Ibic

Ibic

The Chronicles of Guiamo Durmius Stolo

Book Seven

By Marshall W. Best

Copyright 2018 Marshall W. Best

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Ibic

Table of Contents

Chapter One 28 B.C.

Glossary

Chapter One 28 B.C.

"Hearts are not flint, and flints are rent;

Hearts are not steel, and steel is bent."

Rokeby, Sir Walter Scott

Winter passed in its typical way, snowy, cold and miserable. Springtime was showing its face with little reprieve, with day after day of chill, steady showers that flooded the fields and kept the pathways muddy quagmires. Guiamo had been out hunting the past three days in this downcast weather in the hopes of finding fresh venison or pig flesh for his family’s stew pot, but frustratingly had returned empty handed, completely drenched and shivering. He was totally worn out and decided that morning to sleep in for a change.

Buí nestled next to him, her growing belly pressed against his back, and she draped an affectionate arm over his side. He could feel the baby kicking, a few rapid pulses that he could detect in the small of his back. It was one of his favorite things, to feel the new life, his son or daughter who had only a few months until the great introduction into the world. The child was already as much a part of his family as any toddler and needed only time to grow, to ready itself for birth.

Ibic had been thrilled to learn he was going to have a baby brother or sister. Guiamo noted with satisfaction that since that day, his firstborn had not shown even the slightest hint of jealously.

Cathbad had once told him something that had really impressed itself upon him. He said that the mind of the unborn child was not an empty thing utterly devoid of thought. Certainly, he maintained, we could not expect the unborn to speak or reason, or even express itself in any meaningful way, but while the unborn child could not comprehend what was happening to it or why, it did receive what it experienced in life with a clarity of mind. Even though the eyes had not yet seen the world, the ears did hear sounds. The babe slept and awoke and listened and dreamed as any newborn in its mother’s arms.

Life to the unborn child, he explained, is like being inside a warm, comfortable bed. Childbirth comes and then the child is taken out of the bed. The ability to perceive sensations is the same, it is just that there are far more stimuli after birth. The experience of birth brought the child from an unborn state to a born state, but the child in the womb was every bit the same person who felt and experienced as much as the child suckling at her mother’s breast a few days later.

Cathbad had once told him that his earliest memory was that of being fed some particular food that tasted terrible. He must have been very young for his mother had first masticated the food for him. Although he had no way to express his revulsion for that flavor, the experience he felt at that moment was as vivid to him as for anything he experienced as an adult. He had no words, but even at that extreme young age, he knew with total clarity that he hated that food. He now knew they were the knobbly white carrots found across Íath that had been cooked in a stew. And he still hated them.

And so Cathbad came to conclude from this and other early childhood memories that even the youngest child felt intense dislike and sadness and shame and greed and delight, oftentimes with an intensity adults seldom experience so fully. Likewise, the youngest babe feels and experiences life though without the knowledge to understand, and in turn, even the unborn feel and experience in a similar fashion.

It was an intriguing thought, one he had never considered. As he lay in bed nestled against Bui, he wondered how his unborn child was experiencing life at that moment, whether he or she felt well and warm and comfortable, or if its muscles and bones ached from growth, or if it could tell from its tiny kicks that someone else was near.

A few moments later, Ibic wandered into their bedroom. He knelt beside their bedroll and asked, Mamma, may I feel the baby move again?

Buí rolled onto her back and adjusted the woolen blanket to expose her growing belly. He placed his hands on her stomach and waited patiently for an elbow or foot to move against him.

After a long pause, Ibic grew glum and said, I do not feel anything.

Buí caressed his hand and answered, The baby must be sleeping.

Babies sleep a lot, he observed.

Yes, they do, she answered and squeezed his hand affectionately.

Disappointed, Ibic removed his hands and sat back on his heels. He looked at Guiamo and asked, Can you take me riding today?

Absolutely, Guiamo answered. After breakfast. Which horse do you want to ride?

Feeling brave, Ibic shouted, Enbarr!

