The Head of Bealach Nam Bo
BY
Roger L. James
The rugged mountains were pelted with rain, mixed with sleet. Strong winds whipped through the gnarled pines, and sagebrush as two people dragged a heavily laden donkey. A woman tugged at the heavy cloak and pulled over the hood to cover her face. The countryside around her, rocked by thunder, as lightning erupted. Briefly lighting the rain drenched night as bright as day.
The man with her tried to steady them against the frost-smitten wind and rain. Their feet trudged in thick slurry of mud. Behind them their donkey burdened with musical instruments and belongings complained bitterly. Its loud braying failed to drown out the roll of thunder overhead.
“I thought you said, once we are in the valleys it would be warmer!” Azalais’ teeth chattered as she spoke.
“This storm seems intent on following us, all they way to the sea.” He chuckled, and said. “Don’t all great stories start with a dark and stormy night?”
“Very funny!” She stopped as they crested a rise, “I see a light!” Azalais pointed at a small wayside wooden tavern on the outskirts, next to a village signpost.
Calum did what he could to drag their donkey named Muc, in order to keep up with her. She stopped and waited for him to catch up. The rain pelted her and the wind seeped between folds of her woolen cloak. Without a word, she took the largest oiled canvas bag off the donkey and slung it over her shoulder.
He yelled over the thunder and crack of lightning, “I’ll put Muc in the barn! You go on in!” Calum saw her shoulders slump with exhaustion, she turned and entered without a word more.
He shivered against the cold, as overhead a crack of lighting illuminated the sign, which stretched over the road. The sign read: Bealach nam Bo’. Calum sighed and saw the signboard for the tavern rock back and forth with a squeak. On it showed two kegs of ale, split by an axe.
The small wooden tavern was hot and damp, with a musty odor of mold, sweat and ale. In the midst of the stone-floored hall roared a fire, which chewed on several stout logs. The tavern keeper stood behind a long wooden bar that had been notched with blades, stained by blood and ale. The tavern keeper was a large, heavyset man, grizzled black beard and long hair. A robust man, who looks like he is use to busting heads of rowdy ones.
“Leave your cloak by the door!” The tavern keeper barked.
Azalais with nimble fingers unhooked the clasp about her cloak and pocketed it into a pouch on a thick leather belt. The heavy cloak smelled of soggy sheep, mixed with odors of the tavern’s meat and onions. Her empty stomach churned at the scent of food. She hung her cloak next to others hanging on copper pegs, which protruded from the wall. A mirror hung next to the pegs, she gazed at her own face staring back. Azalais wiped mud off her high cheekbones, green colored eyes peered back at her from a face many considered beautiful. Her skin tanned by the burning sun of the Southern deserts. She turned and brushed out her mane of raven colored hair and studied the beady eyes that peered from bearded faces of five villagers.
A tall and lanky wizened man stood and grinned as he studied her, his voice grated like sand on brick beneath booted feet. “We have a noble woman amongst us!”
She reached down and pulled six inches of steel from its scabbard. “I may have a noble’s epee, but I have a peasant’s empty stomach and purse. I am no noble, just a traveling minstrel.”
The man’s eyes devoured her in its scrutiny. “Your pants are tailored leather and that blouse is of silk. And a minstrel by herself would have more than a harp strapped to her back.”
“Thank-you for the fashion report, but these are gifts and I have no money for you to rob me of.” Azalais’ hand stayed on the hilt of her slender blade.
“Sit down Fergus and behave yourself!” The tavern keep shouted.
The door behind her flew open. Faster than a blink of an eye, she drew her epee and leveled it in one fluid motion. The man a head taller than her, dressed in black looked first at the villagers and then at her.
She sheathed her blade, “Is Muc all right?”
Calum was a sturdy and handsome man, about six feet tall, broad shoulders, and looked more like a warrior than a bard. Calum unhooked the clasp about his cloak and nodded his head. He studied his face in the mirror and brushed his long blond hair with his hands. He had the blue eyes of a Northman, skin pale and face broad with a firm chin. “Why did you draw your blade?” He placed his cloak next to hers.
“I expected a rude welcome from the locals.” She unwrapped the bag and checked her lap harp that was inside of it.
