posted
Sean, this is as great as it was before, thank you for continuing!
There's too many good parts to comment on (hey, I'm not being lazy it's late here!) but killing Lu was a shocker, Jans quest sounds like fun - will you be filling in the details of the tasks he's completed already? I particularly liked that the last one (and presumably the hardest) was geting twelve cats to do the same thing at the same time - brilliant! Though does lying down to sleep in front of a fire count? Mekt's escape doesn't bode well for the knights (though does for us, the reader - yippee! Mekt's coming back!) and the Emerald Empress must return soon, she is such a vibrant character!
More, more, more
Soon please
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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Not only did my belt fail against Glorith, but it failed me again.
He hadn’t the strength to rise; his beating was still too fresh. His very ribs ached. I shall be lucky indeed if I arise from this floor again.
It was a cold, stone floor, and castle walls did naught to keep out the icy winter breeze. Without a blanket - or even his cloak - he was susceptible to any number of other maladies as well.
When the breeze let up, he could smell animal scents, and that of human waste.
Through the wall, he heard another wail of pain. A northerner, he thought, suspecting an Eboracum accent. But t’is hard to tell, gauging only from cries of torment.
How many are here captives? Am I the only with friends and allies who would seek me? Querl hoped his gambit had paid off.
L’ile and Reep are smart enough to find my trail. If only they are seeking me. If only they know where to begin.
The cold wind and the throbbing pain throughout his torso served to keep him awake. Good. I fear if I let myself slumber, I shall not survive this night.
Over and over, he reviewed all the details of his capture - and all the details of his prison he was able to observe. Little enough, but maybe enough to count…
Had he fallen asleep? Or did he pass out from pain?
Either way, a thin beam of sunlight penetrated his cell, and a raggedy old blanket covered him. He itched as well - feeling the bite of tiny cellmates.
Fleas? How delightful, he scorned. A bucket of steaming gruel was set just inside his door. It smelled rancid.
Dare I move? He took a deep breath, and with the stab of pain, opted not to.
…Later in the day, he heard what sounded like guards dragging in a new captive. How many does this villain hold here? Looking to the walls, he saw plenty of unused wall-manacles. At least I am not strapped to the wall. Yet.
The new arrival screamed in torment, as guards laughed. It sounded like he was being chained to the wall in the next cell. So the northerner now has company. If he had none before, that is.
Several muffled comments accompanied the installation, occasionally greeted by a growl, making Querl suspect his captors may not be human.
With their task finished, the guards locked up the neighboring cell, and walked toward his. But before they reached his door, a human voice immediately outside door said, “He’s settled in? Good! I’m ready to see our Greek lad now.”
How long was he standing there, quietly? Was he observing me?
With a clangy metallic ruckus, his door opened. He looked up to see a grinning villain. Why, our friend Brainius V is awake!”
“Caradoc.”
“Aye,” he said, entering. He was followed by two growling humanoid figures - tall, three-eyed and with reddish, scaly skin. “With friends. Trolls make the very best of dungeon-guards, I find. They can literally smell tunnels, hear the sounds of tampering with bars and doors, and feel emotions like anticipation and hope. Those stand out like sore thumbs here, I’m afraid.
“Get some fresh gruel,” he commanded his trolls. “Querl needs to be kept well.”
To serve as bait, Querl guessed.
