said, ‘Precisely at midday.’” She gestured to the staff. “Precisely midday was a quarter hour ago.”

  Pádraig approached the dwarf and saw that the staff next to her was, indeed, a herdsman’s timestick—a portable timepiece based on the same principle as the large shadow timers at each fort, fortress, and the Citadel of Cruachan itself.

  The large timers tracked the position of the sun, so that the officers of the watch would know when to sound the watch bells. During the nighttime hours, sand timers, calibrated to the shadow timers, were utilized.

  The herdsman’s timestick, when properly aligned, although not nearly as accurate as the shadow timers, provided a crude approximation—close enough, anyway, to meet a herdsman’s needs.

  The staff was fashioned with eight sides, each one corresponding to a different month, and carved with lines representing the time of day in half-hour increments. A small metal peg was inserted in a hole at the top of the correct month and the staff oriented, so that it faced the sun. With the staff positioned this way, the shadow of the peg would run down the appropriate face. The bottom edge of the shadow marked the present time.

  “I didn’t know you meant to be that precise,” the young wizard replied.

  “Well, now yuh do. Tether your animal and let’s get started. Your hour’s fast slipping away.” Isla again pointed at the timestick.

  Pádraig did as he had been directed, and grabbed the hand-and-a-half sword from its scabbard on the mule’s saddle.

  “Nae, nae, nae, laddie,” Isla told him, shaking a finger at the apprentice wizard. “Put that back. Yuh got a death-wish? Is that what yuh got, hmm?”

  “But how am I going to learn without a sword?”

  “I got your sword right here,” she said, holding up two wooden hand-and-a-half swords. “Also, doff your cloak and put these on.” Setting the swords aside, she reached down and picked up a bronze helmet and a tan, thick, quilted tunic that appeared to be long enough to come down to Pádraig’s knees.

  “Why, if we’re going to use toy swords?”

  “Toy swords, yuh say?” She snickered and her eyes twinkled. “Ask me that about ten minutes intuh the lesson, Wizard.”

  “But you’re not wearing a quilted tunic and helmet,” Pádraig replied.

  Isla doubled over with laughter. When she finally caught her breath, she said, “Nae, laddie. And duh yuh know why?”

  Recognizing a rhetorical question when he heard one, the young wizard remained silent.

  “Because I won’t be needing ’em,” she answered anyway. “Now put your sword back, get rid of the cloak, put on the tunic and helmet, and let’s see what yuh got.” Again indicating the timestick, she continued with, “In the half hour or so yuh’ve got left of your first lesson.”

  Pádraig struggled into the tunic while Isla held it for him, then adjusted the helmet on his head, so that the built-in nose guard was correctly placed. When he was properly outfitted, the dwarf handed him one of the wooden swords.

  “Now,” she said, “a few fundamentals before we start. Rule number one—and remember this always, laddie. Rule number one: the hand-and-a-half sword is a stand-off weapon, not a close-in weapon. Repeat that, now.”

  “Rule number one:” Pádraig said, dutifully, including the emphases, “the hand-and-a-half sword is a stand-off weapon, not a close-in weapon.”

  “And here’s why. Yuh’ll want tuh keep your distance from an opponent wielding a weapon with a sharp point and two sharp edges. Think of the distance as a hand-length more than the distance of your arm and the sword when yuh lunge forward tuh the fullest extent.” She demonstrated the move, leaving about seven or eight inches between the tip of her wooden sword and Pádraig’s chest.

  “But if I leave a gap, I won’t hit my opponent,” the young wizard protested.

  “Aye, laddie. Which means he won’t be able to hit yuh, either. Tuh do so, he has tuh attack. And that added gap gives your wee brain an instant more tuh react.”

  “Oh.”

  “Aye. Oh, indeed. Now, tuh start with, let’s talk about balance. Separate your feet slightly shorter than shoulder width, right foot ahead of left, with the right knee slightly bent and the foot pointed straight ahead. The left foot is positioned with the toe somewhat angled outward with the weight of your body slightly toward that rear foot.” Again, she demonstrated the stance, and Pádraig copied her.

