Chapter 39

Aboard the Shiva, Brude McAlpin tipped the huge hogshead of seawater on its side, returning another mass of leakage to the ocean whence it came. He leaned back over the splintered hole he had chopped in the ship’s decking and lowered the barrel for refilling.

“At this rate, we might just be able to keep this wreck afloat, Ean,” Troon said.

Ean looked up through the hole in the deck, still uneasy about having to interact with a rusting relic from the realm of the dead. “Aye, he lifts this hundred weight like it’s a dead mouse. It makes me clammy all over, havin’ to depend on the likes of ‘im.”

Troon poured another bucket of water into the hogshead and replied, “Without ‘im, we’d be fish bait by now.”

“Damn you old Irish liar, don’t ya think I’m knowin’ that? But can ya not see there’s ruin at the end of this nightmare, if he is to be the prize?”

Troon stepped behind Ean’s back. This time, he poured his bucket over the highlander’s shoulders instead of into the hogshead. “There ya old sot!” he laughed. “Now you’ve something else to piss and moan about!”

Up on deck, Sabritha and Daynin heard the ruckus erupting below. “What the deuce are they doing down there?” she asked.

“Dunno. Doesn’t matter, long as that water level in the hold isn’t rr-rr-ising. Every wave we cut through gets us one boat length closer to home, that’s all I know. With any luck, we should be there before nightfall.”

Sabritha slipped behind Daynin’s back and let her hands encircle his waist to steady them both in the heavy, rolling swells. “This place means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

Wanting desperately to pull his hands from the tiller to hold hers, he stood to his duty instead. “My whole life was there. Everything I know of the world came from Rr-rr-rhum and my father. My mother too, but she died young. Then those black hearted bountiers came and asked for shelter from the ice storm. My father granted it, sealing the fate of Kinloch Keep. Little did he know the house of McKinnon would be destroyed by first light—except for grandfather and me.”

“That’s a sad tale, Daynin, but I think with the booty you have at hand now, Kinloch can again be a fine place.”

“Aye, and it will . . .”

Sabritha’s head turned to follow Daynin’s gaze. “What is it?”

“An Sgurr—I think. See it there—in the mist off the starboard side—that bloody great crag is on the island of Eigg and to the northwest should be Rr-rr-rhum! We’re almost home, Sabritha!”

Dashing to the bow of the ship, Sabritha side-stepped the giant and his huge barrel of water. She scrambled out onto the bowsprit to gain a better view, then let out a whooping shout. “I see it! An island—to the north—dead ahead!”

Her shout brought Ean and Troon clambering on deck, anxious to see if Sabritha’s eyes were as keen as her temper. Both men threw themselves into the rigging, climbing as fast as old bones would carry them. Sure enough, the distinctive saddle back ridge of Rhum loomed out of the mist. There could be no doubt. They were home at last!

* Felgenthorn *

“We’ve covered nearly half of the east side of the bog, Master Kruzurk. Are you sure that orb of yours is working?”

“Well, no I’m not. I must admit, Ebon, I haven’t the first notion how I am to know when we’ve found the stone. I’m a magician, not a sorcerer. This whole scheme smacks of the dark powers.”

“Mayhaps you should put the ring on, instead of holding it in your hand.”

“You could be right,” Kruzurk answered, slipping the ring onto his finger. The ring weighed heavily on his hand but within a heartbeat, it began to pulse. “That’s odd.” Kruzurk took a few more steps, the ring’s pulsing growing stronger with each stride. “This thing is throbbing like a sore thumb. This way, Ebon.”

Hurrying along the bank, Kruzurk abruptly stopped under a large, overhanging bog oak limb. The ring throbbed so painfully against his fingers that he thought about removing it, but didn’t. Gazing into the ring’s reddish stone, he saw an image of the bog. He could make out the limb under which he stood, and there, hidden in knee-deep muck, the stone lay where it had waited for generations.

“Here! It’s here, Ebon. There—no more than an arm span from the bank,” he said excitedly, his staff pointing to the spot.

“I see nothing but mud. Are you certain?”

“It’s there, I tell you. Quickly now—mount your charger and go back to the gate. Get my pouch from Mediah and bring that gate chain. We’ll use it to drag the stone from the bog. Then we’re off to Kinsley spit.”

Kruzurk plopped himself down against the trunk of the great bog oak to wait. Fatigue, mixed with an obscure anxiety, had suddenly overtaken him. “Merlin,” he said wistfully, “wherever you are, guide me in this quest. I know not what this stone will mean to those who seek it, yet I am compelled, somehow, to pursue it no matter what.”

