Rain or shine, the outer woods were always a fine place to go for a morning or midday walk, where one could enjoy the speckled light beneath the thick canopies, and sigh contently at the stillness that marked the place.

That is, it would have been fine on this Leafsway morning, were it not for the rumbling footfalls that thundered all about. One was likely to be alone on such a walk, but as the forces of Chief Creich were all gathered and ushered on their way, the outer wood had taken on a rather noisy and unpleasant air. That is not to say that the men of Chief Creich were especially cruel to the woodland, quite the contrary actually, but if one had gone into the place hoping for a relaxing morning walk, he would be disappointed to be accompanied by the clamor of three score men marching past and chattering amongst themselves.

It wasn’t long after midday, and the force had been making good distance at their pace. Had they left the town of Dórai at the first light of daybreak, they might already be at their destination, but as the muster had not been complete until the sun was closer to the peak of the sky than the horizon, they were about as far as one would be at this time of day on any other occasion. It wasn’t particularly hot, even for this time of year, but as the company marched on with a speed rivaling that of runners, each one not sitting upon the back of a horse had become rather hot and weary.

They had been allowed to stop and sit for a midday rest, but hardly had the cool air refreshed them than they were roused to their feet and were off again. Chief Creich himself hardly seemed to take a moment to breathe, as he was the last to stop and the first to resume atop the back of his tall red charger. While everyone, summoned without even half-a-day’s warning, whispered a few grumbled words in his direction, none particularly blamed him for his fervor, though some quietly blamed him for what had indirectly led to the sudden campaign.

Something had been stolen from Chief Creich in the night. Something more valuable to him than all of the gold and silver in his vaults, which coincidentally, had been well-scoured this morning in preparation for the journey he set out upon. Two carts, pulled by four jacks, were laden to near overflow with all manner of treasures. Creich was after all a wealthy man, but for all that wealth, there was little greed within his heart. Every last bit of treasure in the carts, down to the ropes and iron nails should they be so requested, was to be offered in trade with no intention of haggling down the price. And yet, for as tremendously valuable and expensive the cargo was, none of it was equal in worth than that which had been stolen from Creich. No trinket of gold nor star of the earth it was, but Rhíad, his own and only daughter.

As quiet as a thief in the night, an intruder had come to the halls of Chief Creich, and in the dark hours of night, stole into the chamber of Rhíad and seized her from where she slumbered.

Those unfamiliar with the lands of Dórai might hear the tale and think the villain a rival lord or a criminal seeking ransom, but the truth was not so. Indeed, the people of the town, upon waking up to the horns of alarm and hearing the first details, thought just as much. It was, however, when they learned of what Creich said about the intrusion, that they finally understood. For as the thief fled from the chieftain's halls, a challenge and mockery rang through, and those that bore witness to the identity of the thief, none had any doubt that it was the Ghlaírí.

When curious children asked innocent questions, the elders told old stories. And heads turned to Chief Creich. Although he was known by his subjects and his allies as a leader generous with his gifts and fair to his people, Creich had little thought given to tradition. Less still was given to the yearly tribute that the lord of Dórai was to deposit into a small cave, a day’s march north of town. For the twelve years he had been the chieftain of Dórai, Creich had continued the tradition as had been done by those before him. Though he hadn’t especially taken the warnings of storytellers to heart, he trusted those chieftains before him enough to honor their word, and for a time, complied with the orders of tribute. A fine pile of trinkets dropped into the cave by the first day of Leafsway. Simple enough, but as it soon came to be deduced by the people of Dórai, this beginning of Leafsway had come and gone without a scrap of tribute. As it is with many men whom suddenly realize the penalties of a long-unpaid debt, Creich let panic be the judge of what an adequate sign of apology might be.

“They say he dug through his vaults, throwing gold and pearl into boxes without so much of a look to judge their value,” a large-toothed boy, hardly seventeen, named Bágó said as he looked over to the wagon of treasures.

