Chapter Fourteen

  They sought Callun out as soon as they arrived back in the village. They found him outside his own hall.

  “Did you not catch anything then?” “He asked, noting their serious expressions as they approached him.

  “Aye, we did.” Said Dougal. “Two big, fat bucks. We also found four Dokkaebi back at my house.” Gratified by the Callun’s look of astonishment, he then proceeded to tell the village Eron of their encounter with the strange warband in the woods and then the battle at the cottage. As the story unfolded Callun’s expression of surprise faded into one of deep frown.

  “Any ideas who the humans were?” He asked, concerned for his village and angry at the close-run fight his friends had been caught up in. If anything had happened to either Dougal or his brother, Callun would have found it very hard to forgive himself. He still remembered the promise he had made all those years ago beside the smouldering ruins of the hunter’s home and they were in the woods today at his own request.

  “Not of the Six-tribes.” Answered Dougal. “Galatae or Beari, I would say”

  The Eron thought for a moment. “Beari, then. Galatae have suffered too much themselves at the hands of the hands of roving bands of Dokkaebi. Things would have had to have changed much for them to ally themselves with those creatures, but the Beari have always been a bit…. Odd. There have long been stories that they worship darker gods than we do. Maybe they have fallen even further of late. Well, we will find them. With the Ard-mal and the High Druid expected here soon, I cannot afford to take any chances. If someone wants to do either of them harm, then their stay in the village presents them with an ideal opportunity.”

  “We don’t think that it is either of them they are after.” Said Gryffin, quietly. He was still uncomfortable talking to the Eron, even though he was now a man. “They mentioned something about the baby being born. For some reason, I think they meant Albany.”

  That his friends were not the victim of some random raiding of local farmhouses but that their family was being particularly targeted just seemed to fuel his growing rage. “Then they shall be very disappointed!” He almost roared. He turned to a young warrior walking by. “Go and find Cormac.” He ordered the startled young man. “Tell him that I want him here, immediately.”

  Any complaint the warrior was about to make about being busy with his own business died on his lips as he looked at the expression on the Eron’s face. He ran off to find Callun’s lieutenant.

  Callun turned to face Dougal again. “I won’t let you down again, on that you have my oath!” In his mind he was reliving the most shameful night of his life, the night when he had let his desire for personal glory in battle cause the deaths of people who he had had the power to save. The Dokkaebi had already been on the run, already defeated. If he had not pursued them, he could well have saved Dougal and Gryffin’s parents from the fire. His face reddened at his remembered disgrace. It would not happen a second time, he swore silently.

  Gryffin and Dougal stepped away from Callun in alarm as the Eron unconsciously began to summon his fetish powers. His skin began to glow with a white light that pulsed in time with his heartbeat, and as he clenched and unclenched his fist in furious thought as to what must be done, flames licked around his knuckles and ran along the back of his hands. Passers-by started to give him a wide berth with startled expressions on their faces. Dougal noted their worry.

  “Callun.” He said gently. “Your hands.”

  Callun looked down and realised what he had been doing. With a deep breath and a humourless smile, he banished the energies. “Sorry Dougal.” He replied. “I am getting myself all worked up. I am not some hot-headed warrior, free to charge off into battle anymore. I am the Eron, and a calmer head is needed, I think!” He spotted the limping figure of the druid hurrying towards him, obviously anxious to discover the cause of the disturbance in the square. “Dylan!” He shouted. “I have need of you!”

  The druid’s long green robes flapped as he increased his pace to the fastest his uneven gait would allow. The Eron’s tone confirmed his suspicion that something was amiss. He had been accosted by a very flustered young warrior asking if he knew where Cormac was and that that the Eron urgently needed him if he saw him, and so he was already on his way to investigate the reason for the urgent summons of the older warrior. “Yes, Callun.” He said, a little out of breath. “What is wrong?”

  “The windborne who were here to collect Sigur. Are they still in the area?”

  I believe that they are.” The druid nodded. “They are at the henge giving primary instruction to the young man before they head back to Tully’s isle for his training to begin. Do you have need of them?”

  At that moment another figure came running across the square in their direction. It was Cormac, Callun’s second in command in the village. He was a heavy-set man with long red hair and the bushiest, fullest beard in the village, a fact of which he was inordinately proud. “You will have to excuse me for a moment. I must speak to Cormac.” Callun said to Dylan. “Dougal will tell you what has happened. Right now, I have to begin the muster of the warband and send messages out to our outlying farms and homesteads.”

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  The druid raised a questioning eyebrow to Dougal as the Eron walked off in animated discussion with his lieutenant. “I think you had better tell me your story.”

  For the second time in the last few minutes the brothers related the events of the day, leaving out nothing that they had seen or heard.

  “So Callun thinks that you are correct in your guess about them being after Bronty and Albany.” Mused Dylan after they had finished their narrative. “Why would they be after a little baby, I wonder?” He shrugged his shoulders, dismissing the question for the moment. “I dare say that the goddess will let us know in her own good time. Now, if you will excuse me, I must go and find the windborne. It seems that they have some work to do.” With that, he limped off, heading out of the village in the direction of the stone circle.