* Aboard The Shiva *

Everyone aboard the Shiva had their eyes trained on the rapidly approaching coastline of Rhum. Everyone, that is, except Brude McAlpin. Having done all he could to keep the boat afloat, he now stood watch near the mast, his mind adrift in another place. The white bearded seer’s images had once again appeared to him, this time in a very different place.

What is it you’re up to now, old one? he mused. Where is the book? Why sit you under a tree, a bog your only company? Why have you appeared to me again? Who are you, that your images come to my attention? Can you hear me ask these questions or am I doomed to wander this heathen world for eternity? Were my crimes so great that I am never to tread the grounds of Val Henna with my kin?

“I see the landing!” Ean McKinnon cried out. “Looks like they left the wharf intact. We can scud this tub right into the bay and unload with nary a wet legging.”

Daynin could see the long stone jetty his kin had built when his father was still a boy. And sure enough, the wharf still stood, its image unleashing a flood of painful memories. Sabritha was so accustomed to Daynin’s thoughts now that she could read him like a prior’s prayer. “Aren’t you happy to be home?” she asked.

“Yes, of course. It’s that wharf—my father taught me to fish from it. He threw me in the water there, when I was still a bairn, so’s I would learn to swim. I feared the water back then, but he feared nothing. Seeing it now reminds me all the more how much I miss him—how much this place misses him and all the others.”

“Memories are like monk’s brew, Daynin. Sometimes, the taste is sweet and sometimes bitter. I remember my father, but I can’t tell you what he was like, save that I thought he was a god.”

Daynin turned to look into Sabritha’s eyes. “Duncan McKinnon was a god to those hereabouts. They knew him to be true to his word, a friend who never shirked a task, and fea-rrr-ed neither mahn, monk nor monarch.”

Sabritha’s arms locked around Daynin’s mid section, her head resting under his chin. She sighed and whispered, “I tell you what, plowboy, that big fire and warm bed you promised are sounding better all the time.”

* Aboard The Dionysis *

“Should we slacken sail, Plumat? The Woebringer falls further and further behind.”

“Damn it, Oswald, I don’t care if we lose that tub in the mist. Your brother-in-law and his crew are as worthless as six-day-old sheep droppings. Besides, I prefer that a ship the size of the Dionysis should take the lead, in the event we come upon our band of brigands. Your men look like they can handle a fight. Combined with mine, we’d bring a formidable force to a battle.”

“Aye, these are good men. I can attest to that,” Oswald boasted. “Some of yours have seen better days, though.”

Plumat turned to face the much smaller man, his eyes barely level with Oswald’s helm. “Were you to see what we have been up against, you would understand, I wager.”

“Bah!” Oswald scoffed. “Never seen a man nor beast that couldn’t be bested with a good axe.”

His thoughts wandering back to the priory grounds, Plumat answered dryly, “Yes, if it is a man facing you and not some damned demon giant.”

“Haharr, giant says he. Twenty years I’ve sailed the ocean sea and never laid eyes on such. Sea beasts and demons this boy has bested, and lived to tell about it, indeed. What a barroom story teller you are, mate!”

Plumat’s hands suddenly went up to his helmet visor, cupping the bright light to improve the view. Excitement and trepidation laced his words in equal measure as he replied, “Prepare your men for battle, Oswald—there’s a ship dead ahead! And she’s on fire!”

* Felgenthorn *

Having discarded his armor and most of his clothes, Ebon of Scone stood next to the bog’s bank staring down into the murky brown muck. “I never thought my vows would include wading in a bog up to my neck.”

Kruzurk tied a line to the oak and replied, “It shouldn’t be that deep, Ebon. I would do this myself, but I’m not sure you would know how to operate this hoist.”

“Aye, that’s a fact. I’ve never seen such a thing. Do you actually think those wheels—or whatever they are—can lift a heavy stone?”

“They’re called pulleys, and yes, with that chain, we should be able to lift something as big as a wagon. I just hope the stone is not that heavy, else your horse may not be able to carry the load.”

Ebon stepped off into the muck, sinking up to his knees immediately. “Not to worry about Castor—he can haul the stone or drag it. He has the heart of a lion and the wisdom of a fox.”

Kruzurk pushed the end of the chain out over the bog with his staff so that Ebon could grasp it when the time came. “Just a bit further out and you should be able to feel the stone with your foot.”

Struggling against the thick surface of the bog, Ebon pushed ahead, then turned toward Kruzurk with a satisfied look on his face. “It’s here,” he said. “It’s a forearm thick and about as wide as I am tall.”

