The Sacrificial Boy by: Elsbeth Aislin learns that all choices in life come with consequences

Chapter 16

In the predawn hours, two senior foresters approached Lord Kelvin’s castle, all in a panic claiming they had stumbled upon a large encampment of cavalry. Since the first stones were laid down for Lisheen Castle, the lords always had woodsmen in the forest during the campaign season. Although highly unlikely, troops could pass through the Wyre Forest to attack the Keep and surrounding villages.

Sir Nevan thanked the gods for their foresight, as he rode down a line of local levies, shouting for the men to form up. With Miles and his father on campaign with the King, the safety of the castle and the surrounding villagers were his responsibility. The warning of the impending attack had hopefully given the surrounding villagers enough time to reach the security of the castle. If not, then he would buy them that time.

“Sergeant Owen, has everyone made it safely into the castle?”

The sergeant, an old grizzly veteran of the Wars of Succession that took place twenty years ago, looked up as the lord’s son approached. For the better half of the morning, he had been gathering men from different villages together for the defense of the castle and the surrounding lands.

“My Lord, the villages from Wyre and Stonebrook have almost made it to the safety of the Keep. Whiteflow and Ullord villagers are still coming in; the others have not reported in as of yet.”

“All right, thank you, Sergeant, go ahead and move the rest of these men to the orchards.”

While watching the militia depart, made up mostly of old men and boys, Sir Nevan knew there was little chance he would be able to stop an attack. He was under no illusion that by the end of the day, most of these men and most likely himself would lie dead on the field. However, he needed to try to slow down the attackers.

With a shake of his head, he turned his warhorse around, riding off with a group of mounted armsmen towards the edge of the forest.

“By the gods of battle, girl, you sure picked a terrible time to disappear.”

Not for the first time, his mind wandered towards the missing King’s Healer, although truthfully, he missed more than her healing skills. Without a word, she had vanished after saving so many on his father’s lands.

Moreover, the way she handled herself during that time of crisis, Sir Nevan knew that Aislin would have made a formidable Lady of Lisheen. But beyond that, her disappearance had left a hole in his heart. However, the story of her going into the woods to track down the person or persons who abducted the young girls was absurd. No, Aislin’s disappearance reeked of court politics.

Neither Macha nor Aislin’s grandmother was more forthcoming about where Aislin went, either. Sir Miles believed she fled to another part of the Kingdom due to Sir Nevan’s father’s return. But why, he would have protected her. Sir Miles had planned to follow Aislin, but Sir Nevan talked him out of it.

Even more mysterious, Aislin’s grandmother had an audience with his father the next morning on his return. From the way his parents reacted, Sir Nevan immediately understood that Ina was more than a simple village Wisewoman, perhaps even more than a Court Healer.

Macha, too, wasn’t exactly who she appeared to be. The daughter of a Knight, she should have been apprenticed to a Court Healer living in a castle, not some village.

Unfortunately, they both had departed with his father, summoned to the Council of Elders. Although other village Wisewoman heading towards the castle, he knew the powers of those three women, in particular, would be sorely missed.

Joining the line of battle that had formed across from the forest, the young Knight road up towards another group of mounted men. “Any word from our scouts, Constable Sinclair?”

Before the older Knight could answer, a group of scouts came riding out of the woods, one taking to horse riding straight towards Sir Nevan and his command.

--0--

Angry and more than a little concerned, King Conall dismounted from his warhorse after riding through the army camp of the north. Due to the size of the King’s forces, the troops moved across the land in three large formations. While leading the center force, King Conall received news of an attack on the northern wing, commanded by Count Valan.

From what could be determined, an unknown number of riders came out of the eastern woods, striking quickly, burning merchant wagons and getting in among some of the regimental tents. It had been a well thought out raid. The attackers had simply ridden in, caused as much confusion as necessary, and then ride out.

“Nice and neat, light horse, most likely, your Majesty.” The Senior Knight of the Kings escort commented as the group moved towards the command tents.

“And look at the bloody confusion it’s caused, it’s going to slow us down.” King Conall growled. How had King Llwynog moved his forces to the other side of the Fomar Hills already and through the Sable Woods no less?

“Woman, that hurt!” A bear-like voice growled from inside one of the tents.

“Sit still you big baby; you’ll open your wound again; serves you right for not wearing a helmet.”

“Gods girl, you sound like your mother.”

Stepping inside the command tent, the King found the Count’s niece, a small redheaded girl dressed in the colors of a King’s Healer, standing over her uncle cleaning what appeared to be a head wound.

The Count pushed the King’s healer away, who looked at him unhappily before collecting her things. Greeting the King with a smile and a curtsey, she departed from the tent.

“Feel sorry for her betrothed; the girl’s going to be a handful I’ll tell you that.” The Count said with pride.

“Alright, Valan, what happened here?”