“I’d be had if the Ghlaírí takes even a chip of it,” another named Gónann replied. He was little older than Bágó, yet had more brains to him than most men twice their age, “It is a creature of fair treatment, even if such treatment is cruel and in placement of forgiveness by decent people. It’s already taken its prize, so you can stop your worrying about your sister sharing the same fate, Mip.” He looked over to the third friend, who walked closely behind them.

Mip had hardly spoken a word that day that did not concern his sister or mother. No matter what he was told, the pockmarked and wild-haired boy was still hardly more than fifteen years of age and on his first actual venture as a soldier in the chief’s employ. Naturally, such criteria owes to one’s anxieties having more validity to them than even the most experienced of elders.

“It stole her away in the night without a word or sign, did it not?” Mip quickly asked, his face furrowed in thought, “The only sound heard being a single scream as Rhíad was seized and carried off, despite no one hearing any intruder enter? What is to stop it from acting again? What if Chief Creich’s offer offends the Ghlaírí and it demands even more tribute that cannot be afforded?”

“Have you never held a spear before, Mip you nervous pheasant?” Bágó groaned, “Even if such a thing were the case, you are surrounded by two squads of veterans and more than half of your own squad are veterans themselves. If the Ghlaírí is in that cave with Rhíad in captivity, then it has nowhere else to go should we lay siege to it.”

“Unless the cave goes deeper than you think,” Gónann broke in.

“In which case, we would delve deeper,” Bágó answered without a moment’s pause, “The Ghlaírí took Rhíad as ransom, did it not? Then it can only go as far as she can. Perhaps it can move quietly or make itself unseen, but Rhíad cannot. She is a slight girl, so if none of the men can fit through whatever cracks in the earth it may creep into, Mip should have no trouble slipping in for us.”

“Shut your mouth,” Mip said, scowling at his friend.

“That is a fair point,” Gónann added, “But you’re ignoring that the powers of the Ghlaírí lay not in strength of arms, but in words and strange spells. My father says that sending three squads is three times as useless as sending one. Chief Creich alone could get the job done, for there are few ways in which weapons of war could defeat the Ghlaírí. Yet, if such a regiment suits the chieftain's wishes, then the double-pay he promised suits me as well. Being of the squad that is assigned to guard the outside entrance of the cave if the first delves inside is merely a fine bonus.”

“How do you mean that weapons of war could not harm the Ghlaírí?” Mip asked.

“I didn’t say that,” Gónann replied, “I mean that, of what could bring ruin to the Ghlaírí, there are far safer options than an assault upon its body. One that has lived a life of cruelty for as long as it has surely knows a thing or two to keep itself safe from those who might mean ill.”

“You still have not answered my question,” Mip pointed out, rather annoyed by this point.

“What I mean is,” Gónann said slowly, not wishing to admit that his anxious friend had brought him to the extent of his excuses, “The Ghlaírí has means of protecting itself from the injuries one might inflict upon it with a spear or arrow, or by poison or lack of food. In the tale of prophecy that my father told to me, the foul beast could be driven away with blade, but it will not be destroyed until a courageous cripple, born to slaves and arisen in might, tricks it into submission. Only then, will iron be driven into its scaly flesh and the thing be vanquished from the world.”

“What wild tales has your father not told to you?” Bágó asked.

“Tales of your valor and wits, for there are none but what fools tell.”

“I will show you a thumb of valor and four fingers of wits.”

“You would have not even an arm to carry them upon.”

Bágó did not really mean to throw his fist at Gónann, and it would have been foolish for him to do so. For as weightily as Bágó carried himself, Gónann still had two seasons in age and a few fingers in height over his wild-tongued friend. Nonetheless, he still lowered his knees, dropped his spear, and waved his fists in daring gestures. Those around the two stared, and some even stopped in their tracks to watch the conflict unfold, eager for some entertainment upon an otherwise drudging and unwanted journey.

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The taller and wiser of the two widened his eyes in surprise, yet only laughed at his friend’s sudden willingness to trade blows, even if done only in jest. Mimicking the gesture, he raised a fist of his own and made for a theatrical blow. The mock-fight only lasted for as long as that, for no sooner had Gónann made a silly wide swing at Bágó that a heavy hand fell down upon his shoulder and dragged him back a step. Bágó suddenly looked in surprise, as though he had not even noticed the newcomer dart over to where a fight might have broken out.