“See if you can lift it,” Kruze suggested. “We need a way to get the chain around it.”

Ebon’s arms went down into the muck. His shoulders strained hard, but to no avail. The stone did not budge. “I can feel markings on the surface. It feels like a great wheel, open in the center.”

“Aye! That fits the description I have of the Scythian Stone.”

Ebon shot out of the mud and scrambled back onto the bank, looking for all the world like some crazed demon. “Scythian Stone you say! Why did you not tell me what we were after? I’ll have nothing more to do with the heathen thing.”

Kruzurk placed a hand on Ebon’s shoulder. “Those are just legends, my friend, that’s all. A stone cannot be evil or good. Men who use stones for evil deeds are to blame. The stone itself is just a symbol. I intend to return this one to where it belongs, that it might once again be used for that which it was intended.”

“I must return to Sconehaven. I’m sorry, magician. Will you give me the ring back now?”

“Wait, Ebon. Tell me about your sword. Is it evil?”

Ebon glanced at his armor, piled in a heap against the bog oak. “Of course not. A sword has no power until swung by its owner.”

“Ah, indeed. And so it is with this stone. Don’t you see? There is nothing to fear. Now, won’t you help me? I cannot do it alone. Besides, this is your bog. You are the protector here. I am only a visitor, completing a quest. Please, help me. Lives depend upon it.”

Looking up at the sky, Ebon threw his hands in the air and blurted out, “Which is it to be, Father? Twenty more years of solitude, or eternal damnation for touching this seditious symbol? Forgive me Father, but I must choose freedom.”

* Aboard The Dionysis *

Oswald leaned forward on the Dionysis’ railing, straining his eyes for any hint of treachery from the burning ship. “She’s a bloody snekke, Plumat! This could be a Tireean trick. They never sail alone, but in packs of three. We should steer clear and leave her to burn to the waterline, if you ask me.”

“Do you see any other ships, Oswald?” Plumat growled back. “I do not. We need to know if those brigands passed this way. That snekke’s crew could save us days of sailing time.”

“Aye,” Oswald responded, his tone decidedly surly at the thought of Tireeans close by. “She might save us time or send us into a trap. That’s Tiree over there on the horizon—see it? This draco is no match for snekkes, if there’s a pack of ‘em waitin’ in the shallows.”

Plumat motioned to his men to make ready. He quickly donned his armor and helm. Oswald’s crew did likewise as the Dionysis sailed within a crossbow’s cast of the stricken ship’s stern.

“Can you make out anything, lookout?” Plumat yelled aloft.

“She’s afire all right—from stem to stern,” the lookout reported. “That’s no ruse. They’s a handful of crew bailin’ water, but they’re losin’ the fight. That heathen craft is a goner.”

“Heave to, Oswald. We’ll take the longboat and board the snekke. No since risking your ship.”

“Aye, Plumat. That’s the first thing you’ve said that we agree on.”

Plumat flung the captain a dirty look as he turned and motioned for his men to follow. “You six come with me. We’ll board that wreck and see if there’s a tale to be told.” Turning back toward Oswald, he added, “You keep a sharp eye out for trouble. We may be coming back with all haste if this is a trick of some kind.”

Aboard the flaming snekke, Peckee knew his men had lost the valiant fight. The one sided battle against the fire was rapidly coming to an end. Black smoke enveloped the whole vessel, making it almost impossible to see anything but flames and carnage. “Damn that highland lot, for leaving us this way,” Peckee swore, his fist raised in anger.

Just then, Miles Aubrecht rushed to Peckee’s side, wiping the smoke, blood, and grime from his face. “A ship is here—we’re saved!”

“A ship, my ass,” Peckee snapped back. “You’re seein’ things, boy. If there is one, it could only be that last Tireean, come to finish us off.”

“I tell you, there’s a big ship out there. She’s no more’n a stone’s throw from the stern—and there’s a longboat headed this way!”

Peckee raced toward the stern block, thinking the Shiva had come back for them. His heart leaped into this throat at the sight of the massive draco. “Bloody hell, can this day get any worse?”

The day instantly worsened. “More ships—there—on the horizon!” one of Peckee’s men cried out.

A dead calm settled around the snekke, the sea suddenly as friendly as a frozen firth. “We’re done for,” Peckee moaned, his fear of Saxon seafarers far exceeding that of a scuttling ship’s fire. “Over the side, boys! Swim for it if ye’ve got the grip, elsewise the Saxons will have you swinging from a yardarm before supper.”