Chapter 41

Tired of pacing the Pandora’s deck waiting for the wind to favor them, Mediah finally sat down next to Kruzurk Makshare. “M’lord, you’ve seemed pensive this evening. What troubles you?”

“I don’t know Mediah. This waiting for the wind to change—it’s maddening. I felt certain we would make Rhum by morning. Daynin is in danger, but here we sit, bobbing about like a mass of seaweed. If we’re too late, the consequences will be dire, not only for Daynin, but for us as well. And there is no turning back.”

“Are you quite certain that is all that troubles you?” the Greek pressed.

“You are coming to know me too well, my friend. It’s the stone. I know not what we are to do with it, nor even if we should do anything with it. For eons, that stone has been the source of terrible legends and now we have it in our hands. I’m tempted to roll it over the side, where it will never be seen again.”

“Do you not think those who controlled the stone before could have done that, if they wished? Why leave it in a bog where it could easily be retrieved if it is truly evil? And what of Perazelzeus and his minions? Were they not told for ages that someone would come to them who was meant to put the stone in its rightful place?”

“All good points, Mediah, yet it troubles me still, the thought that we could be causing some great rift in the world.” Kruzurk pushed himself to his feet and stretched his arms wide like an eagle in flight. Much to his surprise, his robe suddenly filled with a cool land breeze. “Wind! The wind has shifted!”

Emerging from below decks, Captain Ames grunted, “Aye, I felt it from below. Now we can head west. Exactly where is it you want to land on that bloody rock, magician?”

“Land? Uh, captain, I have never been to Rhum. Have we choices?”

Ames trudged off toward the stern block, mumbling aloud, “Bloody pilgrims. Always wantin’ to go somewhere, yet never knowin’ where.” Kicking the backsides of his sleeping crew as he stepped over them, Ames took the tiller from his mate and shouted, “All hands, make sail! Nor-nor-west it is and lively now!”

* Near Standguard Bridge, Rhum *

Dusk rapidly enclosed Daynin’s intrepid group. A cold rain added to their misery and made the risk of a fatal fall all the more real the longer they trudged down the slippery slopes of Askival.

“I’d pay a silver talen for one bloody lantern,” Troon groaned.

“Save yer coin, Troon,” Ean replied. “We’ve but a wee strrr-etch of this trail left afore we reach the brrr-idge. Then it’s only a furlong to the gates of Kinloch. That is, if the brrr-idge is in one piece.”

“And if it’s not?” Sabritha hissed.

Ean stopped in his tracks and turned to face the woman. “Does nothing positive ever pass those bleedin’ lips, woman? Ya’ve done nothin’ but grouse from the first moment I laid eyes on ya.”

Once again, Daynin stepped in. “Grandfather, Sabritha had little choice in joining this quest. She’s tried to make the best of a bad situation. With a neck stretching her only other choice, I think she has some right to complain. After all, Rhum is not exactly Middlesex.”

Throwing one arm behind him as if waving off an angry wasp, Ean moved on. He tossed a disdainful, “Good thing that wench is your problem, boy,” over his shoulder.

The argument again brought home to Brude the awful realization that he had no family, and never would again. His thoughts wandered back to the lochs, of scenes he’d not witnessed in hundreds of years, yet he saw so clearly at that moment he felt almost alive. Unfortunately, Ean’s shout from ahead brought him quickly back to reality.

“Och!” the old man clucked. “The bridge looks ta be in one piece. We’ve made it, boy—we’re home!”

Leaving Brude behind, Daynin and the others rushed forward to a wide spot in the trail next to Ean. Before them lay Standguard Bridge, its narrow confines stretching across a deep tidal chasm known as ‘the Willies’.

Obviously not wanting to bring on another argument, Sabritha leaned close to Daynin’s ear and whispered, “Looks rickety to me.”

“Do you think it’s safe, grandfather?” Daynin asked, more to allay his woman’s fears than from any real concern.

“I guess we’ll find out soon enough, eh, boy? I’ll go across first and if I end up feedin’ the fishes, then the rrr-est of you can circle ‘round the long way.”

One look at that bridge sent Brude’s senses reeling. Penochla doth ben fayler nost heygan gris! his Cruithni roots screamed from some dark corner of lost memories. I’ve seen this awful place before! Although he’d felt absolutely no fear of anyone or anything since his resurrection from the tomb, Brude now froze in abject terror. He could see the bodies falling into the swirling waters below, hear the screams of his kin and feel the anguish in their hearts. This is the place! Weggens Braga—where the great horn of Oengus was lost forever!

