The road out of the Feywoods as they now knew them to be truly called, was a long one that stretched on for leagues without any seeming end, or so thought Indulf. Neglected as all roads in Caledonia had become, since the reign of Siomon, who had endeavoured to ensure that though the roads were not as impressive as Romalian ones, they were still functional.
Or so Wulfnoth told them, as they walked along the road leaving the forest behind them, a touch of admiration in his voice as he spoke of the greatest of the MacCináed kings.
"There was a time, before the great wars that splintered our nation for nigh on a century when all of Caledonia was rich, was green and when the whole of the realm was united." He had recounted to them with considerable cheer.
Cormac appeared fascinated, whereas Daegan took visible pride in this knowledge as though it were her own accomplishment rather than that of one of their ancestors' kings. Trygve for his own part was sceptical.
Indulf did not doubt the accomplishment, what he did doubt was how golden the age might well have been. Indulf was of the view that the deed ought to be credited to the people, to the Caleds rather than that of the High-King, if only because the effort had necessitated thousands of labourers.
"Are you not a Brittian? Why take pride in the accomplishments of those who were your foes?" Indulf asked after a few minutes of gathering his courage.
"For centuries Norlion was caught between the fangs of the lion and the leopard," Informed the cleric with a small if sad smile, "Some are more Caled than Brittian, and others more Brittian than Caled. My mother came from Norlion, though my father was a Jorvik-man, a carpenter of some renowned if I may say so. I had four elder brothers, and so was given over to the monastery, it was there that the abbot who was a Caled by the name of Lachlan. It was he who taught me much, of the ways of the Caleds and of we Brittians, and who imparted to me a desire to see the lands of those born in the lands of Caledonia."
"This Lachlan sounds like a lovely man," Daegan said with unusual femininity, a white-toothed smile on her lips.
Walking a short distance behind her and Cormac, who trailed to either side of the cleric, Indulf was not blind to the manner in which Cormac reddened at the sight of her smile.
Bemused, if he had had half as much boldness as his brother, he might well have let slip a teasing comment at Cormac's expense.
"He indeed was, he has long since passed away," Wulfnoth murmured sorrowfully, "He was as a father to me and passed to the same sweating plague that took away my two brothers and my parents. 'Twas a sad year, though I take relief in the knowledge that they are with the Saviour in the realm of light of holy Orcus."
"Likely growing fat now, so that he is not so lovely now," Trygve said irreverently.
Cormac stifled a snort, and Daegan frowned with displeasure. She was never one to take matters of religion lightly. Indulf's own feelings were somewhere between the blonder lad and the scarlet-haired lass, as he felt a small amount of disapproval tinged with wry amusement erupt within him.
Inga might well have snickered and chortled at Trygve's jest, for all her faith she could be every bit as irreverent as the fisherman was.
The memory of the woman who ought to have been his wife, filled him with such grief that he had to repress the tears that came unbidden to his eyes. This had become such a regular occurrence that the son of Freygil had become accustomed to either wiping his eyes or forcing himself to snort and not think about his loss.
What he was also accustomed to, was a deep well of anger that at times tinted his vision with red and black at the thought of the phantom-riders. Such was the force of this desire for justice for the murder of his beloved that he oft trembled and shook. He would give anything to punish those monsters, for taking away the only person he had ever loved, so passionately.
Where once upon a time Indulf had prayed solely to Khnum and Turan, the former to aid with his needlework and to the latter for a happy marriage to Inga, and for her continued good-health, he now prayed to Ziu the war-god for courage and revenge.
*****
Two days after they had left the forest, it entered into Cormac's spirit to ask in his eternally inquisitive manner (which both Inga and Indulf had always admired so), "Wulfnoth do you know of any songs, about our good High-King; he who first laid down this long road?"
"Aye I do, though my voice is nary so beautiful as those of others I have heard," The cleric admitted in a rather sheepish voice.
"Bah, say the words and I shall sing them," Daegan offered confident in her undeniably lovely voice.
"Very well," Conceded the druid rather reluctantly.
"Twenty-three High-Kings hath ruled in Sgain's wide keeps,
Each lived through sad-tales, for each fell to another's hands,
Save for two they were men of advanced years yet youths in spirit,
Six were depos'd, Eight sword'd in the fields,
Eight more haunt'd by ghosts they hath slain,
All murder'd for the Thistle-Crown,
First came sword-bearing Causantín,
As a comet was pious Causantín,
Seven sons did he begat,
Bright was his sword, blue as the sea,
Seven times did he war in the south,
Upon Dún Brunde's vast plains he left three of his suns,
Máel-Martin followed, wholly unlike the Wise,
None did wonder at him,
North he ventur'd to war, Lo! His light did thus dim,
Domnall III arose as a flame in westerly Luthain,
His brother Ringean Longstride arose,
Terror wert all fill'd by, and upon terror he throve,
As a flame the wolf-moon laird tore the Caleds apart,
Silver-steel upraised the three Princes hew'd his wicked heart!
Twelve blood-moons more arrived hither,
They then left as the usurper and his slayers did,
Chief of the thrice men Achaius II with the heavy lid,
The heir of Máel-Martin did soon fall,
Next crowned was Duibh MacRingean of three score victories,
Unfilial the third-born of the Black-Mane hew'd in the Elvish halls,
Thirdly did the second of Ringean's sons he of many miseries,
Domnall IV sweet-mien'd arose in fury,
Wintry snows dyed red pour'd upon all lands,
Silver-steel rain'd down west to east across all clans,
The third of Domnall III's slayers swept the throne in glory,
Ketil Tyrant-Slayer arrayed in silver was thus crown'd,
Steel-girded, strong of arm as the oak that did so defy him,
Four-fold sons did he slay and two did unbound,
Dour Pàdraig grew weary of the good king's smile,
Sword'd in Domnall's halls thus he lay in his bile,
Of Pàdraig, from victory to defeat he did so choose,
And with it a son and crown did he lose,
Achaius III MacKetil king most foul,
Ere his fall from the northern haunted spire howl'd,
Baltair his brother hither came next his psalms well-sung,
fell from pious lips as leaves from ash-wood,
Strawthern hewed him, and the book to which he clung,
From high-Sgain arose Amlaib the Fat,
Lover of minstrels and bards, ne'er shy of combat,
Meret he did love, and her ballads he always sung,
His brother did hath him undone,
Amlaib three-Queen did run from glade to glade,
Ruddy cheeked he swore to never fade,
Envious Cináed II storm'd the sobbing man's palace,
Many had been the balls that the queens enjoy'd,
Nary a one tittered then,
All did so dye his cloth scarlet,
Revelry return'd accompanied by three score famines,
Misty Highland peaks to Lowland lands wert filled with groans,
By Eirrik's Highland-spire did he expire,
Blood-soaked and proudly did all sing by Dúntyre,
Bold-hearts and nodding Thistles wave o'er bloody corpses,
Deep-eyed in gore is the green Thistle rooted,
Triumphant in battle was Siomon the Bold,
Hark down through the glen,
There amidst hills gleaming bright as gold,
King of high endeavour,
King of shining rivers,
King of all hearts forever,
Alas drooping Thistles and lilies wave o'er his bloody tomb!
Away, away whither goes the Caleds again,
Shivering is the sea of steel in the field of swans,
For once more Máel-Martin sits the throne."
"What a sad hymn, why sing of the kings when what we asked for was a road-song?" Trygve complained.
"You asked me to sing of Causantín, which I did," Wulfnoth retorted petulantly, with a glower over his shoulder to the younger man who eyed him back with a hint of anger.
"What all of us wished to hear of was the road built by Causantín, not of the old man himself."
"If all you wish to know about is the road beneath our feet, I recommend young man that you stop walking, drop to the ground and begin to press your nose upon it." The druid instructed coldly, his patience running thin.
"Would you care for some ale, Brother Wulfnoth?" Indulf queried with a sigh, having noticed over the past several days of travel that the cleric always felt better with a bit of wine or ale in his belly.