  “What do we do now, Dougal?” Asked Gryffin as they stood and watch the activity centred on Callun slowly spread throughout the village, like ripples in a stone disturbed pond.

  “I’m going to see my wife and child. You can come too, if you like, or you can go and see that Doomsayer you are so friendly with. Whichever you choose, keep your weapons handy.”

  “I’ll go and see if I can find Cerevin.” Gryffin decided. “I am sure that he knows more of what is going on that he is telling. Maybe I can get some more information out of him.” He considered the end of his spear and the deep cuts to it. “Do you think Callun would give me another one to replace this? I don’t think it will hold up in another fight.”

  “I’m sure he will. Ask him when he is less busy. As to Cerevin, I’ll admit that I wouldn’t mind knowing a bit more about what is going on myself.” Admitted Dougal. “If someone is after Albany, I would surely like to know why.”

  “I’ll see what I can find out.” Promised Gryffin as he turned away to go in search of the man he suspected knew the answers to all their questions. Whether he would provide those answers or not was a different matter!

  If Cerevin knew what was behind recent events, he would not be drawn on the subject.

  “Just be patient, little brother.” He said. “All will become clear soon enough. The High king – what is it you call him – the Ard-mal? He will be here soon, will he not?”

  “Within the next few days, so Dougal says.” Confirmed Gryffin.

  “Then start looking for an explanation when all of the principle players of my doomquest are here.” He pulled up the hood of his cloak, casting his face into deep shadow. “Now I will talk no more of it. It is wrong for me to reveal too much before the Blind god dictates that it should be known. Trust me and ask no more!”

  As the day wore on, the numbers of warriors present in the village grew. Members of the warband from outlying farms and homesteads came as the news of the muster spread. Many of those who were from more remote or isolated homes bought their families with them rather than leave them unprotected. This led to a throng building almost as great as on the night of fires. Wherever four or more warriors gathered, Callun seemed to appear in their centre, as if by magic. He organised and planned, delegated and informed groups as to what areas to patrol. For the main part, the warband restricted their activities to the immediate area around the village and to those homesteads that lay closest to the village and the forest. Dylan had informed the Eron that there were more windborne in the area to collect Sigur than he had initially thought and they numbered about fifty warriors of the goddess. After consultation with the druid, it was decided that the search of the forest itself should be left to the windborne. Neither held out much hope of them finding whoever was hiding there as the goddess’s warriors were few and the area to be searched was so large. But who knew? Maybe if the goddess was willing, they would be lucky!

  The only warriors who had nothing to do in the village were Dougal and Gryffin, a fact that angered Gryffin no end. They sat together in the great hall of Callun’s home.

  “Why have we been left out?” He asked his brother, his bad temper finally getting the better of him.

  Dougal laughed at his display of petulance. “Because that is what the Eron wants. I think that his conscience is plaguing him again.”

  “But if Bronty and Albany are in danger I want to help.” He said sharply. His brother’s amusement just seemed to rile him all the more.

  “Don’t be angry at me, Gryff. It’s not my doing. Go shout at Callun. If you dare!”

  Gryffin jumped to his feet, his frustrations boiling over. He grabbed his replacement spear and his shield and stormed from the room. “Then I shall go and ask him.”

  It was not difficult to find the Eron. A steady stream of messengers ran or rode into the village supplying him with a constant stream of information on the state of events. Gryffin waited with ill-concealed bad grace while Callun and Cormac dealt with the last of the messengers. This done, Callun turned his attention to the young man, a friendly smile on his face.

  “Yes Gryffin. What can I do for you?”

  “You can start by telling me why I’m being kept out of the way?”

  It was Cormac who took most offence at his tone. “You impudent young pup!” He roared. “What the Eron does or does not do is none of your business.” He moved forward as though he was going to beat the insolence from the young man that confronted them. He was stopped by Callun’s restraining hand on his shoulder.

  “Be at peace, Cormac.” He said. “There is truth in what he says, up to a point.” Callun looked at Gryffin. “I have left you and your brother in the village in case there is an attack here. We don’t know how many enemies there are arrayed against us. There may be enough to defeat both the windborne and the patrols. Then Dougal and you will be all that are left between the Dokkaebi and Albany.”

  Gryffin considered this explanation, feeling his anger slipping away as he did so. “This isn’t the real reason, is it?”

  “No, not entirely.” Callun admitted. “I have other reasons as well. But they are mine to keep. In truth, I didn’t realise that it would upset you so much. Most of the warband will come back here soon to camp for the night. Come to me at dawn tomorrow and I’ll see to it that you are included in the patrols.”

  “Thank you, Callun. That’s all I wanted.”

  “Now begone, you young whelp.” Growled Cormac, finding it impossible to keep silent any longer. “And see to it that you are not late!”

  Gryffin turned and fled from the red-haired warrior’s rage.