Looking back at the man who had grabbed him, Gónann suddenly felt extremely foolish at their antics. There, looking harshly down at him with deep black eyes, was Nían, the captain of his squad. The tall man wore a deep scowl on his scarred face, and it was a long painful moment before he broke the silence among the little crowd, for none wished to speak over him.

“What ridiculous display is this?” he asked in a growl. “Shall I separate the two of you like I would small children that wrestle over nothing?”

“It was nothing!” Gónann quickly explained. “We were not truly at arms, Captain. I’m sorry.”

Nían looked to Bágó, who nodded at each of Gónann’s words, but otherwise said nothing further.

“Well then,” Nían said, stooping to pick up the dropped spears, “I would urge you to spare your strength for when we arrive, and spare your jests for when we return home. Now stop acting like boys upon their first campaign. Get back in line.” With no small force, he thrust the spears out before the two of them. Gónann went to take his spear, but found that the captain held it firm in his grip. Looking down, he was surprised at the solid hold the captain had over the spear, considering how his left hand was missing its little finger. As Gónann made a failed attempt to gently take the spear for himself, Nían’s eyes narrowed in his direction.

“Don’t let this happen again,” his raspy voice muttered. As he finished, Gónann felt the weight of the spear fall to him as the captain loosened his grip and turned to resume his place near the wing of the squad.

“Our captain is certainly in fine spirits today,” a nearby veteran who had been watching the apprehension said with a laugh. Turning to face him, Gónann saw that several other members of the squad had stopped to watch the scolding of him and Bágó.

“Much finer than I would be,” a bowman with several missing teeth jeered, “Had I too been awake since midnight as the captains have, I might suggest the both of you flayed as a fitting punishment.” This got more laughter from the small audience.

“Ignore them,” Gónann said to his friend, who seemed to be ready to deal harsh words back. With some effort, he pushed Bágó off to a more isolated part of the crowd where they might march in relative peace. “Listen to this, do you recall what it was I said my father told me about the defeat of the Ghlaírí?”

“I do,” Bágó replied, “That strength of arms is useless against it.”

“And what else?”

“You said something else?”

Gónann heaved a dramatic sigh. “No, I mean the prophecies my father told to me.”

“I remember!” Mip piped in. Gónann and Bágó started at the sudden sound, for neither had seen their friend follow to where they now marched. “Part of the Three Prophecies of the Ghlaírí, isn’t it?”

“It is, thank you,” Gónann said, feeling secretly relieved. “No one really tells the full story these days since the first of the prophecies has long been satisfied, and the second has been going on since when my grandfather was a child. The only time the third prophecy is spoken of is a verse or two in a bard’s song. Everyone has just accepted the yearly tribute as part of our lives, forgetting that it is only the second part of the prophecies with the third yet unfulfilled.”

“Ah!” Bágó said, “The third, then!”

“The third, it is!” Gónann said with a wide grin and a nod. “I cannot believe that it never truly occurred to me before. Perhaps I simply never thought about the Ghlaírí outside of the time of tribute.” He cleared his throat and lowered his voice. The others leaned closer to him. “I have not the full verses of the prophecy, but my father does and I shall ask them of him later, but I do know these words, though I may have some misremembered.”

He paused and looked up to the shimmering sunlight that fell through the treetops. Nodding several times as though reciting a poem to himself, he whispered several words in quick succession before looking back to his companions. Then he took a deep breath and gave strength to his chest, as his father had always insisted whenever verses were to be given. In a voice that was low, but reached far, he began to speak.

“That thread of fate shall break when the king neglects the gold. It floats in the winds of change, and the wrathful beast shall ride upon it to the halls of the king, wherein a prize of its choice is to be taken. Beautiful daughter, flaxen in hair. Seeking that stolen girl, who the kinsmen there love, a crippled warrior then shall hear the call and raise his spear aloft, and its head will look the beast in the eye. Casting a pall upon the life of that which plagues these lands, the warrior shall return with the daughter. Joyous, the king shall wed her to him, and from her royal womb shall spring the heavenly child. So thus will be born he who shall unite the Mháner once again, and with the three powers loyal, shall drive all evils from the land.”