[ August 10, 2006, 11:35 AM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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posted
Notes 216-229: 216: The brothers hadn’t seen Jan since before Roxxius. But which brother outlived the other? I myself didn’t know until later. 217: Okay, not protoplasm; still she had to serve as both herself and the physical manifestation of the robed guy. “Erytreigh magh Naughiesh” is my own made-up nonsensical spell words. 218: I don’t usually re-write too much, but this one did, as the Niamh avenue didn’t come to me until the original draft was half-written. Many posts just flow out as-is. With minor fine-tuning thereafter. 219: I’ve been planning to introduce Pellam for quite a while; he’s got quite a story behind him. Shanghalla, or Sinn (pronounced “Shin” like “Sinn Fein”) Gaolach, means “beloved people,” appropriately enough. Math was a Welsh wizard of old legend. I wasn’t going to do anything with the Eight Impossible Missions, until a really neat idea cropped up. 120: Mekt was originally going to be a prisoner-trade with Lucius for Kivun. They way worked out better. 221: Well, I can promise no Ionas sequels… I didn’t want them to have too easy a time, but it wasn’t right to have Saraid there, either. Once I settled on Torachi, the rest fell into place… And L’ile sums up my opinion of Ionas’ inspiration’s archeological ethics - destroying priceless sites in his wake. In comics and adventure film, nobody (except Cerebus, once) ever has a cold! Have you ever noticed? It’s either perfect health, or a life-threatening ailment, it seems. Torachi did escape, BTW - and could have done it without his henchmen’s help. 222: There’s an obscure song reference in there that could only run in this post; even if the fit isn’t 100 percent accurate, the association is widespread if archaic enough. 223: Doing research for what’s coming next, I was surprised when Regulus fit in perfectly - earlier than I really planned to use him (other than the occasional cryptic reference) at all. Oops! Department: I’ve been forgetting to use chariots! D’Oh! We all envision knights on horseback, but Romans and Celts were both big on chariots. 244 (+245): An easy win… too easy? Of course Saraid has to escape - north. 245: I originally had just the three guys, but realized I’d need Imra, and realized the guys would have realized that, to, so it was just as easy to have her “upstairs.” Why Kivun? I forgot I needed someone alive when I wrote Roxxius - but I’d already thought up Kivun for a later story before I needed him here. S’true. 226/227: I’ve been looking forward to this one since I planned it… during the week. I’d originally planned several Samhain (pronounced “Sow-wayne”) visitations, but that seemed like overkill. 228: I gotta get this story along before the movie comes out. I was also going to write Kiwa’s visit to Nura - and started to - but it really went nowhere. 229: As I wrote 223, the “three wise men” bit occurred to me; it was too good not to use. The eight feats obviously don’t and can’t parallel the LSH ones - especially since Jan went solo (his role on that cover had me envision the story as I needed it, before even looked at the details, so its more of a homage than a retelling. I guess I’ve done that a few times already). The Iceni were the tribe of warrior-queen Boudeacea, who led a very impressive rebellion against the Roman occupation centuries before. The cats are a nod to Neil Gaiman.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Sorry; I won't be going into more detail on the first six feats... but Saraid won't be gone for too long!
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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The pain came less often, but it stabbed through Querl like a jolt of lightning; indeed, the pain blinded him as it came on, and afterward, his vision took its time to return. Red returned first, with little bubbles of colour joining in.
Caradoc must have thought him recovered, as the floor was no longer his domain. He was now chained up on a wall, alongside the voiced he’d heard often these past days (weeks?).
There was a Pict, an Eboracum warrior - a mercenary, by the look of him, and a Druid who looked to have been here long enough to see his mind addled. He muttered to himself, as if trying to remember a verse, but to all eyes he seemed the madman.
Querl was ladle-fed his gruel now, two ladles per day, earning jealous glances from his fellow prisoners, who only received one. To them, he was worse than his captors, no doubt.
No matter. Half my meal dribbles down my body, he realized. His nose and sinuses congested, being fed seemed almost like drowning, yet he dared not turn his head away.
On his fourth day on the wall, Caradoc’s trolls brought in a new prisoner, tossing him on the floor for all to see, inspiring exclamations and oaths from the others.
Struggling to open his eyes after coughing, sneezing and clearing mucus all night, Querl was wide-awake upon seeing the new prisoner.
“MacKell!” How in Isis’ name did they capture him?
“You see? The mightiest of King Rokk’s knights are no match for me,” Caradoc gloated, kicking his new captive, who in turn whined meekly. “If King Rokk wishes me to be the villain, so I shall be!”
“Nhe’ll Cub for uf,” Querl managed.
“Aye, I’m sure he will,” said Caradoc, as his trolls mounted MacKell into a set of wall-shackles. “In fact, I’m counting on it.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“-And so sirs Garth and Gawaine defeated the bizarre duplicate knights, and all was well in the land,” Mysa concluded.
“Bravo!” Gareth cheered. “Tell me more! Tell me another tale of the animals!”
What to tell him? Mysa wondered. Morgause and Lot’s youngest son loved the tales she weaved about MacKell’s hound, Laurel’s steed, Guinevere’s cat and Brainius V’s monkey as much as his older brother Gaheris did.