Calum saw the wizened villager sit back down with his friends. “Are you troubling her?”
“No troubles my friend! We were only cautioning the lady about traveling alone,” one of them said.
“Well, she is not alone and we only wish to entertain. In exchange for a night of lodging and a meal each.”
Tavern Keep rubbed his chin in thought, “I don’t have enough business for any free meals. Fergus you mongrel, you and your friends owe them!”
Fergus stood and glowered at Calum and then back at the tavern keep. “I don’t care to hear no caterwauling!” His friends chuckled beneath their breaths.
“We should still his tongue forever, for his rudeness,” he whispered.
She turned and whispered, “We’ll use no magic or steel on fools and innocents.”
“We have no coin.” Calum reached into his pouch and pulled out a ring and sighed, “This should do.”
“So, the Lady Sorcha did give you a gift. You can buy this tavern with that ring.”
He smiled and studied the pretty bauble. “She cried when I told her we were leaving and begged me to stay.”
Azalais gave him a brief kiss on the lips. “Glad you know what’s best for you.”
He returned it passionately and huskily said, “Always at your service.”
“Have you no decency?” The tavern keeper barked.
Calum faced the man and threw him the ring. The tavern keeper caught it, studied the red ruby and bit into the golden band for authenticity. “My good man, will that succor our meals and lodging for the night?” Calum said.
The tavern keeper smiled, “Aye, that’ll do just fine. But I request a blessing from John Barleycorn upon my ale in return.”
She picked up her harp and started to walk toward the blazing fire. “Then two flagons of your finest brew are needed.”
They sat on the ledge of the fireplace, the warm heat seeped into their tired bodies. She hummed a few notes and started tuning her harp. Tavern keeper laid two large flagons on a small wooden table before them. The steins made of carved wood, with white froth from the ale flowing over the side. The ale was black as coal.
Calum sipped and laid it back down with a smile. “Black velvet, I have never tasted better!”
She took a heady sip to wash down the road dust, “Truly this is the finest. You're a master brewer, indeed!” She hummed a few more notes and saw that the villagers had turned around to hear them. “Ready?”
He pulled out a flute and blew out a few notes, “Yes.”
The lively tune filled the hall; thunder seemed to fade away to a distant roar. Her fingers danced over the strings, with a voice both sweet and clear. His flute reminded them of birds singing over harvested fields. Smells of ripened summer oats and wheat came from some magical well to drive out winter’s cold touch. A presence loomed in the tavern that lightened the weary and eased any anger.
The door to the tavern burst open and six men dressed in armor strode into the tavern. They held their broadswords at the ready and surveyed the tavern’s interior.
“What is the meaning of this?” The tavern keeper yelled.
A tall handsome man dressed better than his mates and has the look of leadership about him. “By order of the Baron Angus McCree these two shall feed the Banshee of Bealach nam Bo’ this night!”
The tavern keeper coward behind his bar, the villagers shrank away from the guards and looked away from the minstrels.
Calum pocketed his flute back into its sleeve and stood. “We’re not of these lands, and so do not recognize the authority of your baron!”
Azalais set her harp down and stood next to him, “I don’t think we’ll make a good appetizer for her.” She drew her blade, “We’ll just give her indigestion.”
Slowly Calum did the same and stepped forward, gauging the attacking guards. The lead guard signaled with his hand with a snap of the fingers. The six guards formed a horseshoe shape. They shoved tables and chairs out of their way, as they strode closer.
“Six against two are hardly fair, gentlemen,” Calum said.
“I think you use the word gentlemen too freely. These men are neither gentle, nor honorable.” Azalais eased into a defensive stance and leveled her blade at them.
The guard close to Calum closed in for the attack. His heavy sword swung down and was blocked. With a darting lunge, Calum stabbed the warrior into his right shoulder. Guard winced and stepped to the left, his blade missed and sunk deep into the fireplace.
Azalais lunged the full length of her reach and stabbed the closest as he reached back to swing. His swing whooshed a hairsbreadth over her head, and stepped back to clutch his bleeding abdomen. Two more leapt into the fray, she blocked the first attack and Calum stabbed her other attacker in the knee. The man clutched rivets of blood and fell. She swiped her attacker’s hand, which sent the blade clattering on the floor.
