The August moon, not yet full, was still bright in the sky, and the sole source of light for him. He paced through the stone circle, a monument already ancient by the time even the Celts came to this land, and the place whence the dragon essentially came – and from whence it must perish.
His anger was ebbing; that surprised him. Was that Llanfair’s doing? In truth, he could no longer hold a grudge against the man than he could against, say, Dyrk’s ancestors for Rome’s role in the fiasco.
Twice, he, James and MacKell had encountered the beast, and twice it fled, wounded but intact.
“Dragon!” he shouted. “You were summoned here to plague the Romans who stole and occupied this land! The Roman era is done with! Your task is done!”
Garth felt a little foolish shouting out into the night, but if it worked…
It was about an hour later when he began to hear the thrashing and grunting of something large. The dragon ‘s scaly skin scintillated under the moon as it approached.
It growled and roared, but not as a fierce menacing monster, but like an old man in pain, yearning to go on to the Summer Country.
“Dragon! Your time is done! Go back, back whence you came!”
The dragon roared louder, right into his face, and Garth understood – this was not defiance, but frustration.
“A dragon cannot leave this world with the peace of an old man nor the acquiescence of a coward. I understand. Very well, my friend, I shall give you one last fight, one last joust.”
It was not with much satisfaction that a one-armed knight slew a tired old dragon, and Garth found sad the irony that perhaps his most celebrated knightly deed was in fact the least satisfying.
With morning’s light, MacKell and James rejoined him, tending to his new wounds.
“The dragon’s hide should go to Wynn,” Garth said. “T’was his quest that we fulfilled this morn.”
Llanfair smiled in agreement. The two of them had far to go together to tend to the knight’s arm…
[ December 26, 2005, 04:19 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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I-11/14: I knew all along that Jeka and Ag would be apart for a while in the east, but I didn't imagine he'd get that far east. Ag following the Silk Road east did make sense, though.
i-12: I knew Relnic would be intro'd in this set of interludes. Until I got here, I was still not certain whether the discs would be Frankish or the Eastern Empire - but the latter's distance made the Franks a better candidate. Also, if Rome corresponds to little bluish men in red robes, then Constantinople should correspond to tall, meddling robed guys. Also - by this time, Alexandria had already been looted/trashed by the Christians, but I'm assuming there's some salvageable knowledge - and Ireland (along with Baghdad, later) was the recipient of a lot of knowledge otherwise lost during the Dark Ages.
I-13: I had originally six or seven ideas for "The East" but a couple fell through - at least one was Mordru's fault! But I've pulled some great long-term ideas out of unplanned fill-ins, and this one's already percolating.
I-15: A lot of exposition - apologies. Credit to Wikipedia for summarizing these events; it was the most expedient way to advance Vidar's story in order to fit what comes next.
181-184: For the first time in quite a while, I confess to borrowing a bit from MZB on this. But with my own twists - Reep's secret role, Mysa's unintended empathy.
181: James' growth was indeed hinted at way back when - both in his strange armour and in the forest scene, where he goes back to face the camp raiders while the others try to follow Jonah. also in the following chapter, Belinant mentions a giant in the woods, which the knights know of. I'd meant to get back to this sooner, but it hadn't fit - but will be needed soon.
Yes, I take a liberty with "Helvetic cheese" - Helvetica goes on to become Switzerland. Brocavium was an old Roman town, I believe in or near today's Penrith. A Roman road connected Carlisle (then actually Luguvallium, but Carlisle's easier), and eventually south to (Eboracum) York.
185/188/190: I realize I didn't spell it out: Rokk and company sailed up the east coast of Britain, the North Sea side, a safer and more direct route north, vs. sailing all the way around Cornwall and north near whatever fleets Saraid and Glorith may have. Not that Rokk’s a coward - but the mission was a stealthy one. They sailed to Lothian (Edinburgh), crossed the isthmus to the firth of Clyde (today's Glasgow), following an old Roman defensive wall. From there, they sail southwest to Ulster.
188: The bard Ossian is indeed credited with the oldest known tale of Giant's Causeway, and his father's (pronounced and sometimes spelled Finn McCool) role.