After sending Ibic out to play, Guiamo and Buí rose and dressed. As Buí began cooking an oat gruel, Guiamo went outside to spend time with his son. He found Ibic watching Enbarr grazing under a shade tree towering over the side of their house.

What a magnificent animal! Guiamo observed with pride.

He is the best! Ibic agreed.

He is fast, too, Guiamo added, faster than any horse in Inisfáil or Íath.

Ibic beamed with pride at his father’s truthful boast, and asked, Where did you get him?

A rich merchant named Glévezen over in Gallia gave him to me, Guiamo explained. Vlatucia too."

He considered for the briefest moment telling his son the story of how he had named the mare after Glévezen’s high-spirited daughter, but decided almost at once against it. He realized that whatever Ibic heard would likely be repeated and he didn’t want to give his wives any reason to think he was looking back with regret to some lost love.

To his relief, Ibic didn’t perceive anything might have been left unsaid and asked, Is it true what they say? That you can speak to animals?

Guiamo answered, Surely you have seen me whisper to Enbarr and Vlatucia from time to time.

Ibic nodded and asked, What did you tell them?

To keep you safe, Guiamo explained. When I put you on Vlatucia for the very first time, I instructed her to carry you around carefully so you would not be afraid. I speak to the horses to always carry you gently and safely and to obey you. Even now, they remember my instructions so I do not have to repeat myself.

Can you speak to all the animals?

No, just the beasts of war.

Why just war animals?

They answer to Lugh, the god of war, and it is he who gave me the ability to speak with them.

Do they talk back?

Some. Horses do not, but they obey what I tell them to do.

How smart are animals?

"Oh, about as much as you would expect. My cú, Fáil, and I talked a lot together. Draics are by far the most intelligent, but by nature, they are conniving schemers. While I have an accord with them to keep the peace, I never fully trust them. They can be deceitful creatures, and only by the power of Discernment given to me by Lugh can I force them to speak only the truth. Still, some are more forthright than others."

Will you teach me to talk with the animals?

He looked down at his son and smiled with approval. I do not know if it is even possible, but I promise you, if it can be done, I will teach you when you are ready for such responsibilities.

His answer was precisely what his son had hoped to hear and he smiled happily. From the enthusiastic gleam in Ibic’s eyes, Guiamo knew his son would one day hold him to his promise.

He watched his son turn his attention back to Enbarr. Despite the youngster’s abnormal physical traits, Ibic was as good a son as he could have ever hoped for and his keen mind was virtually exploding with curiosity. He would turn eight years old in the summertime and if Cathbad’s prediction was correct, Buí’s child would likely be born around the same time.

He paused to reflect on his own life. He was now forty-two years old and had two loving wives and this wonderful son of his own. He had found what he had longed for his entire life, a place where he fit in and was loved and appreciated.

His love for Ibic had always been intense, and he realized he hadn’t been much older when his aunt and uncle had abandoned him. It dawned on him how blessed Ibic was to have a father as caring as he tried to be, and what a blessing it was to himself that he had a son to share his life and love with.

His thoughts turned to his own childhood, and he remembered the heart-rending pain his aunt and uncle had so wantonly inflicted on him so many years before by shoving him roughly out of their cart and driving away forever. It dumbfounded him that someone could dispose of a child in such a cruel way. As he compared that traumatic childhood scene to the love he felt for Ibic, it shook him to his core what selfish, cold-hearted people Valerius and Namiotanca had been, even debating selling him into slavery. Their betrayal of their familial responsibilities for him as a child was more incomprehensible to him at that moment than ever before.

That wasn’t the only trauma he experienced, it was only the beginning. Not only had he been abandoned as a child in Gallia, he was later lost in the strange, wild land of Íath when Caesar ended his attempt to extend his influence into that island and returned home in shame. He had suffered years of warfare against the gods, draics, Luprech hounds and other Fomori beasts, and faced treachery, brutal injuries and false accusation. During those many uncertain and strife-filled years, he had endured numerous exceptionally difficult ordeals; ‘persevering through times of trouble’ as Cathbad had so eloquently described it, and his friend had praised him for coming through his trials with so unscathed a soul.