The last three stepped back, as the room grew cold. Candles whipped about, the fire dampened. A monstrous black void filled the center of the hall; mist blew from the bard’s mouths like dragon fire. Moisture had turned to ice, glasses of ale frosted over. Calum and Azalais shivered, but held their blades steady.
Tavern keeper yelped, “Barleycorn protect us from the wizard!”
“That is no wizard, but an aberration of life!” Azalais said.
Out of the mist that poured into the tavern, were shrouds of black and red robes. From the depths peered twin orbs that glowed with a pale green light. The fabric swirled around the figure, a hand jutted out. It was a hand of bone and fetid, rotting flesh.
“Wizard, we’re Bards of the Sacred Fire!” He shouted and together they spoke in an ancient tongue from the first days of man. An aura of fire shimmered around the two of them. In unison, the two bards reached back and plunged their hands into the burning flame. Together they shouted a word that cracked like a thunderclap. Fire shot out from the fireplace, like an arrow into the specter before them. The un-dead Wizard Magus screamed, which made all inside quake in fear. The flames erupted around Magus and he consumed the fire leaving nothing more than an odorous stench.
Azalais glanced back and saw that the fire had spent its last. “What now?”
“Run!”
With his outstretched hands of the wizard flew frost and sized the two bards where they stood. Too frozen to move, their blades clattered to the ground.
“Bind their hands and keep them away from any fire,” the wizard‘s voice rasped.
The three standing guards bound their hands with rope, which savagely bit into their flesh.
“How come he’s an un-dead?” Calum asked through chattering teeth.
A tall thin guard, who looked more like a kindly farmer than a soldier, whispered. “We killed him three years ago. Buried him alive in the ground, we did. But he came back and now he does the baron’s bidding.” He started binding his hands.
“Why doesn’t he drive away the banshee?” Azalais asked.
“The banshee came just after he was killed. Baron says he can’t drive her away. So we feed foreigners to her.”
A shorter and fatter man guard tied her hands, “Quiet!”
They pushed the two bards forward, and saw that the wizard had vanished as quickly as he appeared. They were shoved outside, and back into the howling storm. A small rickety cart waited for them, whose wood had turned black from age and rain. The guards shoved them onto back of the cart and followed from behind them. Another led in front of the horse, pulling the cart.
Azalais landed on top of Calum and rolled off him. The guards in the back dragged Muc from the barn and loaded their instruments and weapons onto him. She looked back at the grim faced guards following the cart. Each man held a torch, which illuminated their sad visages in its dancing light. Rain had abated, as the cart bounced and splattered through mud.
Calum rolled over and sat beside her, “Where are we going!” He shouted at the guards.
The driver was a small man, his face rugged crags. A grey beard so thin, that it did little to cover his face. The driver took a stick, ignited it off the lead torch, and lit his pipe. He chuckled, and said. “You’re going to a dance with a lovely lass. One, you’ll remember for the rest of your brief lives.” The driver shook out the flame and threw the stick back into the cart.
Calum squirmed to grab the charcoal stick and slipped it up his sleeve. Concentrating to keep it alive, and hopefully not burn his clothes off in the process. They turned off the main road and onto a dirt path, which led through a wooded glen. Beyond that stood three mounds that loomed over a circle of standing stones.
The cart came to an abrupt halt, and the driver leered at them. “Here’s your last stop.”
“Thanks,” Calum muttered.
The guards grabbed Azalais; she squirmed and struggled to no avail.
“Let her go!” Calum shouted.
The Banshee’s Lair was a desolate area, rock strewn with boulders and scraggly brush. It sat on the knob of a hill that over looks the village below. An ancient rune had been burned into the ground and encircled, which now nothing grows within that circle. In the middle of the circle is a blood stained metal pole.
“You're lively ones. She’ll like that,” The driver shoved Calum off the cart and onto the mud field.
Calum’s knees sank into soft muck, as guards dragged Calum through the saturated loam and threw him against the blood stained pole. Azalais was being tied next to him her head drooped in despair. They tied his hands to the pole, until he could no longer feel them. He watched as guards had jumped into the cart and rambled away. They pointed and laughed at them, holding their swords high in the air.
“Can you move your hands?” She asked.
