At the time of their arrival, ere the rest of the king’s hurried army had assembled; the fugitives had found themselves in the village for little more than half a week. This was thanks to Wulfnoth’s letter to the High-King from months ago, which had allowed him time to inform his many forces to remain prepared for a sudden war. Thus prepared, he had ere his arrival hither gone north to negotiate with Norwend and F?reyar, to secure their alliance against those who might threaten their lands.

  Still no answer had raced south from Thorsteinn Crow-Feeder, or Ronald III the Young. Long had they been neutral towards the High-King they owed nominal allegiance towards, and regarded each other with unmitigated hatred. Ever fearful of attack from one another, most assumed that they had not gone south for fear of the other raiding the others’ lands.

  “They shall not advance south, so long as the other remains there,” Arran predicted solemnly, the day after the knights had arrived, an event that had shocked him as much as the rest of his men.

  The people of Glasvhail had been as ignorant as those of Sgain, of the existence of knights in the lands of the Caleds. All of them marvelled though, at the speed with which the King’s call had been heeded, and the banners of all the lairds and clan-chiefs of the ancestral lands of the likes of Mael-Martin I and II, and Cináed II and III, and of Siomon. “For neither Thorsteinn nor Ronald, trust the other. Regardless how Mael-Bethad assures them, of the other’s trustworthy-nature.”

  “Why is that?” Helga asked him as they ate lamb-stew mixed with onions and salmon late the night the knights arrived.

  “Because, Norwend has not forgotten the massacres of Talamhearg and Cloglas, nor have they forgot how their kingdom once held the lands of F?reyar.” Arran explained to her, when she asked regarding the mentioned incidences, he elaborated. “I would prefer not to speak of them, for they are too terrible to tell. Simply put, the first was where all those who resided upon the isle of Talamhearg were slaughtered. The second was a battle near the hill of Cloglas, which saw a host of three thousand warriors of the lands north of the Wend laid low.”

  “How terrible,” Helga gasped covering her throat in a feminine gesture of shock.

  “War always is,” Thormvrain stated bluntly, tearing into some mutton that still remained upon some lamb-bone.

  *****

  It was the following day, which saw the first casualty in the war that had overtaken Caledonia; the fragile unity of Glasvhail. Prepared to depart whither for Denkuld, to strike at the hereditary-abbot Crinen lived. Father to the now deceased High-King Donnchad, he had gathered some fifteen hundred black-hearted warriors to his side thereupon the mount, which his abbey-castle was built. It was none other than this Mormaer and abbot (for he was both), who had risen against the rightful king, in the name of his son’s illegitimate son Mael-Martin.

  “Fare thee well people of Glasvhail, know that while you and yours may remain here or continue east, to Farraobh, it is not for my own glory or his own that áed venture forth to do battle.” Mael-Bethad told them earnestly, heart in his eyes when he shifted his gaze to his wife, who was visibly terrified for him.

  He opened his mouth to address Sgain now the High-King was once again destined though to be startled, just as áed was by Solamh. “Sire! Not all of Glasvhail shall wait for you here, or in Farraobh behind the walls!” Upon his feet in an instant, he was regarded with amazed eyes also by the people of Sgain and Glasvhail, along with those such as the knights and Gormcruach behind Mael-Bethad. “I shall stand with you Your Grace, just as Arran wishes to fight to gain himself and his men a new home. I wish to fight to reclaim my own, and that of my kith and kin!”

  “Solamh, nay! Stop,” Kenna hissed attempting to stop him, when she saw the distressed look in the lad’s parents’ eyes.

  “Nay! I am a Caled, and my fire-blood shall not simmer, nor does it call for me to be quiet but rather to fight for my King, for the lands of my ancestors and of all our people!” Solamh shouted back.

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  Taking a step back reflexively at his words, Kenna searched for words to counter his heated words.

  To her distress now, a cheer arose from Sgain. Soon from house to house, from gate to gate and from south to north came cheers from all about Solamh. It was a cry that enveloped all the land, until it appeared as though the whole of the earth might crack open such was the force of the passion of all those gathered.

