ESKER X

  Liadan paused her cultural and political lessons on the Gaídel people to listen intently as the High King strode back and forth across the dais. The dour man punctuated his statements, which Esker could not understand, with aggressive gestures.

  Liadan translated for the party, “The High King is claiming that Lady Galdr has broken her covenant with the Gaídel and is harvesting innocent souls.” She seemed shocked by these allegations. “Mutraugh mentions lumber and quarry sites were targeted by Lady Galdr’s demons and many Gaídel were slain during her attacks.”

  There were murmurs throughout the hall, it seemed that not all the petty kings knew how to react to the High King’s accusations. Murtaugh spoke again, then paused dramatically as the room crescendoed in uproar. “He claims that Lady Galdr’s bloodlust was not quenched by summoning only demons, she also brought devils from the bowels of the earth!” Liadan looked at Esker in dismay.

  “But that is not true!” Guillaume insisted. “I was present with Lord Osmond when he first heard news of those attacks. Only Jotman soldiers were targeted, the Gaídel workforce was chased away and refused to return. The Jotman then punished them for their disobedience…”

  “I believe you,” Liadan answered. “I brought us here to seek allies and find my family, yet I fear I may have gotten us tangled in a spider’s web.”

  Esker watched the High King glance down at Bauchan, still seated at its miniature table. The tiny purple creature bowed to the High King, then scurried off the top of the table and over to a set of doors on the far side of the hall, close to the dais. Bauchan knocked twice sharply and as the door swung open, Gaídel attendants carried long wrapped bundles in pairs. Five of these strange rolls were placed along the front of the dais, below the table.

  “If you question the veracity of Lady Galdr’s treachery, I bring you proof!” the High King boomed and all of the cloth bundles were unfurled at once. When the servants stepped away, they revealed a hideous sight: shrunken corpses with their skin drawn tight over their skeletons and their limbs twisted at awkward angles. The curled and mangled fingers were the worst part, these people died in agony.

  As the assembled crowd gasped in shock; Murtaugh looked well pleased. Esker watched the corner of the High King’s lip momentarily twitch into a smile, before he regained a mask of outrage. “We have been wronged! Deceived by a fiend that we trusted dearly!” His gaudy jewelry sparkled in the torchlight as he raged, while many of the petty kings howled in agreement.

  The High King strode over to a corpse and pointed down at it. “The witch has stolen their souls and drank deeply of their vitality! These poor victims were hale and hearty a moon ago, now they look as if they were buried in salt for hundreds of years,” Murtaugh said, hanging his head low.

  Esker could not be certain from the distance she sat, or from the broken poses of the mummified corpses, yet they appeared taller than any of the Gaídel assembled in the hall.

  The High King continued, “Survivors of the witch’s ambush at the quarry were beset by devils clawing their way out of the earth. Our souls were not enough to quench the witch’s terrible thirst, she wishes to corrupt our spirits and poison our land! These devils are red-skinned, with spidery limbs, and fangs to drink our blood!”

  Esker was furious, first at the indignity of being used to further the High King’s agenda, but primarily at the suggestion that her people were inherently evil. Purely based on a description of a Tengu’s appearance, many of the Gaídel present seemed to readily accept that there was a racial predilection towards malice. Additionally, all this was in the context of her trusted friend Loess being killed by the quarry workers’ excavation of stone.

  It was hard for Esker to restrain herself and she felt a sympathy for her companions. Eógan’s people were being accused of crimes they had not committed and Guillaume had firsthand knowledge that proved the High King’s claims were lies, yet neither could not voice his perspective in this forum.

  What hurt Esker the most was her treatment by all the surface dwellers, with the sole exception of Lady Galdr. She had formed friendships and gained the trust of her party, but their initial revulsion at her appearance could not be disguised. She too had misgivings about their alien characteristics, yet it did not come with the baggage of categorizing them as irredeemably evil. The omission of any mention of the Jotman invasion by the High King was a curiosity for Esker, she would have assumed that topic would have been front and center.

  As Murtaugh smugly returned to his throne and Liadan ceased translating, the floor was opened to the petty kings to voice their opinions. Despite the obvious dissension in the room, none seemed eager to speak against the High King.

  From a table slightly farther back in the hall from where the party sat, a grim looking man stood. “High King Murtaugh, fellow kings. For those who do not know me, my name is King Brian and I hold lands along the Pechtish border,” he said addressing the room, translated with a slight delay by Liadan. His clothing was simple, with the markings of a warrior. “Must I remind those assembled of our first High King Niall and the tests he underwent before he wore the very crown upon your head?” The petty king let his words hang heavy in the air.