"No, I should think not."
"It will better your mood."
This was how the argument always went, with Cormac occasionally attempting to underscore some wise point about the dangers of too much liquor. "A sober man is said, according to the Canticle to create a sober mind."
"Aye, what is your point lad?" The druid inquired not guessing at the point that the youth was trying to hint at, as always. Wulfnoth could be at times dreadfully slow.
"Only that you ought to restrain your thirst for wine, from time to time," Cormac advised.
The druid though hardly paid him any mind, preferring to drain the last of their ale, brought along from Glasvhail.
This won Indulf an exasperated glance from the younger lad, as though he were attempting to communicate that it was somehow his fault, rather than the druid's own doing. The more timid of the two simply shrugged his shoulders in response, a touch of amusement entering his spirit at the thought that at that moment, the resemblance between Kenna and him was uncanny.
I do hope Kenna is alright, and is not too worried, Indulf thought to himself with a touch of pity for the poor seamstress. She was gruff and never very good at showing her true feelings, especially towards her easily distracted son but she did care. Or so he had observed over the years, having seen times when she had praised Cormac's ability to set all their clients at ease, his ability to dream up new cloth-patterns where neither she nor her apprentice could have imagined them and even his kindliness. The difficulty was that after Murchadh had disappeared, she had become trapped between a strange desire to embody in herself, both the role of the mother and that of the father.
"Well I thought, it was a lovely song if rather sad," Daegan said stoutly, before she added pompously to the bemusement of all the lads. "I think all men ought, to know songs that glorify our past kings."
"Except this song was more about their shedding of one another's blood," Cormac muttered dryly.
"Aye, this hardly removes from the majesty of the deeds of Causantín and his son, the Thistle-King," Daegan replied stoutly, "My father's kin are related to kings, did you know?"
At this question there were several groans, notably from Cormac and Indulf, who for his own part noticed at once how his younger sibling did not join in. Trygve's face appeared black with anger, he noticed when he glanced over to his left, stunned by this peculiar response to Daegan's words he whispered to him.
"Trygve, is something the matter?"
"Nay," Trygve grunted his eyes on the distant horizon, to the left of them which in the distance shined as the suns' light bounced off of the Nurvrian Sea that separated the Misty-Isle from that of Bretwealda. "I was merely lost in my own thoughts."
"Very well," Indulf replied uncertainly.
"Dae, your father is not related to kings," Cormac argued with a swift glance towards Trygve who would under other circumstances, at other times in the past be responsible for making this argument. Though a dreamer by nature, he was by no means a believer in Daegan's far-flung theories regarding her royal connections.
"He is! He told me so, when I was but eight! He said that his mother, just before she passed was the cousin once removed of his Grace the High-King of Gallia." Daegan boasted proudly, though it began with her arguing against him, by the time she finished speaking it became a boast as much in tone as in fact.
"I daresay lass, what you have there, is quite the impressive pedigree, where did you say your father came from?" Wulfnoth asked absent-mindedly, eyes on a different horizon from that of Trygve.
Daegan all but shone with glee at this remark. She stuck her tongue out at her friend, who turned away, "Forlarin."
"Hmmm," muttered the cleric hardly paying attention before he asked with a start a moment later, tearing his gaze from the distant dark clouds. "Forlarin? Do you mean Château-Forlarin?"
"You have heard of it?" The hope in Daegan's voice was such that Indulf had never heard before.
In a way, it was the first she heard of the lands of her forefathers. It was a sentiment that Indulf could not possibly understand. His own grandfather had been a man who was a Northman, a former slave to be exact most believed. He had escaped when taken on a terrible raid, from the island of Antillia, whereupon he had fallen into hopeless love with a local woman, who was Indulf's grandmother, Mairi. The old granny had told countless stories before her death thirteen years prior, to her grandchildren of the goodness of her husband Thorvain, who had fathered Freygil and his brothers upon her, many years ago. The only regret that she had mentioned the old man to have had, was how he had been forced to abandon his brother, Thurangil who had failed to escape.
He had spoken often of his regrets according to her and had on his death-bed claimed that their families would be reunited, and rightness would be restored. Or so Indulf had always been told by Salmon, Mairi and even his father Freygil, all of whom had been present when the old man perished to the terrible sweat-illness that had traversed the whole of the lands of Rothien at that time.
In the eyes of Indulf, there was thus little mystery to his own lineage. He was the grandson of a slave, and a corn-haired farmer's daughter, Daegan though had no true family history. She was but a lass that had high ideas of what it meant to be great, and who loved songs of long lineages full of great deeds. Yet her past was a rootless one. One that on her mother's side was a foggy thing comprised of ancestors who were all blacksmiths and fishermen. Whereas for the romantic lass, her father's people represented a mystery, a romantic one which could give her, a similar claim to the glory that she knew the ancestors of the line of Achaius to have possessed.
Wulfnoth eyed her from the corner of his eyes, before he sighed, "I have trodden through the fields of the lands south of Vordréan, in the lands of Ouestria which lies in the western-most part of Gallia. It was in my youth, when I served the royal court of Brittia; I was tasked with the task of accompanying a royal embassy at first to Roven. From there, as the Duke of Norléans had left for the south, we embarked after him, the goal being to discuss with him the possibility of marrying King Eadgar II's sister, Eadswith to the Duke.
However, he chose to snub us, with a marriage to another lass wherefore Eadswith fell in hopeless love with a man of the line of the Fordéron. The neighbours of this baronial family were the ones who hurried to the aid of the baronial family. The hero who fought to shield Eadswith and her lover, from the wrath of the royals and Duke; Maximilien de Forlarin known amongst those people as the 'Indomitable' or 'Indomptable' for having defied the Duke and even unhorsing the Duke himself."
By the time that Wulfnoth took a long drought from the tankard, his companions were listening raptly. All filled with awe and amazement at what the man in question had observed.
"Was it glorious?" Daegan asked breathlessly.
"Have you been listening to nothing I have tried, to teach you?" Wulfnoth growled at her after he had wiped his mouth and fine moustache. "There is nothing glorious to be found in violence or battle!"
"Fool lass," Trygve added venomously.
This last comment drew a disapproving glance from Indulf, "Now that was a tad uncalled for Trygve."
The younger lad blew a bit of air out of the corner of his mouth, a malcontent gesture that he had not done since his early infancy. Indulf continued to eye him.
"This Maximilien, was he a laird or a Mormaer?" Daegan asked captivated by this talk, of her possible ancestors.
Her friend could already see how the wheels inside of her head were in the middle of turning. Where her friends continued to maintain a certain healthy amount of scepticism, about any possible link between her and Maximilien she was already utterly convinced that he was her forefather.
"I must caution you lass," Wulfnoth warned once again, "The city of Forlarin was the largest in the county of that piece of land, where the 'comte' as the lord of the region is called, had somewhere between six and nine thousand souls. It is doubtful that he might misplace an heir or heiress of his."
Daegan hardly appeared convinced by his words of caution. Confident of her place, in this mighty lineage there was no room for doubt in her soul.
Cormac for his own part cast his friend a thoughtful look. This last glance was the sort of gaze that as always, reminded Indulf of a thousand times in their childhood, when Daegan would boast, and Cormac would consider her words with the utmost seriousness. It was only ever the fisherman's son who took her pretensions to nobility, quite seriously in spite of his doubt.
It was ridiculous to Indulf's mind, though he said nothing wtih regards to this matter.
For a time, not a word more was uttered about Daegan's possible ancestry or non-ancestry. Cormac lapsed back into his day-dreams, Indulf into his dreams of avenging Inga, Daegan of nobility and Trygve… who truly knew his mind as of late?
*****
"Mayhap," Said Wulfnoth that night as they sat around a fire, in the middle of a long-field with the sea long since behind them. Seated atop a small hill that was half a kilometre high, with the great mound according to the cleric, a place of safety; one that had been a place of peace for centuries. "We may speak of what it was that Alette spoke to you of Cormac."
