While the people of Glasvhail, might well have rejoiced at the sudden vision of Sgain in the distance. Those within and without the walls of the city, were not quite so filled with reverence towards those stamping up the Thistle-Road towards them. They were strongly reminded of a time eight years ago, when Donnchad had marched upon them with similarly numbers. Intent upon laying siege, and waste to the city, with the High-King only dissuaded from the sack of his own principal city by the timely arrival of Raghnall’s forces near his family’s chief holdings of Denkuld.

  Bewildered by the vision of hundreds of armed men, with some sixty people, women and children included upon their walls served to excite the whole of the city. Though they could be described as excited, this was not to say that they were filled with joy.

  Calling for the guards the people had recourse, to those who could best do harm to the new-arrivals if only out of fear. Not wholly unreasonable though, they nonetheless wished to have the guards dispatched with orders to ascertain the desires and ambitions of the suspected conquerors.

  Great was their amazement when the Gormcruach and Glasvhail folk drew nearer, revealing themselves to be naught else but fugitives. Hungry for protection, as they were for food, starved of warmth by their very lairds and Mormaer.

  Refusing to lie to the representatives, of the city Freygil recounted at some length what had led them thus far, sparing no detail and speaking of the manifold sorrows that had hounded them. The tears that coursed down the faces, of his wife and daughter, along with those of many of the women and children, as he spoke only helped his cause. “We of the village of Glasvhail come not as conquerors, or as warriors, but as fugitives and supplicants to our right and well-beloved High-King.

  The Red-King is whom we would entreat to plead with for his protection, to guard us from the despoilment of the southron lairds who have hounded us hitherto our arrival before you. We would entreat you folks of Sgain, to remember that ere your own arrival in the city that you were once shepherds, fishermen and mountain-folks. It was the protection of Achaius that guaranteed safety, and that saw this mightiest of cities, the jewel in the crown of Caledonia upraised from the promontory over-looking the Firth of the Forth!”

  These words moved the guards, with one of the few merchants to have accompanied them, a man by the name of Wyndran, a man of half-Brittian birth who deals in Brittian wool, first to comment upon Arran and his troops. “What of those men? Those with the blue woad upon their brows, arms and cheeks, they bear a cerulean blade upon their hauberks an emblem, we of Sgain have come to know belongs to a particularly infamous sell-sword company. Are they also fugitives? To my knowledge, you are Lowlanders, and most of them are Highlanders.”

  Freygil could no more answer that question properly, than could Elspet. He might well have answered properly for himself and his men it was extremely doubtful that Arran could have persuaded those of Sgain, he was no threat.

  From person to person, spread an air of unease, a torrent of uncertainty to what was to come. This was in spite of the tales that they had told of their adventures through the south of the kingdom, across the midlands, after their first meeting with the sell-swords.

  But who else but Kenna could have answered such a question? Who else but the woman who had negotiated, the Gormcruach to their side and led them from despair to hope, from the southlands to the city of destiny?

  Stepping forth from the weeping crowd, Kenna said to the representatives of the city, as her face shone with courage, along with desperation. “They are the Gormcruach, it was they who faced with our weakness, with our pleas and our desire for life showed pity. They forgot their hunger for wealth, hunger for blood and the mountains that divide north from south, and came to realize that we are one and all Caleds You may say they are infamous, but we of Glasvhail have come to know them by another name; heroes. They have risked life and limb for us, have shown themselves brave in adversity and have proven themselves all but kin to us, in our moments of greatest vulnerability and weakness. Therefore, where they tread, by Scota we will follow, not as prisoners but out of gratitude for all that they have done us. Thus, I put the case to you, to receive them as you might we, pitiable southron folk.”

  Her impassioned words brought hither tears to the eyes of many a folk all around her some of the Gormcruach included, but most affected were those of Sgain.

  Promising to return hastily, they bade them wait just outside their gates. What sparked hope in the hearts of all those fair people of Glasvhail along with the brave Gormcruach, was the gift the city made to them.