  “Hold your sword up in front of yuh almost vertical.” When the young wizard complied, she said, “Good wizard, good wizard,” as if praising a dog for having learned a new trick. “There are four basic moves in fighting with the hand-and-a-half sword, or with any sword, in fact,” Isla continued. “There’s the attack. There’s the block. There’s the counter-attack. And there’s the retreat. Of course there are variations on each of these, but four basic moves, nevertheless. Tuhday we’ll start with the simple attack. Now, dinna hold on tuh the sword like yuh’re choking it. Yuh’re gonna need a flexible wrist.”

  Taking her stance in front of the young wizard, she flicked her wrist, knocking the sword out of his hand with her sword.

  “Yuh also dinna want tuh be holding it so limply that that happens. Now, go pick up your sword, laddie, and let’s begin again.”

  Without saying a word, Pádraig crossed over to where his sword lay in the snow, picked it up, crossed back to Isla, and retook his stance, this time gripping the weapon a little more tightly.

  Again, with a flick of her wrist, the dwarf dislodged the sword from his grasp.

  “Nae, Wizard. Not quite,” she said. “Yuh need to find the happy medium between holding it like yuh’re strangling a chicken, and too lightly that it gets knocked out of your hands. Let’s try it again.”

  As he crossed over to where the sword lie, two thoughts entered Pádraig’s mind. The first was that perhaps accepting the brown leather-and-badger-fur sporran, worn on a brown leather belt with an iron buckle in the shape of a thistle wouldn’t have been too bad an idea, in hindsight. The second was an ever-growing warm, fuzzy feeling toward the cougar.

  * * *

  Along about mid-afternoon, wizard and mule arrived back at Sléibhín’s hut, with Pádraig laid out across Killian’s neck.

  “Paddy!” the oblate wizard called out, concern in his voice. “Are you all right? It looked as if Killian was bringing home a dead body slung over his back.”

  “Ohhhh,” was Pádraig’s only response, as he struggled to raise himself to a seated position in the saddle. “Ohhhh.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “All over. Help me down.” Instead of climbing down from the saddle, the apprentice wizard more or less rolled off of it into the other man’s arms. “Ohhhh.”

  “Let’s get you inside and let me have a look at you,” Sléibhín said, putting an arm around Pádraig’s waist and guiding him toward the hut. “You look as if you’ve been beaten with a stick.”

  “A big stick. But I need to take care of Killian.”

  “Nonsense. You’re in no condition to take care of anything. Once I’ve got you patched up, I’ll see to the mule.”

  “Okaaay.”

  * * *

  Back in the hut, with his wool cloak and cotton tunic off, Pádraig looked down at his bruises. Even the quilted tunic—as padded as it was—that Isla made him wear for his lesson, couldn’t protect him totally from her attacks and counter-attacks.

  Sléibhín applied poultices to each injured spot, then borrowed the hawk-beak hoof-pick and went out to take care of Killian.

  * * *

  When the oblate wizard returned, he heated up some more goat stew, and gave Pádraig a tankard of ale to wash it down. “Are you sure these lessons are wo
rth it, Paddy?” he asked in a worried tone of voice.

  The beaten man raised his head and looked at him. “I did learn quite a bit today.”

  “Like what? How much suffering you can tolerate?”

  “Like I’d better be a very quick study,” he replied, forcing a smile. “If you don’t mind, I think I’m going to turn in early tonight.”

  “Just sit still here for the remainder of the afternoon, then do that, Paddy. The rest will be good for you while the poultices draw out the pain.”

  * * *

  Still hurting, sleep that evening didn’t come right away. Half in and half out of consciousness, images of Isla kept swirling in Pádraig’s head:

  “Lunge, Wizard!” she yelled, then blocked his attack, giving him a vicious body-shot with her wooden sword.

  “Block, laddie!” she shouted, as she lunged at him, quickly getting her sword under his guard and giving him another crack in the ribs.

  “Lunge!…Block!…Lunge!…Block!…Lunge!…Block!”

