Chapter Five
Dougal entered the dimly lit barroom. The log fire, which seemed to be burning all year round no matter the temperature outside, gave the place a smoky, resinous atmosphere. He stood still for a few moments, allowing his eyes to adjust to the gloom. He looked around the room at the occupants, few in number at this time of the day, as they sat at the rough-hewn tables in quiet conversation with their friends. A louder voice cut the low-level chatter.
“Over here, blindman!” came a call from off to one side of the room. Sitting on his own in the darkest shadows Callun nursed a tankard of ale. Ill at ease in the company of most, Callun chose to sit alone and, as the village Chieftain, his wishes were generally respected. As Dougal sat, the landlord appeared and deposited a large foaming mug of the same dark, bitter ale that his friend was drinking. If Senmar, the barman, was going to stay to share a few words with them both then the cold nod of thanks from Callun soon changed his mind. As the two friends shared their first tankards the Eron only made small talk, asking of Bronty and how Dylan’s training with weapons was going. It was halfway through the second round of drinks that Callun changed the topic of conversation to what was really on his mind and the reason for this meeting.
“I am in need of your services as a huntsman.” He began. “Five days after the Night of Fires we will be having some visitors to my Hall. I need you to catch a couple of boar and deer for me so that I can feed them.”
“Why not just slaughter a cow and a pig and save me the bother?”
“Insolent wretch!” laughed Callun. “Because I would have it so and the last time I looked I was still the village Eron.” He paused before continuing. “But a better reason may be that these are no ordinary visitors. We are to play host to the Ard-Mal, High king of the Six-tribes, as well as the other five Mals.” He smiled with a smug satisfaction as the colour drained from the huntsman’s face. “It doesn’t end there either. The Arch-druid, Maelwyn, head of the order of druids and most beloved of the goddess will also be there. I suppose that means Geshla will also be there too. Wild meat always tastes better, and I would not like to feed them anything but the best that the village can offer. You wouldn’t embarrass me in front of such an illustrious host, would you, my friend?”
“My services are at your disposal, my Lord.” Dougal pledged jokingly, half standing so that he could give his friend a bow. “I will provide a feast of meat fit for a king…. Well, six kings actually. May this humble huntsman know the reason for this gathering of the great and powerful?”
Callun’s smile faded. “This is not for general knowledge yet, and I wish it to remain that way for as long as possible. You will understand why when you hear it. I do not know all the details yet but, as I understand it, we could soon be at war with Etrua, our neighbours to the west.”
“I’ve hardly heard of them.” Admitted Dougal. “What have we done that they are going to attack us?”
“Actually, it may be the other way around. Etrua are a country made up of different parts, much like we are. Whereas we are made of six semi-independent tribes, Etrua is made of a collection of city states – large cities each ruling as much of the land around them as they have the strength to hold. From what I understand, they dislike each other but hate outsiders more. They are quite often fighting each other; it seems to be how they decide who has seniority, and they follow the lead of the strongest in all dealings with outsiders. “He took a swig of his ale before he continued. “One of the major cities, Tirins, has for many years maintained a trading town in the lands of our brothers, the Ebroni. Brastion, grandfather of the present Mal, Casticus, granted them permission to build on six-tribe lands many years ago on condition that they never farmed more lands than they could see from the top of the governor’s house they built in the harbour and that that they never build any fortifications around the town. The town has grown steadily over that time, making much money from trading with both the six-tribes and their own people, but they always abided by the rules of the agreement. But it seems that they are a people of walls at heart and over the past few years they have begun to build fortifications to surround the town. Not only this, but they have also started to drive off Ebroni families from the land that they have farmed for generations. Casticus has repeatedly asked the governor of town for an explanation but has yet to receive one. The last party of envoys he sent failed to return. The leader of the delegation was Casiticus’ youngest son, Martel, and now the Mal is after Amren’s permission to sack the town to rescue his son and drive the foreigners out of the tribe lands.”
“And will Amren give it?” It all sounded quite worrying to Dougal. Etrua seemed a warlike nation and raising the warbands against them didn’t seem like it would lead anywhere good for the people of the six-tribes. Yet if they ignored this insult who knew what the foreigners would do next. Sometime a show of strength was necessary.
“Who knows?” Admitted Callun truthfully. “I don’t think that he has much choice. Casticus will argue that if they are not stopped here then Tirins will eventually try to take over more of the Ebroni lands and what then, the Callatai lands too? I think, were it my choice, I would try and stop them now but that, thank the goddess, is not my decision to make.”
In his mind’s eye Dougal could already see the town in flames, rivers of blood running down the street washing against the bodies of men, women, and children as they slowly stiffened in hideous poses of death. He shuddered involuntarily. “I’m glad the decision is not mine either. But that doesn’t answer the question of why meet here?”
“Would you believe it is because they all like me?” Asked Callun with a grin.
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Alright then.” He shrugged, taking no offence. “The reason is that Maelwyn is no longer a young man. Everyone knows of our village because of the henge, and it is not too far away from the college of druids on Tully’s Isle, so he should manage the journey well enough.”
