Waves in the Wind (41 page)

My attention was on Goban who was making a sly attempt to avoid my notice by busying himself straightening tables and benches. “No, I…no.”

“Oh well, it doesn’t matter then, does it?” Still rubbing his chin, he cocked an eyebrow. “It’s a dangerous country the two of you will be travelin’ through. Yes,” he nodded, “I’d best be goin’ with you, to protect you so to speak.”

It was an appalling offer. “But, that’s—”

“Oh, don’t be thankin’ me for it.” He waved a casual hand. “I noticed the coins in your fat purse and a shopkeeper in the village here holds all my weapons, armor, baggage and such. In fact, he now owns my horse as well. So, you see. You can pay the man to retrieve my kit and horse and that will be thanks enough. Besides, if we run into trouble along the way, I wouldn’t offer much protection for you lackin’ Goban’s fine sword in my hand, would I?”

It wasn’t the need for protection from trouble that worried me. It was the likelihood of him provoking it. My doubts about Torcán wavered as memories of the battle at Lough Derg returned, where I knew him as a trustworthy ally and gallant fighter. I still owed him much gratitude, and the coins in my purse would serve no purpose at sea aboard Brendan’s ship.

Before I could complete my thoughts, he grabbed my arm, pushing me towards the door. “Come on, my friend, we must hurry. It’s but a short walk to the village and, if it’s leavin’ here we plan, we’d best be about it. If that shopkeeper isn’t up and stirrin’ yet, then by the gods, I will stir him.”

Chapter 32

Warriors

To our east, gray clouds hung low, obscuring mountain peaks. White mist filled the high valleys. It required more than gusting wind and a spattering drizzle to dampen Torcán’s spirits. Rain dripped from the end of his nose, soaked his red cape and beaded on his bronze armor.

He grinned. “Ah, and what a fine day it is to be a free man; all Eire lies before us.” His hand swept the panoramic collage of green-hued fields spanning the rolling hills in our foreground. “Just look at it, lads, just look at it. A willin’ man with a keen sword in his hand can do much, and yes, he can win much.”

Goban slouched in his saddle; a soggy blanket drooped over his head. “Willin’ I’ll be to win a dry camp for the night.”

Our horses plodded along the muddy, southerly track leading us back towards
Trá Lí and the penninusla beyond. Goban received his wish, for we came upon a stacked-stone shepherd’s hovel before nightfall. Finding it empty, we moved our gear inside and lit a fire.

Soon,
Torcán was scrubbing his mouth with the back of his hand, before his teeth renewed their assault on a roasted goose leg. He looked up at me with a wink and grin.

“It’s like old times, eh? Sittin’ ’round a fire with friends while enjoyin’ a good meal?”

I licked my fingers, and grinned back. “Yes, but without the need of facing a battle tomorrow.”

“Ach.” He waved the goose leg like a dissenting finger. “Battles is what grows hair on a man’s chest.”

He gnawed the leg again, then pitched the stripped bone through the open doorway. A contented sigh escaped him as he lay back, propped on his elbows.

“So, you meet a man beyond Trá Lí, you said. What’re your plans then, if you don’t mind me askin’?”

Many knew of Brendan’s plans to sail, so there was no reason to withold my answer. “Goban and I will rejoin a priest named Brendan. We will sail with him on a voyage to the west to find
Tír na nÓg.”

“You join a Christian priest? To find Tír na nÓg?” He shook his head as if to clear his mind. “What manner of foolishness is that?”

“Think it foolish if you will.” I shrugged. “Perhaps it is, but that is what we plan.”

Again shaking his head, a frown formed on Torcán’s face, but he remained silent.

As I leaned forward, my hand encountered Goban’s simultaneously reaching for the last goose wing. I grinned. “Take it, please.”

“No,” the smith grinned in return. “It’s yours. You paid the farmer, and a tightfisted rogue he is, so take it.”

We were politely arguing, gesturing back and forth over possession of the wing, when Torcán muttered, “I want to go with you.”

I dropped my hands into my lap, unsure I heard him correctly. “You want to go with us? But you just said the voyage is foolish.”