  Selecting their finest men and fairest maidens, they had them deliver the fish, and apples, and onions that they so prized to the newcomers. These men and ladies delivered them in such ampleness that there was food enough for a festival, even after each and every one of the new arrivals had eaten their fill.

  Such was the spirit of the Caleds that day. Brave in adversity, generous when faced by their kindred’s weakness. What other nations, said they could boast the same?

  Faced by these proceedings and decisions, the good abbot of Sgain that, old wise man Iomhar the same man, who had received Kenna and Corin all those months ago was at once filled with worry. How could he not be? Here were near to four hundred people plucked from obscurity, and hurled upon his door’s step, prefacing doom and war. Peaceful for four years now, Caledonia had begun to heal yet here she was to be faced, with violence and division once more.

  Wise was old Iomhar, and gentle was his heart as are the hearts of most men who reach his great age. So that for this reason, he was pleased by the actions of his flock and broken-hearted by the news that Badrách had taken his southron steel to wage war against áed the Hatchet. Familiar with that most impulsive and hot-tempered of lairds, Iomhar knew very well that this could only end in the spilling of blood.

  “How came they to you? Were they pitiful or menacing?” He had asked of those guards and merchants who met with those who had intruded, upon the lands nearest to Sgain.

  Their answer was primly answered with heads held high, “The former, good abbot and they were most grateful for our wee gift of food.”

  “They came here under the leadership of… Conn I believe his name was?”

  “Nay,” Answered Wyndran the merchant, who said, “Under a Freygils and sell-sword Arran. The most impressive of them all, was a stout woman by the name of Kenna the seamstress.”

  This name was not unknown to the abbot, who was to laugh incredulously ere he turned now to pray to Scota, thinking this a sign by the goddess of her will.

  *****

  It was for this reason that the abbot who had assisted in the crowning of the High-King, arranged now for the seamstress who had impressed him so, to come to court. The Abbot called for her, Freygils and Arran to stand before the monarch, who had as this was taking place been in his favourite residence of Duntealach. It was there in the hearth-keep as many called it, where his children abode most of the months of the year that he first heard of the plight of the people of Glasvhail. A bold man of incredible strength, it was to be that he covered the many dozens of leagues that separated his favoured palace and his most important city, in but a few days.

  By which time, those selected to meet with him, were informed of the honour done to them. For this was a great one. Not that honours were at all in the spirit of the High-King, what concerned him was the same thing that always concerned him; duty. This was his highest virtue, and greatest love.

  Most were seated as always near a small hill, this one by the sea so that the waves of the Firth crashed behind some. The meeting took place just as a number of the women took the children, out into the water to play, with these women led by Doada herself. Her husband had in his own turn chosen to the surprise of many to join her, with the young man grabbing alongside Caileann, Eillidh to throw her into the water as she giggled fiercely. Peace for once maintained between Bhàtair and Caileann who ordinarily did not much like one another.

  Standing atop the small hill, Freygils it was who had stepped up to address those around him, after the representatives that had had their names given over to Iomhar and from him to the High-King. The mention of Freygils and Arran did not upset or surprise anyone, with the mention of Kenna’s name what disgusted those around her at the honour done to her.

  An honour of course that, many of those from Glasvhail felt that Kenna had no right to revel in. There were not only her usual enemies that were aghast, but also to her great hurt Ida who spoke out against it.

  “We shan’t let Kenna participate, for she still requires an agreed upon punishment for her previous actions,” Ida said though her words were spoken mildly they were not received as such by some.

  “When we wish for the opinion of Freygils, we shall ask you Ida,” Salmon grumbled ere he spoke out over all the protesting voices and outraged ones of Ida’s family, “What we require are agreed upon representatives.”

  “We all agree then that Kenna shall not appear,” Elspet snapped sharply.

  “I say she shall, as will the Gormcruach,” Helga snapped back at once, astonishing all around her with not only the force of her words but the menacing one behind them.

  What followed was an exchange of awkward stares, between all the people around and before her. Kenna herself exchanged one with the Salmon’s daughter Mairead, who appeared as embarrassed as she was.

  Most then looked over to Arran, for clarification or out of trepidation. The sell-sword sighed, looking to all those observing him suddenly very weary at that moment.

