TWO MONTHS LATER…

COINNEACH CASTLE—

THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238 CE

Orlynd entered the throne room and made his way to Déor. Sunlight shone brightly through a large round window above the entrance. The sun spot it left on the floor matched its intricate design. Large pillars on either side of the hall stood silently as if they were quietly watching Orlynd approach. Ornate tapestries hung from the tops of the pillars. On the walls behind the pillars were floor–to–ceiling stained glass windows that threw colourful shadows at Orlynd’s feet. He looked up to find Déor sitting on this throne with Anya in a chair next to him.

“Orlynd, thank you for coming,” Déor said. He stared at Orlynd intently while taking in a deep breath, trying to focus on what he had to say next.

“Is something wrong, Yir Grace?” Orlynd asked, feeling a bit uncomfortable by the king’s stare. He pulled his hands together and placed them in the sleeves of his robe.

Déor sighed. “Yes. I never foresaw myself needing to do this, but,” he glanced over at his queen, “Anya and I are seeking your counsel.”

“Aye, Yir Grace,” Orlynd said, a bit surprised.

“There is a matter that has come to my attention. The question is how do I know we can trust you?” Déor inquired.

“Ah’m nae sure Ah understand,” Orlynd replied. “Huv Ah done something tae make yis question ma loyalty?”

“If I may?” Anya said, gazing over at Déor.

Déor nodded.

Anya raised an eyebrow. “What I believe my husband is trying to say is that he has more pressing concerns than taking care of this trivial situation, however, he must get involved. There are rumours of brigands poaching the king’s fallow deer in Cara Forest, located on the outskirts of the kingdom. It is necessary to confirm these rumours.”

“Aye,” Déor acknowledged. “Truth is I cannot do this alone, and I won’t risk sending just anybody. I have already acquired Aindrias’s assistance. He has proven to be more than worthy of completing this task; however, one man may not be enough if we should run into unforeseen trouble.”

“Ah’m nae sure Ah follow,” Orlynd said.

“I require the aide of your wand. Spells would be more effective than swords against bow and arrows. Can I count on you, Orlynd, to protect us?”

Orlynd swallowed hard. “Aye, Yir Grace. Ah shall wit ma life.”

CARA FOREST—THE KINGDOM OF VANDOLAY
1238

CARA FOREST, full of old and young trees, spread across the vast lands to the borders of the kingdoms of Aracelly and Glendalow. The forest was known for the deep red leaves of its trees. Interspersed between the trees were many ferns and flowering plants. The buzz of insects and scurrying of small animals filled the air. Most of the area remained unknown since the thickness of the trees and uneven paths made it difficult to explore. Nevertheless, the forest was the favoured hunting place of the king and his royal hunting party.

“Be on your guard. We do not know what we may find in there,” Déor said from his horse. Before proceeding further, he reached into his tunic and pulled out the Bynoch, laying it against his chest.

Noticing the necklace, Orlynd uttered, “Yir Grace is wearing the necklace yir father gave yis.”

“Aye. Do you have a problem with that, warlock?” Déor asked in disgust. When Orlynd didn’t respond, he said, “I didn’t think so.”

After following an uneven dirt path with various twists and turns, Déor abruptly stopped and raised his hand in caution when they heard what sounded like an animal’s shriek.

“What was that?” Aindrias asked.

“Whitever it wis came fi the west,” Orlynd replied.

“Follow me!” Déor grabbed a hold of the reigns and urged his horse to gallop faster.

Ten minutes later, the party stopped again when they came upon blood in the dirt. Déor jumped down from his horse to investigate.

“Animal’s blood,” he said investigating further up the path. “There’s a trail.” Getting back on his horse, he slowly followed the blood. He stopped when he noticed the blood drops getting bigger and closer together. “We are approaching the creature. I suggest we tie our horses off and proceed the rest of the way on foot. Keep an eye on your back. I gather we aren’t alone.”