  Just as the young wizard was finally drifting off into a sound sleep, the image of the dwarf changed to that of a snarling cougar. In his final moments of semi-consciousness, not only did Pádraig see the cougar’s snarl morph into a smile, but he thought he saw the animal actually wink at him.

  Oakday - Bear 16th

  Árainn Shire

  Although Pádraig still experienced a bit of stiffness from the drubbing he had received the previous day from Isla the dwarf, the good-night’s sleep and Sléibhín’s poultices had alleviated his pain substantially. Even so, Sléibhín had refused to let him help muck out the stall in the shed, leaving the apprentice wizard feeling guilty about taking advantage of his host.

  While the oblate wizard rode out on his daily foraging trip for medicinal herbs and plants, Pádraig opted to stay behind and recuperate further. He was not at all looking forward to his second sword-fighting lesson the next day.

  * * *

  Before Sléibhín left, he had asked, “Tomorrow, why don’t you use some magic to assist you, Paddy? Surely you could do it in a manner so that Isla would remain unaware.”

  “It wouldn’t be sporting,” Pádraig had replied. “Besides, if ever my magical powers are blocked, for whatever reason, I think I need to learn how to defend myself without them.”

  * * *

  Now, as Pádraig stood outside the shed in the crisp morning air, brushing Killian, a thought occurred to him. But what if, instead of using magic to assist me with the sword, I use it to toughen up the quilted tunic to provide more protection against Isla’s strikes and counter-strikes. That wouldn’t actually be cheating. It wouldn’t help me become a better swordsman, just prevent me from getting so beat up in the learning process.

  As he stood there pondering the idea, a screech brought him out of his contemplation, also causing Killian’s ears to stand up, provoking a whinny-bray from the mule.

  Over on one of the fence posts outside the shed, a brown-and-white fish hawk was just closing its large wings. Pádraig could see that the feathered courier had a small piece of parchment tied to one of its legs.

  Apparently my message got through to Liam, he thought, as he approached the bird.

  When he got there, the hawk lifted its talon, allowing the young wizard to retrieve the note. He assumed that a reply had been requested because the animal continued to sit there, head cocked in anticipation.

  Pádraig unfolded the parchment and frowned as he read the words:

  No unnecessary chances

  Only if can be done covertly

  Only if what can be done covertly? he wondered. Seconds later, he smacked himself on the forehead with the palm of his hand, realizing that he was reading the backside of the note. Dunderhead! he told himself. Must have taken one too many smacks on the helmet yesterday. Flipping the parchment over, he read the beginning of the message:

  Need to check beachhead expansion

  at North Head - How? And Why?

  Crumpling up the note, he stuck it in the pocket of his breeches. After holding up a finger to the hawk in a just-a-minute gesture, he hurried into the hut to find something with which to write a reply.

  As he did so, he remembered the conversation he had had with Sléibhín the day before about having Hilma reshod:

  “You’re going to want to get her reshod sooner rather than later,” he said, drawing Sléibhín’s attention to the wear pattern on the horse’s left front shoe. “I don’t know how often you get over to Ráth Árainn, but next time you go, stop in and see the farrier, or the head groom if the farrier’s not there. I’d reshoe her myself, but I don’t have any shoe-blanks or my equipment with me.”

  The oblate wizard bowed his head. “I guess I’m remiss in doing that, Paddy. Another Senseless Sléibhín mistake. I am scheduled to head over there in about four weeks, though, to deliver a supply of medicinal herbs to the infirmary. Do you think Hilma’s shoes will hold out until then?”

  Four weeks, Pádraig thought. How important is the situation up at North Head? Can I wait four weeks before checking it out? The message did say, ‘No unnecessary chances’ and ‘Only if can be done covertly.’ It’ll have to wait. When Sléibhín leaves for Ráth Árainn, he’ll be gone for at least three days. Maybe even longer. That’s my opportunity.…Except, it’ll take me three full days to get to North Head, one day to investigate, and three more days to get back. Sléibhín’ll return a couple of days before me. Can’t be helped. I’ll just tell him that I went out exploring on my own. That I’d never been to the mountains before and thought I’d use the opportunity to do a little sightseeing. Even to Pádraig, it sounded like a lame explanation; then, an idea came to him. Collect some herbs and plants on the way back. Tell him I went exploring for mountain herbs. Yeah. That’s it. That should work.

