Chapter 40

The Pandora swayed heavily against her anchor rope, an easterly breeze trying its best to push her from her Kinsley Spit anchorage back out into the blue water that stretched all the way to Rhum. Patience and time were both running short. The ship’s crew had not originally bargained for such a long stay away from their home port.

“We’ll give them damned pilgrims ‘til the evening tide changes, then we’re headin’ back to Loch Linnhe, with or without them,” Captain Ames declared.

Eigh stepped forward, pushing his much larger nephew aside. “Mucky boy must not have made our plans clear enough for ye, cap’n. We’ll be waitin’ ‘til the pilgrims return, elsewise ain’t none of us gonna get paid for this little adventure. Now, what part of that do ye not comprrr-eee-hhhend?”

Ames glowered at his strange little tormentor, glad that Eigh had his giant bird tethered to its perch, for once. “We don’t even know if he has the plum to pay us, now do we, old man?”

“Old mahn, is it?” Eigh snapped.

Muck interrupted his uncle just in time to stave off a bloodletting. “Ahh see ‘em! Comin’ down the embankment—ther-r-re—to the left of that tall oak. See ‘em? They’s a horsemahn with ‘em and he’s draggin’ somethin’ behind his animal. The magician musta found what he was lookin’ for, sure enough!”

* South Landing, Rhum *

Brude McAlpin was the first to leap onto the aging stone wharf, followed quickly by Ean McKinnon and Sabritha. Daynin tossed the mooring lines to his grandfather, making the Shiva fast, then helped Simon Troon over the side. A light rain fell all around them, giving the ghostly quiet an even more sinister feel.

The craggy slopes of Askival loomed over the landing, its peak shrouded in an ever present wisp of cloud from which, it was said, spirits of long dead highlanders looked down on Rhum’s human inhabitants. In the distance, the longing cry of a sparrow hawk rippled along the cliff face, adding its baleful tone to the less than friendly atmosphere.

“Good god, Daynin,” Sabritha whispered, “I’ve seen dungeons that offered more warmth than this place.”

“This is Rrr-rhum’s only sheltered landing, Sabritha. The other side of the island, where Kinloch stands, faces the ocean and all its furies. We will trek through the Kuillins, then down the other side to Standguard Bridge. You will see the best of Rrr-rhum from there.”

Sabritha pulled her cloak tightly against the dampness. “I hope these Kuillins have a warm fire and some stew in a pot. I’m so cold my goose bumps are bartering for blankets.”

Ean and Troon both laughed aloud. “Och, woman—the Kuillins are these mountains, not some wayside tavern,” Ean said. “The Norse called ‘em that because so many of their kind perished in the takin’ o’ this island.”

“Oh, that’s just what I wanted to hear. So, there’s no place to stay for the night?”

Daynin scanned the slopes of Askival, turning slowly toward Rhum’s island neighbor of Eigg, several leagues to the southeast. “As far as we know, there’s been no one on Rhum since Kinloch fell. Most people are afraid of this place now, and well they should be. The Caledonians slaughtered every living thing, including the red deer, the otter and even the seals.”

“Seals? What the deuce are they?”

Troon answered, “Think of a slug, girrrl, only much bigger. The size of a mahn, say and that swims like a fish.”

“You’ll see, Sabritha. I’ll wager the seals have returned to the island by now,” Daynin added.

Turning to follow Ean’s lead up the mountain pathway, Sabritha tossed a sarcastic, “Oh, I do hope so,” over her shoulder to Troon.

Slinging a cargo net filled with the Blackgloom Bounty, books, and extra weapons over his shoulder, Brude clanked off after Troon, bringing up the rear of the column. Several strides up the slope, Daynin turned to look back down at the Pandora, his mind suddenly focused on Kruzurk Makshare. We made it, Booze—er, Kruze. Thanks to you, I now have the wealth to rebuild this place and once again make it home. Too bad you cannae be part of that.

* Aboard The Burning Snekke *

Miles Aubrecht had stripped to his leathers, determined to make the distant shoreline any way he could. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the plunge into the icy waters. An instant before his leap, a familiar voice wafted through the smoke, staying him on the ship’s prow.