189: Ambule’s Sidhe is today's Ambleside, just north of Windermere. I know Romans settled there, but I couldn't find a period name.
190: I love when several tangential threads start interweaving of their own accord. I also love when I start researching background on a slim thread idea, and find plenty of supporting material, which in turn helps me brainstorm the next step.
[ December 26, 2005, 04:21 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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posted
Hey Sean, I've got quite a bit of catching up to do with this - can't wait! I'll finish reading it tomorrow and let you know what I think so far.
Glad to see I've come back to more, more, more!
Bxx
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
Oh well, I had to do it, just couldn't wait any longer and let me tell you it was worth reading! You're intertwined complex plots keep on throwing up surprises and it's GREAT!!!
I'll re-read it in the next week no doubt, and if you happen to post a couple of more chapters between now and then all the better
Sean, this is tremendous, more, more, more!
Hope all is well
Bxx
-------------------- "Tempus Fugitive" the final part of the Adventures of Dream Boy series, set in the Three-Boot Universe. Read it only in the Bits o' Legionnaire Business Forum.
From: here, more often than not | Registered: Sep 2003
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posted
Been hoping that some more had been written. But I'm patient:)
From: Durban, South Africa & Auckland, New Zealand. | Registered: Nov 2004
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As his priests predicted, the gods provided four powerful allies to aid the cause. My daughter shall learn the error of her ways, and these children of Milesh shall know punishment indeed.
He surveyed his encampment with satisfaction. Although this strange land was damp and over-grown, there was plenty to sustain his army. Unfortunately, his foes, established for so many months, were also so benefited.
“What do the scouts report?” the Egyptian monarch demanded of a subordinate.
“The Milesians are trying to fortify their settlement – with a wooden stockade.”
Good. “We shall burn them out, then.” As we have the last three villages.
The Milesians had allies, this time – the tall, fair-haired people of this green isle, it was true, but he was certain his new servants would come up with something, and put their strange talents to good use.
“Have the green Hellenic brought to my tent,” the pharaoh ordered. “We have strategy to plan.”
The next morning, the Egyptian forced marched on the village, flames already billowing upward.
The confused Milesians tried to run for safety, but one of the pharaoh’s new allies led a company of warriors to cut them off.
“None shall escape the divine justice of your pharaoh,” he bellowed, not really certain of the tongue he spoke – but confident nonetheless in barking orders, and expecting them to be followed.
He was met by a warrior who was no more Milesian than he was – pale-skinned, but not as fair-skinned as this land’s natives – but then neither was he nor his three peers. “You shall not harm these folk while I stand!” The knight spoke this tongue as awkwardly as he did!
The two joined combat. While the Milesian defender was the better warrior, the pharaoh’s man felt he had some magical influence the very metal of their weapons…
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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The withered old man at the gate smiled patiently.
“The king has a magickal spear that can defeat the sorceress Glorith,” blurted Balin, with no shortage of exasperation. For the past month, he’d faced misdirection after misdirection, and now, finally at Pellam’s door – an old man wouldn’t let him in!
“And who are you, that does not remove his helm, that would seek the sorceress’ demise?”
“I mean no discourtesy, good sir. My true face is deformed; I keep my helm so as not to alarm you. I am Balin, of the court of King Rokk. My brother Balan was bespelled by Glorith into slaying the Lady of the Lake. I mean to avenge that wrong.”
“Lady Kiwa – dead?” The old man was clearly troubled by this. “And you are Balin of the Two Swords.”
“I have been called such of late.”
The view-hole closed unceremoniously. Soon after, the gate opened.
“My thanks,” Balin said to the old man, facing him fully, person to person. “Could you take me to your master? I must apologize, but time is of the essence.”
The old man closed the gate behind him, slowly working the large iron wheel that guides the portcullis.
“Look no further, young knight, for I am King Pellam.”
Gauging Balin’s incredulity, he continued. “I am but an old king, whose lands shrink as each new monarch grows hungry for new lands. I have no sons, no guards, no servants, and nothing to offer my people, save wisdom, love and charity.”
The old king smiled. Balin could not help but do likewise; Pellam’s charisma and humility was infectious.