Yes, it had been difficult, at times exceedingly so, but at every obstacle and dilemma he had friends to help and guide him along the way. It almost seemed that they had been purposefully placed into his life for those very times and seasons.

And now, the land was finally at peace. He was pleased to know those challenging days were finally behind now. The tranquility Guiamo had long sought had come to him at last. Buí and Nás were content and happy. He was able to spend the time his family desired with him every morning and evening now and they were surrounded by many good friends. The lessons he had learned in his many extraordinary experiences in life along with the philosophies that guided him through them were shared during the daytime with the students at the Druí college. The rapt attention they gave to his lectures brought him a great deal of satisfaction and it pleased him that he was always treated with the highest regard. All was good.

And as the wintry months passed into spring and farmers began working the fields in the hopes of a good harvest, Guiamo’s thoughts were fixed on riding lessons and his second child’s coming birth, while Saturnus and Cermait schemed of war.

Throughout those bleak, cold months, Cermait had spent most of his time learning and practicing the dark arts Saturnus taught him. He found Saturnus’ instructions fascinating and he devoured his daily lessons. The god taught him many techniques he would never otherwise even have considered, and as time passed, his breadth of knowledge increased dramatically.

One afternoon brought a life-changing spark of inspiration. He realized that, in time, he would come to perform the charms and spells with a masterly skill far more precisely than Saturnus himself was able and with an intensity even more powerful than what the god himself could achieve. It was an astonishing insight. Their skills were nearly matched now and Saturnus had little more to teach him. Cermait determined to draw out every last fragment of knowledge from his mentor and then he could rule all Íath and Inisfáil without being beholden to him.

But even as his ambition grew stronger and stronger, it became painfully apparent that his body was growing weaker. As he considered his exceedingly gifted proficiency with casting Saturnus’ most powerful spells, he began to look beyond this mortal life. He knew that one day he would die and travel into the realm of the gods, and at the pace his body was failing him, he knew his time was short. Saturnus had once promised him godhood, but Cermait knew that simply being a god was no longer enough to satisfy him. It became clear that if he just had the time, he would become more powerful even than Saturnus. When the time came for his mighty soul to depart his enfeebled body, he intended to supplant the god and rule everything and everyone in the afterlife.

For the immediate future, he knew he needed to support Saturnus in his attempt to kill Mórlános and his Cenndraic lackeys, topple Deisred and take direct control over Inisfáil. With his ally, Fiacha, reigning securely over the Pritana, he already had established a strong grip on Íath. In time, he would send word to the ard rí to finish the job by killing the Cenndraici there.

Toward that end, he had spent the bulk of his free time searching the future to determine how best his useful puppet, Lés, might be used to influence Daire. For the most part, he thought his efforts were proving successful, but after a few months had passed, he began to wonder if it all might have exacted a cost on his body he had not anticipated. There seemed to be some link between some of his vision probes he had made into the future and the bouts of near total collapse that seemed to follow them.

At first, he thought it might be simple exhaustion, some inexplicable sickness, or the natural course of aging. He probed the future a few times specifically to see if there might be a direct correlation between them and his suspicions were confirmed. He also noticed with some dismay that it seemed to take longer to recover than before. Something about the visions into the future was wearing him out. His joints ached, the clarity of his vision was diminishing. Even his teeth were beginning to rot out.

Visions of the current time, in contrast, cost him very little, and he felt the need to watch Lés converse with Daire so that he could know specifically how well he was performing his task. Curious as always, and not fearing the debilitating attacks of weakness inflicted on him from probing the future, he chanced another glimpse at Lés, the third that morning, to see how his fourth visit with Daire was progressing.

He saw the two of them seated facing each other on woven mats on either side of a firepit. It was clear from their body language that Daire was receptive to Lés and they seemed to be conspiring secretively together.

While Daire’s role was a key component in Saturnus’ overall strategy, he was not the most pivotal piece. Daire was considered disposable, and Saturnus had no plans to put him on the throne. But Daire still had his role to play and through Lés, Cermait had devised a cunning ploy to woo him away from his allegiance to Mórlános and Deisred and firmly align himself with Saturnus’ plan.