“Row, damn ya!” Plumat swore at the top of his voice. “Those blaggards are jumping ship like a pack of rats. If we don’t catch at least one of ‘em, you’ll all pay with a lashing!”

“Plumat? Geile Plumat—is that you m’lord?” Miles asked.

Dense black smoke obscured all but the lower portion of the snekke’s hull, making recognition nearly impossible. “What the hell? Who is that? Who calls me?” Plumat cried out in reply.

“‘Tis I, your lordship! Your squire, Miles Aubrecht!”

The heat from the flaming snekke was so intense, they dared not row any closer in the longboat. “Heave to, men!” Plumat ordered. “Jump for it, Miles! We’re here on the larboard quarter. Swim for it boy, as we can come no closer.”

Miles took one last look around and seeing no one, dropped into the dark waters. He paddled like a dog for what seemed an eternity before someone grabbed his tunic from above. “Gotcha!” Fulchere the Bowman bellowed. With help from the other Saxons, Fulchere dragged the hapless squire aboard the longboat.

“What the bloody hell are you doing here, Miles?” Plumat growled. “We thought you were dead or lost in the highlands.”

The squire heaved a mouthful of seawater, then, panting heavily, blurted out his story. “Captured—m’lord—my horse—threw me—priory . . .”

Impatient to get on with the more important details, Plumat snapped back, “Yes, yes, we know all that. I assumed they cut your throat and left you for the wolves. How did you escape? And how the devil did you wind up aboard a Tireean snekke?”

Miles pushed himself to an upright position, his mind whirling with details about his rescuers—and now friends—that he dared not divulge. “They, uhh—they sold me to these pirates. They were taking me to uhh, some island to uhh, be a court jester—but the ship caught fire in a battle.”

The longboat broke out in a boisterous melee of laughter and back slapping. “Quiet you lot!” Plumat ordered. “What of the boy? Where is he? And where’s my treasure?”

To buy some time, Miles pretended to shake water from his ears. “Treasure m’lord? I know nothing of that. I was, uhh, blindfolded much of the time—and—and, slung over a horse’s rump.”

Fulchere spoke up just then. “You lie, boy! Last time we saw you, you was high-tailing it with that lot in the wagon—them what was throwin’ out the treasure.”

Plumat grimaced at the very mention of that debacle. “Don’t remind me how stupid you are, Fulchere. It was you who allowed the brigands to escape in the first place.”

Miles took the opportunity to throw himself on Plumat’s mercy. “I’m sorry, m’lord. Please forgive me. Please give me another chance—I, I promise I will do better this time.”

“Settle down, boy. You’d think we were going to throw you back into the sea. You’re my squire, so act like it and stop the sniveling. Now tell me about the boat and what happened to the others. Surely you must have heard them say something about what they planned or where they were going.”

* Aboard The Pandora *

“If you cannot keep that bloody charger from kicking at my men, I’ll have to toss ‘im in the sea,” Captain Ames stated.

Kruzurk waded into the fray, concerned that Ebon of Scone might take matters into his own hand, accustomed as he was to dealing with people in a somewhat less verbal manner. “Hold, captain. May I offer a compromise? Perhaps if we tied Castor to the mast and then hobbled his hind legs—would that suffice for now? After all, we only have a few leagues to travel and we desperately need Ebon’s charger to move the stone.”

“That’s another thing,” Ames said. “We never bargained to haul goods or animals. Not to mention more passengers.”

Kruzurk produced three gold Byzantines from his purse, part of the spoils from Blackgloom. He put his arm around the captain and turned him to face out to sea, that no one aboard could observe the transaction. “Will these suffice to cover the extra baggage?”

Ames turned a rosy shade of red, having never seen such magnificent coins before. “Bloody hell, magician, you can buy a damn boat for that kind of plum.”

Dropping the coins into the captain’s outstretched palm, Kruzurk replied, “Ah, indeed. But then we would not have had your excellent captaincy to guide us, now would we?” A wink sealed the deal, and Ames turned about to shout his orders.

“Nicely done, m’lord,” Mediah whispered. “I still can’t believe how easily we got that stone aboard.”