  “I have a suggestion,” He said at last keen to quell the petty quarrels that always divided the people of Glasvhail as of late. “We Gormcruach shall send three representatives; Thormvrain, Kenna and myself.”

  “You shan’t be serious!” Thormvrain barked at once, “She let loose our prisoner!”

  “It is my decision Thormvrain,” Arran snapped impatiently which made the Dwarf subside, while Kenna gaped at the old man. “It shall pass thusly; I shall adopt Kenna into our brotherhood as though she were my own. As to you Glasvhail-folks you shall elect two representatives to accompany Freygils.”

  This compromise was not particularly subtle, yet it did serve to appease many elements within the remnants of the village from the south.

  In the end, there were indeed three representatives chosen by the people of Glasvhail, and they did not please Kenna’s opponents though it certainly amused her to find that Solamh and Salmon were elected. The former was a surprise to none who had been present to see, how he had rallied many of the young men of Glasvhail and how keen he was for action against Badrách. It was Salmon though who argued the most eloquently for his addition, added by those who felt his age to have given him a certain wisdom. They also trusted him, to be frank and to best represent the interests of the fishermen and shepherds, as he was one of them and had family who were both.

  Kenna for her part was unsure of the wisdom of the selection by her fellow people of Glasvhail, yet nonetheless felt confident that they had done, as they felt best. She did not miss the glare that Elspet was to send in her direction for which the seamstress had only pity in her heart, for her. To be so consumed by envy as to lose sight of what and who a person was, was almost all too much for her.

  She only hoped that what some of the merchants who love MacDuibh or Brittia tended to say about the High King was naught but falsehoods.

  *****

  She could not have known that the High-King was equally anxious over this meeting if for reasons quite different from her own. He was keen to avoid war if he could, and was deeply angered at the depredations of Badrách and his breaking of the law. No robber-baron monarch, Mael-Bethad was a king of a considerably different mould from that of MacDuibh, Crinen or even his cousin Malmartin.

  Receiving the representatives of the village and sell-swords in his palace at the summit of the promontory, the High-King was seated upon his magnificent throne. The hall dated back to the age of Cináed built with the assistance of Dwarves, who had arranged for the fifty-meter high and as long and wide palace, with its twelve storeys intended to be defensible as well as magnificent. The gates were made of solid Dwarfsteel, mined from deep within the Highlands and crafted into perfect shape by Dwarves. A gift to the first High-King, they were decorated with bright emeralds that scintillated as brightly now as they did in Cináed’s age. Shaped into that of a thistle, they had been embedded into the gates by Siomon, himself.

  The dark gates opened and closed behind them, with the guards escorting them hardly paying any attention to the beauty of the gates, so accustomed had they become to them.

  From there they traversed a long hallway fifty-five meters long with the walls and floor made from marble. There was something almost religious and sacrosanct about both, with Kenna who had only observed this palace from a distance upon her previous visit as awed as the rest of those around her.

  Even Arran and Salmon, who had seen far more than their companions ever had, were struck and amazed by all that they beheld. The two of them were to lose themselves in the grandeur of the ceiling high above them, notably as they had magnificent images of bright green-thistles and of Columban. Columban was the great paragon who had brought with him, from the isle of Sistine, the blessed white-isle in the west of Caledonia and all the way to Sgain. A wise man, who brought with him wisdom and goodness, healing the sick and dying as he went, and casting out evil spirits and even crowning several of the kings of the land. He had long since become a figure of legend, for most Caleds so that his image of a bald old man with a hook-nose, long-fingers holding to his chest a copy of the Canticle and enrobed in white robes was one, they all knew intimately well.

  Seated at the top of twenty large steps each half a meter high, at the back of a magnificent hall, Mael-Bethad cut an impressive figure. Likely he would have done it, regardless if he was inside such a grand hall with large windows to one side- that facing the sea, with images of thistles and lilies decorating the floor and walls. The floor had plush silk-red carpets with the lion of Caledonia stitched into it, leading up to the great staircase where the throne sat. The ceiling here, was filled with images of lion, thistle and of Columban the Paragon.