“I think so, what about you?”
A soft wail cried on the wind. The winds cold touch sent shivers of pain up her legs, she screamed in response.
“Show yourself!” Calum shouted.
Azalais broke into song from ancient days of a lass who lost her lover at sea. Then in torment she had thrown herself into the waters to be cursed forever more as a banshee. Calum joined in the chorus and was silenced by a wail that pierced ones soul.
“Was that a good thing I did?”
Calum scanned around them and saw a white milky mist swirled around the ground. “I don’t know?”
The mist oozed between their legs and shivers of frost shot through their legs to the heart. They both winced in pain.
Azalais spoke in a ragged gasp. “We should sing louder,” she struggled to catch her breath. “The song seems to keep her at bay.”
Calum sang loudly, she joined him and the shrouded swirls of mist formed a woman’s face. A beautiful woman, whose features flow from ghost like to mist. The only time she coalesces enough to have a good look at her is when she talks.
A thin and airy voice, each word sent a shiver of pain through them. “Who is she?” The banshee asked.
“Is it her?” Azalais whispered.
“We’re leagues away from the sea. It can’t be her?”
“Don’t know!” Azalais cried.
Calum worked the charcoal stick from his sleeve. “Draw as much life force from the land as you're able.” He whispered and started a chant.
The banshee screamed in agony, her face turned into a demonic mask of the once beautiful lass she once was. Her hand swirled into a cloud of mist and seeped it into the flesh of Calum.
He screamed, as his soul was being siphoned away.
Her face reformed into a beautiful woman, snarled in rage. “Tell me! Who am I?”
Azalais finished his chant and concentrated all of her might on the sacred fire. She sniffed at the smell of burning cord and silk. A small cheery little flame licked her hand like a loving lap dog, as the cord slipped off.
The banshee backed away from Calum and he slumped, legs buckled beneath him. Their bonds had loosened; Azalais wheeled and cast what little flame they had conjured. The banshee squealed and wreathed into nothingness. He fell to the ground with a thud.
“Calum!” She knelt down and felt the faint stirring of his heart.
His voice was thin and ragged, “Is she gone?”
“For now, but I fear she was only surprised.” Azalais tried to get him to stand. “Come on! Move, damn you!”
He struggled to take a step and then another. She pushed him forward, which made him stumble and fall to the ground.
Calum smiled and saw her tearful face, “I thought their touch was instant death?”
“Get up, or else it will be!” She strained every muscle to get him to stand. The sound of a wail could be heard. The touch of Calum’s body was cold, his lips had turned blue. “Just a little bit further,” Azalais pleaded.
Calum groaned, took three steps and tumbled again to the ground. He fell just on the other side of the standing stones. Azalais landed on top of him and turned to see the banshee rush after them.
She buried her head against an attack and clamped her ears shut. The wail of the banshee threatened to make her head explode from its sheer volume. Azalais turned to see the banshee, but it splashed like a wave of mist against an invisible barrier of the standing stones. She slumped next to Calum and looked up at the clouds. For hours they laid there, watching clouds softly drift away to reveal an ocean of twinkling stars.
He groaned, rolled over and studied the stars above. His breathing was gaining strength once more. Tired muscles ached with each movement, “We’re alive?”
“Yes,” she said and eased herself up on one elbow and looked into his eyes. “This is strange.”
He sighed, “Let me think, banshee lore. I have never recalled one of them prisoners of standing stones.”
A howl of pain came from the standing stones. The banshee screeched, “Forgive me master!” Sounds of whimpering, “They are bards, master.”
Calum stifled a groan and wobbled as he stood. Azalais helped him to his feet and they crept around a sage bush. They spied the banshee, which hugged the ground as grey swirled mist. Above it loomed the black shrouded figure of the un-dead wizard.
The wizard’s voice rasped, “I’ll send two villagers and do not fail me for I hunger!”
“Yes master,” the banshee hissed.
The wizard vanished and the banshee slunk back into the ground.
“I never thought I would ever want to rescue a banshee. But she needs our help,” Azalais said.
“You're crazy. If a wizard is powerful enough to keep a banshee prisoner, then that is one wizard we should stay away from.”