And away at the court of Kent under Kiritan’s watch, he was quite happy for a visit from his elder cousin.
“Well, I guess-” she began, but a knock on the door interrupted her. “Yes?”
“My lady? There is a visitor for you?” It was an elderly Khund, Kiritan’s castellan.
Who knows that I am here? I asked Derek not to-
Seeing the Khund waiting, she smiled. “Of course. If you’d be so kind? “ She turned to Gareth. “I shall return ere you are sent to bed.”
The halls of Kiritan’s castle echoed with the rowdy libations of what few Khundish soldiers stood on duty. Boys, really, Mysa noted, realizing she was old enough to be mother to some. Zaryan’s folly has trimmed their numbers greatly. Good.
The old man led Mysa to a chamber, where a man was feasting on bread and cheeses. His face brightened up upon seeing her. “My lady Mysa!”
“Governal!” Mysa was overjoyed at seeing her childhood tutor again, and threw herself into a hug just as she had as a young girl in Gorlois’ court. He in turn laughed at her spontaneous regression.
“What- How- Why-” She had a thousand questions, but sighed and gave up trying to spit one out. “It is good to see you.”
“And you, my little faerie,” he laughed. Even as a girl, her lithe form and otherworldly mannerisms fostered her nickname of later years. Guessing her questions, he spoke first. “Your sister Nura foresaw that you would be here at Kiritan’s court. She regrets not seeing you in Lindum at the weddings.”
Nura. Of course, Mysa smiled bitterly. It was good to hear news of her sister, but she winced internally at recalling the feud at Lindum’s gate.
“She is well?”
“Well enough. For now,” Governal said ominously.
“What is it? What doe she foresee?”
“Geraint. Although more Roman in upbringing than even King Rokk, he is of the olde royal line of Cornwall. Indeed, the people have been awaiting that line’s return since the Romans first came.
“And as you well know, Marcus was but a duke, a regent appointed by Ambrosius - a Roman. And even Nura’s claim to Cornwall comes from Gorlois - another Roman,” said the messenger.
As does mine, Mysa thought. T’is good I have renounced Cornwall’s throne.
“So Nura has come to enjoy being queen so much?” Mysa remembered her younger sister as a child in Eiru, who was much more interested in herb-craft and the harp than court intrigues. She also saw how her sister stole glances at Thom, not that she found fault with that.
“T’is more than that,” Governal said with a hint of exasperation - or fear. “Geraint seeks not only Cornwall, not only Tintagel - but Queen Nura herself!”
Geraint knows Rome’s ways well enough to consider women as chattel. No doubt he already plans to put Enide aside, regretting he married a lady without land, she thought. “What do you seek of me?”
“Talk to Geraint. With war against the Khunds coming with the spring, there is no room for this feud.” He held her hand firmly, as he did in her youth when trying to show her the importance of a lesson. “Tell him… if he stands down until summer, it will give you a chance to win Nura’s heart over for him. All eyes know now that Nura avoids Geraint like a pox. Tell him he is your choice for Cornwall - and your sister.”
“My choice? Why me?”
Governal looked away. “Already… those with tongues for the wagging talk about the wedding of Sir Garth.” Mysa’s heart sank as he continued. “They say since you could not have the prize knight for yourself-”
“-That my sorcery drove him to Jancel’s arms,” Mysa finished the thought for him. “So of course I am the seemly villain to work with Geraint.”
“Mysa, I-”
“T’is all-right. I should have expected such,” she said, letting out a lone tear. “For Nura, I shall do this… but what do we do whence comes summer?”
“We wait, and we plan,” Governal took both her hands, and put them together. “Mayhap the Khund war solved our ills for us.”
[ August 10, 2006, 11:36 AM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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L’ile and Reep were right, Rokk noted, as he attempted to defeat the large, red, three-eyed humanoid creature before him. Ambushed! By… what manner of strange creatures!?
He and his group had become separated from most of his knights, who he had dispatched in response to a reported Khund raiding party on the central Angle coast. Surely he and Reep were warriors enough to keep L’ile and Tenzil safe en route to Londinium?
But no. These monsters — trolls, L’ile called them — attacked out of nowhere, and more than outnumbered them.
