Page 66 of The Splendor of Fire
“I was hoping you would say that… because I have a mission for you. There’s been a terrible attack on Islay. We think the Wolf can travel great distances around the Isles with fewer breaks, because of a large store of supplies near Breacais…”
Chapter 19
KYLEAKIN GRANARY - JULY 20, 1385
Fifteen days following the trebuchet's destruction, Léo lay in the middle of a recently gleaned barley field beside a snoring Gordon, staring up at the expanse of the heavens and lingering on one of his favorite psalms. Still unsure who had destroyed the Wolf’s trebuchet, Niall had relegated Gordon and himself to stay with the harvest until it was secured, meaning nearly every waking moment he was forced to endure Gordon’s endless streams of disgusting comments about Moira, his simpering to Malvina, and his distorted thoughts on life in general.
Léo shifted against the soft earth of the field, thankful that, for once, Gordon had fallen asleep first and he enjoyed a quiet evening. The loamy smell of the earth soothed him as he shifted his pack beneath his head and stared up at the stars between the branches of the ash and pine trees.
For I will behold thy heavens, the works of thy fingers: the moon and the stars which thou hast founded. What is man that thou art mindful of him? Or the son of man that thou visitest him?
Léo’s eyelids began to droop, his muscles became weightless. Peace beckoned him to sleep.
The branches above him rustled and he opened his eyes. The frondybranches of the ash tree bounced slow upon the wind but he saw nothing. He shut his eyes. In the distance, an owl hooted.
The birds of the air, and the fishes of the sea, that pass through the paths of the sea. O Lord our Lord, how admirable is thy name…
A smell tickled his nose.Pitch.His eyes popped open. Above him, in the tree, he spotted a flame.
Scrambling to his feet, he watched as the flame shot across the night sky and hit the granary. A whoosh lit up the night like daylight as the roof ignited, tremendous heat burning the skin on his face. Every man asleep in the field got to their feet.
Gordon rushed toward the inferno. “What the devil?!”
Léo looked above him, spotting a slender boy leaping through the branches. He was a dead man.
As the men rushed forward to the granary, he turned, following the boy toward the wood. Whoever he was, Léo must catch him before the caterans did.
Struggling to keep up with the boy’s pace, Léo dove between the trees, keeping one eye on the lofty branches. Above, the boy ran with perfect balance down one branch, vaulting through the air and landing on his feet in the next tree. A mixture of disbelief and fear lodged in his chest as the boy launched from one pine to the next with the balance of a cat, swinging and turning, using the branches to outpace Léo as he sprinted through the woods.
As Léo ran toward the edge of the wood he lost his balance and slid belly-first across a loose patch of leaves, the boy gaining distance on him.
Impressed with his stamina, and now determined to meet the boy and discover his reasons for torching the granary, or what clan he belonged to, he got to his feet and began to sprint again.
With a hard knot of fear in his stomach he watched as the boy flipped off a branch at a distance of fifteen feet from the ground, turning and tumbling through the air. Believing for a moment he fell, Léo gasped, but the boy landed steady on his feet with incredible control and power, sprinting across the green moor beyond the arable land.
Legs screaming with every step, Léo sprinted, cursing his prison-hampered endurance as he huffed after him. Bit-by-bit he began to gain ground. Out of the corner of his vision he noticed movement as a tallman caught up to the boy running alongside him. Fear overwhelmed him and he picked up the pace. The boy was done for—the man was racing faster than lightning.
Dashing to protect the boy, Léo made it within arms length, extending his arm and getting a finger hold on the boy’s tunic. As if he had eyes in the back of his head, the boy sprang onto his hands and tumbled away from him in a frenetic blur of twisting turns.
A force collided with Léo and he rolled across the grass with much less control than the boy, hitting the dirt hard on his back, rocks and sod spilling over him and the cateran. Holding the man away from himself, his long-dormant battle instinct engaged and he used his legs to throw the cateran over his body.
On the edge of his vision he saw the boy stop and turn. A fist connected with Léo’s jaw. He cried out in pain and grabbed the man’s fist before it connected again. And then, recognition.
“Léo?!”
“Calum?!”
The sound of running feet headed straight toward them and Léo yelled at them both. “Move!”
Calum picked the boy up over his shoulder and ran. Pushing himself as hard as he could, Léo struggled to keep pace with him.
Léo pointed toward hedges surrounding a pond he remembered swimming in as a lad. “Pond. There.”
They disappeared through the bracken and headed for the dark cover of the pond. When they reached the bank, Calum put the boy down, jumped in and held out his arms. “You can do it, get in.”
The boy shook his head furiously. Footsteps neared.
Calum looked wide-eyed to the woods, the sweat on his forehead glistening in the moonlight. “Come on. I have you.”
