Jonah took pride in readying Cadwy's Fort, even though he well knew it would not be his to command.
The ramparts were well built untold centuries ago, and the hilltop was well suited to contain an entire village, if need be.
The well was plentiful enough to site such a populace - and had. According to Rokk, the local village of Cadbury had been sited up here until the Romans expelled them more than four centuries ago.
He paused to listen to the wind. The Septembers blow warmer here than in Lothian - or Orkney, he thought. No wonder these south-men seem so relaxed.
He abruptly noticed a rhythm to the sound.
That's no wind - It's horses!
"Raiders!" He called, ending the rest-breaks both knight and laborer took. "Raiders on horseback!"
"We shall test this fort's abilities," Jonah announced, ordering all bowmen to man the ramparts. He'd not waste ground forces - yet.
The dry summer had one advantage - it's dust let the British see exactly where the group was. And what a cloud of dust it was! A larger raiding party Jonah had never seen. Why, there must be--
"Stand down." he barked. His men looked at him as if he'd lost his mind - especially Dyrk. "If our foes have such a large contingent of cavalry, then all is lost. I'd wager," he peered down the vale, smiling, "that these are friendly forces!"
Dyrk ran up to the ramparts, to see for himself.
And sure enough, the banner of the Pendragon was bourne by Sir Garth himself, leading a troupe of Iberia's finest!
The men cheered, and Dyrk himself was surprised by the tears that rolled down his face.
The fields of Glastonbury were to be Garth's training grounds, Jonah guessed, and Cadwy would be his fort.
[ December 26, 2005, 05:39 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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posted
Notes 60-68 and Interludes 1-5: 60: Playing the delay game couldn't work again, could it? I initially had no intentions of doing the Rebel Kings story, but it works - so far. The Interludes: I figured I'd be introducing Brendan around this time, and it was a good excuse to catch up with Vidar, and show Garth in Iberia. The island and the Khunds were gimmes, as I was somehow convinced there should be five interludes. There'll probably be five more around 120. I-1: According to the story of Brendan (full of questionable testimony, yet one that matches real places), he did indeed report of meeting monks on the isle of ice and fire, who said they'd been there 80 years. Early Viking writings say they found Irish monks already living in Iceland as well. I-2: A gift from actual history! That's all I'll say at this point as Vidar's story unfolds. I-3: While technically too early for the cosmopolitan Moorish era, it was how I envisioned it, so, so what. This is set in Toledo, in case anyone wasn't certain. Also, I was surprised to learn that the name "Jenni" does originate from the Welsh name Guinevere. I-4: Starting out, I'm using recent Khundish names for continental Khunds and pre-boot names fro Kentish Khunds. Until I run out of one side or the other, or change my mind. I-5: Descriptions of Brendan's travels do suggest he made it to America, and Ogham, old Irish writings, have allegedly been found in Pennsylvania and West Virginia. 61: Be vewy qwiet. I'm hunting bowas. 62: It was fun just to sit back and let the girls talk as they pleased. And I finally bring in Jancel as more than a mention. Someone better keep an eye on her! 63: Cadwy's Fort, later called Cadbury Castle, was never a true castle - only an ancient hill-fort. Although long said to be the site of Camelot (apparently mostly because of the number of "Camels" in local town names), and I really wanted to have it in Somerset, near Glastonbury - archeological evidence suggests it was improved slightly during Arthur's time, but not as a castle. 64: Yes, that's a Beatles in-joke. Zoe, mentioned along with Jancel at the wedding, won't be taking a front-row role... yet. 65: I knew all along that Cradelmant wasn't 100 percent thrilled with the conspiracy, but until I started writing this, I didn't know he was going to tip off Rokk. 66: I kept putting off the curse. And like other delays, it came out for the better, I think. 67: Be vewy qwiet. I'm hunting tawget posts. 68: The sting! Pharoxx and Caradoc aren't really there, I hope it's evident. Having Asians in Britain is a stretch, I admit - but not too far-fetched. The Silk Road had long connected China with the eastern Roman Empire, and descendants of traders could well have settled in the west. If Marco Polo could maintain his fictional journey for almost a millennium, I'll allow myself some leeway, too. Although to a lesser degree than the coronation or wedding, this part has been another mental milestone looming in me head, as I've really been looking forward to what comes next!