And the battle was going badly. Reep was down, L’ile was pinned, and Tenzil’s best efforts to bite and spit at his assailant proved unsuccessful. Unable to score a decisive blow, Rokk could barely keep his trio of attackers at bay, hoping only for an opening—
The king regained consciousness in chained to a wall in a cell, surprised to see Querl and MacKell among his fellow prisoners, along with the three he came with, and three he knew not. It was a crowded little cell, and smelled badly of human waste not cleaned off of prisoners unable or no longer willing to care for themselves. The bruises and bites he remembered were ebbing; the ones he didn’t still throbbed.
He tested his shackles; he was weak, but decided he could escape, if he could make an uninterrupted effort. Was this the time?
The sound of a key in the lock was a definitive ‘no.’
Troll guards entered, along with an unsurprising face — Caradoc’s — although he had taken to dying his face red, and he sported a painted third eye on his forehead, making him look a bit more like his trolls.
“Trying to prove Jo-- Gawaine wrong, then that you could sink no further?” Rokk sneered at the rogue knight, earning himself a spiked-glove punch.
“So you’re the whelp who fancies himself high king, eh?” Caradoc punched him again.
Rokk was tempted to turn the glove’s spikes inward, but wasn’t ready to show his cards yet. He settled for subtly smoothing their edges.
“Gawaine will yet get his due,” the captor continued, turning his attention to his other prisoners. Those feigning unconsciousness were battered out of it; those genuinely so received similar treatment, as Caradoc thoroughly sought out fakers.
MacKell whimpered as the captor approached him. Rokk was genuinely surprised; he’d never seen this legendary knight so — was it because he was again a captive? I thought him made of sterner stuff.
Reep, now also awake, drew a differing conclusion. His voice wavers differently, higher than the true knight. And his words sound more like a Northerner than an Ulsterman. Outright sorcery, or is he like me?
Querl, having a head start, had already deduced the latter, although the man was either committed to his deception, or unable to change. He and the Pictish prisoner had been exchanging hand and face signals all week long, gradually learning to converse a range of details without guards overhearing. In the presence of their captors, they could still manage a few subtle facial signals; he pointed out that the main troll-guard again kept his keys hanging from the same belt-nook; one immediately to the left of his sword. Potentially an important detail.
After his beating, Tenzil turned his head towards a chain, as if recoiled from his attacker. He let his saliva drip onto the chain. L’ile was legitimately unconscious.
The remaining prisoner, the Eboracum warrior, remained silent.
Caradoc made what was becoming a customary rant about how he was once a great hero, but had been wronged, particularly by Rokk and Gawaine. Pledging to destroy Rokk’s court and all his knights, he departed, pleased with himself.
Alone in their shackles, Rokk, Reep and Tenzil freed themselves, and began freeing the others.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“How do you know if you’ve never tried?” Regulus patted the lad on his shoulder kindly.
Jan looked down. “I… did try, once.” He took a breath, and again met his comrades’ eyes. “I was young and foolish. A man, a friar, he was a dear mentor to me, had died. I had done some healings by then and… I tried. I went not well.” He let out a long breath. “The flesh… Lord, I still remember the smell.”
Father Marla nodded. “T’is a rather disrespectful task, is it not? Returning the departed ere their time.”
Belinant, Jonah and Tinya listened on, silently.
“The eighth task, of the twelve cats, would be difficult, nigh impossible, as well,” King Pellam added, resigning himself that the quest was finished, incomplete.
“A man I knew in Rome claimed to have seen it done,” Regulus added. “Kenzius was his name. I have seen him in Londinium of late.”
“What if…?” Pellam began. The others turned to him. “What if the body of the deceased was not one of flesh?”
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“How do we get out of here?” the man who was not MacKell asked. Reep had a thousand questions for him, but this was not the time.
Having dragged the two troll bodies into the cell, Rokk and the man from Eboracum, Kade, returned, while L’ile surveyed the halls. “A labyrinth of sorts. The halls are swept clean of tracks; there’s no way to tell where to go.”
“Worthy of the minotaurs of olde,” Querl commented.
“We’ll go in groups of two or three,” Rokk said. “Grev, I pledged your kinswoman Maven that I would see you to safety. You and Querl are with me. L’ile, you take our would-be MacKell, and Reep will take the mad Druid as best he can. Each group will have a warrior that way.”
“That leaves us,” Tenzil said to Kade. “Let’s go.”