“I said no such thing.” He sat up, crossing his arms over his chest. “I said searchin’ for Tír na nÓg is foolish, not the voyage.”

“It’s all the same.”

“You think so?” Torcán stood, his finger pointed down at me. “No. They are not the same.” Eyes alight, his aimed finger swung to the hovel’s door. “What’s out there across the western sea? That’s what I ask. Who knows? Just think of the adventure of it.”

He began pacing. “Perhaps there are new, undiscovered lands filled with treasure; sparklin’ cities of gold teemin’ with beautiful women draped with fabulous jewels—”

Goban waved the goose wing at me as an offering, and I shook my head, interrupting Torcán. “That is the making of dreams, and unlikely.”

“Of course it is likely just a dream. Didn’t I just say that very thing?” He hadn’t, but I remained quiet as he continued. “Still, we don’t know for certain, do we? No man knows what lies across the western sea. Maybe there are unknown lands and cities of gold. It’s possible, isn’t it?”

“Well, I suppose so, but—”

“And there you have it. Think of the adventure if such exist.”

Goban snorted. “It’s likely the only adventure ye’ll find will be alongside us in the innards of a fish.”

“Maybe so, but what of it?” Torcán chuckled. “You think to live forever my friend? At least I might end my days by providing a fish a fine dinner.”

He again sat, and looked to me, crossing his arms. “
Do you know how old I am?”

I tried to ignore the sound of Goban devouring the goose wing as I shook my head, and he continued. “Thirty-nine. That’s old for a warrior and well you know it. My sword arm is strong as ever, but I’m losin’ my quickness.” He sighed. “It’s lucky I’ve been all these years, and many fine years I’ve seen.” His eyes grew bright as he leaned forward. “Think of it, Ossian—horns a’blowin’, war drums throbbin’, banners flyin’, warriors screechin’ and singin’ their war songs. You’ve seen it yourself, and what man wouldn’t want to be a part of all that?”

He sat quiet for a while, firelight flickering on his rugged face. “I lied today, you know. Winning riches as a warrior here in Eire is for young men. I missed my chance.” He reached down, picked up a twig and stirred the coals. “In time, I’ll come upon a likely lad who… Ah, but what of it?”

Thinking I understood him, I nodded. “And the voyage offers a chance, slight though it be, for riches and glory. Is that right?”

“Yes. Those are my thoughts, foolish as they are.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Can I go?”

Rising, I stepped around the fire and took the hand of this sturdy, reliable man I had come to like very much. “Yes, though I must discuss it with Brendan. Your strength will be of value to us and you will take the place of Laoidheach.”

I had gained a valuable ally for the voyage, but sighed at losing the goose wing.

* * *

We rode single-file along the trail with Torcán in the lead and Goban bringing up the rear. Heavy brush crowded the trailside, dense woodlands beyond.
Each of us held our own thoughts, when
Torcán stopped. I reined in my horse, puzzled.

He reached into a bag hanging beside his horse’s withers and removed a gleaming brass helm trimmed in red leather, its peak crested with a gilded hawk in flight. It was a beautiful thing, the hawk itself a work of art.

He saw me admiring it and grinned, his voice low. “You’re thinkin’ it’s worthy of a king, eh?” Seating the helm upon his head, he tightened the leather chinstrap. “In truth, it was made for a chieftain among the Dal Messin.
Garbhán son of Fionn, his name was,
but he— Well, I claimed it as a prize, seein’ as that unlucky gentleman acquired a bad habit of holdin’ his sword point too low.”

Despite his many failings, Torcán was a bold man I found it easy to admire. My grin matched his as I glanced about. “Why did you stop? If we pick up our pace—”

His hand waved me to silence, and he winked, still keeping his voice muted. “Listen. What do you hear? Tell me, but do so quietly.”

About me, the forest was silent, and though I listened intently, I shook my head and whispered, “What? I hear nothing.”

“Exactly.” He nodded. “Not a sound. No singing birds or scurrying woodland creatures and such it has been for a while. So I ask myself, why is that? We pass along the trail causing a disturbance, yes, but even further back among the trees there’s none of the natural sounds of the forest.”

