Masks: Part III

"Droonk? I'm nae droonk, y'..y'…" Hugh grasped for the word Dhugal might have used."…y' numpty! If I was droonk, I'd be lyin' flat oon m' back! As lang as I can walk, I' m nae droonk!" He used the highland brogue that was Dhugal's when his cousin had a bit too much to drink.

The Mcgrath clansman swore and came closer, grabbing Hugh by the right arm. "With that accent you have to be from home. Are you with Laird MacPharlan's son? What's your name?"

Hugh drew himself up with exaggerated drunken dignity. "I'm Dhugal MacPharlan o' th' Clan MacPharlan."

"You're not who we're hunting, but no doubt there's plenty of room in hell for all you MacPharlans." The man grinned, reaching for his sword.

"Nae doobt." Hugh agreed, lurching forwards as if about to fall on his face.Then he brought around his left hand to ram the dagger he'd been concealing up into the chest of his would be killer before the sword could be drawn. Hugh leaned in closer so the dying McGrath could hear his whisper. "You gang oon ahead first though an' save us a seat, eh?"

He draped his right arm around the dead man's shoulders and moved off towards the far alleyway as if it were now a pair of drunks moving across the street. Once back into the shadows he shoved the body away, keeping his grip on the dagger's hilt so it slid free as the dead man fell. Hugh cleaned the blade on his enemy's cloak and sheathed it, then he relieved the deadman of his swordbelt and weapon before moving off as quietly as he could.

Down the street, the other McGraths were calling for their missing kinsman.

Emerging from the far end of the alleyway onto yet another street, Hugh picked up his pace. He was familiar with this area and hoped he could make it to safety before his luck ran out. Once he was safely off the streets he'd keep out of sight until Dhugal's return and then propose to his cousin that it was time for them to move on to a country with less McGraths running about.

A quarter mile down this street he turned off into another alley and came out onto a third street. He began to relax; he was nearly there. This part of town was home to many of the students at the various universities and the MacParlan cousins had been among them. It had been only natural to return here when Hugh had fled the McGraths' vengeance.

By all rights he should have been safe now, but as he made his way along the street he could see someone ahead with a drawn sword. It was the leader of the pursuit.

"Well now, wasn't I the smart one to see that all I'd have to do is wait here for the others to drive you into my waiting blade, eh MacParlan?" His smile vanished though when he saw the sword Hugh carried in its distinctive sheathe. "That's Michael's sword. Where is he?"

"In a warm place waiting for you." Hugh drew the blade but knew he'd lose this fight; he was too sore and bruised from the barrel ride. He took a few steps to his right, stalling for time as he tried to think of a way out of this. His answer appeared in the guise of a trio of slightly drunken students who emerged from a tavern doorway.

"Here now!"

"What is this?"

"MacParlan, is that you?"

Hugh smiled. "Aye, it's me, a poor student about to be attacked by a gang of ruffians." By now the shouts further behind Hugh told him the other hunters were gaining on him. "I could use some help."

The McGrath swordsman laughed. "Help? From these sots?"

"Well, yes. And their friends."

And that was when the three drunken scholars bellowed out the traditional rallying cry whenever one of their own clashed with the folk of the city: "STUDENTS!"

Out of the taverns they came in answer to that call. A few seconds later a opposing group of apprentices and town rowdies appeared to see what the ruckus was about and the fighting began.spreading In a few moments Hugh was pushing his way through the crowd away from the fight but his opponent was paralleling Hugh's route and then moving towards him, blade drawn.

Hugh had no choice. He would have to fight. He drew the captured sword and motioned his opponent forwards. "Alright, come on and get it over with!"

Then there was a loud roar of voices, someone shoved him from behind, and he fell forwards to hit his head on the cobblestones and he knew no more.

*****************

Hugh woke to the sight of grey stone arching over him. His head ached, and for a few bewildered moments he thought he was back in the McGrath dungeons and that his escape and everything after was naught but a fevered dream.

"Ah, awake are we? Here, see if you can keep some of this broth down." A grey robed man bent over Hugh, moving a cup towards the clansman's lips. "You had quite a nasty knock on your noggin but I think you'll make a full recovery." Hugh took a few sips as instructed and then chanced a look at his surroundings. He soon recognized them as one of the infirmaries the universities all maintained for their students. From the number of patients around the room the riot must have been rather large by the time it had been contained.

The healer took the cup of broth away. "If you can keep that down when you sit fully up and you aren't dizzy I can release you. We've need for the cot, you see." he said with an apologetic smile. "And I'm sure you'll want to make arrangements for your kinsman." He pointed to a nearby cot whose occupant was completely covered by a cloak with the McGrath colors.

Hugh sat all the way up. "Kinsman?"

"Yes. We did what we could but something hit him so hard in the face that the bones of his nose drove up into the brain. I'm afraid the damage to his face was extensive. We've guessed a stone hit him. It would help us if you could identify him for us, for our records, you see."

Hugh didn't bother to nod. He was fairly sure doing so might be a mistake given the way his head felt. But after a moment he pushed himself to his feet and took a few tentative steps and finding that he wasn't going to fall over on his face once again, he walked the rest of the way over to the body and pulled back the cloak to look at the face.

It was the McGrath leader who'd barred his way on the street. His face was so bloody and swollen though that it took Hugh a few more seconds to realize who it was laying there.

"So, what is his name?" The healer stood nearby with quill and parchment ready to add the name to the list of casualties.

Hugh was never quite certain why he said what he did next but at the time it seemed like a brilliant idea. "He's my cousin, Laird Hugh Muir o' MacParlan."

The healer blinked. "Oh my. We will send word to his family at once, of course." To a city dweller one clan's plaids were indistinguishable from the other. "And you are?"

"Dhugal MacParlan o' th' Clan MacParlan. And I'll bring word o' his death to his family myself. Now if y' will pardon my hasty departure, I must gae an' make th' prooper arrangements t' hae m' cousin's body sent hame."

"Of course."

Hugh gave the man some coins to pay for the necessary preparations for the body and then left the infirmary. Word that a highland lord's son Had died in the rioting would buy him the time he'd need to get away out of the city. He would have to hurry though.

Sooner or later the rest of the McGraths would come looking for the body to confirm the death of Hugh Muir and find one of their own instead.

By that time, Hugh intended to be far, far away.