“Mark your route,” Querl told them, picking up a piece of loose stone and making a crude mark low on a wall. “Low enough where our captors may not notice. A different symbol for each group, that we may know who passes.”
With signs sorted out, the groups picked their halls. Tenzil was surprised when he and Kade quickly came to a crumbled wall that seemed to lead to sunlight, not far from an intersection of four doored passageways.
“Mayhap we can call out to the others, ere they wander too far?” the beefeater suggested.
“Let us see where it leads first. It may be a trap,” Kade replied, climbing up to the opening.
It led to a field, right below a stone tower. “We shan’t get out this way in daylight. Yet we may have no choice,” Tenzil said. “Let us find the others.”
But back at the intersection, the door they had come through was locked, and they heard troll-grunts from the other side.
Kade examined the door. “Solid Elmetian oak. I’ll not be able to breach it.”
They bided their time, keeping eyes on both the door and the hall leading to the opening. How long until they seek us out? Tenzil wondered, expecting a more active hunt than locking a door. Are the others already recaptured, that our escape holds urgency not?
As night arrived, they crept up the opening again, and hearing no guards, they climbed out. After a half-dozen steps toward the forest, a huge ring of fire erupted around them; they could make out the silhouettes of a dozen or more trolls between them and the ring.
[ September 02, 2006, 10:04 PM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Lu had been about to give up, actually, until she saw them — Tenzil and another man trapped in a circle of fire.
She had found the ambush site easily enough — the ground was still littered with blood and debris — but the tracks she’d followed had long given out, covered over by an expert. In truth, intuition more than tracking led her here, to the ruins of an old castle destroyed no doubt by Romans. In daylight, she’s seen the rebuilt tower looked none too new; again, a stealthy covering of tracks. It was only the unnatural quiet of the place — and a feeling of dread — that bade her to stay and observe.
The creatures circling Tenzil and his companion like vultures were human-ish in shape, but clearly not human, and not just by their large frames. How many were there? Did she stand a chance against one, let alone all?
Where were Dyrk and the other knights? Not close enough to be summoned, she wagered. Did she have time to go for aide?
But wait! Something was happening! The creatures were shooting something afire — arrows? — at the duo. One fell, set ablaze! But which?
Either I charge in there alone, prove myself no coward but succeed not, or I use my wits. Which shall it be?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the grunting of a woodland creature nearby. Do the local boars not care for our foes then?
If only she could recall that basic animal charm spell Errol tried to teach her! It could only work once for her, she recalled, and could bring unpredictable results, but just maybe…
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“Go on, son.” Marla’s reassuring smile did little to settle the doubts in Jan’s heart.
Jonah put the shovels aside, as only he could make decent progress in the half-frozen ground.
And there they were — two bodies, buried as they were found, swords still in hand against each other.
“Which is which? Tinya whispered.
“In truth, I know not,” her husband replied. “Never could I tell the two apart.”
Regulus stepped forward to examine the two. Jan joined him.
“Look at this one. Mortally wounded, he tried to change back to flesh-and-blood,” Jan observed. “He’s half iron, half flesh. I dare not do anything with this one.”
“But this one!” Regulus pointed. “He is entirely of iron, or so my eyes tell me. Mayhap he is your better effort.”
“And if he is the murderer Balan?”
“Perchance these months of death have taught him the preciousness of life,” Pellam ventured. He put his hand on young Jan’s shoulder. “If it is Balin, a great wrong will be undone. If t’is Balan, mayhap he can find some Christian redemption in this world before he faces the next.”
Jan nodded.
Part of him was ready to give up his quest here and now, else attempt what was about to do. But Pellam’s words touched him, as had Regulus, Marla and Tinya’s, the latter having first-hand knowledge of the joys of second chances.
He expected similar words from Jonah, but the knight of Lothian merely advised him to follow his own heart.
“I know not the lads in question, nor the Lady Kiwa, but of her I have heard much,” Belinant had said, earlier this morning. “If it lets those whose hearts are troubled see either justice or redemption, then where’s the harm in the effort?”
Jan had hoped that a moment of divine clarity would come to him while Jonah unearthed the fallen brothers. It hadn’t.
And now, all eyes were waiting on him. He steadied himself, and hoped his voice trembled not too much.