“Our swords and instruments are in the same place as the wizard.” She stood and brushed off her clothes. “So if we’re to have out stuff back and Muc. Then we better help her, and kill the wizard.”
“The baron’s castle,” Calum groaned as he stood.
“I don’t know. Do you know the spells cast here?”
“Banshee’s are Earth spirits, guardian of graveyards. . . Some have been known to protect buried treasure.”
She stumbled over to the edge of the circle, careful not to step beyond the standing stones. “Banshee! Show yourself!”
He walked alongside of her and stared into the circle. “Sane people don’t go around yelling at Banshee’s.”
A swirl of mist formed at their feet, splashing against the invisible barrier. The mist began to form a beautiful maiden in front of them. Calum took a step back, where she had touched him, throbbed a sharp pain.
“Help me, I beg of you.”
“You nearly killed me!” Calum tried to stifle the pain.
“I could have, but I didn’t. I sensed you are bards.”
“Whose bones do you protect?” Azalais asked.
“Wizard Magus, his bones I protect. His bones I feed the souls that I devour for him.”
He raked his right hand through his hair, “That makes sense. You sustain him, so he can live on as an un-dead.”
“How can we break the spell and set you free,” Azalais tried to see if she could see any markers for the gravesite.
“I don’t know?”
“What do you know?” Calum grumbled.
“Only hunger and a thirst that’ll never be quenched,” the banshee’s knees buckled, and she knelt down to ground.
Calum wrapped an arm around Azalais, and nudged her away from the banshee. “We will do what we can to help. We better leave, be fore the wizard has men looking for us.” They slowly walked away toward the village, he looked back to see the banshee weeping tears of mist.
Azalais stopped and looked back at the banshee, “What a horrible fate.”
He sighed and shook his head slowly, “I take it that you want to help her.”
“I’m afraid so,” she said. “Come on, just lean on me.” Azalais helped him stagger toward the road. She glanced back at the circle and pole one last time. They scrambled over rocks and on to a footpath into the village.
Calum shook his head and followed her back into Bealach nam Bo’. “I still think this is a crazy idea. We can find new equipment.”
“Crazy or not, we’re going to help her,” she said.
The quaint little village was asleep for the night. Lights in the butcher shop and general store are out as they passed. Smells from the tanners and fishmongers still clung in the stilled air. In the heart of the village stood a stone castle keep and on the third floor, a light glowed from an open window. A stone shell wall protected it, with twin gatehouses for lowering the drawbridge between them.
Azalais grabbed Calum and led him down a side alley, behind a baker’s shop. A light glowed inside of the shop and aroma of fresh bread baking made their empty stomachs rumble.
The groans and creeks of the drawbridge could be heard as it lowered. Three guards exited the castle each carrying a torch, with the cart behind them.
“Come on,” Calum whispered, and pointed to a section of the castle wall.
They ran to the wall of the castle and hid in its shadows. In the cart, they could see a pair of peasants tied and with black hoods over their heads. Cautiously they crawled their way closer to the lowered drawbridge. And stopped on the edge of flickering torch light. Behind the cart were three more guards of the baron.
Azalais patted him on the back as the drawbridge chain started to rattle. They ran for it, just as the drawbridge left the ground. Azalais leapt onto the rising wooden bridge. Then Calum jumped and hauled himself up onto it. As the drawbridge rose, they slid down and landed inside the castle’s walls.
Center courtyard of the castle, was ringed around by tall stonewalls. On the top of the walls burn torches, and flags over the gatehouses.
Calum tapped her shoulder and pointed up the left gatehouse stairs. She ran after him and could hear the creak of a wheel as it rolled in the chain. He stopped at an entryway and watched as two men labored with a massive wooden wheel. Sweat had soaked their tunics, a small fire burned in a small stone enclosure made the gatehouse hot and smoky.
A sturdy guard with mismatched and rusted armor leaned against the gate wheel. He was talking to another guard that is a bit taller and older.
The older guard leaned on a spoke of the wheel, when the final link of the chain came into place. His mate knelt to place a wooden peg in a slot that locked it.
“Now!” Calum yelled.