As he rotated his perspective around to better observe their conversation, Cermait overheard Daire proudly confirm that the plan to steal the necklace from Saethar was now in place. Daire seemed genuinely pleased to hear Lés note with an approving nod that in so doing, he will have demonstrated his faithfulness and proven his worth.

Lés then took him into his confidence and told the tale Cermait had rehearsed with him, You remember what I told you concerning the Cauldron of Rebirth, that Cermait knows its resting place. Now I will tell you a great secret. The cave of the giant has not only been found, but much of it has been explored by men brave enough to venture into the bowels of the earth.

What about the giant? Daire asked. Did they see him?

Cermait was pleased that the tone of Daire’s question revealed that after his initial skepticism, he had been convinced after all. Cermait understood what process had brought him to this conclusion. Daire didn’t believe because the story was believable, but because of his ambition and the promise of unending life, he needed to believe.

Not at first, Lés answered. "The giant was nowhere to be found, but they did find his resting place and scattered about lay the bones of many beasts he had devoured. Cermait said he believed that when the giant learned that the girl he had revived had fled away, he went into a rage. Many stones were found recently broken loose from the walls by Cermait’s men. Cermait believed that in his despair, the giant began wailing and thrashing about, and in so doing, the Pair Dadeni was hurled or knocked over a precipice.

By holding torches over the edge so they might peer down into the depths, Cermait’s men discovered the broken body of the giant lying contorted at the bottom.

So the giant is dead? Daire asked.

Yes, Lés replied and Daire sat back looking visibly relieved.

It was obvious that Daire was placing his hope in the lie that he might have a chance to rule all Inisfáil for centuries, perhaps even forever. Cermait could not help but shake his head at the man’s simpleminded gullibility.

What of the Cauldron of Rebirth? Daire asked with apprehension. Has it been found?

Lés answered, "Cermait has used his Druí skills to search the depths and though he has not yet seen it with his eyes, he has been able to ascertain that it lay down there somewhere. He is certain it will soon be found. From what he could discern, the Pair Dadeni is likely wedged in another level of the chasm so deep that he will have to devise some clever way to retrieve it. I hope that by the time I return to Crúachan, he will have raised it to the surface."

As Cermait had intended from the very beginning, Lés himself believed the entirely fabricated tale. For Daire to be truly convinced, he had to be persuaded by someone who himself was convinced. Repeating what Cermait had laboriously rehearsed with him, Lés said with conviction, "One thing I know for certain is that Mórlános has recently learned of the Pair Dadeni and he wants it for himself. Ard Rí Deisred, foolishly heeding Mórlános’ instructions, is intending to call all the men of the four loyal cóiced to come together in violence to seize the Cauldron of Rebirth. Mórlános plans to use its restorative powers to keep his puppet, Deisred, on the throne forever. Standing behind with his hand gripping Deisred’s neck, Mórlános schemes to stand in the shadows wielding the true power over all Inisfáil."

Daire seemed doubtful, "Mórlános was once the ard rí and willingly gave it up. Are you so certain he lusts after such power?"

Lés answered, Power over other men, once tasted, is never forgotten.

Daire saw truth in his statement and nodded in acknowledgement, I suppose what you say is true.

Lés said, "We discovered the Pair Dadeni, not Mórlános, and we will be marching out to stop him from taking that which is rightfully ours."

You plan, then, to go to war.

You know as well as I that Mórlános must not obtain it.

Daire nodded in agreement, but noted, My people all know of Eochu’s overwhelming defeat. They will not be easily convinced.

Lés answered, I will bring proof enough to convince even the most timid and reluctant. Be prepared to quickly gather all your men when I return, all girded for war and ready to march.

Guiamo received Ard Rí Deisred’s summons while giving a lesson on what he thought was one of the more worthwhile and venerable Druí philosophies, the virtues of music. He observed how the sheer beauty of the song was not the only virtue music produced, but that the style of the music generated a different virtue of its own as well. The various types of music, he taught, affected the mood of the listener differently. This could be seen in war songs bellowed out to encouraged men to valorous deeds, romantic songs to woo a lover’s heart, or soothing tunes to quiet a frightened child.