“I erred in coming here,” Balin said. “I cannot ask you to go on this quest with me.”
“You need my spear, not me,” Pellam beamed. It’s legend keeps the brigands away; I know not if I can even wield it anymore.”
Pellam led him to a sparse throne room, adorned by no less than 50 spears, and chose not the one Balin would guess is the magickal one. “Tell no one this is my spear; its legend can still protect this castle, if the highwaymen believe it yet remains here. They need not know no knights reside here.”
Aye, nut one shall, once this quest is done, Balin silently pledged. If I survive.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Reeling from the attack, he struggled to escape the shock of his wound – and its deliverer. He’d strolled out into the battlefield, confident his belt would keep him from harm – but this lass had sliced his arm!
I know her, don’t I? Shouldn’t there be three of her? He picked up a dead Milesian’s shield, and tried to fend her off so he could get to his feet. Why does she fight for the enemy?
Who is the enemy? he pondered. Is this really my fight – or hers?
But it took every effort to keep her at bay, although he still found the Milesians could touch him not. He tried to use a Milesian’s spear – but she knocked it aside with ease. I must be truly impressing my allies – they’ve never seen these Celt women fight.
Yet I have? When? How?
Would the answer have come to him? His opponent landed a solid hit – with the flat of her sword, and sent him toward the ground. He moved not; and his arm-wound had made enough blood to convince her he was dead.
She moved on; there were plenty of Egyptians yet to fight.
The pharaoh had watched the green man fall, but was soon caught up in his own problems. One of the natives had fought his way through, and was within striking range. How does he fight so? The gods have blessed him, too!
The man plowed through a dozen of the pharaoh’s personal bodyguards, and there was no stopping him – except his golden-haired treasure – one of his four god-like beings.
She stepped in to save her new god and master – and fought the wild-man blow for blow! Even without weapons, she held her own, and the two traded blows faster than the pharaoh could keep track.
Elsewhere, more natives joined in, on the side of the Milesians. I shall need my own native allies, the pharaoh realized, signaling for a group of warriors to join him, and carry him back to camp.
[ December 26, 2005, 04:27 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Jonah knew he was being followed – his pursuer had no knack for woodland stealth, it was clear.
He was well into Pict territory, and no Pict, hunter or not, would be so obvious.
Is this a would-be helper, on oaf – or some kind of trick? Lot’s son wondered.
The sun was nearing the western horizon. Dusk would be a good time to expose the follower… unless the Picts get him first.
Damn it.
As the trail rounded a large boulder, Jonah pulled around behind it, and lied in wait for-
“Father Marla!?”
“Greetings, Sir Jonah.”
“Why dost thou follow me?”
“You are bound for the lake where you fought your dragon, yes?”
“…Aye.”
“”You wish to expel whatever… less beneficial gifts the dragon bestowed upon you?”
“My madness, you mean,” Jonah was not of the mind to mince words.
“Is that how you see it?”
“I know not what to think, if I may speak truly. But I tire of every loose tongue at court questioning whether my mind is addled. In truth, I cannot say it is not.”
“What does Tinya think?”
“She loves me too much to say ill, yet… Since she regained flesh, she no longer sees my… nemesis, when he turns up.”
“Go on.”
“My ‘attack’ on Rokk? To my recollect, I was turning to face this… Green Knight – not King Rokk. My foe and I, we were alone deep in the woods, not on the crowded jousting field.”
“If you seek to… expel this… dragon-demon, if that is what it is, you may lose your… special gifts.”
“So be it. I will earn my place as a reliable knight, or be not a knight at all,” Jonah said definitively. “S I must go alone.”
“If you truly distrust your eyes, you will need a second set. An impartial set,” Marla rebutted.
Jonah smiled. “Another quest together to prove myself?”
“Aye, but this time I have arranged no illusion.”
“Illusion? You mean we did not travel to Hybrasil and meet the craftsmen-god Lugh?”
“Lugh? I had you meet the Caesars!” Seeing Jonah’s eyes panic in more self-doubt, he laughed. “A jest, son. Aye, it was Lugh we illusioned for you.”
The two resumed their ride, together this time.