The lad in question was in the middle of arranging some of the last fish that they had brought with them upon some sticks picked up just outside the Feywoods.
Startled, he looked up to study Wulfnoth, before he smiled genially. "Certainly, what is it exactly do you wish to hear of her?"
"Mayhap we would like to hear all that she told you," Trygve said with a touch of peevishness.
Cormac stared him, just as Daegan and Indulf did. Swallowing a little, he smiled in his most disarming manner, "Very well, she told me mostly of how her people had settled into the woods thousands of years ago. That her father, was Roserius the Rose-King, who forged a strong friendship of sorts with Agrivolan the Battler, one of the chief Romalian generals who pushed as far north as Sgain. It was his forces if you recall who slew Sgain the Golem-Guardian of the Pech-tribes. Roserius forged a friendship with him after he agreed to leave the fey in peace in return for tribute. Centuries later, Alette was to fall in love with one of the last legionaires of Roma; Ciaran."
"Of course, she sang it more than said so bluntly," Wulfnoth guessed with a small chuckle.
"It appeared to me that they sang all that they uttered," Indulf said pointedly.
"Very true," Cormac conceded with a small shy smile, before he added, "I do not remember all the words of all her songs, for she sang such a great number of them to me."
"Sing at least one of them," Begged Daegan keen as always to hear him sing.
The lad demurred at first, whereupon Indulf added his own voice to her own, "Come now Cormac, there has been little joy in the past day."
Cormac sighed, giving in when Wulfnoth prompted him also. Sucking in a breath, he sang in a clear voice if a shaking one a lovely song that none of them had ever heard before.
""Ho! Alette Rose-Wing! Alette Petal-Queen!
She of wind, willow and petals,
She of song, poetry and faith, harkens you to hear her song,
Alette was a very merry Queen,
Deep crimson were her cheeks and her slippers green,
As was her dress for her hope was to wed,
Ciaran was her love and joy, he with his hair most red,
Long they loved dance after they first met,
Hey ho! Lo! Dance all ye sweet wee ones,
For Ciaran the Oak has been stabbed by they of the green vale,
Long did we dance and he call for the nuns,
They did deny him and dance as he turn'd less hale,
Away, away went Alette's joy,
All she may now do is dance and sing,
Lest she should weep for her lost king!
Ho! Alette Wind-Dancer calls ye to dance! Dance!"
When he had finished the song, all of his friends gazed at him for some time. The song was a lovely one, as was the tale.
"I have never heard this version of the tale of the fairy-Queen and Ciaran," Said Indulf stunned, by the knowledge that the tale they were told in their childhood, had little truth to it.
"Neither did I though, there was truth in Alette's eyes," Cormac said soberly, his head bowed a little. "If only we could have asked Ciaran, his thoughts."
"Bah, we have her word to stand against garbled words passed down and argued over, between the locals and Conn's forefathers." Wulfnoth said with a loud yawn, his moustache quivering as he spoke before he added. "If it had been written down, as all southern tales and those from Gallia have been as of late, we would be closer to the truth."
Cormac said nothing, as an obstinate air settled about him. Daegan eyes gleaming greenly let loose a long breath before she pulled her cloak over her head. Trygve followed her example; the difference between the two Indulf noticed was that where her breathing was smooth the younger son of Ida's breathing came out haltingly.
This worried him so that throughout his watch, he maintained an eye upon his brother. Once his turn as watch ended, he was awakened not Cormac but the druid to inform him of his concerns.
Wulfnoth heard his tale with weary eyes, and a stiffened expression. "Go rest now lad," He advised before he tugged at his moustache between a large finger and thumb. "Put your mind at ease, and let me worry about your brother."
*****
The journey southwards took them past a number of fields that were very apparently being cultivated. Indulf studied some of those who worked and toiled tirelessly with dull, weary eyes. They had been walking for so long thought the shy youth that his legs felt as though they were afire.
The song that Daegan sang that day was one about the hero Cormac, the hero who saved Caledonia during one of her darkest ages.
"This be Cormac's tale,
Quiet in birth in that far vale,
Black shores welcom'd Elves,
Dark wore the foul ones,
Slack found they the Lairdly-Isle,
Hark sayeth they the most vile,
Years uncount'd pass'd whilst war ruled,
Corpses untold heap'd whither they annex'd,
Flowers withered in all fields,
Amongst both the corps and the reeds,
Paint'd all scarlet didst they with steel,
Vale to vale was red seen,
Wails wert shed by clean and unclean,
Short ran the plenty until famish'd,
More cry'd all who bled,
Vast travel'd was Neithan Oak-manstle,
Father to he who never didst rankle."
To the end of her song, Trygve grumbled beneath his breath. By now accustomed to his increasingly poor mood, Indulf ignored him. Eyes on their surroundings, as people worked the fields or leading their sheep, pigs and cows all throughout the region which had veered away from the sea.
Where the people of Glasvhail had fenced in their lands, being a guarded folk who while friendly had firm views regarding property. The land they were currently traveling through had the one great road that cut through it, with the wheat, tomato, corn and barley fields to either side of it. It was one of the most idyllic visions he had ever seen as each field was a blend of green, gold and brown. With the smell of tree-sap and vegetables wafted over that it appeared almost as though they had left, the lands of the Caleds behind them, for those of the gods. The trees that also populated the land were grey, green and all grew high, tall though none were older than thirty or forty years of age. This was surely a sign of the difficult times that had predated the reign of even Mael-Martin, the grandfather of the current and previous monarchs. Though winter had dogged the land at their departure from Glasvhail, by now green had begun its inevitable advance. It had been a short winter, Indulf noticed and the signs were that it was to be yet another plentiful harvest this year. As the previous one had been, save this one may yet yield more than the previous year. The birch, ash and oak trees glimmered with sap, with the squirrels, chipmunks and other critters hurrying and between them, nuts in paws and tails held high as their heads.
Doubtlessly, as they observed the passing travelers they thought them might queer to be traveling in the direction of the south, given that none of them were from the local region. This was perhaps one reason they and all the cattle of the land of Ardrannaig as it was known, preferred to avoid them. The fact that they journeyed with a druid, only attracted even more curiosity and confusion. It was not simply the animals that inhabited many of the fields, or those fey that hid deep within every birch, ash, oak and cedar tree who stared curiously after them, but the people also.
The people who were in some cases tall, some stouter, all though were open-faced, in the case of the men bearded and wore rough-woollen tunics, trousers and were long of hair. The women for their part were dressed in rough dresses, which as in the case of the tunics of the men were green, brown, grey and red. Their hair was likewise long, and like many of the men who were thin, and tired, thus giving the newcomers the impression that not all was well in that locality.
What caught the attention of and held the attention of Cormac, was the sound of the well-fed dogs that raced about between the fields, chased the squirrels and chipmunks. Running free with their tails wagging, the canines coming in all sorts of colours from white, blonde, black and grey, all bright-eyed with the animals serving to irritate some of the locals though most were grateful for their presence, ere they might not have contained the rodents' population or kept the cattle in line. Barking at the wanderers, they alone welcomed them to the locality, with genuine warmth something that brought a smile to the fisherman's son. He might have wandered away, to pass amongst the dogs if it was not for Wulfnoth clearing his throat at him, irritably. Embarrassed the youth gave his friends a frustrated look that brought a small smile to Indulf's face.
For many a years, the jest had circulated throughout Glasvhail that the reason Cormac was so beloved by dogs and he was so free with warmth, and curious by nature was due entirely to him being a dog in the shape of a man. A jest that even Indulf had uttered at times, with only Daegan frowning and disliking this jab at the lad she fancied so openly.
This place had no fences, so that it was not all idyllic according to the druid who informed them rather quietly. "This is the land known as Ardrannaig; the laird here is one of those lairds who serves' MacDuibh most leally."
