The shadows were drawing in, followed by a blanket of cold air. Amergein could see the warrior’s breath misting in the half-light. He rubbed his hands together vigorously and stood to try and remove the tingling from his calves and the backs of his thighs. He had been hunkered down for hours with little movement or even desire to move. The story gripped him like the vice in his father’s workshop gripped small pieces of silver and gold.
“You can light that fire now, boy,” the warrior said. “I think the women have gone, and the chill in the air is seeping into my old bones.”
Amergein looked at the warrior and then looked towards the forest. The dying man had finished the flagon of mead and was slurring his words slightly. Amergein thought it might explain the stupidity of the request, doubting there would be enough dry kindling for a spark to take. The rains had been heavy and persistent for the week leading up to the festival. He was thankful they had stopped.
Lighting a fire was my idea, he thought, realizing his earlier folly. Looking at the forest edge, he wondered if there might be some shelter where kindling might have stayed dry.
“Not there, boy,” the old man interrupted his thoughts. “Down at the hostel.”
Amergein looked down at Da Derga’s.
Is he addled by more than just the mead? He’s near death.
There were dead men, and there would be flints, but how would that help him to set a fire? He had flints. It was dry kindling he needed.
When dry, the hostel’s thatched roof would provide kindling, but it was soaked. Then Amergein thought about inside under the thatch and realized there would be a wood pile inside and dry.
What about the wolves and the hags who’ll cut my throat for a trinket?
“Take my sword,” the warrior said, seeming to read his mind.
Amergein looked at the weapon the warrior was holding up by the blade. It was a beautiful thing. The hilt was gold, with a deep red stone embedded in the pommel. He took it in his hand and swished it through the air. Despite its width and length, the sword was light and balanced, and he thought it would protect him from the women at least, but what of the wolves?
“The wolves will not trouble you if you stay away from them. They’re feasting on the dead. Take one of the small side doors.”
Amergein thought about that and realized there was some sense in the warrior’s words. Why would wolves trouble a skinny youth with a sword when the valley was full of meaty warriors beyond defending themselves?
“I will be right back,” he said as he sat down on his buttocks and slid down the hill.
The warrior had been correct; the wolves were not troubled by Amergein’s arrival. Nor was there any sign of the looters with no conscience and sharp knives. Keeping his eyes averted from the dead, he walked beside the hostel, entered by the first door he found, and searched for the sconce that should be beside the door. Finding a torch, Amergein lit and held it aloft, revealing the deeper shadows of several doors to the room’s rear. Buoyed by the light, he skipped to the rear, unafraid of what might be hiding in the shadows.
Rifling through the hostel storage rooms, Amergein thought about the story. Initially, he’d been skeptical, but his skepticism was fading. Why would a dying man go to such lengths to tell a story if it was untrue? It was fascinating and might be enough to earn him a crust or two.
More than a crust or two.
If true, Amergein and his family would never want for anything again. He could earn many a golden torc by telling this tale throughout the feast halls of the Five Kingdoms, and maybe beyond.
“I will call it The Destruction of the Hostel,” he told the dancing shadows.
***
The warrior watched the boy enter through a side door before he closed his eyes and dreamed of days gone by. The times after they crowned Connery High King were good. Ships had regularly docked at Indber Colptha, fully laden, so that none of the people went hungry. Winters seemed shorter, and the sun seemed to shine for longer during the summer. There had not been any destructive winds tearing down the roundhouses. Before Connery became High King, high winds had been as common as reaving. That was all gone now—the good times quashed by the selfishness of the few. He wondered why it always seemed to be the few who ruined it for the many. Or perhaps the warriors ruined it for the ordinary people; he could not decide.
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No, I am to blame.
He guessed he should have seen it coming and berated himself for missing the signs. As a warrior, he should have understood the minds of his fellow fighters, but his inner world distracted him. He loved his time in her company because of the peace the laws had created. He ignored the boredom, a dangerous bedfellow for those who fought to earn their living. Others of the caste were not as fortunate and would have missed a warrior’s life with a passion.
