The village of Bhaldthorpe had a population of six hundred people, with the castle of the laird not far off. But a few hours east, the keep was a dark fort with a population itself of nigh on four hundred souls itself, with five meter high walls, three feet thick and with the main dungeon and parapets each one hundred and ten meters high.

  It was a source of hope for the local people who lived in wattle huts and in the case of the wealthier merchants two storey sycamore and pine wood houses. In all it was a prosperous town that had not seen violence in nearly eight years, since the High-King Donnchad had stormed through the region with his armies, when the local people had been unable to pay taxes.

  Staved off by the local laird, who had ushered his people behind the walls, and fought off the king at the cost of his and his younger brothers’ lives, the family had won the love of the local people.

  A descendant of the ancient High-King of the Pechs, the present laird was the son of the man who died five years ago, Muireadhach. His ancestor was King Gartnait II, a man renowned for his valour and his majesty, responsible for having fought back three successful invasions from the south, he was well-remembered in song and the monkish records of Ríocht-Riada.

  With his descendant a man carved in his image, or so it appeared to all who beheld him. Wise in spite of his youth, he it was that the village sought to consult with in the hopes to rid them of the newcomers by the end of the week-long sojourn of the strangers in their lands.

  Requested to leave, the people of Glasvhail resisted even Arran’s efforts to move them, with Kenna convinced that short of Badrách or áed arriving with their armies they would not move for all the wealth and threats in the world. Frightened of the shadow that had ridden out against them, they soon fell sway to Elspet’s entreaties to stay.

  The laird’s wife invited representatives of the village to explain their case, and some from the people of Glasvail, it happened that Kenna should have been nominated to argue the case. But in place of her, the village elected Freygil the honour. The orders that came from the wife in question were due to the laird’s wife, the lady Buaidheach having been entrusted with command by her husband in h is absence.

  Only Eachann the second of their sons agreed to venture thither to Bj?rndun with him, promising his mother as he left with his father, “I shall ensure that father stays safe,” He then whispered in her ear, “And that he does not change his mind once more.”

  Reassured, Ida gave her blessings to her son, where she denied a similar blessing to her husband. As did her eldest son, Solamh who was to refuse to see them off, preferring to once again spend time with Cailean and other Gormcruach, who had taken in recent days to teaching him how to wield a sword.

  Leaving for the better part of the day, it was not from the north-east that news came from, but rather from two places; the village and the south west.

  The first news arrived later in the day just as the camp had moved closer to the Red-Hill in the hopes to give ground in some way to the local village. A decision that was wildly unpopular with Elspet keen to accuse Kenna of tyranny and only wishing to serve her own interests. An accusation she ignored as best she could.

  “Reason has long since departed it seems,” Ida grumbled bitterly, as loyal as ever.

  “They are grieving,” Kenna defended with her head bowed at the multitude of complaints at this and the order to ration their food and coin.

  “As are we all, and we shepherds are also rapidly running out of sheep, as we keep slaughtering them for food, Kenna I will soon be broke. As will all of us shepherds.” Ida warned pointing to her flock with her crook, at the few remaining sheep that were grazing. She had originally started with a large herd of some hundred sheep, only to now be reduced to barely two dozen at best as far as Kenna could see.

  This was catastrophic, with the seamstress unable to imagine how the shepherds who had accompanied the host of Glasvhail north could possibly hope to survive the winter. In the midst of worrying over this, Solamh, who had ventured off east to the village to see about exchanging some of his personal belongings in return for food, arrived in all haste.

  Running through the encampment crying out for Kenna, he was soon brought before her with a large crowd gathering all around them.

  As he panted, Kenna ordered to one of the other women, “Fetch him some milk or wine!”

  Once this was supplied to the young man, and he had quenched his thirst, he was to pant out breathlessly with quite a few people leaning forward to hear him, so quietly did his voice leave him. “Murder! Murder in Bhaldthorpe!”

  “Who was murdered?” Kenna asked of him, dreading the worst.

  “The druid of Orcus! The very same man who interred our dead and showed us so much kindliness,” Solamh revealed after another large gulp of milk, ere he went on with much distress. “It was done at night, when none were present and it was said that there was a feeling of dread that overtook those who departed from the temple, shortly after dusk had fallen. The druid had stayed in the main temple to see to some last prayers, and the doors were never opened but he was found slain over the altar!”