* Aboard The Dionysis *

Plumat paced the deck of the Dionysis like a jester without a jest. Even with the hint of moonlight overhead, the outline of the Temptress could only be judged by the sound of breakers crashing against her shorelines—first to starboard, then to port. And nowhere was the Woebringer to be seen.

“Send the Witch in first, captain. If there’s trouble, she can turn about and warn us.”

“Aye,” Oswald agreed. “The Witch can maneuver better than us as she’s a much shallower draft. I just wish the Woebringer had caught up before we try to run the channel. I fear the Tireeans will catch ‘er afore first light, and that’ll be the end of her for sure.”

“We can’t wait all night,” Plumat growled. “I don’t like leaving her behind, but this weather could turn on us anytime and then we’ll never get to Rhum.”

At that instant, the lookout came scurrying down the ratlines from his lofty perch. Not wanting to give away their position, he whispered, “Cap’n, they’s a string ‘o lights to the sou-west. Three or four at least—likely bow lanterns. One is way ahead of t’others, but they’re movin’ mighty fast.”

“Damn!” Oswald swore, instantly echoed by Plumat. “Signal the Witch to turn about—we’ve a fight on the way. All hands, to arms!”

* Aboard The Pandora *

The wind coming off the Scotian coast grew and faded alternately, as if a giant beast huffed and puffed from the mainland. The Pandora raced along for a while, then suddenly slackened to little more than rowing speed.

“Is it always like this out here?” Kruzurk asked of Captain Ames, frustrated.

“Aye. The Hebrides winds are like highland horses—ya can’t trust ‘em any further than you can ride ‘em. We’ll be lucky to make Rhum by first light at this rate.”

Kruzurk turned away from the captain and strolled toward the bow of the ship. His mind would not allow sleep, so worried was he that Daynin and Sabritha had already met with a foul fate, and all because of him. He cast his eyes to the heavens and the myriad of stars winking through the wispy clouds above. A sliver of moonlight alternately lit the coastline behind them, its crescent reminding him of the symbols on Merlin’s cloak.

What am I supposed to do, Merlin? Did you send me here to retrieve the stone? Or was the destruction of the Seed all that you intended? Are these other events merely consequence? I cannot ignore my part in Daynin’s plight, especially if it ends badly for him.

“Bloody cold out on this blue water, eh, pilgrim?” Eigh asked, his stealthy approach having gone unnoticed by the magician.

Kruzurk jumped slightly. “Uh, yes. Damp, too—with that breeze.”

Eigh stretched to the limits of his tiptoes to spit with the wind and said, “We should be able to see the Kuillins afore long. By first light, for sure. Can ya see that dark shape, way out there to larboard? That would be Eigg, the island from which mah kin arose many a generation ago.”

“Yes, I see it. The place for which you were named, I assume. But what are these Kuillins?”

“Mountains, my boy. A bloody great rrrr-idge of ‘em what runs the length of Rrr-hum. Likely the cap’n will be scudding to the northeast coast to drop us off. We’ll have to trek ‘round the Kuillins the long way to reach Kinloch Keep. I’ve never been there, but Mucky says it’s on the north coast, facing the sea.”

“Why can’t the captain sail straight to Kinloch?” Kruzurk asked. “Hauling that stone over mountain roads without a wagon will not be easy.”

“Rrr-oads, is it?” Eigh scoffed. “I wouldnae count on havin’ a road to travel, pilgrim. We’ll be lucky if they’s even a goat path. I’ve heard the north coast of Rrrr-rhum is bloody treacherous—a haunt for pirates and sea witches. No doubt Ames knows that, too. Not likely he’ll risk that route—leastwise, not in this slip of a boat.”

A sudden freshening breeze filled the Pandora’s mainsail, snapping its braces taut. The ship lurched forward in a burst of speed, splicing through the waves and throwing salt spray high onto the deck.

“Now that’s more like it!” Kruzurk crowed.

“Stand to yer lines, boys!” came the captain’s cry. “We’ve a hard blow comin’!”

* Kinloch Keep *

With most of the night spent traversing the winding, seemingly invisible trail from Standguard Bridge, Daynin and his friends were more than delighted when they finally broke out of the forest onto the flat plain that stretched to the outer battlements of Kinloch Keep. Low on the horizon, a last glimmer of moonlight outlined the craggy crenellations running the length of Kinloch’s walls. To strangers, the keep’s battlements must have seemed extremely tall and foreboding—as indeed they were.

Without thinking, Sabritha let out another of her caustic comments. “So—this is what you people call home, eh?”

Ean turned to hush her, but Daynin had already done so with both a gesture and a determined look. “We need to be very quiet,” he whispered. “There could be others lurking about.”