I am to blame.
He stopped thinking when he heard the noises of someone laboring up the slope. The faltering nature indicated the climber was fully laden, and he relaxed, realizing it was the youth. He listened to the boy cursing his way as he climbed with his burden of wood and wondered if this Amergein—named for the bard—would relate the story as as the warrior told. He wasn’t convinced. And then he thought of the end and wondered if he, too, would tell it as it happened.
***
Amergein crested the rise, breathing heavily from the climb. He was carrying the kindling and logs in his upturned tunic. The warrior’s sword was resting on top of the pile. He let it fall when he emptied the wood onto the floor of the dingle. The pile seemed pitifully small.
“I will get more after the fire is burning,” he said, more to himself.
He looked over to see the warrior had closed his eyes. His heart leaped momentarily, thinking the dying man had finally traveled to meet Donn. If he had gone, Amergein’s fortunes would not be as bright as they had seemed only a few moments before. When he looked more closely, though, he saw the warrior’s chest rise and fall.
He set about lighting a fire, and it was not long before it was blazing and throwing enough heat to warm them and light to protect them from unwanted visitors. Amergein could not believe his luck. Grinning, he sat opposite the warrior and raised his hands to the new warmth. The old man opened his eyes and smiled at him.
“I will have the sword back, boy,” he said.
“Was that it then?” Amergein asked, reluctantly handing back the ornate weapon. “A little bit of shenanigans with a head and a silver hand, and they proclaimed him High King?”
“Not quite,” the warrior said, choking a laugh. “There were more shenanigans with a stone cock before they finally proclaimed for him, but that was the essence of it, shenanigans.”
“What do you mean, a stone cock?” Amergein asked with disgust as if he had just eaten rancid meat.
“Have you never been to Temuir, boy?” Amergein shook his head. “On the road up the hill, before you come to the feast hall, there is a stone cock standing proud for all the young colleens to see and giggle at.”
Amergein shook his head again. “I don’t understand.”
“When a pretender to the High King’s seat touches the stone, it is supposed to cry out only for a true king,” the warrior hesitated and shook his head before continuing.
“The druid Kathvar has a wonderful skill; he can make his voice sound from anywhere. It was he who cried out when Connery touched the stone. The people gathered heard the stone, but it was the old fraud all along.
“Even the High King heard the stone cry out.”
The warrior chuckled at the memory.
“What happened then?”
“He married, he made love, he became a father, meted out justice, and then he died. The end!”
“Did he have boys or girls?” Amergein asked.
Sighing, the warrior replied, “He had a son. Donn alone knows what will happen to the boy now.”
“What do you mean?”
“He was given into safekeeping. Only not so sure the keeper is trustworthy.” The warrior spoke the words quietly and stared into the distance. It was as if he rued something that had happened during the battle or maybe before.
This warrior is keeping secrets and not doing it well.
“Anyway, the early part of Connery’s reign saw a marked change in the lives of the people of the Five Kingdoms. Where rape and pillage had been an almost daily occurrence for most settlements, the new laws passed by the High King all but put a stop to reaving. There were some minor infringements, and those who perpetrated them were tried accordingly. They ended up in a peaty grave with a leather noose to remind people of the consequences of ignoring the High King’s law.
“This new peace, however, was not welcomed by all. The warrior caste found themselves with nothing much to do except drink mead and guard the coastline against raids from Alba, which were infrequent. The number of men needed for that duty meant most warriors were idle and, therefore, dangerous.
“This new life didn’t become a problem until several summers after they proclaimed Connery High King. I remember him sitting on the throne in the feast hall shortly after Samhain, receiving petitions from the people. Taidle Ulad, his druid counselor, was standing beside him. The petitions were dreary, and the king was losing interest, probably wishing he was elsewhere, when a man entered the hall, followed by the foster brothers Lee, Gar, and Rogain. The man appeared to be a farmer and wrung his hands as he approached the throne. The brothers followed him, nudging each other, until he stopped at the foot of the dais and bowed his head slightly...”