  Shaken, there was no doubt in Kenna’s mind to who the culprit was. There were several accusatory glances cast in her direction, along with a few murmurs.

  “How terrible,” Helga gasped from where she stood next to the seamstress, “Who will see to his interment?”

  “Several of the novices who served with him, as far as I understand,” Solamh answered distractedly.

  “Enough of that muttering, from ye all,” Salmon growled at those who had gathered. “Ye dishonour our fair headwoman, the druid and most of all yourselves in the eyes of the gods with such unclean behaviour.”

  This quieted a great many, some still lingered looking rather resentful but most appeared sheepish or ashamed as they began to drift away.

  There were a few doubters who turned now to Kenna for leadership, with the most notable being Gregor, the brother of Freygil who asked of her, “What shall we do? You were right headwoman, we must depart this accursed place.”

  “I agree,” Bhàtair, the husband of Doada added at once, ordinarily one of those who could not quite decide if he was with Kenna or against her. “This land appears cursed to me, if only my good-mother could have been buried in a finer place such as Sgain.”

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  “Mayhap, we could request permission to disinter her and re-inter her there?” Ida proposed genially, hopeful to restore some good relations between everyone.

  There were murmurs now to this effect, most positive with only Bhàtair growling against the suggestion so that he soon stood alone. Most had no wish for their wives, mothers, daughters or sons to be buried upon desecrated land.

  Humming a little to herself, Kenna took her time to decide what to do next. Opting to invite all the people including some of the local village if they so wished, to the next Glasvhail council meeting. This event took place upon the same day with it being one of the most hurriedly put together meetings, with the local mayor arriving reluctantly along with several wealthy merchants.

  It was at this council that she presented her case to the people, pressing for them to depart at once, saying to all gathered in the plains near the Thistle-Road. “My friends and fellow people, and Gormcruach and good people of Bhaldthorpe, I greet you well. I think it high-time we of Glasvhail continue north as there has been some sort of blight upon this place since our arrival here. Quite why, is a mystery to us, and I urge that we continue northwards lest we bring down more misery upon the people of Bhaldthorpe, or them us.”

  “Are you accusing us, of some great wrong that has brought down such a curse?” The mayor demanded purpling with rage.

  “Calm yourself fool!” Tormod bellowed leaping to his feet from where he was seated in chains to the left of Kenna, whom he had insisted that he must sit near, much to the anger of Arran at the time when he had claimed the seat. “She made no such implication, though I will say it is so, given how since we scaled the Red Hill we have been blighted, and there has been tragedy after tragedy that has overtaken this land!”

  His wroth was such that all calmed themselves, and shrunk away. All save the Salmon and the Gormcruach. Many of the blue-steels glanced towards their chieftain uncertainly, but he merely shook his head subtly at them without Kenna taking notice. He would not have Tormod punished for having assisted them, though he was quite bewildered himself by this sudden, comportment on the part of the nobleman.

  Dressed in a woollen tunic, trousers and deer-skin boots, all given over to him by Solamh, Tormod was nonetheless an imposing, noble figure. His regal bearing hinted at the royal blood that coursed through his veins, as surely as it did the local laird. With many of the people whether they knew it or not, to treat him with far more respect henceforth, if only due to this one great moment in time, when he stood up for one of their number.

  “Wh-who are you?” Asked one of the merchants for his friend the mayor, visibly affected by the regal bearing of the prisoner.

  “I am Tormod Macáed,” The man in question answered head held high, only to disdainfully rattle his chains a little, “Though I may not look it. I was unjustly at my wedding, taken prisoners by Arran’s rogues.”

  Kenna coloured a little at his explanation and worried about how his words might be taken, it was evident to her now that allowing him to speak was a mistake. His proclamation she knew, could only mean that the locals of Bj?rndun would soon turn upon them in the hopes to free the airy-natured nobleman.

  The locals stared at him, wherefore the eternally relaxed son of áed smiled at them with the quiet confidence he always appeared to possess, regardless of the Gormcruach behind him. The sell-swords were visibly agitated by his words, aware of how events might soon go badly for them.

  “Stolen away during a marriage? What do you mean laird Tormod?” One merchant asked of the noble in a hard tone.