  “Niall was on a hunt to prove his manhood and as he grew thirsty, he came across a warted hag in the forest guarding a well. When the hag demanded a kiss in exchange for a drink, all but one of Niall’s friends fled.” Brian strode around the table and intercepted one of the women who busied about the room serving drinks. He put his hand out to stay her and then offered it with an arched brow. Laughter broke out throughout the room and the woman blushed as she took his hand. “Niall’s friend, of my own namesake,” Brian continued, “was brave enough to kiss the hag.” He demonstrated by pecking the serving woman gently on the cheek.

  The serving woman slapped Brian playfully on the shoulder. “I am no hag!” she insisted. The room erupted again in laughter, as Brian hung his head and nodded in agreement with her.

  “You must pardon the slight, my lady,” Brian said while exaggerating a squint, “For in my old age I see as well as one of the High Kings hostages!” The room became divided at the comment, some laughed uproariously, while the High King scowled and the petty kings nearest his dais began to protest.

  Brian, still holding the hand of the serving woman, used his other hand to still the room. “The man who would become our first High King was brave and never timid!” He swept the woman into a passionate embrace and kissed her deeply.

  The hall was once again united with joy, many hooting encouragements that Esker suspected might be inappropriate. Brian set the woman back on her feet and released her with a wink, she affected a swoon which got her a hearty applause. “Niall’s kiss dispelled the hag’s glamor and now the woman who stood before him was more beautiful than any he had ever seen.”

  At this point, Eógan stood to join the boisterous crowd, hooting like an owl. Brian continued, “She told Niall that she was of the Crooked Limb, that her name was Lady Galdr! This protector of our land, a goddess of nature, rewarded Niall with the promise that he and twenty-six of his descendants will rule Galálann. And so it came to pass!” Liadan finished her translation of Brian’s impassioned speech by adding that the story Brian told was a well known Gaídel legend.

  The High King scowled and the petty kings nearest him seemed unsure how to react, while the rest of the room boisterously showed support for Brian. Murtaugh hammered his tankard on the table top and that dampened some of the crowd’s energy, but not all. “And your point, Brian of the bogs?” the High King sneered. “Any other faerie tales you wish to tell us?” There was some scattered snickering and an uneasiness permeated the hall.

  “I mean no disrespect to your crown, High King,” Brian replied earnestly. “I merely am shocked at the suggestion that Lady Galdr, the goddess who shares these lands with us, would harm the innocent.”

  “Are you calling your High King a liar?” hissed one of Murtaugh’s sycophants, however, he was pointedly ignored by Brian who awaited the High King’s response.

  “I have testified with honor to each of you petty kings, whose holdings are vast… or meager.” The High King made a point to glare at Brian as he spoke the latter. “I offered proof of the witch’s betrayal,” he said, extending a bejeweled hand to the desiccated and mangled corpses laid out on the front of the dais. “I want what is best for our people, as I have sworn to protect them,” the High King continued. “I have shown you the threat we face. Fables for suckling babes are not evidence to the contrary, do you offer any proof, Brian?” Murtaugh wagged his finger accusingly. “Do any who disagree have evidence that Lady Galdr is not a hateful witch who has betrayed our covenant and spilled innocent blood?” His smug satisfaction crossed cultural borders, Esker did not like this man who wore the crown.

  Liadan looked agitated, as if barely able to restrain herself. Brian stood silently, opening and closing his mouth like a cavefish, unable to voice a challenge. None of the other petty kings dared to support him. With a clatter of her chair, Liadan rose. “If given leave, I would speak on the matter.” The assembled Gaídel grew turbulent, this appeared to be an abnormal request.

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  LIADAN IX

  “Ah, is that Liadan performers of miracles? Vassal of the Broken Man?” the High King asked, alighting his beady eyes on her. “Here to perform another miracle: speaking when only kings are given the floor!” The petty kings and their retinues laughed heartily as the room, which had been mixed in dissent, rallied behind Murtaugh. “They say I am a generous man, quick to give those what they deserve.” He stared at Brian, who was now seated. “I have also seen my misguided ways,” he said as he reached to his collar. “And my soul has been saved!” He drew out a pendant marked with the separated V’s of the Broken Man.

  The assembled Gaídel were shocked by this revelation, no High King, or even a petty king of note, had ever accepted the Broken Man as their savior. “To bless the occasion of my conversion, I extend the floor to you Liadan of miracles. Convince us that what we can see with our own eyes is not the truth,” the High King commanded, sweeping his arm at the corpses arrayed on the dais.