  As to the High-King and his bride, they were a handsome pair. The former was blonde, with a remarkable if short beard, his eyes were dark-blue with some silver flitted into them. His hands had long fingers, which wore but three rings, namely his right-index finger, his third finger and his left hand’s third finger. Two of the rings were golden, where the third one, upon his left-hand was a red-wood looking ring with the knots of ériu and a bright ruby affixed atop it. This was the ‘Ring of Marthe’ passed down from her, to all of her descendants. His hands and wrists were covered in hair that went up all the way into his tunic sleeves hinting that he was as hairy as he was kingly. His clothes were made of rougher linen than any of them might have expected, and were dyed scarlet with his boots made of deer-skin and his cloak though made of crimson wool with the lion of the Caleds upon it. The cloak was maintained together with a gold-chain topped by a thistle-brooch with an emerald engraved into the center of the brooch. As to his curls they were dark and sitting atop them was the crown of Causantín.

  The crown’s history dated back to that king yet had been re-forged in Siomon’s time due to being damaged betwixt his sire and his own reign. So that the crown was made of gold, lined with large rubies, and the peaks shaped into thistles that had emeralds engraved into them.

  The Queen Gruach was the one who wore finery to contrast with the simplicity offered by her husband, wearing bracelets and four ringers upon each of her shorter-fingers. Her hair was dark considerably more so than her spouse, she had herself storm-coloured eyes, full lips and the sort of short-heighted figure that had once made her rather popular with men. It was for Gruach that much northern Highlander blood had been shed, and she who in girlhood had captured the High-King’s heart. Atop her thick mess of braids which had two of them snaking downwards over either side of the front of her figure and kept together by velvet bits of cloth, Gruach wore her own crown. The Queen’s crown had its own thistles that topped it; between every thistle was a lily, so that though her crown was smaller, it stood out more with its emeralds, shape and rubies. Her dress which complimented her figure was of vivid green silk, with the dress one that Kenna recognized at once.

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  She had woven it.

  “The representatives of the people of Glasvhail, your Grace,” Announced abbot Iomhar in a clear even friendly voice, with a reassuring glance behind him.

  Each of the peasants behind him was too awe-struck to speak. Or in the case of Solamh, he even stumbled much to his shame.

  Somehow though they managed to reach the staircase, which led to the two thrones, both made of marble and shaped with magnificent care, with Kenna struck by how both were crafted into the shapes of thistles. A symbol that they had long since become accustomed to, though the King’s throne she saw when he arose from it had the symbol of a lion crafted into its back. Later she was to notice when the Queen arose, hers had a unicorn crafted into it in turn. The Unicorn was an animal that was special to Gruach.

  The first thing Kenna took notice of was how the dress appeared to be tighter around her waist than originally intended. It was evident that she was indeed as rumoured, with child. The next thing she took notice of was the absence of the children.

  If they were any other people they might well have knelt before their King and Queen. But they were Caleds. And Caleds do not kneel.

  Nor did their High-King expect them to.

  The moment Mael-Bethad stood all attention was drawn to him.

  “My people,” He said with visible warmth and sincerity, two sentiments they had not expected to see in their monarch. His eyes shifted from one person to the next, “You stand here before me to tell me your tale. I have been told by Iomhar that it would be of some interest to me.”

  Having never before seen or stood within the halls of the monarch of Caledonia, Arran took a moment to swallow ere he addressed the monarch’s request. Glancing at the abbot, he said in a respectful tone, “Surely Your Grace that you have already heard our tale.”

  “Aye, but we would like to hear the tale from your lips, regardless of what the good abbot has told us,” Gruach informed him her voice lilting and pretty as Mael-Bethad’s was deep.

  But the tale-telling was interrupted before it could properly begin, by the High-King himself who pointed at Arran, waving his finger several times in the air. “You… I know you… where have I met you?”

  Arran hesitating averted his eyes, to the amusement of his companions and amazement of most of them. His shy response did not surprise Kenna. She had suspected that he had this side to him, buried beneath his gruff nature.

