9th March 1103

“Could pirates really venture this far north? Why?! What possible reason do they have to come up here?” Eallair muttered, massaging his creased forehead with an unsteady hand.

Garrick’s eye glanced over his friend’s face, noting the deep line forming between his eyes from too many worried frowns, the dark pouches beneath his eyes from too many sleepless nights. Eallair had aged visibly in the years they had spent on Mhalwae, his face crinkling and folding like the map that had led them there. He was only young, though the enthusiastic boy Garrick had once known had all but fled. Now Eallair sat, hunched over, his back humped like an old man’s, his shoulders sagging wearily.

“I suppose they could be evading capture by some fleet by skirting north into the Draldor. We don’t know what is happening back home, it is possible Faldorn has his fleets patrolling further south. He may even have taken Lomorrad, who knows if they could stand firm against his armies,” Garrick shifted in his chair, rubbing his stiff legs. He had walked long that day in the cold, checking the patrolling men for any sign of ship on the horizon bearing the ominous black flag.

“Or they may have been avoiding foul weather. Who knows what drove them this far north,” Lochan added.

“We aren’t strongly fortified,” Eallair murmured, chewing nervously on his bottom lip, “What if there was more then one ship? I don’t think we could withstand a full scale attack. We simply don’t have enough men.”

“Let’s worry about that if we have to Eallair. We’re doing everything we can to protect the people. The scouts on higher ground will spot any ship before it even gets close to the harbour. Rasmus is on alert, the ships are manned and prepared to block the mouth of the harbour if necessary. Our position is better than you think. The men are ready for battle. And it is unlikely that a passing ship would spot us at all. The harbour is hidden from view. Remember, we didn’t see it ourselves until we did a second pass,” Lochan’s voice was both reassuring and commanding.

It worried Garrick that Eallair was so reliant on their counsel. It had not gone unnoticed that every decision made lately on the island had come directly from Lochan or from his own self. It frustrated him that his King could not step into the shoes of a leader. At first Garrick had believed it was only teething pains as the newly crowned Eallair got his head around the duty he had inherited. Garrick still held hope that Eallair would finally come into his own and be the leader they needed. He knew Lochan had given up that hope.

Eallair was lucky he had such loyal friends. A lesser man would have taken advantage of the situation.

“But do you see what this means. We are not the only ones who know about Mhalwae. If pirates maraud this far north surely they know of the location. They cannot have been far out if the little girl managed to swim in to shore. And if they know about the island, well, surely it is only a matter of time until Faldorn does too,” Eallair looked over helplessly at Garrick.

“If only the poor, wee lass could tell us. I’ve no idea what tongue she is speaking though. Never heard it myself before now. Even Rasmus couldn’t recognise it and I did believe till now he had travelled the whole known world over,” Garrick shifted again, trying to relieve the discomfort in his hip joints.

“Where could she have come from? Do you think she’s from the Borderlands? Do you believe those lands even exist? And how did she end up here? It makes no sense!” Eallair crossed his legs with a soft thud as his heavy boots clumped together.

“It’s a decent question. Perhaps the rumours are true. Maybe the Talmasians are to be believed and there’s something out there besides deserts,” Garrick replied.

“Drat the fire has gone out,” Eallair whined, but Lochan was already standing to address the problem, “Oh, thanks Lochan. What would I do without you?”

What indeed, Garrick thought as he stretched his aching legs before him, feeling the rush of blood tingling down through the cramped muscles and into his booted feet.

Lochan poked aggressively at a hulking log until the thing crumbled in two to reveal a hidden, glowing, red center. The fire crackled and spat, as some smaller logs caught, dusty, dry bark peeling back in blackened curls.

“Well done Lochan, it was getting a bit nippy in here. When’s this bloody weather going to break. It feels like it’s been winter for an age,” Garrick shivered slightly, crossing his arms a little tighter against his chest, “it makes me miss Branwhuld. At least then you knew it was going to be bleeding cold for a month but then it would be over. Here it feels like summer never even happened before.”

“We’re lucky to be here Garrick,” Lochan mumbled, rubbing at his bad arm staring into the fire, the flames casting eery shadows on his face.

He went to sit beside Eallair who had resumed rubbing his forehead vigorously with calloused fingers. Garrick was reminded that those callouses were not the product of war, but built up from the etiquette of peacetime tournaments. Eallair was a skilled swordsmen though he had never had to test it. Eallair had not waded into battle as Lochan and Garrick had. For now his sword remained unstained. Garrick’s had run with blood that had worked its way into the grooves of the hilt so it would always be a dark, rusty red. He was sometimes surprised it was not the same with the palms of his hands.

“What if Faldorn comes here? What if he finds us? He will kill us all,” Eallair’s hand floated before his mouth which hung open in a terrified gape.

Garrick felt a surge of rage, fiery and hot in his belly, “God’s teeth he had better not come here or I’ll have his balls for a money bag! Just you see him try.”

Eallair snorted suddenly. “Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer something… a little less hairy?” he choked and began to cough.

“Need a pat on the back their Eally, something go down the wrong way? Hope it wasn‘t black and curly.” Lochan pounded heartily on Eallair’s back which only ended with him coughing even harder between guffaws.

“Quit it you two,” Garrick growled but he couldn’t help but grin, “from what I hear Faldorn hasn’t got anything big enough to hold a decent amount of gold anyway.”

“Perhaps you need to start a collection then Garrick. You can hang them all around your belt. One in every colour so to speak,” Lochan snickered, thumping Eallair on the back as he choked again.

“Oh you be quiet before I decide to start collecting right now!”

Murchadh, Tadhgar, The Royal Family