"Is he violent?" Daegan asked curiously.
"He is a laird, so of course he is," Trygve retorted shortly, as though it were the most apparent thing in the world.
"I would not be so quick to judge Trygve," Cormac replied wisely, "You forget that even lairds are men, and just as all men may have a hint of avarice, and meanness in them. There is also a wisdom given unto men, by the gods especially by Tenjin the laird of wisdom."
"Aye, but this is one of the MacDuibh's men, and he stands against our good King," Indulf countered staunchly, of a mind as most were in the lands of Glasvhail that the plentiful harvests, the peace that had ensued and the lack of plagues were reason enough to praise the High-King.
"Aye, but can men not agree and yet still both prove themselves to be good men? What if he dislikes him, out of loyalty to MacDuibh?" Cormac reasoned with an arched golden brow that was more an inquisitive gesture than any other.
This question bothered Indulf, so completely that he lapsed once more into his typical silence. Frightened that he might seem foolish once again, a part of him felt annoyed by how he had likely been made to appear a fool in Wulfnoth's eyes. As the youth had come to begin to admire the cleric a great deal, so that he did not wish to seem less than his friend, in his eyes.
"Any who fail to support their proper laird, are hardly worthy of our respect," Daegan sneered sharply.
"I would not judge so quickly," Wulfnoth cautioned, before he added, "I have seen many a great evil men served by those of good and good men served by wicked ones. One could say as the Elves are wont to do; judge not a man by his liege, but by his own wits and deeds."
"Elves? You have met Elves?" The awe in Indulf's voice was now so apparent and patent that Trygve sent him an embarrassed, glance as though he were a credulous, idiotic child.
"Why yes," Now it was that Wulfnoth grew a touch red at the edges, a reaction that had only ever been seen when he had drunk too much. His eyes shone with joy at the memory.
"Did you see their homes?" This time it was Cormac who asked, the question that was burning upon the lips of him and his mother's pupil.
"Nay, not if by that you mean their distant kingdoms, however I have seen several of their ranks and conversed with several of their scholars, clerics and astronomers," Admitted the cleric.
"Were they magnificent?"
"Aye, aye and beautiful also! So very, very beautiful so that the fey of the Feywoods were as hideous Ogres in comparison to them." The druid whispered, as he pulled at his moustache only to twirl the left-most edge of it around his fingers distractedly. "Alas, there remain precious few left in the lands of North-Agenor, or on the isles of Bretwealda."
There was a long mournful silence that followed. Ere long they mourned and wept in their hearts for this terrible travesty. For the Elves was the elder-race, the old folk who had built great states and resisted long before the age of men, the forces of darkness and evil.
The suns were in the sky though, shining down upon them with such brimful intensity that it was difficult to stay morose and miserable. This along with the barking and howling of the dogs, the sight of the friendly if timid waves that the locals signalled towards them helped to further awaken the good humour of the travelers.
A gaggle of children raced hither from one of the many hovels of thatch, mud and wood that the peasants lived in, chasing and playing with the dogs as they did so. Too young to work the fields in some cases, they were thus allowed to race along freely as only the most wilder of spirits are wont to do. Not a care in their hearts, for the many sorrows of the world.
The sight of them failed to uplift Indulf's distracted spirits, as he thought of his old dreams of seeing an Elf, late nights staring up at the heavens with Inga by his side. They had both loved the stars so, so that they often took to star-gazing together in her family's fields.
*****
Late one night, they stared up and traced together the images in the heavens of Cormac the Hero who fought the Erde-Wyrm (a wingless-dragon) by the name of Gralchayachus for possession of the Stone of Destiny. Achaius the Warrior-King, who rallied the divided peoples of Caledonia together along with some of those of Norwend to the north of the Caled kingdom, and brought them overseas to fight by Aemiliemagne, the Emperor's side. The starry-image of him was of his fateful battle with the Dark Elf general Morrion the Wicked, who fell to his great-axe. These along with the image of the Thistle-King, Siomon's marriage to Marthe of Gallia, whom he was said to have fallen in love with, from the moment she stepped down from the great-ship that had carried her to Sgain.
These were but some of the tales passed down to the children, with Salmon being the one who had passed down this knowledge, claiming as he did so at the time that the; "The stars change often, doing so according to the gods' whims and whenever there has been a great or majestic deed done."
Inga at the time of the night in question had remarked, to him with a wide smile, "They say that the stars are different upon the Continent!" He did not answer at once, being uncertain of how to best respond, for he had never heard of that. When she saw his uncertainty, she clarified, "I heard so from Corin, who said that the stars in his lands form the shapes of Aemiliemagne, with some of the deeds including Roland blowing into his mighty war-horn and Norbert the Intrepid battle with the dragon that took his life, and even Éluan the Golden's defeat of the fire-wyrm Mydan."
She had spoken at that moment of Roland and Norbert the Paladins, and of the descendant of Aemiliemagne, Éluan the Golden-King, greatest of the line of the great Emperor with such familiarity that he had chortled a little. Teasing her lightly, he had pulled her close to him, "When did you become a scholar?"
"O do not tease me so Indulf, for you know I have always been the finest scholar in Glasvhail," She had jested only to add with a snigger, "Save perhaps Cormac."
"Save Cormac," He had agreed with a touch more seriousness.
This had spurred her to giggle a touch more, before she became serious once more also, it was as they stared once more upon the great star-formations that she had murmured. "If the stars form such different shapes, in Gallia what sort do you think they form in the lands of South-Agenor, or over in the Elvish lands far beyond the eastern mountains of Magyon?"
"I do not know."
"What of the songs of old of the old hound Féavonoé and the Elf-Prince? Or the songs of the Elf-bard who wed the lady of the Zulvrain," Inga had burst out, with glittering blue eyes which were always laughing joyously and filled with love every moment they settled upon him. This had never failed to make his heart beat fast, his cheeks redden and yet it had always filled him with peace, with joy. Their shared interest in Elf-songs was something discouraged by most in Glasvhail and doubtlessly Kenna or Freygil would have frowned upon it. However, some such as Corin, the Salmon and Ida were always keen to share what they had heard or knew of, with the younger generation.
"What of the song of the love between the Elf-Prince and the Rose-King's daughter?" This was a favourite of his that Corin had sung long ago, when he was very young to Olith, Daegan's gentle mother.
Inga had sighed, and after she had teased him for being so romantic, had lain her head upon his shoulder with a murmur," I would like just once to meet one of the elder-folk. To wear one of their dresses, and sing amongst them alongside Dae and you."
*****
Thus, was his dream to one day meet an Elf, it was one that neither of them had ever spoken of to anyone. It had been their secret. The love for the stars and the dream of one day meeting an Elf, to hear more of their songs and to know them better was a private thing. It was the sort of secret others might not have understood, and so it was for this reason that Indulf was so keen to hear more of Wulfnoth's knowledge of them.
He felt that Inga would have asked, it was for this reason he cast aside his shyness, "When did you hear these songs and meet these Elves?"
Wulfnoth answered him at once, "It was in my youth, at the time of my visit to the Duke of Norléans' court. The Elves in question were of the Valdor, the mightiest in arms of their race and amongst the wisest, there was a group of them that had agreed to aid the High-King of Gallia in negotiating between them, the Temple, the Duke and the Order of Auguria. It was a momentous occasion, though I did not stay for the whole of the negotiations at Lynette."
"Why not? Were you not curious?" Cormac asked stunned by this admission.
"I was, however I had made the mistake of offending the Duke, and feared him so. I know now that I should have been braver, should not have accepted Archdruid Félix's counsel to return to Brittia, and should have remained in Fordéron." Wulfnoth murmured sorrowfully, regret brimming in his eyes.
Thoughts of the Elves faded, just as the discussion of the fey had before them. Discussion now turned towards the joy of the beautiful land to which the Caleds belonged to. The children raced amongst them just as the dogs did.