“How did you draw up such an illusion? It seemed very real.”
“The house of Voxv is not the only keeper of the unreal. I have friends.”
Jonah sighed. For such a Christian priest, Father Marla had more secrets and mysteries than someone like Luornu would find proper…
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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This is madness, he thought, sneaking through the battlefield unseen. Why do I fight for Egypt? Why is my heart filled with such dread?
One of the Milesians before him shifted faces – into the pharaoh’s!
Just like Reep can-
Who is Reep?
“REEP!” he called out, potentially endangering his only safety.
The figure turned, and squinted.
“It’s me!” he blurted, trying to recall his own name. “It’s… L’ile!”
“L’ile?” The figure looked confused. “L’ile, what are we doing?” He fought an urge to take a swing at an Egyptian soldier, confused by the face he wore.
“This isn’t our war. We’re somehow reliving the Milesians’ defeat of the Egyptians. We’ve got to get out of here before-”
The losing Egyptians were regrouping, and a new army joined them: Formorian giants, whose king was accompanied by a floating white orb, which looked like an eyeball. Emerald beams shot out of it, striking down Milesians and de Danaans alike.
“I’d say it’s too late,” Reep said, starting to grasp the situation.
“No! There’s one more thing that must be done. Come on!”
The two raced to the edge of the battlefield, and followed the shore to the Egyptians’ boats. Sneaking past sentries, they found the pharaoh’s, and saw what it contained.
“The pharaoh is waiting for victory to put this ashore and dedicated it to his gods, or put it ashore as a curse, if he loses. He must do neither,” L’ile said, as the two struggled put the boat out to sea.
It was too heavy.
“You look like you could use a hand.”
The voice was Ossian’s. The boat started moving.
“Many thanks,” said L’ile, as he and Reep boarded. “How did you know?”
“I’m a story-teller. Once I recognized the story – even one different from our presence, it was only a question of time before I figured it out,” the bard called from the shore.
Some sentries engaged him in combat, while the rest took other boats to pursue. More adept at rowing, they were catching up. In their favour, Reep and L’ile had only a strong wind moving them out to sea.
“What now?” Reep asked.
“Set the boat afire. That will sink this… thing beneath the waves!”
Reep started rubbing flint to steel. “And us?”
“We should awaken at the cave, as Querl no doubt has.”
The pharaoh’s bed was now ablaze. “I still understand this not.”
“We wanted to learn about the Egypt/Eiru war, yes? The cave’s magicks no doubt granted our wish.”
“So we are now uncounted lifetimes in the past?” Reep asked, as the two returned to the deck. The cabin behind was getting smoky.
“Nay; I believe not. I think we are reliving the lives of some who fought in those times – me, a renegade Egyptian spy, and you, a Milesian who bore a strange resemblance to the pharaoh. His son, perhaps.”
“Uh, L’ile? We’re being boarded.”
“The flames will be too far along to save this boat. We fight to keep them at bay, ere we die, and awaken at the cave,” the Druid said with confidence.
Reep wished for the same level of assurance as he drew his sword.
“And if we don’t?” The Egyptians moved in.
“…then we prevented a great evil from destroying Eiru – and probably Britain; let it remain lost beneath the waves.”
Outnumbered, the battle ended the only way it could have.
[ December 29, 2005, 07:23 AM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Garth and Llanfair parted company with MacKell at Credigon, where the Ulster knight would await orders from Rokk, having missed their departure for Ulster.
Garth held his doubts, though - would such a small boat serve them well at sea?
“It’s an offering,” Llanfair explained. “We need the help of Manannan Mac Lir, the sea-king, in order to reach our destination. And he will only let us through, if we lie helpless before him, in his own realm,” the Druid gestured about to the endless waters before them.”
“Joy is mine,” Garth said sarcastically, glad for once not to have armour’s weight about him.
Still within close sight of land, the waves were often higher than their small sail, when they were in the vales between waves. At other times, they would be high atop a wave, and Garth marveled that the boat did not fall aside, with the wind and thin-ness of their craft.
The seas off Caledonia’s shores were rough indeed, and both men were grateful for a night’s rest on a small isle they found, one of the Far Hebrides.