“Our Father, who art in heaven, Hallowed be Thy name. In kingdom come, Thy will be done, On earth as it is in heaven.”
He lacked the will to continue, as a crippling anxiety washed over him. Straining, he managed, “Father, if what I am about to try is an abomination before You, then please, give me a sign.”
The chilly December airs betrayed no sign that this was anything other than a brisk but beautiful day.
At least he stood, and approached the metallic corpse before him. So intent was he on his task, that he alone was not dumbfounded by the glow that surrounded his hands.
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Saihlough and Aord lingered in the perpetual morning glow.
“How long have we been here?” he asked at last, savoring her probing, caressing hands.
It was just him and her in this bed, strangely set down in the midst of a field, he was now certain. In recent times (last night? But there is no night. How many hours? Days? Weeks?), there were others — male and female faeries, and some he was not certain of — it was a maelstrom of sensuality that he knew on some level he should consider unseemly.
But here it mattered not.
“Does it matter?” Saihlough giggled. Humans asked the silliest questions!
“My friends shall be most worried about me.”
“Am I not your friend?”
“Aye.”
“Then worry about me.”
“Oh, I am. Seduced into the Fair Country by a pretty face. Shall I ever see my fellowes again?”
“Oh, you shall. But t’is no rush. You humans worry too much about the passage of moments. Here we have no sun and moon by which to rush about by.”
“So we’ll go back soon?”
“Aye. Soon enough anyway.”
[ August 10, 2006, 11:41 AM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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“I keep telling you, I’m not MacKell. I’m just stuck in his face,” said the fellow.
“Well, pick up a spear and fight anyway,” Grev demanded.
Finding Reep and the imposter cornered, Rokk felt obliged to join the fray, even outnumbered as he was. Grev, too, joined in, regretting that they had not their own swords, only poor troll-spears, to fight with; their sole amenity was their length.
Querl, meanwhile, found time to confirm a theory. His group had circled back to Reep’s not by chance, but by design, he as certain, meaning neither hallway was the correct one.
Tugging at each loose stone, he found the one that triggered a doorway to open, one leading upstairs!
“This way, fellowes!” He called, running up the stairs to see for himself.
The stairs came up to a chamber — the base of a tower, he surmised — where a trio of trolls were fighting with Lu, and an assortment of boars, wolves and even a bear!
Hearing the upward exodus below him, Querl removed himself from the stairwell, and sought shelter behind a armoured chest.
Reep was the first up, and waded straight into the new combat, despite the wounds he’d received in the donjons. The battle was already turning without him, but his aid hurt not.
The fake MacKell was next, but his timing was poor — he ran straight into a troll’s claws as it neared the stairs to avoid the near.
“MacKell!” Lu cried, almost letting her guard down.
“It’s not him,” Reep and Querl blurted in unison, while the wolves chased a wounded troll out into the night.
But my chance for answers dies with him, Reep thought.
Grev next arrived, as the last troll found itself cornered between Reep, the bear and the newcomer. Choosing the newcomer, it thrust forward as Grev started to position his spear.
He struggled to parry against the creature as Reep stabbed at its side.
“This is how Caradoc controls the trolls!” Querl declared, as Rokk slowly made his way up the stairs, defending against the downstairs trolls in the process.
“What are you talking about?” an annoyed Grev asked.
“Trolls, I gather, generally live so far underground that people haven’t seen them in centuries. He has lured his up with this,” Querl held up a vile containing what appeared to be a thread of shadow that danced like a flame. “It must mean something to them.”
“No, that’s mine,” Grev replied, tending to a gash on his arm, as Reep joined Rokk in defending the stairwell. “It probably signifies that you’ve found the gear taken from us.”
“Hmph.” Querl was still certain Caradoc was using something for control.
The wolves long gone, the boards gave up their feasts as well, and fled out the doorway.
“I guess the charm’s worn off,” Lu said, eying the bear, and slowly edging away from the doorway.
It looked around, snarling, before backing out and disappearing.
“Where are L’ile and Tenzil? Or the others?” Rokk barked, still holding back the downstairs trolls, and sounding tired.
While Querl and Grev redistributed the prisoners’ weaponry of choice, Lu came to the stairwell top, and stabbed downward at the attackers.
“We know not. Tenzil and another were ensnared outside, but I know not where he is of late. His companion… sacrificed himself; took a blow that would have killed our friend.”