The style of music must match not only the words, he taught, but also the purpose of that song. This could be demonstrated in how a woman would instinctively find a song of war totally inconsistent with the mood she sought from her lover regardless of the affectionate nature of the words.

Additionally, music serves as a mirror and more, not only reflecting back an already present mood, but also amplifying it. Happy music, he concluded, is welcomed by a happy person. And happy music makes one even happier.

His decision to cut his lecture short that day was greeted by numerous enthusiastic shouts and exuberant cheers. He remembered how he, too, had loved escaping his lessons as a boy, so he excused himself after freeing them from all other responsibilities for the day and made his way to Deisred’s hall to meet his unexpected visitor.

The man introduced himself as Salannos, a hunter by trade. His rough chestnut hair was bedraggled and matted, and he sported a thin, ragged beard. Numerous orc script tattoos decorated his neck and face. He was dressed in badly worn leather breeches and covered his thin frame with a simple drape across one shoulder. He carried in his hand a satchel with a broken strap that dragged on the ground at his feet. The man was obviously nervous to be standing in Deisred and Guiamo’s presence, repeatedly clearing his throat and wiping his sweaty palms on his thighs, but he was also excited, eager to share the news of what he had discovered.

When Deisred invited him to speak, he stammered as he blurted out, They were b-b-badly torn up, my lord, as if they had been in a t-t-tremendously vicious fight against each other.

Guiamo had received no prior briefing for he had time enough only to take his seat beside Deisred before the hunter had been led into the great hall. He had no idea what Salannos was talking about. Who? he asked. Who had been fighting?

The d-d-draics I found, Salannos answered.

How badly were they wounded? Guiamo asked with alarm.

They were dead, my lord, Salannos replied. All of them.

Guiamo grew grim and said, Tell me everything.

Salannos purposefully calmed himself and spoke more deliberately to control the stammering. "When I came upon them, I found that a ravage of orcs had been feeding on their corpses, thirty or forty of the stinking beasts. Now I am a man who can take care of himself in the wild, but when I ventured into the meadow that day and saw their numbers, I knew at once I had stepped into a desperate strait. The orcs took one look at me and began to chatter and bark in their vulgar way.

"I am pretty quick with the bow and could easily have dropped a few of them if they had attacked me, but I could feel it in my bones in that first instant that they would have had me, that much was certain.

But fortune was with me that day. Their bellies were so glutted with draic flesh that when I stumbled upon them, bless the gods, they had no interest in risking their hides on a meal that would fight back. Instead, they chose to slink away into the trees rather than attacking me.

You were indeed fortunate, Guiamo acknowledged. Usually they would kill simply for the sport of it. Tell me, how many draics did you find?

Five, my lord, he answered. Two reds, a blue, a gray and a brown. The gray was the largest.

He reached into his satchel and pulled out five draic scales matching the same coloring he had described. He stepped forward to hand them to Guiamo and then took three respectful steps back.

Guiamo looked them over carefully and then said, It is strange that five would be killed together. He felt a bond of kinship with the draics and over the years had come to know many by name. It saddened him that so many had perished.

Rivals sometimes fought to the death, he knew, but he had never heard of more than one being killed at any one instance. Still, there were many mysterious dynamics among the creatures that he did not know. It was a mystery that piqued his curiosity, but he realized that in all probability, he would never find out what had happened that bloody day.

Regardless of the cause, it would provide him a boon of the vital supply of draic hide that he had long awaited. He was pleased that with this find he would have such a great abundance of draic hide that he could finish not only the armor for Cairbre and Sálbuide but he would be able to completely outfit dozens more Cenndraici should the need arise. You have my thanks, Salannos, he said. I need to see them. Come, we will go together at once.

Salannos shuffled his feet uncomfortably and asked, What about the reward, my lord? Everyone has heard you announced a generous reward.