The next day’s sailing was even worse; squalls of rain brought the sea washing into their craft. With the sail down and the two men tied to their boat, they could only bail and hope that they overturned not--
They hoped in vain.
Clinging to an overturned craft, watching their supplies disappear into the tempest around them, Garth struggled to hold on with his sole hand and bob upward for air.
Llanfair called out; Garth could not hear over the roaring sea.
‘Ett know?’
He couldn’t possibly mean-
“Let go!”
This time Garth heard. Has he gone mad? Looking around, he questioned the sanity of this whole effort.
In for a silver, in for the gold.
Garth let the waves take him, and hoped whatever rituals Llanfair had prepared would-
“-Help you to your feet?”
Garth awoke with a start.
They were on an island, a rocky cold shore with steep cliff walls that extended upward into the mists. The maiden before him offered him her hand; he was face-down on a beach of smooth black sand. A stone stairway led up the cliff-side, barely large enough for a child or young woman to comfortably climb, and even then, some parts looked questionable.
Garth thought about denying her aid offer and rising himself, but thought the better of refusing hospitality - if he was indeed at the home of one or more gods.
“My thanks,” he said, as she helped steady him. The rhapsodies of the seas had thrown off his balance more than he realized. “Is Llanfair all right?”
She giggled. “You are our guest this day. No other.” She led him toward the stairs.
Did I get the Druid killed in hopes I would get my arm back?
[ January 01, 2006, 04:24 PM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“We did, after a fashion. We shared the same dream, in fact,” L’ile said, trying to simplify his take on their experiences.
“What was that flame that shot out of the sea?” Lu asked. “It shrieked like the devil himself!”
“L’ile and I were ‘dead’ by then, but I can only conjecture that the… receptacle L’ile and I sought to bury at sea let loose a last gasp of magicks; perhaps seeking to alert its followers where it was, so they could find it.”
Querl nodded, annoyed that he was also ‘dead,’ and unable to observe the scene.
“And it had the reverse effect. With the pharaoh dead,” Laoraighll gestured to her own hands, “and the day lost, the surviving Egyptians threw in lot with the Milesians and the de Danaans, ending the war.”
“We know not that the alliance lasted.” L’ile said. “The legends-”
“-were wrong,” Ossian blurted. For many of you, your ‘dreams’ ended during or shortly after the war. I saw life continue for years after, and peace between the three groups - even an alliance against the Fomorians. As one versed in all the tales, I believe the Milesians and de Danaans became one people fairly peacefully, despite the legends of olde.”
“And the white triangle medallions became a pledge not to forget,” Laoraighll, “not to free this… monster from the sea.”
“Combined with either the cults of Apis or Mithras, some sort of sacrifice was no doubt maintained to keep the… evil at bay,” Querl conjectured.
“And Angtough?” Rokk didn’t like the missing piece of the puzzle.
“Still a dilemma. Was it the Dark Circle, taking ‘sacrifice’ to an extreme, as they take many things?” L’ile asked. “Or Roxxius, was he also seeking what we flushed into the sea - not just Jan?”
“Whether as raiding spoils or intentionally, Roxxius did have white triangle medallions at his Eiru lair,” Reep reminded. “AND the eye-orb, the ‘Justice of Balor.’”
“How did the humans stop the Fomorians, and the eye?” Thom asked Ossian.
“The gods did,” he replied. “And one lost an arm for the deed.”
“What’s next?” Reep asked.
“Saraid,” Rokk said. “With the eye-orb tied up in this, we cannot risk her learning what we know. Laoraighll’s Stone of Virtue was the key to freeing the eye, and if the legends are true, it was the key to imprisoning it ere now.”
Ossian smiled.King Coirpre will be glad to learn of this.
“Ossian, Laoraighll, L’ile and Reep will cross Eiru - as discreetly as possible, and gather such intelligence as they can, en route to Roxxius’ tower. I apologize that you may miss Jonah’s wedding, but this must be a priority.
“They rest of us will join with MacKell, and visit Angtough ourselves.”