With Rokk and Reep re-sworded, the trolls retreated downstairs, closing the doorway behind them.
“Well, that’s the last of them, I guess,” Grev said.
“Don’t be so sure,” said a voice from the doorway. Caradoc.
Lu and Grev gave chase, only to see the dark silhouette of a large number of trolls encircling the entrance.
“Um. Help?” said a voice among them; Grev could make out one of the trolls holding Tenzil aloft, while two others pointed spears at his gut.
Reep and Rokk caught up, only partly aware of the sweet burning smell behind them.
“Surrender!” Caradoc bellowed. “Surrender, and half of you may yet live.”
Over the grunting trolls, Reep thought he heard the sound of hooves. “We’ve got to distract them while our rescuers arrive,” Reep whispered.
“I challenge you to a duel, one-on-one. My throne is the prize.”
Caradoc laughed. “And your kingdom shall follow me?”
“My knights gathered here will vouch for the deal,” Rokk continued. “A debt of honour all must observe. The Anglias, Lot, Voxv, Marcus… enough of my kings would observe it.”
The burning smell was getting stronger. The trolls grew restless.
Rokk, now, could also hear the sound of approaching horses — no more than two or three, he guessed, bur perhaps enough.
“Well?” Rokk continued. He could see Caradoc was giving it thought.
The trolls were grunting louder, and some were practically moaning, as the burning smell wafted through the crowd.
“My trolls! What are you doing? Stand firm! I hear horses! Slay the interlopers!”
His minions were dispersing, however. Caradoc picked up his sword and ran at Tenzil, now thrown on the ground, after his troll captors walked off.
“He’s going to kill Tenzil! Stop him!” Rokk ordered, hoping the others were less exhausted than he.
But Caradoc fell backwards, as if something hit him. Something did.
Caradoc swung at the air. “Show yourself, trickster!”
The least wounded or exhausted, Lu had almost reached Tenzil.
About 50 yards away, trolls’ heads were clearing, having escaped the sweet burning smell. They gathered and turned, watching with angry grunts. The silhouettes of two riders and horses passed between them and the tower.
Caradoc made contact with L’ile, and the Druid became quite visible, writhing on the ground in pain.
But with Reep, Rokk and Grev arriving on one side, and two horses on the other, Caradoc stepped backward, rethinking his options. “I suppose I should take you up on that duel,” he said to Rokk.
“You owe me first duel,” said one of the riders — Jonah. He dismounted while MacKell, expecting the villain to flee, remained mounted.
Caradoc weighed his options, and again counted his opponents. While I live there is cause for hope. And better odds. Mayhap they will imprison me at first in Lindum, where I am not without friends.
“I… yield.”
“Sire? This fiend knows nothing of honour or justice. I say we run him through here and now,” Jonah said.
“Nay. A villain he is, but he shall not bring us to his level. Querl shall make him an appropriate shackle, and MacKell shall be his guardian as we make our way to Londinium. Ah, Querl? What was that burning you made?”
“Trolls hate the surface world, I surmise, in part for its plantlife. I guessed from the woods and greens unburnt and uneaten that those were ones trolls would find unpleasant. It seems I was right.”
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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For a week, he had done nothing, ate nothing but a few crumbs, and spent the days sitting out in the cold air.
“So. I live. Now what?” It was the knight’s first words in a full week.
“Now you return to court with us, I suppose. Or return to Orkney. T’is your choice,” Jan offered. He shivered slightly in the Yuletide airs. Belinant’s gardens were still a beautiful place, even when not in bloom.
“I go back to court a murderer?”
Well, I guess that answers the question as to which brother I sit with.
“You go back a penitent man, who has already faced death for his actions, who has myself and three wise elders to vouch for him.”
“You would do that for me?”
“We are brothers in Christ, are we not?”
The Orkneyman couldn’t answer; he was less certain of anything anymore. Nearby, a swarm of cats descended on spme table-scraps a kitchen-maid left for them.
“I… am sorry if I woke you from your rest against your wishes. I should not have done so; I see that now.”
“Rest?” The man laughed. “T’was not rest for me, I fear.”
“What was it like?”
“I was stranded; caught like a fish in a net, unw- unable to move, whilst I saw all those around me swim on to where they belonged. Only Kiwa stopped to greet me.”