The gate guards turned at the same time, and nearest one still held his hands on the gate wheel. Calum struck him across the jaw, as his partner stood, in time for Azalais to kick him in the stomach. The man crumpled, she sent a roundhouse kick to his jaw. She glanced over to see Calum strike his man a second time. The two gate guards slumped to the ground and lay in an unmoving heap.
“Grab his weapons and put on the uniform. We’ll use them to sneak into the castle.”
Azalais kneeled and shoved the man off his partner. “They both reek!”
“You have a better idea?”
She sighed and shook her head, “No.”
They slipped on the tunics over their clothes and fastened the breastplates.
Azalais wrinkled her nose as she strapped on the heavy metal helm. “This uniform itches; I think he has bugs living in it.”
Calum grinned as he helped fasten the helm on her. “Well, I must admit you look rather cute.”
“You're such a charmer with the ladies.” She lifted the heavy bastard sword and strapped it across her back.
“Can you fight all right?”
“I’ll manage,” she turned and went down the steps.
They clanked in unison and took opposite sides of the stairwell.
Calum whispered and waved for her to follow, “The courtyard is clear. Let’s go.”
Her heart beat like a drum as she tried to walk calmly and evenly behind him. Two grooms leaned against the wall, by the front door talking casually. Calum nodded his head as they turned to see Azalais open the door.
The door to the castle is heavy and laced with Celtic designs.
“Shouldn't, you stay at your post?” The closest groom asked.
Calum kept walking in; Azalais overheard the groom say as she followed him in.
“How rude,” a groom said.
The other commented, “They’re a snobbish pair.”
Azalais let the door slam shut, which echoed loudly in the vast hall. Calum snapped around and with an angry, contorted face. He squirmed his face as he bit down the words he wanted to rant, at her.
She shrugged her shoulders, “Just playing the role of snobbish guards.” Azalais pointed toward the spiral stairs that circled the wall to the upper floors, “Gentlemen first.”
The stone castle is well lit by torches. Tabards hang on the walls, statues of ancestors stand vigil. A large spiral staircase, which can fit four across. The walls are plain stone, with arrow slots for windows. He sighed and pulled the heavy blade from its sheath. Behind him, he could hear Azalais doing the same. A faint light seeped from the second floor.
A deep man’s voice called out from the room, “Whose there?”
“Father!” Silvia cried a little girl’s voice from across his room.
Calum leapt the last few remaining stairs to see the baron exit from the room with the light.
Baron McCree was dressed in a robe of red linen, trimmed with silk and fine embroidery of his family crest. A tall man sturdily built with a trimmed handlebar moustache. “Who are you?” The baron bellowed, as he saw them on the landing below him.
“We came for what is ours!” Calum leveled the blade at him.
“Magus, my daughter and I! Now!” Quicker than a blink of an eye Baron McCree had vanished.
“I hate it when they do that!” Azalais exclaimed.
From above came sounds of armored men clanking on stone steps, coming towards them. Calum rushed to meet them; Azalais did her best to keep up. Soon, she heard the sound of metal, clashed with metal.
The two guards had forced Calum back a few steps. She did her best in a swing of the heavy sword in these tight confines. The blade reverberated as it struck the armored shoulder of the guard.
Calum lunged, but the guard had ducked his attack and slammed him against the stonewall. Calum slipped and fell backwards from the blow. Azalais blocked the first strike, though the other guard slammed his blade into her side. Metal crunched in, but the armor held, and few ribs did not.
A loud roar stunned the three of them as Calum charged on. His blow pushed one of her attackers back, and she countered another attack from the other. Calum swung and struck her attacker in the shoulder. Azalais brought the massive blade down on her attacker's helm and it sliced through to his brainpan.
Calum’s foe staggered to his feet and countered his attack. Azalais pressed on with another swing, which sliced into the guard’s leg. Calum finished the man with a lunge through the breastplate.
Both breathed heavily as they stepped over their fallen foes to the third floor. Before them stood a massive wooden door, and shiny new brass lock.
Calum took off his helm, “Armor will do us no good against a wizard.”
Azalais stripped off the foul armor until she was back into her old clothes. “Especially if he’s un-dead,” she winced in pain from the cracked ribs. “I’ll have need of a healer if we are to travel again.”
“Are you ready?” He asked.