  Arran swallowed now himself, only to cough and admit in a voice that cracked a little, “A-aye, we have met… long ago, though I do not know if you would remember it. It was back during the battle of Daertean when you at last slew that knave Donnchad. From the isles in the west, to the blood-splattered emerald forests in the east, from the blue Wend in the north to the red Forth in the south, all worthy men arose with silver-steel in hand. All good and vile ones arose in rebellion against the poison-king, out of hope for what only you could offer us; a better life.”

  It was a powerful speech, one that he uttered from the very core of his being.

  Mael-Bethad was surprised by the answer and was at a loss for words. Smiling beatifically from where she sat, the Queen directed a triumphant, loving look towards her husband. It was a smile full of victory as though she had always known the truth, uttered by the chief of the Gormcruach.

  “Such manly words, such powerful sentiments though I must ask if they are sincerely spoken, why did you break our land’s peace, why did you seize Tormod? Tormod Macáed whom I consider as near and dear, my own brother?” The High-King demanded a hint of fury in his voice when he spoke to the chieftain of the sell-sword company.

  “With respect sire,” Thormvrain intervened though not rudely so, drawing the ire of the monarch upon his own person, “We did this only to rescue the lady Kenna whom Tormod had seized. He wished to induce her to marry him, and she had no wish to tie her fate to his.”

  This drew an arched brow from the High-King, who motioned for them to go on, while saying, “Mayhaps you had best begin at the start of your tale.”

  “Certainly, Your Grace,” Salmon said in a honeyed tone that did not belong coming from his lips, speaking only when he saw how the rest of them stumbled for words.

  *****

  They did so. When they finished their tale, they were ordered back to their encampment. They were assured that the High-King would have them attend him the following day.

  Upon their return many treated them as returning heroes. There were thousands of questions that fell from the lips of all those around them.

  Some such as Salmon, Arran and Thormvrain were at once turned into folk-heroes. Others such as Kenna, Freygils and Solamh who had not spoken at all were to prefer to fade into the background. Embarrassed at their own failures to speak or make much of an impression upon their beloved monarchs.

  Boasting at some length, the old men regaled the young in the hearing they had received from the High-King.

  It was the next day that the High-King’s herald, the younger brother of the laird of Rítìruath a noble with dark-hair, fair skin and a thick beard came to recollect them.

  Hitherto silent, Helga who had eaten some trout with Kenna, leapt up at once, “Oh let me come with you, please Kenna!”

  “Helga! How can you ask such a thing of the lady Kenna? It is not as though she could request to bring people as she wishes, into the High-King’s presence!” Doada objected at once, outraged by the request of her little sister.

  “But I wish to meet the king, and hear with my own ears his condemning that monster Badrách!” Helga retorted at once, with equal vigour and passion, trembling with the force of her emotions.

  Sympathetic, Kenna had intended to refuse but seeing just how torn her friend was, by the idea of not seeing or hearing the order for her father’s killer to be brought to justice.

  “Oh very well, but do try to comport yourself, Helga,” Kenna murmured with a sigh.

  “You should not spoil her so,” Doada reprimanded.

  Kenna opened her mouth to reply, but was interrupted by one of the Gormcruach, Pàdair the Tigrun bellowing from behind them. “Look! West! Thereupon the standards, the Hatchet approaches!”

  Startled by this exclamation on the part of the cat-man, they all arose to their feet to stare in shock as three score men approached from the west at great speeds. Their chargers billowing and grunting as they carried the noble and his guards across the plains of the Forth hither to the city of Sgain, to the amazement of all.

  *****

  áed was presented alongside them before the High-King. At present they were not in the palace of the kings, but in the city. Just outside the largest forge that Kenna had ever seen in all her life, one which was long as a long-house at twenty-two meters long and six wide, with three entrances to it.

  Built of wood, with a mud-wood made roof and multiple forges and bellows, there were a number of men, Dwarves and several (to the horror of those from Glasvhail) Bairazes all hard at work. Hammering away at the iron in the shop by the sea in the village just outside the upper-city’s gates, this forge was filled to the brim with two score men running to and fro.