“The right kind of leverage can move mountains, Mediah,” Kruze answered. “I just hope it’s as easy to unload as it was to load, once we reach Rhum.”

* Rhum, South of Kinloch Keep *

By the time Ean and the others neared the top of the steep, winding trail leading over Askival’s western flank, all were bordering on exhaustion. But with dusk rapidly approaching, the intrepid group had no choice but to forge ahead in hopes of reaching Kinloch Keep before full dark.

“How—much—further?” Sabritha managed to gasp out.

Trailing behind her, Daynin answered, “A league and a half, maybe. Rhum is only three leagues from end to end and side to side. It just seems much longer, climbing this side of Askival.”

“Then the trail is all downhill on the other side?”

“Yes, Sabritha. But slippery and treacherous if you’re not familiar with the path. Grandfather knows every false trail, so we won’t have any problem, but strangers can walk right off a cliff and never see it coming.”

“Remind me not to go wandering off, then,” she retorted.

Ever since the landing, Brude had said nothing. His thoughts revolved around the white haired one whose ‘images’ came and went as time passed. Vendernochla doch fennakuth mahn Cruithni? he prayed over and over, asking in the ancient Pictish dialect for the stranger in his visions to reveal himself. Despite hearing no answers, Brude knew that the visions were real, that the robed one was on his way and that with him he carried the answers to all of Brude’s questions.

“He dinnae talk much, does he?” Troon whispered loud enough for Ean to hear him.

Several strides ahead, Ean turned sideways and replied, “Aye, and it’s a good thing. That big bugger-rrr gives me the shiver-rrs. I’d lead ‘im off one of these cliffs, if ah didn’t think he’d come back and cut me up fer-rrr fish bait.”

Troon stifled a laugh, hurrying along to keep up with Ean the best he could on his bad leg. “Ya never apologized for tossin’ me over the side o’ that boat, Ean McKinnon. Nor have ya mentioned the plum yer gonna owe me for the weapons we’ve brung along.”

Never looking back, Ean replied, “Weapons is it? Well, then I rr-reckon we’re even for the amount of gold I had to pay to keep you aboard that scow. T’was a hefty sum fer an old used up bowman.”

“Used up is it? Well, then ya must be forgettin’ them ten heathens I smote in the battle, eh?”

Before he could reply, Ean abruptly stopped ahead. Even in the growing darkness, he could make out the distinctive reddish walls outlined against the glow of the sea beyond. “Saints of Argyle,” he said, wistfully. “Kinloch still stands!”

* Aboard The Dionysis *

Safely back on board the Dionysis, Plumat pressed his inquisition of the squire, asking all manner of questions designed to catch the boy in a lie. As yet, Miles had held up under the blistering verbal onslaught.

“I tell you, master,” Miles went on, “they are in league with the pirates. They made a deal for safe passage to Rhum and threw me into the bargain. Then a fight broke out and our ship was set ablaze by an old highlander firing flaming arrows into the rigging.”

Satisfied, at least for the moment, that the squire’s tale held true, Plumat left the boy in the fo’c’sle and climbed back on deck. “Oswald, can we run this ‘Temptress’ at night, or should we go around it?”

Concerned both for his ship and the potential loss of the promised treasure, Oswald replied, “If it means booty, we can go straight through. To go around adds another ten to twenty leagues, and that’s only if good weather holds. Rhum is the wettest island in the Hebrides and known for its stormy nature. The Woebringer will be in serious trouble in rough seas, as will the Witch, bein’ smaller than us. Half a day’s sailing could make or break us.”

Plumat cast a worried eye at the other two ships. The Witch appeared sturdy enough, having caught up with them at the fire ship, but Ranulf’s tub still lagged far behind. “We may yet need the Woebringer and her crew. How far is it to Rhum?”

“Damned if I know for sure,” Oswald answered. “It’s somewhere north of Coll, but I’ve never been there. Could be half a day’s sailing or several days, depending on the wind.”

His patience once again tested by unanswered questions, Plumat turned to Oswald and said grimly, “Heave to and wait for the Woebringer to catch up. We’ll run the Temptress as a fleet of three – even if we have to wait for first light. If there’s Tireeans about, a show of force from us may give ‘em pause to attack.”