  Liadan took a beat to compose herself, feeling the pressure of the moment and unused to such a large audience. “Lady Galdr has protected our land, she has healed our sick, and crowned our High Kings.” Her voice quavered more than she would have liked, yet there were a few murmurs of agreement among the petty kings. “I have met Lady Galdr and know her heart to be pure, in fact I owe her my life. As do my companions.” As Liadan gestured to Eógan, Esker, and Guillaume in turn, the rumblings around the room grew more cacophonous and far more divided. With her hand still extended towards Guillaume, Liadan continued, “My friend, Guillaume, served under the Jotman leader, Lord Osmond, as a squire. He was present when news of the attacks on the lumberyard and quarry took place.”

  Gaídel openly gasped at the sight of a Jotman in their hall and the High King appeared unprepared for such a reveal. Guillaume raised his arm and waved awkwardly, before slinking down to squirm in his seat.

  “Guillaume can testify about the rage that Lord Osmond flew into upon hearing the news of the attacks on his soldiers and of the refusal of our people to return to those work sites: for they had been warned by Lady Galdr, yet unharmed.”

  The simmering dissent in the room was now at a boil. The High King glowered at Liadan before regaining his composure and bringing his bejeweled hands down to silence the raucous crowd. “Silence for the King!” his herald boomed, “Silence!”

  “I welcome your insight Liadan of miracles, you give us much to think on,” the High King began disingenuously. “Unfortunately you have said more than you intended: not only do you keep in your company a disgraced Jotman squire and consort with witches, but you have also brought a devil into this hallowed hall!” Murtaugh accused, the shrillness of his voice rising steadily in intensity.

  “Esker is no devil!” Liadan shouted back, before quickly adding, “my lord.”

  “See, she confesses!” gloated the High King. “Make your creature remove its shoddy disguise, so all can see what company you keep!” Murtaugh commanded, pointing a ringed finger to where Esker sat, wrapped in linens.

  Chairs and dishes clattered as those assembled in the hall turned to stare at Liadan’s table. Esker’s eyes went wide, then burned with fury. She clenched her mighty fist. Meanwhile, Eógan appeared to be scanning for potential escape routes, finding limited options.

  “Esker is no devil,” Liadan spoke softly with iron in her voice. “Her appearance may be shocking to us, yet she is among the kindest people I have ever met.” She turned to face away from the High King’s dais and instead addressed the room. “My friend aided Gaídel in need, lifting a wagon that crushed our loggers and risked her own life as Jotman Knights rode down upon them!” Liadan’s voice carried throughout the hall effortlessly as she felt a white hot heat building up within her heart. “The Gaídel who traveled with us to the Coronation Stone can testify on her behalf.”

  There was a lively cheer from the rear of the hall. Turning back to the table, she gently asked Esker, “Please remove those bandages, I am proud of who you are.” Esker met her eyes for a moment, relaxed her taut fist, then began to unwind the linens wrapped around her body and face.

  The reaction amongst the Gaídel to the appearance of Esker’s vividly red skin was mixed in wonder and fear. As more and more of her lanky body became visible, the crowd’s tone darkened. Offensive accusations punctuated the murmuring din. Liadan did not translate those slurs for her friend, but was saddened to realize that Esker could understand the intent behind them.

  The High King skillfully rode the wave of the assembled Gaídel’s uproar. “You present to us creatures from your menagerie, including a filthy Pecht, as if this was compelling evidence.” This drew hissing cries from the audience. “Why should we trust the word of one who has forsaken her vows?” Murtaugh asked the crowd. “Why should we have faith in a girl who has turned her back on her sworn duty as a nun and now traipses across the land with a devil and two suitors?” as he said this, swaggering on the dais, he drew up the pendant of the Broken Man on his neck and brandished it towards Liadan, as if warding off evil. “Begone devil!” Murtaugh commanded with his eyes locked on Liadan.

  As Guillaume fretted, Eógan barely contained his anger, and Esker sat impassive as stone, Liadan came to a realization: she could not sway the High King and worse yet, her next words could determine whether or not her friends lived. In moments of immense pressure, she had learned to trust her heart, her soul.

  There was no voice guiding her, no divine intervention; in her mind’s eye she saw Lady Galdr’s woven tapestry of the Wyrd. The tangled and intersecting colors that had started so divided, were now knotted in this moment. Curiously, the jet black strand had started braided with a golden one, before diverging to join with the red. Both eventually intertwined with the blue and green threads. Now the golden thread was on a collision course with the entanglement of red, blue, green, and black. With a deft tug of an astral fingers, Liadan plucked at a corner of the knot. It loosened, then released. She now knew what she had to do, what course to take.

  With iron once more in her voice, she silenced the bedlam. “You!” she thundered and all those between her and Murtaugh cowered, as if buffeted by a strong gale. The High King’s bravado deflated as Liadan’s eyes burst into brilliant white light. “Swear upon the holy symbol in your wicked hand that your tongue does not lie, that your words do not drip with venom.” Liadan took a step towards the dais, sending Gaídel clambering over tables and chairs to clear space. “Speak your claims to the Broken Man and the Holy Mother.”