  “Exactly that, I will be the first to admit though that the plight of the people of Glasvhail is sincere.” Tormod replied with a small smile towards the seamstress who remained seated, stunned and baffled by his reasoning for his actions. “I am a prisoner, but I can assure ye that they are in no way an impious or unfaithful people, they have promised that they shall soon release me.”

  This was evidently a bid to secure for himself his freedom. Sly as a fox, he had in one gesture helped them and gotten his freedom.

  While others such as Arran and Thormvrain became red-faced at his proclamation, same as Solamh and Eachann. All of them enraged at this ploy on the part of áed’s son, at the same time that a great many others appeared utterly stunned that they had been utterly out-flanked.

  For her own part, Kenna could not help but admire his cunning, though she was of course disapproving of his actions she could not help but realize that he had cornered his captors. They had not sworn any such oath, but if they did not abide by it, they would be shunned throughout the land of the Caleds.

  *****

  The second news that made its way to their ears arrived via a southron messenger from the land of áed the Hatchet. Arriving the following day to the large meeting, the messenger did not at first make his way towards them but was captured by several of Arran’s scouts led by Thormvrain. With the man knocked off his horse, mid-gallop by them via a stone thrown at his side through the use of a sling, by the ferocious Dwarf.

  Seized along with his horse, he was soon dragged hither to face the sell-sword chieftain who then informed Kenna and the rest of the heads of the Glasvhail people. In the middle of negotiating for food, with some of the last material belongings of the fugitives and their last bit of coin, Kenna was enormously irritated by his actions.

  “I really shan’t believe he did such a thing!” She hissed to herself, pulled away by Solamh who had assented to act as messenger, for the Gormcruach.

  “What other choice did we have? We must scout the vicinity of the encampment,” Solamh justified defensively.

  Eyeing him crossly, Kenna had a mind to scold him for his newfound friendship with Arran and his sell-swords, but thought better of it. He had supported her since the forest, and she needed all the help she could possibly find. What was more, was that she was beginning to learn that young men must make their own mistakes, must do what they felt best rather than being told what to do, or what not to do.

  The Gormcruach were encamped slightly apart as always, with some members staying with the Glasvhail, as in the case of say Cailean who had grown attached to Eillidh since her mother’s passing. The lass having rarely left her sisters’, Ida or Kenna’s sides, as they had all sworn to themselves to care for the poor lass since the loss of her last parent.

  Full of pity for her, Kenna was for the moment relieved that the Wolfram was currently taking care of her, and showing her how to better sew clothes. His own skill in that domain a surprise to her, though according to him the previous night when they had talked, he had learnt from sewing the wounds of his comrades closed.

  Arriving to find the battered messenger with his hands tied behind his back, and forced upon his knees with the edge of a sword pressed against the back of his neck. The blade was held by a brutish Tigrun by the name of Pàdair, one of Arran’s favourite sell-swords with this particular man one of the least friendly of all his company in Kenna’s experience.

  Seated before the man in question, Arran sat as lazily in his pine-wood chair just outside his tent as a king might have sat upon his throne. Normally an impassive man by nature, for the first time since she had met him, he wore a worried frown on his lips, visible also in his furrowed brow which he was rubbing with his left hand.

  Disgusted by the shabby treatment of the man in question, Kenna raised her stern gaze from the pleading man’s brown eyes, to meet the dark blue ones of Arran who sighed in exasperation. “Aye, he has been bruised and ill-used, such is the world we live in Kenna. But it is not for that reason I have called you hither, to hear his testimony.” He turned now to his newest prisoner, urging him with a hand. “Tell Kenna now, what you have told me.”

  The messenger eyed her with a weary gaze that filled her with pity. What squeezed her heart all the more with sympathy was the bruised left eye he had, along with the bruised jaw he sported. “I have been sent from Nordleia, in search for the laird áed.”

  “Why?”

  “Because, he has begun to advance from the western borders and I had thought he had reached north already. As he has heard that his son was captured by bandits disguised as fugitives, in the service of the laird Badrách.” At her stunned silence he went on, with a hardened gleam in his eyes, “Though she has closed the gates of Nordleia, the lady wife of Baltair the laird’s son has sent me north to entreat with her good-father and husband to turn southwards.”

  “Why?” The question felt torn from her lips.

  “Because, Badrách has invaded the lands of Nordleia,” The messenger from the south revealed quietly.

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