Waving his hand unhappily, the Count motioned the King to a large chair. “Bloody winged lancers, a full regiment at least.” The famed horsemen, who rode with large feathered banners on their back, were known as the best light horse in the realm.

“Attacked us a little after dawn, right out of the woods; at least they didn’t do too much damage mostly burning merchant wagons. Still, it’s going to take at least a day to sort it all out.

“And?” the King pointed to the Count’s head wound.

The Count frowned. “I was having a bit of breakfast with Baron Torthgar; wasn’t exactly dressed for battle.”

“No stockade, your Excellency?” Sir Malcolm asked.

“My bleeding fault.” The Count sighed. “We marched in late into the night, didn’t have time to set the camp right. Still, we are on the other side of the Dearg River; they must have at least a week’s march on us.”

“Two maybe three weeks, I would say.” Another voice added as Duke Blathmac entered the tent.

“What are you doing here?” King Conall asked his brother.

“I had news to tell you, but you had already left.” The Duke walked over and poured himself a drink before sitting down. “King Llwynog’s been a busy man; from what I just discovered, his troops were already making camp around Coedwig at the start of winter.”

The fortress of Coedwig stood at what was known as the Gairdán valley, a strip of fertile land separating the two Kingdoms. Because of the heavy woods of the Wyre Forest and the rough hills and mountainous terrain to the north, the valley had often been the path which both Kingdoms’ armies took every year.

“Worst, Dun Láiidir is already besieged.” Like their neighbors, the Kingdom of Airthir had a fortified keep, one of the old Black Sorceress fortresses, on their side of the valley.

At the news, the King started to rub his head unhappily. The carefully planned campaign he and his council worked on over the long winter was already in ruins.

Duke Blathmac nodded, throwing a small list of towns and villages on the table. “Except for this attack on the camp, your royal cousin seems only interested in raiding towns and villages near Dun Láiidir. The bulk of his forces now sits at the edge of the Gairdán valley.”

“He has to deal with Dun Láiidir first, can’t leave it in his rear.” The count stood up and went to be back of the tent, returning with a large map. “Maybe he intends to settle this with one large battle, even so, our troop numbers should be about the same.”

King Conall looked over the map taking notice of the location where the two armies would be fighting.

“True, but he is also working hard on stripping this army of those much-needed men. Llwynog is well aware that we will have to leave forces behind to protect our rear if nothing else those Sciatháiin Lancers are still out there.”

“Aye, although with us knowing those blasted Lancers are on the prowl, we can make their lives difficult. From what my scouts tell me, they appear to be returning to the main army.”

“Perhaps, but we can’t risk it. We cannot afford them to be running around in our rear.” King Conall said, reaching for a quill to make a list of regiments of horse and foot, which would return north to protect the army’s line of march.

“Looking at the report, your Grace, I don’t see that they attacked too many villages near the Wyre forest.” Count Valan said. “I would have thought with those Lancers marching through the Sable Woods; King Llwynog would have sent troops through them.”

Although highly unlikely, the woods being too heavy for most cavalry, at best, any cavalry would be walking their horses through the thick underbrush.

“I’m afraid they did. A rider came from Lord Kelvin’s lands early this morning. It appears that Prince Rupert managed to make his way through the Wyre Forest with a couple of regiments of horse.”

Both men looked up startled and a little concerned. The nephew of the king, Rupert, was considered one of the best cavalry commanders on either side. Such a force would create havoc in those fertile lands.

“So, what happened?”

“He and his entire command just vanished; they never came out of the woods.”

The Duke told of the events that took place on Lord Kelvin’s lands two days ago. The other men were about to ask the validity of the report until the Duke continued. “Even stranger, we received news this morning that Llwynog redeployed his entire army away from those same woods.”

“Why would he do that? The Prince is most likely just lost; he will turn up eventually.”

“I’m not too sure about that, your Majesty.” Count Valan looked nervously around the room. “You know those rumors of the Black Sorceress’ return?”

King Conall looked at the Count in surprise. He had been one to first speak out, saying the rumors were nothing more than fanciful children tales.

“Sir Malcolm, can you ask the guards to summon Cailtram, son of Girom.”

Moments later, the heavily armored Earl, a tall young man, blonde hair typical of the ancient warrior people called the Kareivis entered the tent.

Greeting the other men of the room, he spoke with a thick accented of a northerner. “You have need of me, Valan.”

“Yes, Cailtram, I have been told that your people also have rumors of the Black Sorceress’ return.”

The war leader of the Kareivis tried not the make a face at the question. The two people had entirely different opinions on the ancient Sorceress. Even after the sorceress fell, his people continue to follow her banner.

Far to the south, she was remembered only as a great conqueror. North of the Old Forest, the sorceress, was considered an evil influence on the world. Something that the great Kings of old had to destroy. However, in the cold lands of the far north, the Kareivis, and the people who walked among the clouds called the Auksta, she was known as Laimigs the Blessed One.