  They raced thither up the hill or into the village or raced hither, back from errands elsewhere. Located at the foot of the hill, the forge was tucked away from the market-square, and was apparently an important part of the village.

  In the midst of testing the weight of a bright-steel sword Mael-Bethad weighed it in each hand. Standing outside of it before a table of oak-wood, where there was a collection of steel-swords, hatchets, spears and projectiles. It was evident that he was in the midst, of building his arsenal for what was to come, the table was five meters long and one meter wide, built of stout red-wood and was still receiving newly forged weapons at a stunningly rapid-pace. Most of the weapons currently at hand, as he was to later reveal were merely recasts, older weapons stored away, with the intent being to forge new ones.

  There was another area nearby where hauberks, ring-mail and helms were being gathered.

  “Milord, it is an outrage and an insult to my honour, and that of my house that the criminals who captured my son and granddaughter are allowed at all into your presence!” áed was bellowing at the monarch, red-faced he trembled visibly with the force of his rage.

  A stout man, of middling height at best at about five-feet five, with a broad, muscular build it was not hard to see how he had become such a feared man. His passions tempestuous and fearsome, his accent strangely Highlander in nature, ringing thicker than that of Kenna’s own in recent weeks, his snow-white hair was long, down to mid-back. áed’s beard though was down to his upper-chest and braided in twin braids.

  Dressed in scarlet wool rougher than that of the monarch’s, his livery and tunic bore the crossed blood-red hatchets, with his green wool tunic bearing the same emblem, with it bearing wolf-fur trimmings. áed with his cyan-coloured gaze so similar to that of Tormod was a remarkable man, this anyone could see and one not to be crossed Kenna thought from the first moment she laid eyes upon him.

  “And here they are the criminals! Which of you is the slattern Kenna who seduced my beloved Tormod, ere she stole him away along with my beloved Rhona?” áed roared when he noticed their arrival after Arran had cleared his throat.

  He sifted through them one by one with his gaze, until at last his gaze fell upon Kenna.

  Hearing Helga whimper a little, and squirm, Kenna noticed out of the corner of her eyes the lass move to hide behind her, this made her spine stiffen ever so slightly. Afraid herself, and rather attached to her honour, meagre and small in stature as it was just as she refused to ever hear any speak ill of her work, she could feel her temper rise.

  The manner with which he spoke of her, and also Tormod though not directly insulting towards the noble warrior of Nordleia outraged the seamstress.

  “Ah so you are the one,” áed sneered when he realized seconds after his previous remark and Helga had hidden behind her, who she was. “Frankly, I had expected a beautiful woman more in the mould of our Queen, or of the lady Andromache rather than this pitiful creature.”

  Her temper flared, and though she was to later rue her own loss of temper, Kenna snapped back with equal fury to his own. “I’faith, we have by this time released Tormod and Rhona! I may not have half so much the honour or the mighty ancestors that one such as yourself, but I will not stand here and be insulted so!”

  “So the lass, has a tongue does she?” áed grunted back, full of menace, “And what say you lass, to the notion of injustices going unpunished? I buried one son never to punish his murderer, and now you would have me endure a similar shame once again?”

  “áed, mind your tongue,” Mael-Bethad ordered quietly, laying the sword back down upon the table he turned now to those around him. Dressed in a green tunic and trousers, to-day he had also forgone his cloak and crown. His long curly hair billowed in the cold north wind that made more than one person shiver, in spite of the warmth provided by the hot-bellows a short distance from them. Sensing the objection that was sure to come, from his vassal he laid out his decree, “áed, I invited the lady Kenna as I did the rest of those with her. It seems to me the Gormcruach are all the guiltier of the crime you profess her to have committed.”

  “What proof do you have of this?” the laird of Nordleia retorted red-faced, his high-cheekbones accentuated far more so due to their shift in colouration.

  It was now that Arran who had previously appeared to hesitate, stepped forward. A great deal taller than áed, so that he made him appear as a child in comparison to him, the Highlander addressed the Lowlander coolly. “You have our word that, she knew not of the crime which I myself was the most culpable of.”