  Such was the spirit of joy that enveloped all the people that it spread as fire might through a thicket of dry wood after months without rainwater. It hurled itself against the warriors behind Mael-Bethad, finding in their midst such support that they roared, stomped their feet or in the case of the knights and nobles astride their horses slammed their fists against their shields.

  Such was the enthusiasm for the noble spirit of Solamh that even áed the Hatchet and the herald Ruiseart, along with the lairds of Leolamh, Starrgarde and Rothglen who had one and, all answered the call cheered also.

  “Nay! I forbid it!” Freygils yelled throwing himself forward, to his son’s side, tears in his eyes, “You shan’t go! Please son, you cannot leave, I forbid it!”

  Solamh took umbrage with his father’s objection but was interrupted by Ida throwing herself against him, in a flurry of tears. He was sorely disappointed when the High-King attempted to demur from his offer of help.

  “Your sense of duty is noted lad,” Mael-Bethad began politely, “But we are not wholly certain of victory where I go. Where we have but our courage for assistance, our enemy have monsters and shadows to fight for them.”

  “I care not, and neither would any true man from Glasvhail! Such facts were not enough to frighten my brothers, and they are children in comparison to myself, therefore they do not frighten me!” Solamh said with his usual passion and determination, so that gone was the lad who had hesitated in the face of the Gormcruach.

  There was silence on the part of Glasvhail, save for a few muted cheers. Mael-Bethad sighed and nodded his head; it was with a grimace of regret in the direction of Freygils.

  “Will any others volunteer? I shall not refuse any other braves from your ranks?” He asked of his people with several score men-folk stepping forth to follow Solamh, from both the ranks of Glasvhail and mostly Sgain.

  The most surprising person to throw himself forward to fight for their king, was neither Eachann nor Freygils both whom left to support Solamh, but the Salmon.

  Forbidding his grandchildren and good-son, his candidacy surprised all and met with disapproval at once, with his kinsmen pleading with him to not do so. Yet he would not listen to them, “It is not for the young to sacrifice themselves for the old, but for we the elderly to sacrifice ourselves.”

  His bold sentiments made him a figure of mockery, save for Arran with a glance towards Ida and Kenna, who worried over Ida’s kinsmen, agreed to take him as a warrior.

  “Do not worry, I shall protect them,” He promised the women, with Ida in tears alongside her daughter Finella. The two of them most grievously stricken of all of the women-folk of Glasvhail and Sgain, thus they were to look to Arran with gratitude, for his kindly words.

  “Stay safe also,” Kenna told him, with heartfelt feeling.

  The smile he gave her was brilliant, his eyes glimmering similarly to how Cormac’s could.

  The departure of the royal-guards and forces, whither where the worst villain of Caledonia lived and throve for decades inspired fire in the hearts of all the men and lads who gazed upon them. Amongst the women-folk many felt much the same, but still others could only weep for fear of the losses they were certain to suffer.

  All that rang in the ears of those gathered there, as Mael-Bethad left after his final farewells with Gruach and galloped off was the song of the Gormcruach.

  “Hush, tush and do keep sleeping,

  Dreams guarded by bucklers ever glimmering,

  Thanks to blue steel glinting,

  Our clan-banners shall always as the peaks be looming

  High above the great mountain peaks,

  The wind icy and cold shrieks,

  As doves might the soaring eagles

  Seek them highly whitened peaks,

  To the green fields the sheep graze,

  Lands that gleam bay to bay,

  That the harvest never betrays,

  Where the suns’ always shine rays,

  Emerald-hills betwixt field and hill,

  By the Firth that batters the cliff,

  Sgain shines atop its emerald-hill,

  Exerting its kingly-will,

  Hush, tush and do keep sleeping,

  Dreams guarded by bucklers ever glimmering,

  Thanks to blue steel glinting,

  Our clan-banners shall always as the peaks be looming

  To the west-bays in the islands,

  Calling to the midlands as sirens,

  Glittering as the Highlands,

  Hereby the sea, suns rest on the horizons,

  By the Wend that nourishes lambs and wolves,

  Where strength still endures,

  Mighty as those of yore-years Elves,

  We clash by the shore as in the woods,

  Hush, tush and do keep sleeping,

  Dreams guarded by bucklers ever glimmering,

  Thanks to blue steel glinting,

  Our clan-banners shall always as the peaks be looming.”

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