It happened that when the canines hurried over to Cormac's side, Indulf shrunk away from them as he was uncertain of them, due to their size. He had never much liked larger dogs, as they could be fierce as wolves and he still recalled being bitten by one when he was but six. Trygve for his part was given a wide berth by the dogs, for some reason. At the moment he was hardly dark in face and mood, rather he appeared distracted by his own thoughts and appeared utterly weary.
These children, whom varied in appearance as they did in race; all the humans had fair skin, with hair that varied from flaxen, brown, black and red. Whereas the Tigrun, Minotaur, Ratvian and Wolframs were varied in fur-colours and hair most of which were the same colours as those of the human children. Only the Minotaurs uniformly, had brown fur or beige fur in some odd cases, mostly those of the lasses, not that the infants appeared to notice these differences. Caught up as they were with chasing the dogs or with halting the travelers to ask them, a great many questions; the children paid no mind to their mud-splattered appearances or the concerned glances of their protective parents.
Most gravitated towards Wulfnoth and Daegan. One or two approached Indulf, who responded a touch more freely to their manifold questions. A shy young man, he was strangely more at ease in their company than he was with people his own age or older than him.
"Where have you come from?"
"Why have you come, to Ardrannaig?"
"Where are you headed?"
These questions and more were asked of all the members of their troupe (save for Trygve). Cormac preferred to shrink away, pretending that he heard none of their questions by paying added attention to the dogs, which all licked his face, hands and even his clothes. Whilst the dogs sniffed and wagged their tails at him, the infants rapidly lost interest in him.
Why bother paying attention to one who has so little interest in you, when there was a druid and young fire-haired lass who both revelled in the attention the children gave them.
"We have come from far to the north, to the southron lands to defeat evil," Daegan boasted ever keen to appear nobler than she truly was.
Her words though were not wholly untrue or so thought Indulf though he did tease her in regards to them. "Aye, though we have also come in order to evade questions regarding the burning of a certain forge."
"Something that a wicked phantom did," Wulfnoth was swift to add.
The children let slip many 'oohs' and 'ahs' at this clarification, which prompted the druid to beam at them. A man who deeply loved to be admired, and who adored children, he for this reason exulted in the attention he was the recipient of at that moment.
Children being children, they believed without almost any doubt, though one Wolfram child quirked a dark brow at him asking as he did so, "Who chased away the phantom, you?"
"Er-hem," Coughed the druid who appeared a touch crestfallen at the question, aware as he was that he had had little to do, with the defeat of the dark-rider.
"It was I," Boasted Daegan to the amazement of all the children, throwing back her cloak a little so as to show to all the pommel of the sword girded on her waist. "This I did with the assistance of my fair father, forged by many a hands it so frightened the phantom-riders that they could hardly resist us!"
"'Riders'?" Teased Indulf almost at once, "It appears that there were far more than, I was initially led to believe, Dae, it must have been quite the battle."
The sarcasm in his voice as always went unnoticed by the lass, in the midst of behaving herself as a true-born braggart. The tale she told involved not one phantom-rider, by now she had grown it into an unfixed number. By the morn' her friend predicted that it might well grow thrice more, to somewhere approximating between nine and a dozen riders.
"Aye, for there were twain as many, as you may realize it Indulf," She said carried away as always by her own rhetoric, what was more was that he divined that she likely believed this to be the case (as always).
"But wait Dae, there was but one," Cormac said flabbergasted by her very evident lie.
"Falsehood is a sin," Wulfnoth echoed marvelling at the profoundness of her falsehood and egotism.
"Bah, what would either of you know?" She demanded irritated by their attempts to rein in her bravado.
"Aye, what could you lot possibly know?" Indulf echoed with a small smile, and a wink to the children that caused many a giggles to ensue.
In this way, he had neutered her arguments so that no longer was she wholly believed by all. Only the most imaginative of the infants or the most obstinate might cling to Daegan's version of what had taken place.
His brow knitted together, Cormac did not take his hint only to be elbowed in the side by his friend which drew a wounded, confused glance from the younger lad. Wherefore he chewed upon his lower lip, then a nail before he turned his attention back to the dogs that continued to whine and sniff at him.
It was Trygve though, who urged them on, gaze as always faraway. His impatience combined with the calls of the parents to play elsewhere or to return home, had the desired effect of dispersing the crowd of nigh one score children.
The dogs were slightly less easily dispersed though they did eventually hurry away (if reluctantly), with Cormac gazing after them with visible longing in his eyes.
*****
The castle of Ardrandun arose in the distance seemingly out of nowhere, with Daegan the first to notice its sudden intrusion upon the horizon. The fortress was a stone-keep built upon a large man-made hill that had a palisade that encircled it just behind a well-dug six meter deep ditch. The palisade itself was made from cedar and birch wood and was eighteen meters high. Ardrandun's fort though was not only shielded by this wooden palisade, but by a second higher on the 'mount'. This second wall was a stone one that separated the fortress itself from the temple, the guards' house and the second temple. The stone wall was a hastily built building that shielded the wooden-fort that was itself one hundred and twelve meters high. The dungeon was high and wide, with three cone roofs atop three towers directly connected to it.
The temples for their own part were both approximately eighty-five meters high and one hundred and twenty long and wide. Both built of birch and cedar wood, one had the carved, white statue of Orcus with his high-crown, thick beard and long hair, dressed in royal robes and offering sprig. Where the other temple was one dedicated to the war-god Ziu. His symbol of the flaming sword, was carved into the wall just above the door just as that of Orcus loomed over his temple doors.
This imposing building was just to the right of the right they were walking upon, with a small market brimming with life at the foot of the hill's fort, just outside the palisades. It was there that cloth merchants, cattle-traders, fruit-merchants and wine-sellers had set up their stalls. Some of the stalls they could see were empty, evidence that those responsible for the utilisation of those stalls were absent and preoccupied elsewhere with their work.
There were perhaps a dozen stalls, with twice that number of people out in force. All puzzling over, examining and bartering for goods or arguing loudly over their value.
In the open-aired Glasvhail, there were no designate places to trade, as everyone went over to the home of he, or she who had such and such good, or commodity. The laird ruled certainly, but faraway and his tithes were played by the whole of the village, with the process of gathering the said tithe overseen by Conn. A poor merchant due in no small part to his gullibility and his wife's innate sweetness, he had time and again all knew, inadvertently several times a year cheated Badrách of his share. Hardly an attentive laird, Badrách had never truly taken much interest in the doings of his outlying villages, so long as those closer to his center of power supplied the difference.
This state of affairs was common-knowledge amongst his subjects, and some of his neighbouring lairds. It was evident at first glance that where Badrách had failed to properly maintain a steady hand upon his estates, the laird of Ardrannaig had not failed so utterly.
"Quite the market," Wulfnoth observed quietly.
"Aye," Daegan noted only to observe, "It appears that the guards are observing all who approach and depart."
"Hm-hmm," Wulfnoth mumbled with one of his usual peculiar noises that he oft did in answer when he agreed with someone. "I daresay that they are a tad too guarded."
"A worthy pun if ever there was one," Trygve complimented his sour mood disappearing if briefly so, due to his eternal love for such jests.
"Pardon?" The druid asked dumbly.
"Pah, guards or no, I wish to fetch a new dress and some fresh food," Daegan decided suddenly.
"Now wait one minute, young lady we shan't tarry for something as unimportant as a dress, not when we might trade for one slightly farther south." Wulfnoth objected immediately, a look of startled bewilderment on his plump face.
His loud protests proved ineffectual though, as all attempts to restrain the red-haired lass tended to be. Breaking away from them, she leapt and ran over from the road before one of the stalls, of a particularly thin-looking Minotaur-woman who was offering up dresses and tunics. Her brown eyes lit up at the sight of Daegan, who began to examine one of the green dresses with yellow-trimmed spiral-knot so popular across the Gertruan straits in Ériu. The beauty of the needlework was breathtaking, so that it was difficult to believe that the large fingers of a Minotaur could have woven it.