  “You- but you are-” áed puffed out, his barrel-chest rising as it soon became as crimson as his face otherwise was.

  The great blood-red dye of his prominent brow and cheeks were as nothing compared to the red-eyed fury that lay within his liege’s gaze, next he spoke. “I will have no further outbursts áed, I intend to punish those who have deigned to upset the peace of the realm and who besmirched the high-honour of your house.”

  “This is hardly appeasing enough, I wish for them to be punished at once,” áed continued to complain visibly upset, “I did not dispatch my sons to alleviate the siege of Nordleia and come hither for meaningless assurances. I demand action!”

  “áed, do you demand such from your friend, or from your king?” the next who spoke was Ruiseart the High-King’s herald, a stout man also one of dark hair with muscled arms, with his hands infamous for rushing in fits of temper to the pommel of his sword.

  Chastened the laird opened his mouth, thought better of it and closed it once more. Visibly ashamed of his own poor comportment, he ducked his head. When next his gaze arose, it was to still on occasion meet that of Kenna’s wherefore it pierced through her own but otherwise he was to never again that day object to his liege’s words or decisions. Swift-tempered as a bulldog, he was nonetheless a man who could never openly question his liege.

  Not that this meant he much liked Kenna.

  “I would ask of you, áed any news from Raghnall or MacDuibh?” Mael-Bethad asked of his vassal, who hesitated ere he answered.

  “None from either, though rumour has it that Raghnall has sent his man Artuir of Rosvaine on to attack castle Dubcloch.” áed informed the High-King who pleased by the news ordered him to send men to see if this was indeed the case.

  It was evident that the High-King intended to take to the field the only question was which direction; west or south.

  “Where do you intend to strike at first yourself, Your Grace?” Solamh inquired eagerly of their monarch only to shrink a little back when áed and the herald, along with the High-King’s guards who stood to one side testing some of the swords glared at him.

  Contrary to his nobles and his guards who took umbrage, at a mere peasant asking such a blunt question of the King, Mael-Bethad replied with nary any suspicion on his face towards the youth. “West, lad, we must retake the midlands ere we will strike south to dispense justice.”

  “Very good, my liege,” Freygils thanked him at once, moved by his guarantee of justice, “You are most kind not to demand payment for justice, and to see to the punishing of the murderous Badrách.”

  Kenna approved of those words, which were echoed by all of them, the Salmon included. What amused her most was the surprise with which the High-King greeted those words, saying, “Why do you thank me? It is natural, for me to defend my people.”

  It was as simple as that. His philosophy was almost as simple in spirit, as Cormac could be.

  They were dismissed once more; this time when they left they were full of chatter with Freygils praising his son for his outspoken ways. Proud that he had had the courage, to ask what he had, while Helga praised the High-King.

  “I had had my doubts, about him,” She murmured excitedly, “He is nothing like what I imagined!”

  “Why is that lassie? What did you imagine?” Kenna wondered with a small smile, as they left the village behind them.

  “Someone sly as Trygve, or vain as Daegan,” Helga answered at once without thought, “But he is more akin to Cormac and Indulf; as thoughtful as the latter, and simple and wise as the former.”

  Her words chilled Kenna’s good mood. It cooled her cheer and made her no longer keen for the lass’ company.

  “Mayhaps, if such is the case Trygve and Dae are not as you imagine either,” She told the lass icily shrugging her arm free of Helga’s grasp she hurried thither to join Arran. Leaving the lass behind her, to ponder her words, it was perhaps a cruel thing to do but it was necessary. The daughter of Conn, needed to learn that there was more to Trygve and Daegan, than what she believed there to be.

  *****

  It was another two days ere the King’s forces were assembled. From hill to hill, from the southern Highland mountains in the north to the Misty-Straits in the east to the Firth of the Thern, men were called hither from their homes. From the city of Farraobh in the east, along the borders with Gratnach to Sgain in the west, the hardiest of men were summoned to defend their land and king. Three score hundred men surged forth from all the corners of these lands, to take up steel and hauberk in the name of Caledonia.