Bágó looked as though he was about to make some jest of how Gónann should have been born as a bard, but his brow quickly fell as he considered the words which his friend spoke. A look back to his captain and then back to Gónann, and it all suddenly became clear to him.

“Captain Nían!” he exclaimed, as though the realization had come from his own head and not from the prodding of another, “He must be the cripple of prophecy!”

Gónann and Mip both grinned at this. “Not only that,” Mip added quickly, “But the other circumstances are all there, too! Chief Creich neglecting the tribute and his daughter being stolen as delayed payment, it all lines up.”

“I truly cannot believe that I hadn’t thought of it before,” Gónann said again, laughing. He was joined in mirth by Mip and Bágó, though while Mip did so in agreement, Bágó’s laughter was interspersed with jests of Gónann’s addled mind.

“You do understand what this means, do you not?” Gónann said after a time, “’From her womb shall spring the heavenly child.’ The child that shall grow to be a leader of the three lands, uniting them once again and placing the strength of three arms into one single hand, rather than into three.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bágó shrugged, “Personally, I am perfectly content being comfortably separate neighbors to the men of Faerda, but I would not wish to share a house with them.”

“I’d guess that you would think otherwise if the Bríthace came knocking on your door,” Mip added.

“Of course I would,” Bágó retorted, “I’d be quite upset indeed if Dórai were to come under siege, for it would mean that the villains, unable to make it past the isles, had been allowed in by the Faerda.”

This back-and-forth continued on as the company made steady progress through the forest. Although talk between the three had largely moved onto other topics, word and recognition of the prophesied cripple had begun to slowly spread throughout those that marched towards the lair of the Ghlaírí. Eyes began to turn towards the captain of the second squad, though none went to approach him on the matter. Nían made occasional rounds back and forth along the ranks of his squad, though he largely remained by Chief Creich’s side, separate from those who eyed him with curious interest. Perhaps had he not been in such a foul mood at being awake since midnight as well as having to break up a mock fight between two of his foolish young skirmishers, people might have been more inclined to approach him on the topic, but as it was not the case, he was given a comfortable distance.

From above the tops of the trees, the sun was just nearly past the halfway point between its peak and the western horizon. Even though the captains assured their men that there was not much further to go, a quick pace was kept by all, for none wished to remain near the cave past nightfall if it could at all be helped. By this point, setting a camp was inevitable, but with all things considered, the general agreement was that the company would head into the trees for perhaps a mile if dusk fell and no success in dealing with the Ghlaírí was had.

The trees only grew thicker, but by the reassurance of the foresters that were brought along, it would be long before the grounds would become difficult to tread upon. Now and then, bush and bramble forced them to take a roundabout detour, but a northerly direction was soon resumed. No beast harassed them, for even the boars and wolves knew better than to attempt an ambush on such a large crowd of armed men. Needless to say, not even a single deer or rabbit remained close enough to be seen at all during the company’s journey. Only the birds ahead tilted their heads and watched in curiosity at the marching crowd. Some took a perch on a tree limb and observed with awe at for what purpose they would be on their way.

For all of these things, the presence of the beasts grew rarer the closer the company got to the place where the Ghlaírí dwelt. Sometimes, scattered and splintered bones were seen strewn about the forest floor. Sometimes, they were seen hanging from the trees, neatly arranged out as though to bleach in whatever sun dared to penetrate the trees.

In the final stretch of the day, when talk had finally died down and mirth had long since been the common mood among the soldiers, the foresters gave the signal for the company to stop. A few words were had with Chief Creich, and with a somber but resolute voice, full of command and purpose, he led them slowly onward into a large glade, circular in shape and some hundred feet wide perhaps.

All about the glade, not a single blade of green grass could be seen, for despite the clear sun shining down upon the clearing, all life took on a sickly and brown hue. In the center of the glade, as though from which the decay was sourced, was a small hill about the size of a cairn, and upon the southern side of that hill was the opening to a cave into which the sunlight refused to enter.