The brown-haired cow-woman smiled widely her blunted teeth, showing as she pointed the younger woman to another dress, then to a bonnet.
"We must hurry away, I should think," Wulfnoth persisted only to be waved away by the Corin's daughter.
"Aye, how much coin do you have? I only have a few silver-thistles," Daegan confessed to him, as the woman of her father's house it was often her duty to manage the physical material wealth of the house. For this reason, the satchel with the few coins they had owned was kept in her possession.
The thistle-coins were the finest coins minted in Caledonia, with the bronze-thistle equivalent to the value of a gold-lion coin. The lion-coins were produced decades prior and had suffered from continuous devaluation, with there being less and less gold, silver and bronze put into them until they had lost almost all value. The thistle-coins invented by Siomon to regulate the problem nigh on a century ago, was minted on a smaller scale and was originally purer. Over the decades after his murder, they had been devalued however not to the same extent, with the High-King Mael Bethad keen to restore their original value.
"You have silver-thistles?" Wulfnoth gasped in amazement.
Even Indulf stared in surprise, as he had not thought to bring that much coin with him, not that he had ever had so much as five silver-thistles. Five of them were a veritable fortune, worth five-thousand gold lions or five hundred bronze-thistles. "How did you gain such a fortune?"
"I have ten silver-thistles, given to my safe-keeping by papa, and twenty bronze-thistles also," Daegan boasted quietly to them pulling away from the stall to do so. Not being foolish enough to tempt the Minotaur's greed with this revelation. She was still herself though, and could not resist taunting them over her self-perceived superiority, "Do not tell me that you have left all your wealth behind you?"
"Oh, I have retained mine though I am not certain that one can price wits, along with one's talents as a labourer and workers in the same manner that others might coin." Trygve replied to her, with Daegan snorting bemusedly convinced that he had just insulted himself.
"I have a few bronze lions," Indulf admitted.
"I have nothing," Cormac said airily, his gaze wandering towards the meat-vendor and the delicious scent that wafted over from his stall four meters away to the left of them. "Say Dae, do you think we could buy some mutton?"
"Nay! This wealth is for my dress, as my current one is torn and filthy," She rejected at once.
"But you already have your silken one."
"I left that one behind in Glasvhail, it is ridiculous to think I would bring a dress made of silk onto the road," The blacksmith's daughter said scornfully.
Cormac pouted, his stomach rumbling so loudly that Indulf felt a touch of irritation rise up in his own heart towards his friend. They had precious little food left, which meant that they would need to buy tools to hunt with; such as a bow and arrows, rather than wasting the coin upon already cooked mutton.
Wulfnoth maintained one eye upon the guards, who stood a short distance from the stalls. One of them soon vanished up past the open gates and up the hill, though the youths hardly paid them any mind. This matter would later prove a decisive role in this tale, though the four of them remained firmly ignorant of this fact for the moment.
"Hurry lass, pay for your dress already," The druid urged.
"One moment," She huffed determined to take as long as necessary, counting her coins with deliberate care. "I will offer four bronze-thistles for the green dress."
"Four?! Outrageous! It took me six weeks to sew this dress together," The Minotaur objected with practiced skill, her people being every bit the sort of merchants Daegan herself was. "I say fifteen."
"Fifteen is far, far too much," Daegan argued at once, scandalised. "If it took you six weeks, you must not be particularly talented."
This angered the cow-woman who turned slightly redder, or at least her beige fur appeared to, to the best of its capability, "I am the finest seamstress in all of Rothien!"
"Pah, pah that is my auntie Kenna's honour; your dress is good but nowhere near the quality of her needlework."
"Then why not wear one of her dresses?"
This went on for some time, until most of the men began to grow impatient. Cormac wandered away a short-distance, losing what little interest he had in the conversation, Trygve glowered at the back of the lass' head, and Indulf followed his example.
Wulfnoth at last intervened with an expression of thunderous anger, "Cease this meaningless barter at once! We have lost hours of travel all to your folly now hurry along!"
So saying, he grabbed her by the wrist pulling her after him in a huff. Daegan protested loudly at this shoddy treatment of her. As he passed Cormac, he seized the lad who had been salivating over a hunk of mutton that the butcher was tempting him with, a confident smirk on his face. His expression rapidly turned into an outraged glare towards the druid, annoyed as he was certain that the cleric had just robbed him of a certain sale.
Neither of the two whose wrists Wulfnoth had seized offered much more than protests, neither of them being particularly happy with his actions.
For their part, the sons of Freygil and Ida exchanged an exasperated glance, before they bade a hurried farewell to the Minotaur-seamstress who appeared perturbed that her own sale had not gone half as well as she had hoped, before they raced after their friends.
*****
The inn that Wulfnoth found more than three leagues away from castle Ardrandun, was one that they reached after several hours more of walking. Or in his case, stomping down the road his face scarlet with fury.
At first Daegan had suggested that they try still to find a temple to stay at, as temples and monasteries were prone to offering a single-night and morn's meal along with a place in the principal hall to sleep in. This would have been the more economic solution to the issue of where to sleep. Ignoring her, the cleric preferred that they should stay in the stables and upon the hay which pulled Trygve and Cormac at once into the realm of dreams.
The stars twinkled high above them, the wind drifting past all the trees, blades of grass along with the flowers so that they did not feel too left out. Unable to see the stars, due to the tightness with which the wooden roof was wound together, this worsened Indulf's mood as he loved to keep late hours.
It had not rained in some time he noted ignoring the argument between Daegan and Wulfnoth. Both of them hardly showing any care for their companions' need for rest. Irritated by the back and forth argument, which was about dresses, hay and somehow bull-horns. Quite how they reached this last difference between one another was a mystery to him.
Weary beyond words, the last thought he had before he drifted off, was to worry about the halting breathing of Trygve. Always an energetic youth, the youngest of Ida's sons sounded as he slept weak and elderly, with his brother determined to find a solution to what ailed him in the morn'.
His dreams though were strangely filled with the sound of steel ringing, and of the wind. The feeling of which served only to comfort him, so that Indulf felt at peace for the first time since Inga's death. As though summoned by his thoughts, she appeared to him, in the wind. Not to scold him, nor as a memory but to take up his hand with that so sweet smile of hers.
It was then that he awoke with tears in his vision, moved.
*****
"Indulf! Indulf! Wake up you fool!" Trygve shouted in a panic, shaking him awake with such force that he struck his head upon the ground beneath him.
"I'faith, what is it Trygve?" Indulf said in a fussing voice, unhappy to have been awoken so suddenly blinking up at his brother.
"Daegan has been taken away!" The other lad all but screamed into his face.
The realisation that the sole lass of their troupe was missing woke him up in an instant. Rubbing at his face he rounded upon Cormac who was in the midst of blinking his own eyes, sleepily. Confused by the agitated air that now haunted the whole of the stable, as much by how Wulfnoth could continue to snore loudly without any awareness that trouble was afoot.
"What is it that has happened?" Cormac asked bewildered, running a hand through his blonde hair to smooth out the jagged edges of it, and remove some of the hay caught up in his locks. His eyes turned round as saucers, the moment he took notice of the absence of Daegan faster than any other person, could so much as utter a single word. "Where has Dae gone?"
"Where has the day gone indeed," Trygve queried sardonically. His friend did not take notice of this at once, looking about he appeared on the verge of panic. "It is not the sole thing that is missing; the Blood-Gem has disappeared."
His bare neck attracted now the attention, of the other two lads. They all exchanged worried looks, before Indulf asked of them, "Shall we awaken Wulfnoth now?"
"How?" Trygve asked, "I have tried to do so prior to you."
"We may require his aid, should the phantom-riders appear," Indulf attempted to insist, resolved to maintain the importance of this key point.