  Blue-steel held aloft the bravest of the lands of Sgain thus lit up all the royal-lands with the reflected fiery light, of the suns. Thus it was that it appeared as though the whole of these lands were ablaze.

  As they moved through the lands many a hearts fell, amongst those not yet aware that civil strife had once again snuck upon the land of the Caleds. Other hearts, those of they who were familiar by this time with the knowledge of the war that menaced them all, were filled with brimful hope. Surely, many spake to one another, there were no men, not of Caledonia, nor even of Brittia or all of North-Agenor could possibly defy such a force.

  Hearts dyed with all the crimson colours of valour, the Gormcruach were chief among the Caleds who looked forward to the mighty deeds that lay ahead. They, the High-King’s huscarls and to the surprise of many, his Norléanian guards were already at hand.

  These last guards, who numbered five hundred fearless souls, recruited from the choicest places where the flower of chivalry flowers in Norléans, were the most formidable of the assembled warriors. Or so spoke those who beheld, the knights who surged forth from north of the city, with their mighty steeds that tore through the air as mightily as might drakes.

  Graceful as only griffons could be, these chargers were of all the colours that horses bred for war could be; dark as night, brown as the earth, white as the robes of the pure-born Golden Goddess were said to be.

  These knights wore upon their livery, their tabards and great high-shields the colours of their houses, or those of their original barons and counts.

  They included the houses of Lyoneur, Yvongarde, Cafardeux, Brisors and of course that most respected and formidable of houses, the Grandemonte. Lyoneur’s green lion which had twin swords crossed just below it, inspired respect for this Norléanian branch of the clan that had achieved much in Lyonesse. Yvongarde had a four pointed star, just above a tower both coloured gold upon crimson, then there was Cafardeux. They had for their part bolt-shaped blades crossed with one another over a grey background; the family had a reputation for gloominess that had its roots in the castle overlooking ‘Kingbreaker Bay’ or as the Gallians called it ‘Baye Roi-Briseur’.

  Brisors were from the same region and had a broken crown just below a seven-pointed equally golden star, with the background being blue. As to Grandemonte they had a rather simple blue shield with top-right to bottom left running green and white set of square lines for a family-symbol.

  The Lyoneur knight-commanders were Léon Bec-Nez (eagle-nose), Gilbert Gant-Gris (grey-glove) and Gratien Front-Haut (High-brow) on account of his prominent forehead and great height. For Gratien was no less than six foot four in height, and was as mighty in arms as he was tall.

  The two commanders of the Yvongarde men were the brothers Yves and Humbert Tête-Casseur (skull-breaker), the latter had derived his name from his war-hammer he had used since the battle of Follarin. At that battle he had shattered the skull of the third prince of Folkmaringie, twenty-two years ago, with this blow having it was said won for King Clovis the crown of Folkmaringie.

  The single commander of the Cafardeux forces was Isidore le Jovial, a gloomy dark-haired man called the ‘cheerful’ by his fellow knights in sarcastic mockery of his nature. He was the most formidable of the knights after the two commanders of the Grandemonte forces.

  Though young, he was however a lord’s son, the third actually and had exiled himself from his homeland for reasons that remained a mystery to all save those who knew him best. Brisors’ three commanders for their part were Jordan Rive-Croiseur (river-crosser), this nickname given for his having been the first across a river in several battles in Norléans. The other two Brisors’ were his adult nephews Josué and Jules la Dame or ‘Maiden’. This title was a mocking one due to his muscular, manly figure that was one of the more masculine ones.

  Lastly there were the brothers Cilian and Léonce Grandemonte, both were mischievous bombastic men, the tallest of all the Norléanians at six foot five and six-foot six respectively, both with a shock of blonde hair, thick beards and arms mightier than most of the knights.

  Always first in battle, and last to leave it, they were courageous, mighty warriors and as eighth and tenth sons they could not inherit the castle of Grandemonte (a tiny holdfast by nature) they had left for Caledonia. It was there that they had achieved high-stations and become chief amongst all of the knights in service of Mael-Bethad.

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