“No, not rumors. The Rune Singers have spoken of the return of the Laimigs. She has been seen in the shape of a great bird, calling the Burvju to her once more.”

The other men in the room shifted uncomfortably. Duke Blathmac asked. “The Burvju? I haven’t heard that name before.”

The Earl almost laughed. These weak southerners knew nothing. No wonder his ancestor's war upon them. In Cailtram grandfather’s time, the last battle took place with Kareivis defeating an army twice its size. With that victory, they earned back much of the land they lost in previous wars. Now an uneasy alliance existed between the two peoples.

“Those who have the Dovana, the gift, take a journey when they come of age to a sacred place among the mountains and to sit and wait for her calling. Those who are fated to become Burvju do not return.”

King Cullum frowned. From what his grandfather had once told him, the Kareivis tied the young people to a boulder high in the mountains as a sacrifice to their dark goddess.

Whatever his opinion on their religious practices, as a King, he understood that they needed to be careful with his words. For the upcoming campaign to be successful, they would need their strength.

Earl Cailtram and his people were a proud folk, valuing family and clan honor above all things. The Kareivis were also some of the best foot troops in the realm. With their shield walls and runic weapons, they could take down a heavily armored knight with a single swing.

“What about those who do return?” The Duke asked. Like the king, he also thought that these young people were sacrificed to their dark gods in exchange for a shorter winter.

“It’s no dishonor not to be chosen; my mother was one who took the journey. The young women who return became healers or wives of our chieftains or Earls. The men usually apprentice themselves to Rune Singers or Rune-Smiths.

“So you believe these Rune Singer’s stories about the Black Sorceress’ return?” King Conall asked carefully.

The Earl looked as if he was going to say something else, then changed his mind and simply said. “I do.”

The Kareivis just sat there and listened as King Conall explained what had happened with Prince Rupert and King Llwynog's army.

“What do you think?”

“I am not worthy enough to understand the thoughts of the Laimigs, but what would you do, great King, if someone invaded your lands. Why would you expect her to do any less?”

--0--

From the battlements of Dun Láiidir, the defenders watched as the two armies finally drew closer. Since coming under siege, King Llwynog had not attempted to assault the fortress or batter it down. No, the defenders knew that if King Conall’s army was defeated outside the gates; they would have no choice but surrender.

As night descended, the two armies sat across from one another. The landscape appeared to be covered in stars, each a campfire surrounded by men. As the healers worked long into the night preparing for the wounded, and the smiths and armorers made last-minute repairs, those among campfires readied themselves for the next morning.

For some, the battle would be a joyous occasion, a chance to show their worth. The Kareivis drank large quantities of mead and sang the ancient battle songs of their fathers. The Sciatháiin, on the other hand, talked quietly as they went over every inch of their arms and armor. Each held significance in their lives, a gift from father to son, with individual pieces being passed down through the generations. Like the Kareivis, they too waited excitedly for the call of battle, for the hunt to begin.

For others, the battle only brought fear. Many believed that the next day would be their last. They sat around the campfires, silent, thinking of loved ones while hating every hour as it brought them closer to the dawn.

Before the first rays of dawn appeared, both camps began to stir. Men and animals were fed, weapons readied, and both armies began the short march to the battlefield. Slowly, regiment by regiment, they stood across from one another. The mercenary companies and other veterans moved in tight formations, maneuvering across the landscape with precision.

Other troops, like the King's Levy, looked more like a mob. The sergeants walking in the rear holding stout clubs to use not against any attacker but those who thought to flee the line of battle.

With the cavalry finally taking to the flanks and the heavy foot moving towards the center, missile troops on both sides moved forward in front of the armies. From crossbows to short bows to the few longbows, they would draw first blood.

Then both armies stopped, looking across the field at one another. On both sides, they waited. Before the conflict began there would often be a battle for honor. Knights on both sides would call each other out for single combat. Or perhaps, as many hoped the two Kings would meet and talk, and there would be no battle today.

However, this day of battle was unlike any other. As the armies readied themselves, a lone figure in black appeared in the center of the battlefield. A woman with raven black hair, stood next to a massive creature, which looked at both armies with disdain.

Her sudden appearance caused some confusion and panic among the ranks. A contingent of levies suddenly turned and fled, running over the sergeants to flee. Did they fear the woman or the beast? No one knew as the other units closed up ranks to fill the holes the fleeing troops just made.

From both sides, a rider appeared, carrying the banner of their king. Nervously they approached the woman. As each returned to their line, after speaking to her, they returned once again, but this time with Dukes of the realm.

As the morning wore on, both sides watched the curious meeting that took place in the center of the battlefield. Finally, as the Dukes and heralds returned, troops made ready for battle, but instead, orders were given to go back to camp.

The fighting between the Kingdom of Airthir and the Kingdom of Dál Riata was over.