"Let us be away now, mayhap we could rescue Dae long before Wulfnoth awakens," Cormac countered throwing himself out of the stable-door. Worried by the foolish comportment on the part of their friend, both of them gave chase a heartbeat later. It was only as he came to a stop outside of the inn that the youngest of the trio paused to ask them, rather thickly. "Erm, would either of you happen to know where Dae was taken to?"
"There appears to be someone carrying a torch down the road, from whence we came," Indulf informed him pointing back down the road where they had indeed hurried down from.
The three of them raced after the torch-bearing figure. Who must have seen them hurrying after him, whereupon he raced along away. The wind was chilly Indulf noted, absently as he ran quick as thunder though this did not appear enough to diminish the distance between them and Daegan's kidnapper.
The torch flame danced and twirled as though it were teasing the trio, with its elusiveness. It defied the ongoing frost that continued to hold some sway over the land, the crack of the thawing ice and snow beneath their boots was as loud as the boom of lightning, or the roar of a lion. A lion that might well have lent its mane to Cormac, so fierce did he appear then, so swift did he run and so scarlet was his anger.
The torch turned away from the road, towards one of the small temples that lay off the road and that stood between the inn and the fort of Ardrandun. This temple was one dedicated to the goddess Turan, so that it bore her rose-symbol above the door with the building itself fifty meters high and one hundred and fifteen wide and long. Somewhat more circular than other temples, it was ring-shaped and was a place of peace where marriages were celebrated. The temple had been built with cedar wood beautifully trimmed, taken from the local forest to the north of the locality, almost a century ago.
By the time that the trio neared the temple, it was to discover a number of other torches in place. The knowledge that there was more than one man present herewith Daegan's captor stunned the three of them. All of them struck dumb, they thus had no ability to guess who in that instant in time, could have command of more than a dozen men and to have gathered them all in one place.
For a long time they stared, and for longer they caught their breaths all of them breathless as their eyes adjusted to the darkness that the torches of their friend's kidnapper hardly seemed able to fend. So deep did the darkness appear to penetrate the land that Freygil, their father might well have complained that Balðr's light could hardly have hounded away this miserable night.
"There appears to be a large number of them," Trygve whispered fearfully, to his friends.
This fact did not go unnoticed by those opposite them who guarded the doors to the temple. Several of the guards were visible enough for the three of them to observe that swords and daggers had been removed from their scabbards.
Nervous, Trygve swallowed audibly at the sight of the large, muscular figures who all menaced them with sneers on their faces. The wind beat against each of their faces, with Indulf turning his gaze away from it to protect his eyes which drifted upwards noticing how the clouds had drifted together to blot out the stars.
"We shan't fight them," Cormac said with some heat in his voice.
"But, we cannot simply give up Daegan to him," Indulf persisted.
"We are not going to simply give up," The blonde youth turned away making as though to flee from the guards who hooted, laughed and cheered at the sight of them fleeing.
The trio were to move off the road from there, the moss and snow crunched under their feet as they veered away from those who had assisted in the kidnapping of Corin's only daughter. Once well out of sight and they could no longer be heard, by the guards who were present before the door of the temple.
"What do you have in mind, Cormac?" Trygve queried worriedly, shivering he pulled his cloak more tightly around him.
Cormac thought for some time.
They waited until he was prepared to speak. Sly as Trygve's tongue could be, and fierce as Indulf was, they both knew the dreamer to be cleverer than they.
It was as he stared over to the east that he at last made a decision, "We must examine the posterior of the temple."
This appeared to the rest of them a wise prelude to a proper plan. Their faith in their friend, who had always led them in certain of their games, as children they approached the temple with many a furtive glances towards the front of the temple. Apprehension dogged them with every step, with Cormac the first to kneel down to examine the cedar which the snow had been pressed against but several weeks ago.
"Hurry, Cormac." Trygve murmured urgently.
The other lad nodded, pressing his fingers against the wood. A moment passed as he pressed his hand more firmly against it once more. It was then that he pulled at the wood, with some of it coming away in his hand.
This collection of slivers he showed to his friends, whereon he removed from one of his satchels a small knife to claw at the wood. The two older lads, who stood to either side of him, exchanged a startled look uncomprehending, until they began to see a small hole growing where he stabbed.
Indulf gasped at the effect and rapidity that Cormac's actions were already having upon the soggy, wet wood of the temple of Turan.
Throwing himself to the ground, with his own dagger which he had brought also for the purpose of skinning any animals that they caught, Indulf began to assist him in cutting at the wall. Pulling, clawing and cutting they worked laboriously, at the wall in a desperate attempt to reach the temple-hall. His knees touched some of the snow, which soaked his hose and worsened the cold that enveloped him, shooting him into him from his legs and back where the wind struck him.
"This is sacrilegious," Trygve whispered anxiously.
"Do be quiet, and keep watch out for those brutes," Cormac hissed back at him, with a glower over his shoulder at his darker haired friend.
Trygve grumbled under his breath, yet did as bidden.
The noise they made was miniscule, though it seemed to Indulf's ears that his breath came in pants and hisses that were every bit as obnoxious as the crashing of the sea upon the promontory. All of a sudden he was seized by the surreal nature of what it was that he was doing; he was out upon a great quest, in the midst of knifing at soggy wood to sneak into a temple where just a week prior he was curled up in his bed, in his home.
Life certainly is strange, he noted philosophically to himself, feeling strangely detached at that moment from what was happening. Working mechanically, ignoring the slivers that slipped into his flesh, the pain that arose from suckling and pulling them out and the growing ache in his arms. The agony came upon him suddenly, not similarly from when sleep fell away as wakefulness come upon a slumbering man or dog. It arose first in his right arm, then in his left one as the former was crucial in tunnelling into the building where the latter was used to extract the wood before them.
"I have never heard of a hero digging through a temple, to save a damsel," Complained Trygve in frustration.
"I have."
"Really? Do tell Indulf."
"There is that one of Wodin I think it was who bore through a mountain in the shape of a worm, to save some sort of lass and wine of some sort." Indulf said recalling one of the tales told to him, in his childhood when Trygve was but a year old and he himself was three. It was Mairi who had told him the tale, claiming that it was one that his grandfather had told her. It was apparently her favourite.
For the first time in years, a new hole arose in his heart, as he thought of his grandmother. She had been so sweet, so genial just like Inga!
His mind was pulled from his sorrow and regrets, by his brother remarking, "Really What a peculiar story, who told you that one?"
"Mhamó," He replied stoutly. The term meant 'grandmother' in the Érian tongue, from which their mother's folk were said to have come from, and was their term for old Mairi.
Trygve fell quiet once more.
The awkward silence was not, as all those induced by his brother who had no great love for the quiet. He trembled and shook, and snorted unwillingly against the cold that assailed him mercilessly.
"I fear that I have just heard one of them moving about," Trygve warned moving from foot to foot.
The soft wood before him, his face now pressed forward beneath a portion of the wall of the temple. Cormac with all the stubbornness of a terrier-dog or bull-dog, cared little how blunted his skinning knife became, how jagged some of the wood was becoming. Not that this seemed matter, as the wood had become soft and brittle Indulf noted in amazement.
"Then do hurry to see whether they intend to circle about, here or not." Cormac growled back at him furiously.
Trygve let slip an angry sigh before he hurried over to stick his nose around the corner of the temple to stare out towards the front. The breeze flowed once more against them, pressing their soaked clothes against them all the more. Shivering it was with a small start that Indulf took notice of how they could now hear several voices, from within the temple.
It was apparent that there was an argument taking place (a heated one), as Daegan's voice, an old woman and another one. They all spoke at the same time, shouting over one another with increasing heat and anger.
"We are almost there… somehow," Indulf uttered shocked not only by their good fortune but by the question of how Cormac could have known that the wood would be brittle, near the earth when the snow had already melted from near it since at least a day or so ago.