“No, but let’s do it any ways.” She laid the sword against the door and knelt. Out of her boots, she pulled out two slender pieces of metal rods with little hooks on each end of them. She studied the lock, “Seamus has sold locks this far south.”
“Good for him,” he stood at the ready, with his blade out and standing over her. “Business must be good for him.”
“Shhh.” She glanced back, “Can you move a step back.” Azalais went to work on the lock. One tumbler went click, then another and on the third, he kicked in the door. She rolled forward into the room and caught the blade before it struck the ground. No attack came and Calum strode in. Against the far wall was the baron, holding his terrified daughter, with dagger pressed to her throat. Behind him was a fireplace blazing away in a huge hearth. Upon the mantle stood a large glass jar, in it was filled with cedar oil. The cedar oil kept the floating head of the wizard fresh, and wrapped within the spell. Its eyes still in shock from the day of his execution.
“I was told you burned the body.”
“I lied to my people, it’s a nobles right to do so.” The baron chuckled, “I kept his soul and he does my bidding.”
“For the lives of innocents.”
Baron grinned, “A few foreigners. For protection of my people, from the Duke of Tarill, is a small price to pay?”
“Tonight you sacrificed two of your own people,” Azalais said.
“An unfortunate situation I can assure you.”
The room grew cold, despite the fire blazing away. Calum saw fear in the little girls' eyes, “Careful.”
“Behind you!” Azalais said.
He turned to see the black shroud of the wizard fill the small room. Calum started a chant.
“My little girl is an innocent! Remember your vow's Bards of Weymouth!”
Calum stopped his chant and shouted a curse at the wizard. Azalais charged the baron, he screamed in fear. Baron McCree ducked and her swing went wide over his head.
The little girl slipped from her father’s grasp, “No! Come back here!”
She heard Calum scream in pain, Azalais struck the baron on the head with the hilt of her blade. Azalais turned to see Calum writhing as a spectral hand lifted him from the ground like a rag doll. She started the chant, her voice being drowned by screams of fear and agony in the room.
“Magus protect me!” The baron yelled.
With all of the force left in her, she sent the flame from the hearth at the wizard. The room erupted in flames; she could smell smoldering hair and silk. The wizard screamed Azalais crumpled before the fireplace, now nothing more than coals. She glanced up to see Calum as he squirmed in the wizard’s grasp, pulling out a dagger.
He threw the blade at the mantle of the hearth; she glanced up in time to see it strike the glass jar. Azalais dove, cedar oil splashed onto the stone floor. The glass jar made a loud crash and in front of her, a head had landed with dull thud. The eyes vacant of any life stared at her, still locked in fear.
Baron McCree reached out to rescue the head; she lifted the sword high overhead. Lips on the wizard’s head moved, begging her to end it. The baron grabbed the head, she swung and sliced off the baron’s hand and then split the head in two.
In her own head could be heard, “Thank-you, my lady.” Before her rose a white mists, which floated through the ceiling.
“Father!” Screamed the little girl and raced to the baron’s side. “Save my father!” She pleaded.
Azalais tried to step toward the baron and slipped on the slick floor.
Calum staggered over to them and laid the point of his blade at the baron’s throat. “I’ll save your miserable life! On the condition we get all of our equipment and safe passage through your lands.”
Blood flowed freely from his severed hand, “Yes! I give you my word!”
Calum reached down and helped Azalais up. He slipped on the slick floor and landed in a puddle of oil. They struggled to stand, the baron screamed.
“I need fire!” She kneeled to staunch the blood flow, her oil soaked clothes turned crimson with blood. “Baron McCree I ask one more thing from you!”
“What?” He gasped.
“Your best clothes, along with a hot bath and the best healer in the land.”
“Yes,” he gasped. “Anything you want! Hurry!”
Calum had lit the fire once more and brought over a burning branch. The baron had fainted when they seared the wound shut.
“Will my father live?”
“Yes,” he said. “The two baths he promised us.”
The little girl sprinted from the room, “Right away. I’ll fetch the servants myself!”
“And clean clothes!” Azalais yelled.
“Ewww, you're all sticky.”
“So are you!” She playfully hit him on the chest he winced in pain. “Sorry!” They both laughed and held each other tight, “Don’t squeeze so hard!” She winced in pain.
“Sorry.”
The End