Goban walked his horse forward, and muttered, “Right he is.” He cocked an eyebrow at Torcán. “What’re ye thinkin’, then?”

“Perhaps it’s nothin’ at all,” the warrior shrugged, “but then again, it’s possible there be men out there.” He dismounted, handing me his reins. “I’m goin’ to see for myself. Do you wait here. If you hear my yell, come fast, for I’ll be needin’ you.” He drew his sword, parted the brush and stepped from view.

I looked to Goban. “Bandits?”

The smith shrugged and stepped down from his horse. His eyes swept the trailside as he stood, feet spread wide, his hammer in his fist.

I had attached a leather strap to the Staff of Nuada, and wore it diagonally across my back. Drawing it over my head, I hopped to the ground. If danger loomed, the Staff offered no sign of it.

Clouds scudded past the sun, bringing a misting rain that contributed to the oppressive silence. Tension built in my shoulders and I rolled them about to ease it while my attention fastened to first one side of the trail, and then the other. Time passed, with it, the clouds and rain, replaced by a chill wind.

Goban shivered and snorted. “It’s true what they say about Eire’s weather. If ye don’t like it, wait a wee bit, for it’s sure to change, but not necessarily for the better.”

Brush shook far up the trail and Torcán appeared. Brisk strides brought him to our side.

He brushed leaves from his cape, and then glanced back over his shoulder. “We’ve been followed for fair—six men, three on either side of the trail.”

Bitterness rose in my throat. Only a short distance remained until we met Brendan and sailed. I nodded towards the underbrush. “They ride through that?”

“They’re afoot. We’ve maintained a steady pace, but good men would have no trouble remaining abreast of us.”

“They plan to rob us?”

Despite the cool wind, his face dripped sweat, and he reached to his horse for a flagon of water. “I don’t think so.” He gulped the water, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “The men are warriors, not bandits, and two wear the yellow and black checked kirtles of the Corcu Duibne.”

Goban kicked the trail, spattering mud on the nearby foliage. Then he looked to me and I nodded. “Tell him.”

Puzzlement hovering in his eyes, Torcán asked, “Tell me what?”

In simple, clipped sentences, Goban told how the Corcu held him and Laoidheach as slaves. He went on to speak of how I arrived to free them by killing the two warriors.

Torcán’s eyebrows knitted together and he pursed his lips. “It seems I keep company with criminals.” Quiet laughter burst from his throat and he stepped forward to clap Goban’s shoulder. “What of it? The Corcu pass their laws out of their asses, eh?”

He turned to me, eyes alight and grinning. “Come. Mount up. It’s time we dispel their stench.”

The trailside vegetation seemed to crowd upon us, and I did not share his enthusiasm. “Do you not fear ambush?”

“Nah.” He leaped to the back of his horse, his cape swirling, and pointed forward. “They no longer follow us. Beyond the bend is a clearing. The six Corcu came together there and are awaitin’ us. Ah now, you’ve got to admire an accommodatin’ reception.”

Mounting, we paused, looking to our weapons. Goban glanced about. “Can we ride around them?”

“No,” Torcán growled. “There’s no avoidin’ ’em. We face them now, or risk them killin’ us in our sleep. Now then, listen carefully.” His eyes moved from Goban to me. “Those bastards came here for a killin’ and nothin’ less. They’ll be wantin’ to talk, to brag about what they plan for us. I intend to throw the fight right into their teeth, unsettle them right off so to speak. Ride into them hard and do your best to scatter ’em. You’ll know when. Are you with me?”

I bowed to his experience and judgment. The man was fearless, a poet’s vision of the pure warrior—a poem Laiodheach never wrote. It appeared the fight was unavoidable, and if we were to survive, it would be due to his experience.

* * *

We trotted our horses into the clearing. The Corcu were there, standing six abreast. Torcán urged his horse towards the center of their line, and pulled back hard on his reins. His horse reared, hooves flailing the air in the faces of the Corcus.

“Stand aside!” he bellowed, his sword swirling above his head. “Move away, or by the gods, we will move you!”