[ December 26, 2005, 05:42 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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You've had a post-a-thon and my eyes hurt after reading this Kent, but I had to keep going! Let me speak for everyone else who reads this and just say "wow!", you've taken so quite complex ideas/ plots/ historical themes/ characterisations and really made them work for you. This is an absolute treat to read and the first thing I look for when I log into Legion World.
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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"...So had we not slain the wizard Septimus Light-Bringer, the very Isles of Eyth would have been swallowed whole by sea dragons!"
Iaime was amazed. "You fought sea-dragons? How?"
"Nay," Garth said. "We killed the wizard before he could have the dragons do his bidding. So we did not have to fight the dragons."
"Only Jonah has fought a dragon and lived to tell," James added. "But that was only one, and smaller than these were, I'd wager."
Garth and James shared a wink. They'd let Iaime know they were pulling his leg - sooner or later.
Iaime shook his head. "These tales, the wizard and dragon, the iron monster, the gem-thief, they are true?"
"Gem thief?" James, the late arrival, had missed that tale.
He already knew the third tale was one that the bards invented - of a magic iron beast so powerful that all of Rokk's knights could defeat it not - they had to resurrect a dead Irish hero of centuries agone.
"On Coronation day, a blackguard tried to steal the royal gem handed down from Joseph of Arimathea, and replace it with a cursed one. Several of us caught the fiend, but the city guard did not yet know us, and he had to go free," Garth told him. "We'd agreed to keep that tale secret. The ales, I guess, have loosened my tongue."
"It shall go no further, my friend," Iaime assured him. James nodded in agreement, adding another wink.
For Iaime, however, it was as if the Homeric tales, the legends of Perseus and Hercules, were all true, and he was a part of it all.
The weeks of training had gone well. Iaime could teach them for years and still not run out of tricks, but he was impressed with the skills these knights held already - and how quickly and eager they put his tutelage into practice.
"Who is yonder buffoon?" asked the Moor.
Garth, in truth, could not answer. He'd seen him once or more before he departed, but on his first night back in Londinium, the jester's name eluded him.
"That is Carolus, a Frankish lad, who is King Rokk's jester," said James. "He again tells the tale of how it took the accident of a magic potion to give him his bouncy step. Ha! Years of good eating's more the truth."
"With such a dry year, he'll be lucky to eat half so well o'er the winter," James said. "We all will."
"You're getting serious, son. Have another ale," laughed Garth. While away, he worried of the adventures he'd miss, but to find that little action had transpired worried him. When will the-
"Khunds have attacked!" L'ile burst into the great hall, interrupting the revelries.
This is it. Am I one of them, or just a story-worshipper? Iaime asked himself, joining the rush to the stables.
As they rushed past Querl, Garth told him he wasn't obligated to fight.
"Nay, worry not. I have a magic belt that will protect me from all foes," Iaime said.
A magic protective belt? wondered Querl. How does one come across such a thing? still remembering his difficulties in Annowre's castle.
"From all your foes? Then I guess it's your friends you must fear," Garth shot back.
The two men laughed.
For both men it was a test - was Rokk's investment in cavalry worth it? Both men had much to prove in the days to come...
[ December 26, 2005, 05:44 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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T'was a nice summer, to be here again, Imra thought, relaxing on the grassy slopes of the Tor. Has it been a year since I left the Teachers' Isle for the Priestesses?
Yes, it was Samhain last year, she realized. Halloween.
The court had returned to Londinium, yet she sought to stay one more week, for old times, and so she could re-enter Avalon without scandalizing her more Christian ladies.
The lukewarm autumn breezes were thinning out like an old man's scalp, and the crisp autumn nights were getting sharper.
Yet it was not too late to return to her favourite place, her sacred space, where she used to practice Aven's meditation techniques without fear of another mind colliding with her's.
The Avalon side is warmer still, she thought, comparing the magickal isles to their earthly duplicates at Glastonbury.