  Finding squid ink and a quill, as well as a few pieces of parchment that the oblate wizard used for writing down medicinal recipes, Pádraig quickly penned a reply to the Venerable Taliesin:

  Time-window 4 weeks

  Send hawk back on 53rd

  * * *

  While the apprentice wizard explored the contents of Sléibhín’s larder, he left Killian outside the shed, so that the mule could air himself out in the sunlight. By the time the oblate wizard returned from his foraging trip, Pádraig had a cauldron of vegetable pottage, flavored with pieces of mutton, simmering in the fireplace.

  “Come. Sit by the fire and warm yourself,” he told his host. “I’ll see to Hilma. After our midday meal, you can show me what you managed to find today.”

  “Shouldn’t you be resting?” Sléibhín asked.

  “Between your poultices and just moving about this morning, I’m doing a lot better. Go. Stir the pottage. Then sit. I’ll join you shortly.”

  As Sléibhín, reluctantly but thankfully, entered the warm hut, Pádraig led both Hilma and Killian into the shed. After getting the horse rubbed down and brushed, he pulled his hoof-pick from the pocket of his breeches and set about cleaning the animal’s hooves.

  * * *

  “When you unsaddled Hilma, what did you do with my sack of plants?” Sléibhín asked, as the two wizards cleaned their dinnerware off in the snow.

  “I set it on the table in the shed.”

  “Good. Give me your bowl and spoon. I’ll take it back in, then meet you over there.”

  “I’ll do it, Sléibhín,” Pádraig replied, reaching out for the other man’s utensils. “I need to move the cauldron farther away from the fire anyway.”

  The two wizards separated, Sléibhín crossing toward the shed and Pádraig re-entering the hut, bowls and spoons in hand.

  After drying the utensils with a cloth and setting them on the table, the apprentice wizard crossed to the fireplace, moved the cauldron of pottage farther away from the fire, then reached into the pocket of his breeches for the note from Taliesin, which he intended to toss onto the burning logs.

  The only item he found there turned out to be the hawk-billed hoof-pick.


  Pádraig checked his other pocket.

  Nothing.

  Crossing back to the table, he set the hoof-pick on the table top and turned out both his pockets.

  Still nothing.

  Humph, he thought. Must have fallen out in the stall when I removed the pick to clean Hilma’s hooves.

  Returning the hoof-pick to his pocket, Pádraig left the hut to join Sléibhín in the shed.

  * * *

  As they tied the herbs and plants into little bundles and hung them from nails in the rafters to dry, Sléibhín identified the few with which Pádraig was unfamiliar, explaining their use.

  All the while, Pádraig kept an eye out for the note from Taliesin. Probably in the stall, he figured. Since Sléibhín mucked out the stall by himself today, I’ll volunteer to do it tomorrow morning before our foraging expedition.

  Yewday - Bear 17th

  Árainn Shire

  “You’re still my number-one suspect, you know,” Pádraig said, reaching down and tweaking one of Killian’s ears.

  The mule shook his head and snorted.

  “Yeah, it was you, wasn’t it? You ate that piece of parchment, didn’t you?”

  Killian gave him another snort for a reply.

  “‘No, it wasn’t me,’” the apprentice wizard said, mimicking a voice that he thought a mule might have if, in fact, a mule had a voice. “Yeah. Right. You gonna blame it on the horse?”

  * * *

  Having convinced Sléibhín of the fairness of letting him muck out the stall by himself, after the oblate wizard had done it solo the day before, Pádraig had looked through every shovel- and rake-full of straw and manure for the missing note from the Venerable Taliesin, to no avail. After spreading fresh straw on the dirt floor and refilling the water and hay troughs, he had saddled both animals for their morning trek up the mountainside.

  That was when he had first accused Killian of eating the parchment.

  At the time, he had received a whinny-bray from the mule in response.