Being the smallest in the group, Troon offered to go ahead, that he might scout the gate for any sign of trouble. Ean waved him forward, his bow at the ready. “Mind you well, Simon. I dinnae want to pull another bolt from yer arse.”

Daynin stepped up to accompany Troon, but his grandfather’s outstretched bow stopped him in his tracks. “Wait ‘ere, boy. And keep that wench of yours quiet. Watch for mah signal to come along, then be damned quick about crrrr-ossing this open grrrr-ound. We’ve no way to know who or what may be in the keep.”

Despite his injured thigh and his age, Troon managed to hobble cross the open ground with surprising speed. A stone’s throw from Kinloch’s first barbican, he dropped down to observe the moat and drawbridge. Nothing stirred.

Troon waved his bow toward Ean, who waved his in turn to the rest of the troop, prompting them all to move forward. Ean and Troon rushed across the open drawbridge first, quickly taking positions inside the gate. Trailing behind them, Brude McAlpin backed his way to the keep, ever watchful for any signs of attack from the rear.

Safely inside the first barbican, Ean took one look at his winded old friend and motioned for Daynin to scout ahead instead of Troon. “If the Scurrr-ry brrr-idge is down, give us a wave. If it’s up, get back here quick and we’ll go rrr-ound to the east and see if the Seawall gate is open.”

“Aye, grrr-andfather,” Daynin replied. A fleeting look back at Sabritha’s tired, anxious expression gave the boy renewed energy.

With daybreak already showing its first pinkish rays behind Askival, the young highlander knew he had to hurry. Even though he’d not been there for many years, Daynin remembered that being caught out in the open in the midst of Kinloch’s formidable defensive lines was not an option.

Three distinct bands of outer works encircled the main keep, which stood upon a precipitous cliff jutting out into the sea. Assailable from the land only, each successive line of Kinloch’s battlements got progressively taller, tighter and trickier to attack. Each wall had its own moat, fed by seawater and protected by steep berms, slippery sandstone surfaces and a host of other less obvious protective elements. In all of Kinloch’s history, it had only fallen once, and then only to a deceit unimagined in the highlands.

Visions of that horrific event must have clouded Daynin’s mind on his way toward the second barbican, for he failed to notice the glimmer of a fine trip line stretched across the path. Although his attention was fixed on the wall ahead, his instincts screamed caution. He ducked. Thhhwaannng a crossbow snapped, its echo ringing time and again against the barbican’s walls. The bolt shot across the open ground, clinking against a distant rock.

Daynin froze, for in his exposed position sprawled across the path, he could do little else. He quickly scanned the tops of the wall, assuming the shot had come from there or perhaps the tower, but nothing showed—no movement, no lights—nothing. He shifted around to look back toward the first gate, hoping his grandfather would come to help, but realized they could not see him—at least not while he hugged the ground.

The idea of an arrow heading straight for his exposed backside gave Daynin’s legs newfound strength. In a flash, he was up and running for his life, zigzagging all the way back to the first wall. Almost spent by the time he reached the others, he let out a loud whisper, “Someone—fired—at me!”

Catching the boy in mid stride, Ean dragged him to the ground while motioning for the others to get down. “I was afraid of this,” Ean growled, his voice low and determined. “Some jackmonger-r-r has taken over Kinloch. We’ll have to fight for it.”

* Aboard The Dionysis *

Perhaps it was the sudden change in weather, or the sight of two massive dracos bearing down out of the dark, but the Tireeans racing after the Woebringer suddenly turned hard to port, their lights disappearing in the gloom. Cheers went up aboard all three ships as Plumat’s rescue arrived just in time.

“Signal her to fall in behind us, captain,” Plumat snapped, his nerves raw from too much stress and too little rest. “Slow down enough for Ranulf’s crew to stay with us. Then put your carpenter to work building a siege tower and some ladders. The tower should be at least twelve cubits tall. Build it in sections so we can assemble it on the beach once we get to Rhum. We may have need of one, and I do not want to waste time building it later.”

Looking up at the strained rigging, Oswald replied, “As you wish, Plumat. I’ll send the Witch on through the Temptress whilst the Woebringer catches up to us. If this wind holds, we can make a good run for Rhum. Depending on the distance, we could be there before first light.”

Plumat slipped out of his armor, dropping his helmet on the deck with a hollow clank. Glad to have the extra weight off his shoulders, he stretched and said, “Excellent. I’m going below for some sleep. And Oswald—have your smithy sharpen all the weapons.”

“You expecting trouble, Plumat?” Oswald pressed.

“More trouble than you can even imagine.” Visions of the giant lacing his memory, Plumat added, “Very large trouble.”