She lied back, almost hugging the hill. After meditation, she would lie back and rest, and the Tor would serenade her in an olde tongue she understood not.
But doing so today, she heard it again - it was Gaelic, a tongue she only learned this year.
Imra! It called her.
Sitting up, startled, she almost lost the voice. But no, it remained. It was a man's voice.
Imra, please pay heed! There is treachery afoot!
"Who are you?! How do you know this?" Imra was frightened.
I see much, though imprisoned in my cave. I see the Khund Zaryan has laid a treasonous plan, and one of the two men who love you shall surely die.
"NO!" Imra stood, shaking her head, not wanting to hear any more.
Imra, please. Only you can hear me. I've tried for six centuries to find someone who could.
"What must I do?"
To save your men, find some means that they shall not enter the forest at Gertus' Hill, where Zaryan's trap shall be.
She nodded. "Who are you?"
I am Lar Chulain. Injured and dying, the Fae Queens brought me to this cave, til I can fulfill my bargains to them. But we shall talk again -- You must make haste!
Imra was surprised. Lar Chulain- the legendary Hound of Ulster! Here in Avalon! But why has no one helped him?
The question would remain unanswered today.
Wading across the slim channel between the Tor Isle and the Teacher's Isle, she started calling for Aven, aloud and silently.
She told him of the Hound's warning. "I must get to Londinium with haste!" she said, barely catching her breath.
"I am sure the sisters at Glastonbury will-"
"There is no time! I must use the path of Isis!" Imra insisted.
"You entered Avalon from Glastonbury's shores to the Priestess' Isle, and thence you must go! The dangers are-"
"-Known to me, and I accept them. Every hour counts, Aven. I must go, with or without your aid."
The differing gates to Avalon are no 'magic threshold' to cut the length of travels, he tried directly, one last time.
No, they are not. But I must get to Londinium, and if I can do so to-day, I will, she answered.
Still fuming, he led her to the path-house, and lit the fires for purification.
When she opened the chest of robes, he bid her to retrieve two. "There is no way I'll guide you, except in person."
She withheld her protest. It would be good to have company, and easier to navigate the path with a guide at hand, rather than to hear instructions over the noises in the dark.
Removing all wardrobe and jewelry, she donned her robe and tied her blindfold around her neck. Behind the screen, Aven did the same, before returning to begin the ritual.
Mayhap a boat-ride to Glastonbury is easier, she thought. Once complete, they covered their eyes and walked the Path, with linked minds to hear each other, no matter how loud the unearthly shrieks became.
[ September 02, 2006, 04:32 PM: Message edited by: Kent Shakespeare ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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The cut-throat's body still sat on the roadway, his blood flowing slowly toward the ditch.
Dyrk just stared at him, shaking his head. Londinium was eerily quiet - too quiet.
He'd easily hear the man walking up behind him. It was no city guard, either.
"Bravo. Brave Sir Dyrk has avenged the wrongs done to this fair city's good citizens."
"Cranyac. I'd heard you'd escaped," Dyrk sneered.
"Pardoned, actually. My knowledge of Kentish defenses have made me invaluable to King Rokk himself."
"And why would your knowledge interest the high king?"
"Have you not heard? Perhaps you are ill-informed, not the coward I surmised. Zaryan has broken the treaty. Rokk rides against him - without the northern Kings at his side." Cranyac sounded almost pleased.
"If I believed you, I might not run you through as an escaped prisoner."
"If you had any courage, you'd notice there's not a knight in this city."
His words stung. Dyrk's bravado - even his strength - apexed in the summer months, and winter was now creeping in.
"We'll meet again, Cranyac." Dyrk couldn't even find much spirit to put into his pledge, as if the ebbing year sapped his passions, too.
Walking down the street, he passed the Temple of Apollo, and made his customary salute.
He should enter and make sacrifice, but he wouldn't. Not while Regulus was still the priest of this shrine.
[ December 26, 2005, 05:48 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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King Mekt was delighted to see the lady once promised him. "Since the fall of Argentoratum four years ago, I have feared for you."