“Do you think that Geshla will be with him?” Geshla was the near legendary leader, or nearest thing they had to one, of the Windborne warriors, men sworn to the service of the goddess. These fanatical warbands served as the armed might of the druids and, as such, were the protectors of all the Six-tribes.
“With the subject matter of the meeting being so important to the Six-tribes I cannot see him being anywhere else. Also, where Maelwyn goes, Geshla follows.”
“I hope so. I would like to see him and put a face to the man I’ve heard so many stories about. Have you seen him, Callun?”
“No,” he admitted, “but like you, I hope he does come.”
At that moment the door to the tavern opened and in walked Dylan. Fresh from having finished his errands, he had come to find Dougal and make good his promise of a tankard of ale. At one of the tables, three warriors who had been quietly talking up to this point looked to see who had entered. As the druid walked by them, one made a comment to his friends that made Dylan hesitate before quickly walking on. The speaker’s friends laughed at the words. Dougal and Callun heard little of the comment except the world ‘cripple’. If Dylan chose to ignore the comment, the Eron did not. He quickly rose to his feet and strode towards the table holding the three warriors, his anger showing as a barely visible aura of energy that surrounded his body. The room fell completely silent as he confronted the tormentors.
“Did I hear you say something?” He demanded, his voice a furious hiss.
“No…no, Eron.” They answered quickly in terrified whispers.
The light surrounding Callun’s body seemed to intensify as he stood before them. The power of his fetish magic clothed his body like a second skin, pulsing in time to his heartbeat. “I know your views well, Enoch, especially where they concern our druid. If I hear any more of your foul-mouthed opinions, either directly or indirectly you will live to regret it.” He dropped his hand to the hilt of the sword at his waist to add extra emphasis to his words. “Our druid may be too even tempered to cross weapons with you, but I am not him and I am much less forgiving!”
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The warrior named Enoch looked terrified and his friends no less so. “Yes, Eron.” He said in barely a whisper.
“Good, then we understand each other, do we not?” His furious gaze swept from Enoch to his companions and back again making them very much aware that the message was for them as well. All three quickly nodded their affirmation that they understood very well the price of further comments. The Eron turned and walked back towards his chair, the unnatural light surrounding his body dissipating with each step. As he sat, Callun breathed out deeply then took a large swallow of ale.
“My thanks, Chieftain,” Said Dylan, “but there really was no need.”
“Yes, there was.” He disagreed, some anger remaining in his voice. “There was every need. You are one of the chosen of the goddess and will have the respect due to one in your position.”
“They were only voicing questions that I have asked myself many times. Why did the goddess choose a cripple such as myself to serve her?”
“The ways of Ostarna are not always clear to me but I believe in her wisdom all the same.” Said Callun, the last of the tension leaving him.
“Well, you have my thanks for that again.” Said the druid gratefully. “Will you let me buy you both a tankard?”
“We will, and you will have our thanks for that. I find that ale works wonders on by poor temper!”
After the drinks had been delivered to the table they began to relax, restarting the conversation. Dougal was not surprised that Dylan knew of the impending visit. The arrival of the Arch-druid at the village was as an important event for Dylan as it was for Callun.
“We were talking about Geshla.” Dougal informed the cleric. “Have you ever met him?”
“I have.” Confessed Dylan. “It was while I was studying at the College, although it was only for the briefest of moments.”
“Is he really as he is portrayed in the tales?” Asked Callun with almost child-like eagerness.
Dylan laughed at the change in the man who had not long before been summoning energies strong enough to demolish the entire building should he have chosen to do so, and who sat opposite him now his face glowing with the desire to hear stories of one of the greatest heroes of the Six-tribes. “Let me tell you this. No matter how grand he seems in the stories, nothing will prepare you for meeting him face to face. He really is a most imposing man.” And no matter how much they badgered him to elaborate, he would only add “Wait until he comes with Maelwyn.”
They were well into their fourth tankards when Gryffin made a hasty appearance. He quickly spotted where the group were sitting then ran across the tap room. He seemed very excited about something.
“Someone is full of the joys of spring!” Observed Callun dryly.
Gryffin’s face reddened at being the object of the Eron’s scrutiny. All three laughed at the boy’s discomfort.
“Come on, Gryffin. I meant nothing by it. Tell us, what has happened that has caused this high state of excitation. Have you stolen your first kiss from one of the village girls?”
Gryffin’s colour deepened even more, and he chose to keep his eyes riveted to the floor, seemingly taking great interest in the endless variety of shade and length of the rushes he found there.
“He won’t bite you, Gryff.” His brother reassured him.
“Indeed, he will not.” Added Dylan, unsuccessfully trying to hide a smile. “Although had you seen him leap to defend my honour a while ago, you may not choose to believe that.”
Gryffin looked at on face to another, trying to see if they were making fun of him.
“I don’t believe that the last comment was particularly helpful, Dylan.” Callun said pretending to scowl at the druid. He moved along to make space on the bench. “Come, sit down.” He called for Senmar to bring him an extra mug of ale for Gryffin. He waved away the beginnings of a protest from the elder brother. “I am only pre-empting the Night of Fires by a few days.” He explained. He turned his attention back to the younger brother as he sat. “You are a man now, Gryffin. You should start to feel comfortable in the company of other men, no matter who they are. Now, tell us what has got you in such a flap!”