Ah, yes, Guiamo acknowledged. That is correct. If what you have said is true, it would seem you have earned it five-fold.

Salannos held his hand out boldly and asked, May I have the reward you promised, my lord?

In due time, Guiamo replied. I will pay you after you have shown me to the draics.

Deisred thought the man was overbold in his ask and interjected, It is customary, as you well know, Salannos, that payment should not be made until your claim is verified.

Are these scales not proof enough? Salannos objected. It is not as if I found them at random lying on the forest floor.

Patience, Salannos, Deisred said. This will be decided according to our normal customs. You will have to wait.

To both their surprise, Salannos wouldn’t take no for an answer and countered, I would take half what is due to me as payment in full if you could pay me today.

Seeking to dismiss his offer as politely as possible, Guiamo said mildly, As I said before, not today, Salannos. That is business for another day.

Salannos seemed unduly troubled at his response and grew restive. He turned to Deisred and asked, Do you have any silver for my troubles?

Deisred raised both hands defensively and answered, This affair is between you and Mórlános.

Visibly deflating, Salannos turned back to Guiamo, his voice growing more insistent, I have walked two days to tell you. Could you not spare a little, perhaps just a few iron rings?

Guiamo thought his demand for immediate payment was nearing the point of rudeness. He was eager to begin his preparations for the journey and, growing exasperated at the man, replied rather curtly, Salannos! My answer is my answer!

He could see Salannos thinking over the situation, working out how best to proceed. He was surprised to see him turn to Deisred and ask, May I take some meat and bread from your table?

Am I to feed you as well? the ard rí answered testily. No! It is not my responsibility to fill the stomachs of everyone who crosses my threshold. What remains from my meals is given to my servants.

I am no beggar! Salannos snapped. I did not mean in addition to my reward. In exchange for it.

Deisred was astonished at the foolishness of his comment and asked, You would forfeit your reward in exchange for the scraps from my table?

Only then did Guiamo’s thoughts turn away from the treasure trove of draic hide that awaited him. He began to wonder what situation was causing Salannos to be so discouraged and frustrated that he would willingly exchange his rich reward for something so paltry as a loaf of bread with what would be only a few days’ delay in payment.

The answer came quickly when Salannos exclaimed indignantly, The scraps from your table? Absolutely! That would please my children well enough. My lord, I am but a poor hunter. I have seven hungry children and by this time I think they will have had little to nothing to eat for three days at least. Their bellies are empty! They need food right now! Please, Mórlános, I need the silver today! I have heard that you are a generous man and that you have wealth even the gods lust after. But if this is not true and you can find no place in your heart to pay me silver so that I can feed my family, then yes, I will gladly take the scraps from Deisred’s table.

It was now obvious why Salannos had grown so discouraged and frustrated. And rightly so. He was not motivated by greed nor did he have any intent to cheat, but only to take care of the children he loved. Guiamo grew ashamed with how badly, so dismissively he had handled the situation. He considered Salannos’ situation and wondered how mild he himself would have remained if he had no way to feed Ibic for three days.

Guiamo knew he had to make amends to Salannos. After a moment’s reflection, he said, It is true I have no silver for you today, nor iron or tin. But you have brought this information to me in good faith so that you might collect your reward. Your need is real and pressing. I say your word is as good as gold. I will reward that good faith and in like kind.

Guiamo pulled out the money pouch that was tucked into his belt. He rose from his seat and stepped forward. He motioned for Salannos to hold out his hands, and said, Are fifty pieces enough to feed them? He poured gold coins out until the money pouch was empty and the man’s hands were overflowing.

Salannos was flabbergasted at Guiamo’s overwhelming, life-changing generosity. Why yes, my lord! Yes, of course, my lord! His head bobbed up and down as he bowed again and again in gratefulness. Oh, bless you, my lord. Thank you, my lord. Thank you.

Guiamo said, I would not have anyone say that I would not help a man in his time of desperation. Now tend to your family. Fill their bellies and rejoice with them this night. He raised a finger in instruction, But be sure to return here in the morning. I need you to show me to the draic corpses. We will leave at first light.