They embraced. She was a measure less enthusiastic than he, but he noticed not.
The other man cleared his throat.
"I must apologize. King Mekt of Benwick, Armorica, may I present Lavarrus, son of Boltus, of Venetia.
The two men greeted each other.
"King Lavarrus, wasn't it?" Mekt had heard of Eva's marriage to the alchemist-noble from Italia.
"King for a year, barely more," Lavarrus said. "Clovis besieged us for our entire reign. Now Alemannia is part of his empire."
"You seem not the worse for it, if you mind not my saying." Mekt motioned for his man to bring his guests wine and meat. "Pardon my hospitality. Had I welcomed you in Benwick, we would have a full feast for you both!"
Lavarrus nodded. "You are at war, and the high king has entrusted his two staunchest allies of his younger kings to guard the flanks. It is to be expected."
Indeed, Mekt's position along the lower Thames had aided the exiled royals in finding their quarry.
"Lavarrus no longer has cause to think ill of Clovis," said Eva, showing true excitement for the first time in the visit. "Nor will you, my old friend."
Mekt raised an eyebrow. Just as the Khunds raged against the British and the Franks, so too did Clovis' Franks war against the Goths of southern Gaul. Only his Lesser Britain, Armorica, was spared because of its inconsequence to the Frankish king - so far.
"Has he given you back Alemannia?" he asked skeptically.
"Not yet," smiled Lavarrus. "But he will, and more!"
"Clovis seeks to rebuild the Empire, at least here in northwestern Europa. Imagine a single, strong power to keep Khund, Goth and Northman at bay!" Eva blurted.
"He means to conquer Britain, too? Then he has a long queue to join," Mekt scoffed.
"Nay. There is no need to conquer Britain. Think," Lavarrus said, munching on a leg of mutton. "The youth Rokk has lost the support of his kings. Well, most of them. Not in outright rebellion - yet. As he loses in battle to the Kentish Khunds - let alone the continentals - his support will weaken, leaving a gap."
"Yet the northern kings and the south can all rally behind a new high king, perhaps the renowned Gawaine of Lothian, married to, say, a princess of Benwick?" Eva suggested. "Such a couple may well see the strength in joining with Clovis, as well."
"You plot treasons while my high king is at war!" Mekt was getting angry.
"Not us. We are simple messengers, here to see if a deal could be brokered," Lavarrus said. "Imagine Armorica's lands doubling? It could happen. Clovis has much land to be generous with."
"There may not be a high king to plot treason under, any day now," Eva winked. "If the Thames flank is... unguarded, and Zaryan can reach Gertus' Hill outside Londinium, the seers of St. Genevieve's order have seen it: The young man they saw on the dais at Coronation shall die before All Saints Eve."
If true, Britain must be prepared, he thought. Eva eyes him. Does her gift to guess my mind continue?
"Perhaps Mekt needs time to think," Eva said, as if to turn his thoughts elsewhere.
"Time there is not," Lavarrus said. "He is with us, or against us. The wheels are already in motion. We need only for a gap to exist in Rokk's flanks, so the way to Londinium lays open."
"Than I'd better move my troops. New orders from King Rokk," Mekt smiled along with his guests. "I must notify my captains."
Out in the brisk October air, he walked a steady pace away, as if speed would help clear his head. I cannot weave my own plot in front of her, else she sees through me.
He ordered two messages penned: one to Garth, one to King Rokk, and one to King Marcus, who guards the other flank.
And in the morning, his flank began its move...
[ December 26, 2005, 05:52 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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"Woo-who!" cried James, once Rokk had given the word.
The two-score strong band of heavy cavalry moved as a single unit, truly with the discipline, power and might of any Roman legion - yet one that moved far faster than any Imperial infantry ever did. Rokk's infantry, in turn, enjoyed easy pickings over what was left.
What little horse-backed Khundish warriors there were proved no match for Garth's forces, and battle after battle, they wore down and tore down Zaryan's scattered bands of warriors, who were more used to small, intimate combats.
For three nights, they had arced around Londinium, trouncing band after band, with only one fight warranting prolonged effort - at Merrow Downs.