To calm himself, Gryffin took a huge swallow of the foaming liquid that had just arrived in front of him by a scowling barkeep. He knew that Gryffin hadn’t received his weapons yet and therefore was not counted as a man, but he didn’t feel as though he could go against the wishes of the most powerful man in the village. Gryffin grimaced at the earthy, bitter taste.
“A Doomsayer has just entered the village square!” He announced and was immediately gratified by the shocked silence which followed. Doomsayers were the most enigmatic of all the fetishists, sinister visionaries that crossed the lands following their mystic dreams. Having no runic form, the use of the wyrd, or fate, rune was the only one that could not be learned by others. The power to see visions of the future was given at birth or not at all. Having said that, as it had no runic form, it also had no birth fetish mark either. As such, a Doomsayer’s power usually went unnoticed until later in life when the visions started to appear unexpectedly.
“Well.” Said Callun, finally. “I think that I should go and make sure that this visitor is just passing through and how long he intends to rest up here if, indeed, he does. He may have already be on his way out the other side of the village.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Said Dylan in hushed tones as he nodded towards the door. A tall man, gaunt to the point of skeletal, had entered the room. His shoulder length grey hair suggested that he had seen maybe sixty or more summers yet he walked straight backed and healthy. That he was the Doomsayer in question was put beyond doubt as they caught sight of the horizontal black stripe, two inches wide, that covered his eyes. It was made of a mixture of charcoal and animal fat and was meant to represent their ability to see into the darkness of the future. Those of a more pragmatic nature suggested that it was a simple but effective way to declare their calling and to warn others away. No one in their right mind wanted to interfere with a Doomsayer in pursuit of their quest, and the curse of a Doomsayer was legendary! After briefly studying the occupants of all the tables in the room, the stranger walked over to where Callun sat. His nod to Dylan was one of a meeting of equals rather than respect for someone of higher status as was normally given to a priest of the goddess. This, even more than his unusual calling, marked him out as not of the Six-tribes. He regarded them intently, bright blue eyes staring out of a band of darkness. A vicious scar ran from his forehead to the corner of his mouth, puckering the left side of his face in a permanent parody of a smile.
“You must be the village head man…. Eron, I believe it is called in these lands?” He spoke directly to Callun, his heavily accented speech causing him to speak slowly and deliberately to ensure he was being understood.
“I am, although I would be interested to know how you reasoned that one out.”
The Doomsayer shrugged his shoulders. “Let us just say that it is a talent I have. After so many years following my calling, I seem to have developed a second nature in spotting those in power. Many people are not happy to see a Doomsayer. We frighten them. We learn at an early age to ask permission of those in charge to stay in the area. If they agree, we are usually safe.”
Dylan sat captivated. Fetishists made up no more than one thousandth of the Six-tribe people, and many of them were fellow druids like himself. Although he had learned much in his lessons on fetish powers at the druid’s college, this was the first Doomsayer he had ever encountered. He wanted to know more about this unusual man. “Would you care to join us for a drink?” He asked, hoping that once he was at the table, he would be willing to answer some questions about his mysterious calling.
“No, thank you.” Said the Doomsayer, then noticing the disappointment on the druid’s face, he added, “Possibly later. For the present, I require only a room and the chance to get some sleep. I have travelled for many weeks to get here.” He looked at Callun. “Do you have any objections as to my staying in the village? Some men do, claiming I bring bad luck.”
“And do you?” Asked the Eron pointedly.
“I do not. I bring a choice to those in my vision. What most men call bad luck is merely trouble that they have bought on themselves by their lack of wisdom, although not always. If you do find my presence in the village offensive, I will go and camp in the woods I saw a few miles out of town.”
“You are more than welcome to stay at the inn.” Said Callun, much to the obvious delight of Dylan. “If Senmar gives you any trouble, ask him to come and see me. Do you have any idea how long you will be resting here?”
“I am unsure.” He admitted. “Just until the conditions of the vision are met, then I will be gone.”
“Your doomquest has led you here?” Asked Dylan, obviously intrigued.
“I have arrived.” He said mysteriously.
“And what is the nature of this ‘doomquest’?” demanded Callun. If something unusual was about to happen in his village, then he wanted to know as much about it as he could, especially with all the Mals of the Six-tribes about to descend on him.
The Doomsayer chuckled good naturedly, not feeling in the slightest bit intimidated by the dark-haired warrior. “Time will reveal all.” He turned to go to procure a room for the duration of his stay then stopped and turned back to look at Gryffin. The Mystics forceful gaze caused the young man to squirm in his seat, blinking and twitching as something caused an itch deep inside his head that he could not scratch. Then, the sensation was gone, and the Doomsayer smiled kindly at him. “Greetings, little brother.” He said. “Maybe we will have time to talk before this questing has ended.” Then he turned and walked off in the direction of the bar to find the landlord, leaving all at the table looking questioningly at Gryffin.