The party walked up the path a short way when Déor stopped short. He could hear the animal whimpering. Raising his finger to his lips to instruct the others to remain quiet before searching to the right of the path, he saw a patch of brown fur with white stripes and spots. Upon further inspection he concluded it was a fallow deer. By the size of the antlers, it was five or six–years–old; an arrow protruded from its side. The animal was bleating loudly, and its eyes were wide with fright and pain.

Déor sighed and muttered to the ground as he approached the creature. “It is true then.” He knelt down near the deer’s head, withdrew his dagger, and gently lifting the animal’s head, he said, “Forgive me. A swift death is a good death.” He slit its throat.

All members of the party turned to look when they heard the whooshing of an arrow as it flew past Déor. It landed on the ground beside him.

Déor stared at the arrow before noticing a young man, standing a few feet away dressed in a simple tunic.

Realising he had been seen, Eoghan quickly lowered his bow.

“Brigand!” Déor called out angrily, releasing his sword, Ruairí, from its sheath before charging.

Preston, another brigand, jumped down from a branch in the tree Aindrias was standing beside, stabbing him in the side with his dagger.

“Aindrias!” cried Déor, stopping when he heard his guard cry in pain.

Preston proceeded to kick Aindrias in the stomach, knocking him to the ground.

Gavin, still hiding in another tree, readied his bow and arrow, targeted Déor, and pulled back on the string.

“Gulpe ursígo!” shouted Orlynd as he ran forward towards Déor, knocking the arrow down before it was able to hit the king.

Déor gasped. He glared towards the direction the arrow came from, quickly pulling a star knife from underneath his belt, which he flung at Gavin in an attempt to dislodge him. Déor watched as Gavin tumbled from the tree branch to the ground, his neck pierced.

“Gulpe ursígo!” Orlynd shouted again, startling Déor, in order to protect him against another of Eoghan’s arrows. Orlynd quickly raised his wand again. “Vorbíllion!”

They watched as Eoghan was sent flying backwards, hitting the ground hard, and appeared to have lost consciousness.

Preston stood over Aindrias, the guard’s sword in the brigand’s hand, its blade touching the edge of his neck.

Aindrias glanced up into the man’s eyes. Preston pressed the blade’s edge lightly into Aindrias’s neck until there was the beginning of blood. One swing of the sword and everything would be over. There was no hesitation in Preston’s face. Aindrias swallowed hard and closed his eyes, ready to admit defeat.

He heard a swish, the sound of blood gushing and something hitting the ground beside him. Aindrias opened his eyes to see Preston’s head, which had been sliced from his body with one swing from Déor’s sword, lying beside him.

“Come back and face me, you coward!” Déor shouted as Eoghan quickly fled the scene. “You shall hang for this!” He turned. “Aindrias!” exclaimed Déor, turning, noticing the blood soaking through the side of Aindrias’s tunic. “You are injured. I am afraid I do not know much about healing practices.”

“Do not let it trouble you, Your Grace,” Aindrias said between groans. “I have taken worse wounds from a dagger’s blade than this. I assure you my life is not in peril.”

“I’m relieved. However,” Déor said, turning his attention to the warlock, “Orlynd, do you know any spells that can help relieve Aindrias’s pain while on the return journey?”

Orlynd shook his head. “Nae, yir Grace. Ah’m afraid only witches n’ warlocks capable ay performing healing magic huv been trained in Poveglia.”

“That’s unfortunate. Nonetheless, we will have to do our best. Aindrias, will you be able to ride?” Déor asked.

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Allow me tae dress yir wound until we git back tae Vandolay,” Orlynd said.

“I was not aware you had the talent to dress wounds,” Déor said, watching Orlynd carefully bandage the wound. “Are there other talents you may be hiding from me, warlock?”

“Nae, Yir Grace,” Orlynd answered. “Ma father’s best mate wis a healer fi Poveglia. Ah believe he taught him some basic techniques, which ma father later taught me.”

Déor crossed his arms. “I believe I may have misjudged you, Orlynd. If it hadn’t been for what you did back there, all of our lives may have been forfeit. It would appear there is truth to your words. I suggest we make haste for Vandolay, get Aindrias treated, and get some rest.”