[ December 29, 2005, 07:26 AM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“He is Amhlaidh’s son’s son. Let me kill him,” Manaugh whispered.
“Nay. Not yet. Sir Gawaine has done this land may good deeds; and prophecy says he will again. We will but observe,” Tasmia admonished.
She motioned for the hunting party to let them pass untouched.
Obliviously, Jonah and Marla rode by below at the base of the cliff, seemingly unaware of the potential assailants some 30 feet above them, discussing where to camp for the night, given that dusk was deepening.
Manaugh and the hunters silently made their way toward the far ridge, but Tasmia remained, letting the darkness keep her hidden.
This Gawaine bears watching,she thought, as trail took the duo below away from the cliff-wall and across a clearing before retuning them to the woods.
He turned and looked straight at her - for just a moment. Did he see her? For the first time ever, Tasmia wondered if someone could see through her shadows without her consent. But no. Even if I stood solely in twilight’s shadows, he could not see me up here. One of the hunters must have kicked a loose rock.
Night did not last long in the north, and Jonah was awake early, catching fish for fast-breaking. Marla smiled; this was true fellowship - a journey of importance on behalf of a friend’s very soul.
The morning mist clung to the late later than the rising dun would suggest, and Marla could well believe that this deep, dark loch could not only be home to many strange creatures - but its surface seems to encourage sightings real or imagined as well.
“How far is to the strand where you fought the dragon?” Marla asked Jonah, who stared out across the lake.
“How far-” he started to ask again, initially assuming his young friend hadn’t heard. But then, he saw where Jonah’s eyes lingered - a knight on horse - clad in a green tunic. “Who is that? That cannot be-”
“You see him?” Jonah was surprised. Turning back, the knight was gone.
“He moves swiftly, and silently,” said Marla, who observed the knight’s ability to vanish quickly.
“Praise be!” Jonah declared. “I in truth fear no foe I can face and fight, but only those who are beyond sword’s ability to reach!”
“Will you chase him?”
“Nay. He will come to me, when he’s ready.” For the first time in months, Jonah smiled a toothy grin.
[ December 29, 2005, 07:27 AM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Garth winced as he watched his friends and comrades suffer.
Camelot’s walls, Avalon, the stone circle at Salisbury plain, Weyland-on-the-Hill, Aves’ Borough, Cymru’s Druidic grove… even Hadrian’s Wall had all fallen before the man whose fingers could do ungodly miracles - and cause ungodly destruction. And now the hand faced his comrades, all gathered at what would have been Jonah and Tinya’s wedding day. And Garth had front seating for these deeds.
“Jan! Kill him! Make his blood poison!” Garth shrieked - but no one could hear. “Genni! Run a blade trough him faster than he can see!”
“This fiend wants the Grail!” Lu exclaimed.
“He’ll not get it,” Rokk snarled, drawing Excalibur.
“Wait!” the queen bellowed. “It’s Garth!”
Nay, t’is not, but this… demon who uses me like his glove, Garth thought.
His comrades hesitated. Garth’ hand struck several down; some looked… dead.
“Kill me, else this fiend destroys all Britain!” Garth again pled.
“There is but one way, Garth. Fight the demon’s will, that your comrades have a chance,” said a voice. Garth recognized him as one he heard before the demon came. “But there is a price.”
“There always is. What is it?”
“You will die, and forever be remembered a villain.”
Garth looked at the comrades, already dead, wounded… they had maybe one last offense within them Else they die… Berach was bleeding profusely, Dyrk was burning alive… Ayla! She should not be here!
“I accept,” Garth said.
“Then imagine yourself fighting the demon with all the might you can. Distract him!”
Garth pictured himself hacking away at the fiend with all his strength - blocking out that it was his own body, and the fiend turned on him - and gave as good as he got! There were no shields, no armour, no bandages in this fight, and each sword-strike slashed away as a primordial wound on his psyche. He shrieked with each blow - surely no one had ever felt such pain, untempered but the padding of flesh!
It worked. His comrades subdued his physical self, and he could feel both his life and the demon’s ebbing.
“Any last words?” offered Rokk. “We should have left you for dead, like a man, the first time.”
