This inspired all the more confusion in Indulf, and he might well have comported himself impulsively were it not for the sudden arrival at that moment of Meallán, armed with his gleaming red-sword and accompanied by Marian.

  At the sight of them, and the cry by the latter, who raced forward with such zeal that she could well have been mistaken for a woman many decades younger than the reality. “Away with you! Now is not the time, for this battle! Away!”

  Meallán came to a stop betwixt she and the Knightwraiths, brandishing his mighty sword which inspired such dread in the wraiths that they hissed and growled at them, ere they rode south away from the confrontation.

  The Knightwraith of the horned-kingfisher warned though, “The time shall come, thereon our island when death shall find thee!”

  When they had disappeared, the storm continued to rage all around those present. It was as the wind tore away at them, lightning flaring in the heavens as Meallán exploded with fury. “What were the three of you thinking?”

  “It is my fault,” Wiglaf confessed after a moment of panting and calming himself, at the incredulous looks he received from the other two elders of their troupe, he admitted. “I knew they were near at hand from Dunkil the Ratvian, it was he who informed me that Marculf had set out in the night to hunt down those he had himself sought out. I knew the moment he told me that Marculf had set out against them and that he did so in the hopes to steal the Blood-Gem from them. It was an impulsive thing, but I- I must confess that Marculf is as a son to me, I could no more sit idly by than I could were it Cormac or Trygve in danger.”

  “What a stupidly impulsive thing to do,” Meallán bellowed his temper as terrible to behold as that of the Knightwraiths at that moment.

  “Calm, Meallán,” Marian scolded, moving to Wiglaf’s side to pat him upon the arm, “Your sentiments do you credit though they were impulsive, do you think Marculf might have comported himself so, had the same happened to you?”

  “No, no he would not have,” Wiglaf answered much to his companions’ surprise, “He was ever a resourceful and rational youth.”

  “But how did you discover where we were, and do you know what has become of this sorcerer Marculf?” Indulf asked impatiently.

  “I knew only what the Ratvians and others told me, it was Marian who consulted with one of the Centaurs, who informed us that Marculf had told him, he had left a note in the stables.” Meallán told him, looking over to the sister with admiration and respect in his eyes.

  “What sort of message did he leave me?”

  “Not a message exactly, but rather a gem,” Marian replied with a smile as she pulled from about her neck the pendant from which hung the Blood-Gem of Aganippe. The white sheen of the locket it was contained within, appeared to almost glow in the night, with Marian adding, “It was for this reason that the Knightwraiths had left two of their number to lie in wait. And for this reason that they took Marculf away. Once they realized that he had stolen the actual stone from them, they must have returned to capture him only to realize too late that he had tricked them.”

  “He was always a clever lad, though he should have waited,” Wiglaf murmured sadly, “The wraiths do not keep prisoners to my knowledge; they must have disposed of him by now.”

  There was such grief and such sorrow in his voice, that even a heart of stone might well have been filled with feeling and pity for him. Indulf did not know what to say, though he wished he had the same bond with the old sorcerer that Trygve had. For some reason, the old Cymran and his baby brother had always gotten on well.

  This brought back the memory of how poorly Trygve had felt about his own impulsive actions at the Mound. The quarrel they had had, when he had awoken from his strange two-day long slumber, was the worst that the brothers had ever had.

  “Marculf stole the Blood-Gem from the wraiths? He must be quite the formidable sorcerer to accomplish such a feat.” Cormac said thoughtfully.

  “Was.” Wiglaf corrected him; though the fisherman’s son remained unconvinced it appeared, if his doubtful expression was any hint.

  Quite why Cormac seemed to disagree was a mystery to Indulf, who had no doubt that everything had transpired as Wiglaf had said it did, and that Marculf was well and truly dead. He had to be as dead as Yngvarr and the two Wolframs who had perished by the Mound were, so that any shred of doubt or uncertainty was likely little more than wishful thinking.

  “Let us return to the inn for the night, to rest and on the morrow we will decide upon a solution to what we should do next.” Meallán declared reluctantly, and that only after Marian had insisted that the matter was settled.

  *****

  The night was spent in troubled sleep, with the Minotaur matron, Mòrag as she was known now to several of their company, served them a warm breakfast of freshly baked bread, which tasted exquisite, warm pig-stew mixed with carrots, grapes and of course, pig.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  It was a fine meal that pleased all, including Connor much to the bemusement of Colwyn. Indulf for his own part, remained as quiet as ever, and had little to contribute to the tales recounted by Wiglaf, or their two rescuers.

  Daegan was as expected infuriated that she had missed some of the glory, and was angry with Cormac as she so oft-was in recent days, not that Indulf paid much mind to her, or to the continued rifts in the other members of the company.

  Corin declared forcefully, with such venom that most present stopped their arguments to stare at him. “Now is hardly the time for meaningless bickering. But now is the moment, when we must determine the best means by which to cross to Antillia.”

  “What is your suggestion, sir Corin?” It was Meallán who asked this question of him, a little exasperation also in his voice. A man of some wisdom, Indulf had observed however that he had little love for those who interrupted his own quarrels, no matter how futile or crucial they were. Therefore for the blacksmith, to have interfered in the clash between him and Ronald hardly pleased him.