  For a long moment, the High King did not move. As the hall buzzed with questioning Gaídel, Murtaugh’s eyes narrowed. “You are not one to make demands of me,” he insisted, but his ability to manipulate crowds with oration must have helped him realize that dismissing Liadan’s challenge would not suffice. The High King lowered his head and held the pendant aloft in both hands. “I vow upon the Broken Man and the Holy Mother Miriam that I speak true. Lady Galdr has slain the Gaídel you see before you, she has summoned devils to corrupt us, and now the Pecht’s join her evil crusade against us!” Murtaugh relished the long moment his words hung in the air of the hall.

  As he opened his mouth, ready to gloat, his beady eyes shot open. A smell like roasted pig filled the room as the pendant sizzled in his hand, sending curls of black smoke to the ceiling. The High King yelped, in a most unregal manner, unable to pry his hands away from the symbol of the Broken Man.

  While the High King howled in agony and his attendants rushed to aid him, Liadan turned towards the rest of the hall, ignoring those seated closest to the dais. She was emboldened by the sight of a few familiar faces, the Gaídel laborers who had survived the battle between the Jotman and the Pechts had been seated with their petty king in the back of the room. They rose in unison and began to walk towards Liadan with reverent expressions on their faces. Several other tables stirred, yet did not commit one way or the other.

  Brian stood regally alongside his people and nodded when Liadan met his gaze. She smiled. “Children of Galálann,” she began, addressing all the faces mixed in awe, terror, and confusion. “We our strong and our culture is rich, we must not forsake what has made us who we are. Lady Galdr is no witch, she is our protector.” This statement drew cheers, particularly from the back of the room and in orbit around Brian’s table.

  Liadan took a moment to let the crowd breathe, a lesson she had gleaned from the High King. “We were once whole, now we are divided. Gaídel, Pecht, and even Tengu once were joined as one.” This drew gasps. “If you do not believe me, merely gaze upon the archway leading into this magnificent stronghold: it is adorned with ancient Gaídel script, bestial petroglyphs of the Pechts, and Tengu runes.” What had initially been strong aversion to such an outlandish idea, now became muddled as such clear divides became murky.

  Liadan heard Eógan mutter, “The writing is literally on the wall.” Guillaume and Esker groaned.

  “An event in all of our people’s past once drew us together: I believe with all of my heart that we are again on the precipice of needing to unite against a common foe. One that threatens our very existence,” Liadan spoke these words with passion and could see how they moved her people. More tables of Gaídel, this time not exclusively from the rear of the chamber, began to rise and cluster towards her, spilling out into the walkway leading to the dais.

  Petty King Brian had joined the standing Gaídel in support and called out, “Well said! Here, here for Liadan of miracles!” he said that title earnestly, without any derision in his tone. Enthusiastic cheers followed his endorsement and Liadan could sense that High King Murtaugh’s hold over the hall was weakening.

  A slow clap started from atop the dais, but abruptly ended with curses and yelps of pain. The High King gestured to a nearby lackey who began to clap slowly in his place; Murtaugh gingerly cradled his scorched hands. The Broken Man’s pendant had been removed from his grasp and another attendant used a cane to suspend the necklace away from the High King’s body. It made for a ridiculous sight and a few from the rear of the room were brave enough to laugh aloud. Murtaugh silenced them with a glare. “I had sought to save the best news for last, yet now is as good a time as any,” he proclaimed. “I have brokered a peace with our valiant neighbors, the Jotman!” This was a shocking revelation and many of the petty kings appeared unsure how to respond.

  Liadan watched as the petty kings nearest the dais rose, along with their retinues, and gathered close to the High King. There was now a gulf between those loyalest to Murtaugh and the rest of the Gaídel kingdoms.

  The High King smiled. “Some most libelous slander was leveled at the commander of the Jotman forces, perhaps he would deign to answer those charges.” With a sweep of his ringed hand, the doors nearest the dais and the main doors of the hall swung open. Heavily armed and armored Gaídel guards trooped in from the front of the room, nearest the High King, while from the back of the hall a Jotman lord wearing heavy gauntlets strode in. Guillaume gasped and became distraught, moaning unintelligibly. Dozens and dozens of Jotman knights accompanied their lord and Liadan felt the air taken out of her when she saw Sir Marin at the towering warrior’s side.

  Murtaugh grinned malevolently and with a slight bow of his head called out, “I present to you Lord Osmond!” In Gaulish he added, “Perhaps you would like to make a statement?” Lord Osmond grunted, stopped a quarter of the way to the dais and drew the great sword from his back. The blades of the Jotman knights rasped from their scabbards in call and response. There was chaos in the hall.