“I spit on King Rokk, I spit on Britain!” the mouth of Garth said. The demon smiled, but Garth let up not his attack, relying on momentum more than focus at this point. Let them think as they will.
Seeing his physical body die, and the demon depart, Garth smiled and let himself drift onward…
…There was a man waiting; a man with a silver arm.
[ December 29, 2005, 07:29 AM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Tasmia could believe it not. She had no malice toward the man who fancied himself king of the entire isle - including the Pictish lands - but immediately wondered if he came solely to carve up the northlands to peoples loyal to him.
Or - did he come to try to take the Cave of Shadows for himself!?
“What shall we do, Maven?”
“I shall meet the man who would be our king. You shall keep Manaugh away - I’ll judge him myself - without shadows of vengeance lingering about.”
Tasmia nodded reluctantly - she wanted to assess this King Rokk herself. But I’d not want Manaugh at my side, either.
With leave to depart, Tasmia gave her customary salute to Sgathach as she passed Her cave. The day was still young…
…and Jonah and Marla made good time traveling down the great glen. Breaking camp in the very shadow of Neibh’iesh, they soon made contact with the Scoti village where the lochs meet the sea.
Jonah made no effort to hide his fresh wounds, knowing Marla had seen the Green Knight’s ambush - and his retreat in defeat.
Lot’s son was immediately struck by how much more fortified the village had become. This place feels like small Anglish towns near Lindum, who live in constant fear of both Khund and Celt. Was Angtough’s seed planted here, too?
Marla noticed it, too. There were far few Pictish traders in town, and those of few of mixed blood who ventured out in public scurried away again to hide themselves from public view.
Acquiring lodgings at the village’s sole inn, they learned that MacKell - who was becoming quite the hero of the Scoti - was en route with King Rokk himself - to Skye.
What do they want on that gods-forsaken isle? Jonah wondered. “I dare say we must join him,” he told Marla.
In the morning, they hired a boat to take them north…
…where Garth found himself wash up on the shore. “Are you all right, lad?” asked Llanfair, ready to help him to his feet.
“I’m fine,” Garth said, not without déjà vu, as this arrival paralleled his last. This time, he arrived with company, and the scrappy remnants of what was once a small boat.
“Lad!” Llanfair exclaimed with joy. “You’ve got two hands!”
“…Aye,” Garth confirmed, studying his silvery limb. How much was real? Am I regarded a villain, an evil menace, back at court? Dare I show my face again?
Searching for food, the two began walking up the shore…
“…where we shall present out findings to the Pictish high priestess, who they call ‘Maven,’” Rokk said.
The red-haired elder nodded. “I have long sought such a meeting as well. And this Angtough situation makes it well over-due.”
“My thanks that you could join us, Fergus,” Rokk offered.
“King Fergus,” MacKell corrected. “He is the true leader of the Gaels in Caledonia. While limited in lands, Dalriada certainly has greater lands than some of southern Britain’s vassal kingdoms.”
“Bah!” Fergus said. “We Scoti place more in clanship than kings, as you well know.”
“Mayhap. But the Scoti need a unified voice to address Pictish concerns,” Rokk said. “And you, King Fergus, are the man - in bloodline and in leadership.”
Lu and Thom followed the discussion intently, hoping indeed that northern Britain’s feuds could be settled. Querl, half-listening, still dwelt on the information at hand - and how to present it all to the Pictish priestess.
“She’s no dullard,” Fergus said, guessing the Greek’s thought. “The Picts may be unlearned by your Greek and Roman standards,” he continued, “but many have lost their fortunes - and even lives, I must say - by wrongly thinking them.”
MacKell nodded. “One of their previous shadow priestesses, who was called Skye, taught myself, and other members of Craebh Ruadh, how to fight - and how to think and strategize.”
Thom nodded. “Even in Cornwall, we knew of Skye.”
“Skye was of the Mallor line of priestesses; all knew the arts of war, as well as the arts of shadow.”
“Indeed, the isle itself is often covered of shadow,” MacKell agreed.
Almost as if on cue, the swath of sea clouds blew over, allowing the party their first glimpse of shadowy Skye.
[ December 29, 2005, 07:31 AM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
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