It is a two-day journey, my lord, Salannos noted.

We must hurry then, Guiamo answered. "I want to get there before a quarry of hungry trúailli starts feasting and ruins everything."

Far to the west, the ancient forest had been burned to the ground sometime in the past decade and the dense new growth rising up in its place made travel difficult and their progress slow. The faintest unsettling whiff came with the breeze as the gentle wind sifting through the young trees shifted, the sickly sweet stench of decaying flesh.

Salannos, who rode in the lead of the long, strung-out column of packhorses, turned back toward Guiamo and beckoned with his hand, Come! Come, my lord! We are close.

He prodded his horse forward and disappeared through the foliage leaving Guiamo and the rest of their party struggling to follow.

Guiamo turned to Tuirenn who rode just behind him and ordered, Bring up the pack horses. Without further comment, he increased Enbarr’s speed to catch up with Salannos. Following what he took to be the hunter’s most likely path, he soon came to a place where the undergrowth grew so thick that it seemed to be a nearly impassable barrier. He brought Enbarr nearly to a halt and pressed through the low-lying branches, brambles and thorny canes that clawed and scraped against his skin. Just beyond, light could be seen through the leafy barrier and after a short distance he broke out into an expansive meadow.

He spotted Salannos at once riding at a canter now off to the right well into the field. He brought Enbarr to a gallop and soon caught up to him. They soon drew near to an enormous, sprawling carcass. The stench nearly turned his stomach. Enbarr snorted and grew restless as Salannos led Guiamo to the first of the draics he had encountered.

Salannos gestured toward the dense underbrush at the tree line on their right as they approached and noted, I came through the forest there.

Guiamo prodded Enbarr closer to the draic carcass and was disappointed with what he found. He had arrived too late and the sun had done its work. The corpse was beginning to bloat and the pungent reek was almost unbearable.

Both men dismounted and Guiamo slowly walked around the draic, one of the few he had ever met toned in mottled, light brown. A cursory examination showed that the tip of the tail had been bitten off. Three deep parallel gashes were drawn along the spine and the skin of the left wing had been cut twice from just behind the bone all the way through the trailing edge rendering the draic incapable of flight. The head lay oddly askew and it was obvious that the neck had been broken. The corpse had been further defiled by the hungry orcs Salannos had encountered. He examined its left foreleg and found what he had feared, a signature pair of jagged, broken claws.

Gnengné, he murmured with dismay. He called Salannos over and observed, This is Gnengné, a mare of Drévok. He is one of the more dominant bull draics who lives along the western coast. He shook his head sadly. What a shame to see her lying here.

Guiamo looked up as Tuirenn drew near with the forty packhorses in trail. Every man among them was appalled at the revolting stench and it was clear they wanted away.

Guiamo called out, Wait upwind while I examine the draics.

Immensely relieved, Tuirenn gave his thanks and turned at once to lead the others far to the west where they could breathe fresh, clean air again.

Turning back to Salannos, Guiamo said, I never spoke of it, but I have always thought that Dévok was one of the first draics to agree to the truce between our races I proposed all those years ago. He was skeptical throughout our initial conversations and I was surprised to hear him voice his favor to my plan. I have always wondered if Gnengné had anything to do with changing his mind. His other mares were always suspicious of me, but Gnengné was different somehow.

How so? Salannos asked.

It was not so much that she trusted me. No draics I know will fully trust a man. But I think she was bold enough to choose to respect me. For a draic, that requires a conscious decision that runs contrary to their natural dispositions. There must have been something about me or my proposal that must have appealed to her. Draics are by nature combative, but neither are they particularly inclined for war. As with all the animals of this world, they do what they want, live their lives as they choose, and care little about the affairs of any other creature.

Confused by the whole affair, he shook his head again and said, I do not know. It may be that she preferred peace to war for the sake of her offspring even if it meant having to give up eating us anytime they wanted. I did hear them say that we are a particularly tasty morsel to snack upon when they are feeling peckish. Whatever the case, it makes me sad to see her lying here today. Come. Show me the others.