Away did the brittle wood go, forward went the circle and to them came the profound satisfaction of victory! Obstinacy rewarded with the sight of the back of the altar and the feet of the painted wood of the foot of the statue of Turan the goddess of love. A statue that had pink slippers painted onto its feet, under the red dress that she was sometimes depicted with. As to the altar, it was a simple slab of cedar wood (a sacred material to the good goddess), which had a white satin frequently thrown over it. This one though, was a poorer temple and thus did not have satin thrown over the altar but rather a simple white woollen cloth so stained and old, as to appear grey where it had not been chewed quite thoroughly upon by local moths.
Aghast at the poor condition of the altar, as much as by the poor state of the temple, Indulf almost pulled back from the large hole they had carved into it. Recalling the importance of their self-appointed task, he was however a touch disturbed to see Cormac almost toss himself thither into the temple in a sudden burst of impatience.
It was therefore hardly any surprise to his friend that he struck his head with all the force of a battering ram, upon a castle-gate. A cry of pain erupted from his slack lips, despite his best efforts to control himself and Indulf's whispered 'tush Cormac!' that went unheeded.
To one side Trygve warned him, "One of them is coming this way!"
"What?" Asked Indulf bewildered, with his head still in the hole, pressed against the back of his friend's knee only to raise it, striking it against the brittle wood and have the annoyance of having soft threads of cedar tangle themselves into his sandy-hair.
The flaxen-haired youth before him though was pulled away just as Indulf felt something or rather someone grips him by the leg. At first he attempted to pull away, however he was swiftly disabused that he had any choice in the matter, when the grip tightened and he was pulled back whence he had come.
Tossed into the nearby snow which had all the hardness and toughness to it that all slush-water has, Indulf stared up at the high-heavens for a moment. Startled to find the suns at the start of their mighty and highly glorious ascent to the summit of the heavens, the lad from Glasvhail wondered as he tore his gaze from the pink and orange skies to focus it upon the lumbering brute above him. The man was brown-bearded, long-haired and all muscle his sword was still thankfully in its scabbard he noticed his relief short-lived as the man grabbed him roughly by his tunic.
"And who are you, lad?" Demanded the warrior pulling him onto his feet, wherefore the youth took a gander to the right of him where his brother should have been.
The spot that had been occupied by the other lad was barren. No fuller than how his brother felt at that moment, not that this sense of emptiness and horror lasted for long. Sorrow filled him, and it was almost at once replaced by a feeling of fear the longer the brutish man glowered at him.
"Who be ye?" He asked once more, his breath stinking of fish which made Indulf gag.
"I be the cloth-maker, the fey-dancer and he who has lost that which all men hold above all else in their lives save for their ancestors and infants!" Indulf hissed back at him, his hands coming to rest upon the larger ones of the man, who was a good foot and a half taller than him.
The slow wits of the man who now held firm his gaze, the fierce anger behind those eyes served only to arouse his own from its slumber.
Hardly intimidated by the younger man's glower, the stout warrior moved his hands ever so slightly to grip him now more by the throat in a gesture intended to choke out the truth from him. "Enough of such word-play, who are you? And why are you digging into the temple?"
Indulf was saved from having to answer by the peculiar sight of his brother standing atop the flat, rounded roof of the temple. Gaping, he might almost have warned the other man, almost by instinct were it not for the sudden motion on the part of Trygve acting faster than either man could have moved or acted.
A strong youth, who had since they were young, participated more frequently in physical labour than the older one. A fisherman who adored swimming as all folks of Glasvhail did, Trygve could thus toss the discus farther than he.
The large hunk of wood struck and bounced off of the head of the guard who cried out quite mightily. His scream cut through the dawn-air with such swiftness, such brutality that many were the souls who quaked and quavered at the sound of.
Not the least of which was Indulf, who had been dropped as the man who had held him up dropped him now. Falling onto his posterior, soaking it in the snow-slush with an uncomfortable hiss that soon turned into a gasp of fear; when he saw the warrior looming above him catch himself.
Though the back of his head was soaked with blood, from where the hard wood from the top of the temple or higher on the wall, had struck the warrior remained firmly conscious. Frightened, Indulf almost froze where he sat, mouth agape. The reminder of his many boasts of how he wished to avenge Inga, of how there was no living creature who might stop him from doing so served now to entice him into action.
Courage sparked by the reminder of his own bravado and anger, Indulf eyes upon the sword girded to the other man's waist, he grabbed it as the other man rubbed at the back of his aching skull.
The sword slid out from within the scabbard in one slick movement, the weight of the weapon contrary to the expectations of Indulf was nowhere near as heavy as he had expected. This was not to say that it was light as a sliver or skinning knife might be.
The knowledge that he had gone from captor to captive, was a light that remained undimmed by pain and anger, as a new emotion substituted them a heartbeat later; fear. As the youth arose to his feet, to threaten the taller man the tip of the blade coming to rest against his Adam's apple the bulky warrior stepped back.
"Haaa- HELP!" He cried out loudly, pride cast away in the face of certain death at the panting weaver's newfound weapon.
There was no answer.
This alarmed the warrior almost as much as Indulf who remained tensed for a good ten minutes before he had the peculiar experience of exchanging a glance with the warrior. Both of them disturbed by the quiet that had overtaken the front of the temple, neither of them certain of what it was that they should do.
"No one remains at the front of the temple, Trygve what is it that has happened?" Indulf inquired of his brother only to glance up to find the other lad missing.
"What by the Dark-Queen has happened to them fools?" Asked the guard every bit as bewildered at he was.
Indulf shrugged helplessly in answer.
What neither of the two men expected was for a great shriek to pierce the whole of the region. Both men leapt up a little in surprise at the shout that erupted from in front of the temple, as a shrieking, terrified man dressed in red silk with the very edge of the bottom of his hose aflame. Running about madly, this peculiar fellow gripped by the most queer possible fear imaginable threw himself into the slush-snow. Such was the force with which he threw himself into the snow that he was soon wet from head to his smallest of toes.
Indulf and the guard stared at the bumbling man, who lay but five meters away from them whimpering in a manner akin to that of a frightened child.
They met well have questioned him, over the matter of what he was doing there, however he recovered from his terror before they did, querying them with tear-slicked eyes. "Am I still afire? Well? Am I?"
Captor and captive stared for a heart-beat longer, before the latter asked of the silk-clad fool. "My laird, what are you doing out here in the snow rather than inside marrying the lass, whom Ùisdean selected for you?"
"The witch and her 'hero' set me aflame! They threw the candles upon the altar upon sister Ùna and I, you dolt!" Snapped the noble-born fop with all the wit and cunning of a log of wood, to the bewilderment of the two whom he glowered at just before he sneezed, a sure-sign that the cold had begun to have its effect upon him.
"Why did this Ùisdean point your laird to my friend Daegan?" Indulf queried curiously of the guard who shrugged his shoulders in response.
"Because she is the fairest lass we have beheld in some time, and it has long been laird Torcall's desire to wed the fairest lass in the land of Ardrannaig." His captive explained with another shrug of his massive shoulders before he was wont to ask of him, "If my answers have pleased you sirrah, may I be permitted to return hither to my wife and four children?"
"Not without the surrender of your arms." Was the condition given, which was dully done as the two other daggers and scabbard were cast down from the other man's belt.
The fop for his part once he realized the depth of how cold the spring was, leapt to his feet to race after his guard who hurried back the way of Ardrandun-Castle.
It was shortly after their departure that Cormac and Daegan slipped back out from inside of the temple with round eyes. The former came second with a sense of urgency that awoke his friend to the fact that there was still danger to be found in the fastness near to the temple of Turan.
"Fly Indulf! We must fly back to Wulfnoth's side! Though a number of guards have fled there remain several of them herewith sister Ùna!" He hissed at the man just as he was in the midst of picking the belt and its arms from the ground, after he had sheathed the blade in his hand.
It was thus in this manner that Daegan was rescued from the laird Torcall of Ardrannaig.