  The sorcerer-apprentice who had been in the midst of stressing the importance of reporting their present position and their possession of the Blood-Gem to the Order of Auguria likewise, did not take this call to order very well.

  “We leave to-day, while we can as much of recent events have likely been heard about by the Kynfirths, and they are liable to act soon.”

  *****

  It was a brilliant notion, and one that they were soon swept by eagerness for, with their horses soon sold to Mòrag, who paid them with three of the silver-thistles that Marculf had left her. The horses were to later be sold to the Kynfirths who paid her three times that number of coins, for every two horses. They were to prove themselves so courageous, so majestic in the battles that were yet to come for that clan that, they would forevermore consider them their finest steeds. They were to save the heir of the house more than once, who was to later change his family sigil to that of a charger bursting forth from the sea.

  This proposal by Corin was so sound, so wise that none questioned it. None save for Bardulf, who appeared when the time came to pay ten silver-lions for each of the five of the local boats, to be shaken. Trembling as Colwyn, Marian, Calandra and Lauma took to one boat, he made the first foolish suggestion he had yet made in all the time Indulf had known him.

  “I must object to this plan, I do believe that it is unwise for us all to depart at once,” He said visibly frightened, though of what Indulf could not discern.

  “What is this about? Hurry into the boat you worthless canine,” Kyrenas grunted attempting to push past him to join the same boat as Glarald, and Cormac. This particular boat was the largest and the most unwieldy, with Cormac the most experienced of all present after Fergus, with sea-travel. The Tigrun’s own admission of having fought in several battles at sea and traversed the straits between Cymru and ériu had come as a shock, and as part of the decision to have him share a boat with Wiglaf, Connor, Indulf and Daegan.

  “Aye, out of the way,” Ronald growled almost pushing the Wolfram onto the boat, after having just paid the local fishermen to whom, the boats belonged to. “I would climb aboard now, lest I should change my mind once reason is restored to me.”

  “See? Even you would prefer not to do so,” Bardulf said with visible cold-sweat.

  It was as he observed the hero’s trembling that Indulf at last grasped what it was that had him so utterly terrified, “Are you- you are afraid of the sea.”

  The statement was uttered with more stupefaction than he would have liked, and had the adverse reaction of causing the Wolfram to almost nod his head and Connor who had just overheard them to snort with laughter. “Hahaha! A dog afraid of water, how ridiculous!”

  “Silence Connor,” Cormac said seeing how red-faced Bardulf appeared to have become, in a matter of seconds.

  “Connor now may not be the time for such mockery,” Lyr added, ordinarily one of those who encouraged the Bairaz to bicker with the Wolfram, yet he sensed the impending explosion of anger also.

  “Silence you treacherous, servant of darkness!” Bardulf barked back, his fangs bared, his words caused the Bairaz’s own cheeks to redden with rage and eyes to narrow with hate.

  It appeared as though there might be indeed be a battle between the two most muscular of their troupe, were it not for the interference of Ronald.

  Exasperated by the continuous squabbling, he placed his staff just behind the legs of the Bardulf the moment Connor threw himself at him with the result being that the Wolfram fell back upon the boat. Barely catching himself, Connor stopped to stare in befuddled amazement, just as Kyrenas and Cormac were urged upon the boat.

  “Hurry, ere he recovers his wits, hold him in place if need be Kyrenas,” Ronald ordered leaping onto the boat and using the same piece of wood to row at the sea once Connor had with a laugh pushed them out to sea with Lyr’s assistance.

  “Wait, what of Daegan?” Cormac asked a little reluctantly.

  “She will have to ride with Fergus and the wizard,” Kyrenas retorted impatiently, with the Elf glowering at his son who had observed all of this in silence. “Now, Glarald help me to pull Bardulf properly onto the boat, for I doubt his legs hanging over the edge of the boat, is of any true assistance to any of us.”

  “But I had hoped to journey therewith Dae, and to make peace with her,” Cormac grumbled only to glance over at Bardulf who appeared still stricken.

  This was the last Indulf saw of them, or heard of them. Daegan for her part her arms crossed stared out over the sea at the Misty-Isle, saying as she did so, “Glory awaits…”

  “Oh yes, glory which I am sure will find you there, if quite by accident,” Indulf grunted mockingly ere he turned now to Corin who was to ride with those from ériu. “What are your thoughts Corin?”

  Corin eyed his daughter with reproving eyes, only to turn that same gaze upon the quiet son of Ida, “Tragedy. Let us hope that Dae can keep her wits about her, as surely as Bardulf has.”

  The sarcasm in his voice as he uttered the latter part of his pronouncement, served to make Indulf all the more dour, almost as much so as the chieftain of the Griogair themselves. Worried for what awaited them, across the straits that separated Bretwealda from Antillia. Grateful that Marian carried the Blood-Gem, for he could not have carried it across the sea, without seizing it for himself.

  A thought that worsened his fear, a sentiment he was determined to repress as best he could, so as to prove himself as courageous as Wulfnoth or Cormac always were. ‘Inga guide me, and I shall come to avenge you, my love!’

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