As they made their way further to the north, he wondered about the condition of the other draics. They had been lying under the sun for at least five days now. Skinning the draics would be an appalling task, nauseating in the extreme, but he hoped the decay now already well along may not have yet rendered the tough hides altogether unusable.

They drew near to the first of the two red draics, as bloated as Gnengné. One wing was obviously broken, the limb nearly severed altogether. A deep slash ran across the right thigh and its neck, too, was broken. The meadow grass around was streaked with numerous long scorch marks, blackened lines from draic fire spewed out at its enemy.

He recognized an unusual, but familiar growth protruding below the chin. The name of the draic eluded him for the moment, but he knew it was a mare from the northeast beyond Emain Macha. Crádh, he said when her name finally came to him. She had been widely admired for birthing the largest clutch of draic eggs in recent memory, all of which had surprisingly survived into young adulthood.

She was a proud creature, clever and insightful, as cunning as any male on the hunt and intensely protective of her brood. They ate well and grew strong and their scales were tough. The young draics needed minerals drawn from stony trúaill hide to harden their scales and she was a devoted provider. She was well-known for killing a good number of the increasingly scarce trúailli. Crádh had seemingly perfected her attacks on the stony creatures, preferring to attack them as they slept nestled in the soil.

Guiamo and Salannos moved along to the other three draics who fell near each other at the foot of a low, but sharply rising hill, not so much a sheer cliff as a steep, weedy incline. Much of the grass in the meadow around them was burned away in long lines. Guiamo saw that nearly all of the many scorch marks radiated outward from that location and understood intuitively why the draics had fought there.

It would seem they made a desperate last stand in this spot using the hill at their backs as a shield to protect them.

Each of the draics had one or both wings shredded or broken. The gray’s right wing was missing altogether and could not be found. Whoever attacked them, it would seem, first wanted to deprive them of flight.

He inspected each of them for identifying characteristics. He recognized the closest, the second red, as Ahéliavelot. Lying close by was the gray draic, Tórus, who had been decapitated, and the disemboweled blue beyond was Nisnaka. All bore great raking slash marks gouged across neck, thigh or belly.

Curiously, they were all mares. And further, he noted, they were from far distant regions of Inisfáil.

Three questions formed in his mind whose answers, once discovered, would explain everything. Why would anyone hunt down and kill five mares? Why were they together? And why were they in this remote location?

Hoping to solve these mysteries, he first considered what characteristic they all had in common.

Almost immediately, he recognized that three of these at least had in some way cooperated with Guiamo in forging the treaty. These five, it would seem, had secretly been among his most ardent supporters. And now they were dead. His blood kinship called out to him and he began to rage inwardly for he considered them to be not just dead draics, but murdered sisters.

He considered their location and knew instinctively that there was nothing noteworthy about this place that would draw them together here. He looked around, scanning the meadow and surrounding terrain for any possible clue to confirm his intuition. There were no carcasses of other beasts they might have taken if they had simply been on the hunt. There was nothing out of the ordinary to be found, not even a single home or farm somewhere off in the distance to tempt them.

Suddenly, it dawned on him that the corpses lay almost exactly upon a line that could be drawn between Temair and Slaet-Céite. It was not that the mares intended to come to this place for some unexplained purpose, but that they were traveling to Temair and had been attacked here.

The pieces began to snick into place. They had gathered first at Slaet-Céite. No, he corrected himself. More precisely, they had been called by someone to gather at Slaet-Céite for some specific purpose. There they had learned some alarming thing so important that they felt it was necessary to risk everything to tell him at Temair. They had been pursued and killed before they could reach him.

He looked at the corpses and began to appreciate the desperation and determination they must have felt in their attempt to bring word to him of some treacherous affair at Slaet-Céite. Something terrible was in play and he had no idea what.

He began to look around for any clues that might reveal who had attacked them. An extensive search proved that there were no signs of trúaill footprints impressed into the moist soil, nor was there any sign that men had done this. No broken spears, no spent arrows, nor were the wounds consistent with what men might inflict, not even a powerful Druí. He began to scour the land for