“What did she say?”
“She forgave me. Can you imagine? A pagan… sorceress, offering a gift of Christian charity.”
“Perhaps it is as Marla and Beren say, that all paths are not so far off from each other as we imagine.”
“Aye, perhaps.”
The silence resumed.
Regulus joined them, bringing hot wine. Both younger men appreciatively accepted.
“Your heart is heavy, my friend,” the elder priest said to the knight. “It takes a brave man to face death and come back. But back you are. So live.”
“Aye. I think I shall,” he said, perhaps believing and welcoming it for the first time.
“By what name do we call you?” Regulus asked, not having heard the last.
“Call me… Andrew.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Andrew.”
By now the cats had finished their scraps, and sought more from the nearest humans around.
But Jan, atypically anxious, as he still fought his qualms for his deed, was in no mood for them. “Begone, vermin!” He got up, shooing them away.
Regulus laughed.
“What?”
“How many of them do you reckon there were?”
“Eight or so. Why?”
“Why, then, you came within four cats of completing the impossible tasks after all!”
Jan did not let Andrew’s confusion prevent him from chuckling.
[ September 02, 2006, 10:08 PM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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posted
MOUNTAINS Interlude Sixteen: The Blossom That Is Nanda Parbat
“Are you certain?”
“Yes, Sensei. T’is time for me to return home.”
“Then may the peace of the gods be with you, my young friend.”
“May Rama Kushna watch over you,” offered Maj, the guardian of the welcome fountain.
The man who no longer called himself Agravaine took one last look at the valley that had been his home for the past weeks. Never has there been a more serene place, he thought.
Nestled in between perpetually snow-capped mountains many times over as tall as those he knew in Lothian was a lush, green oasis, populated by those who sought such a perfect habitude, or those who needed its tranquility to overcome the evils they’d known in the outer world.
Many of the valley’s residents had come to se him off, including, he hoped—
But there! The sole head of blond hair in the entire valley was hard to miss — a Helvetic lad, almost as far from home as he.
“Hart! There you are!” He couldn’t leave without seeing his friend and closest peer.
“Didn’t think you could sneak off without me, did you?” The bag he hauled caught many by surprise; it was as big as Lot’s son’s.
“Is that wise to leave?” Sensei asked. “You came here—”
“—To put my past behind me. And I have. But I cannot hide here forever. What’s the good of all I learned here, if I can’t put it to good use, and leave my past buried, where it belongs?”
Despite the sea of skepticism, the elders wished him well.
Their guide was a Saracen, several years older than either of them, both young men knew well. Like Agravaine, he was a knight who gave up the sword, although his was not a permanent vow like the Caledonian’s.
Hart was pleased to see him. “Palomides! Let’s get on the trail before the snows make us stay here another winter.”
The man loaded their bags onto a lama, but keeping the thick yak skins handy, and they made their way up the valley toward the pass. The forest-garden gave way to alpine meadows, and finally rocky, lichened terrain, where the winds suddenly blew colder. The three young men could see their breaths, and saw the occasional flurry drift by.
They paused only briefly at the crest, where one sees a sliver of Nanda Parbat behind them, and the unforgiving roof of the world ahead. As the pass begins its decent, they passed the chasm where tales said, as a young man, Sensei battled a fiend named Kirau, a man so evil even the valley’s peace could not tame him.
“Tales say Kirau perished, falling into the chasm,” Hart said.
“Let us hope such evil remains lost,” Palomides said. “Some say the rock formation below forms the shape of a black dragon. Good luck in the east, they say, but it sounds none too fortunate me.”
The Caledonian knight looked down. There was too much mist and snow to see such a formation; it was just as well.
“Where do you go, once you reach the Silk Road?” Palomides asked.
“I know not,” Hart said.
“West, for me. I have a friend to see in Palestine. I may return to Britain thereafter.”
“Where you not a renowned knight there?” Palomides asked. “Why, your journeys will be most impressive there, it is not so?”
He laughed. “That’s not why I came.”
“Tell us more of Britain, o valiant knight!” Hart chided. “Mayhap I shall accompany you there.”
“Well…”
“Yes, please,” Palomides said. “We have far to walk, and it will help pass the time, Val.”
[ August 10, 2006, 11:48 AM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
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