Yet nearing the Thames again, they expected a regrouping, but found none.
The small bastion awaiting them was no army, only a band guarding a hilltop, trying their best to delay them. They were failing.
On Rokk's word, his men ascended the hill, with no single archer taking down even one of his riders.
Despite the expectation of the grand finale, the rout was a let-down.
Rokk seemed unsurprised, however, and in turn surprised his own men: splitting them in half. Jonah was ordered to hold the line, while Rokk and Garth led the remaining half- back toward Londinium?!
We've got them on the ropes, yet now we turn tail? Jonah grimaced. Yet he knew Rokk's stratagems usually had their strengths.
Rokk's team set off, once Laoraighll returned from her scouting mission, leaving Jonah's biggest problem - his brother.
Agravaine was tending the horses, grooming, mixing the grains as Iaime had specified, and checking the steadiness of the horse-shoes.
"Brother," Jonah greeted.
Agravaine, with much redness of eye, nodded, failing to meet his brother's gaze.
"Brother, will you not speak to me?"
"What words would you hear from a cut-throat?" Agravaine half-screamed.
"A cut-throat you are not. And I've known many," Jonah tried to provoke a smile.
"Well, you know one more."
Jonah strolled around the makeshift corral.
"Iaime thought his magic belt would protect him from harm."
"From his foes! Not his friends!" Agravaine said. "Not his friends..."
Half-choking on the memory, he could not help to go back to day at Merrow Downs. Several knights had to dismount, to wade into a band of Khunds who'd holed up in a dense thicket of woods.
He'd taken out many of them single-handedly, perhaps trying to prove something to his big brother - or his legend.
The last Khund was a real fighter, though, who half-dislodged Agravaine's helmet, obstructing his vision and making him an easy target.
He'd lashed out blindly, not knowing his opponent was slain already.
"Iaime was our friend and ally. He saved my life, and I repaid him by... Aye, I repaid him," he trailed off.
The young knight sobbed, leaving his brother only to provide comfort. This wound will not be short in the healing, Jonah thought, thinking how long he has blamed himself for Tinya.
[ December 26, 2005, 05:54 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Dyrk suffers from SAD - just like me then Mekt the plotter - I love it! Agravaine's anguish - great stuff!
If I could pass one criticism Sean it's the blue writing you use when Imra is telepathising - it fades on a blue background and I found it breaks the rhythm of the peice for me.
More, more and 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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Kent, (or Sean, if that is correct, I'm guessing here) I just found this story today, (OK Belinda told me about this story today) and I only intended to read the first few posts to see if I liked it or not. Well here I am a few hours later than I'd planned on staying up disappointed by just one thing. There's not more for me to read!
You've done a marvelous job combining the Arthurian Legends with our favorite Legion.
So To Paraphrase a certain Harbinger...
MORE, MORE, MORE!!!!!
-------------------- Just an Old, Broke-Down, Drunk, Bum!!
With a Power Ring...
From: Westerly Rhode Island | Registered: Aug 2003
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Querl saw the opportunity at hand as too good to pass up.
Genni had delivered word that Zaryan's warriors had somehow bypassed King Mekt's line, and were making a bee-line for Londinium.
"The Khundish forces have some horses and wagons, but no boats. Therefore, they are limited to the Thames' south shores, while we north of the river shall remain untouched, free to fire our payloads at the enemy," Querl explained. "Even if some swim across to come at us, we can be long gone before they arrive."
"And if they do, we can set fire to your ballista, that they may not use it against our forces," Loomius added.
"If it comes to that. And it's no mere ballista," Querl corrected. "I call it my Computus."
He took quiet satisfaction in the unit's mobility. He and Loomius were ably guiding it up Gertus’ Hill's gentle slope with no difficulty at all.
"Why call it 'Computus?'"
"Well, beside the ballista element you are familiar with, you see the additional apparatus?"
"Not really," Loomius said. "I didn't get a chance to examine your newest additions."
"Well, you remember how our results improved with the angle adjustment?"
"Un-huhmph," he answered. They both needed an extra push to get over an annoyingly thick root.
"Well, incorporating the dual abacus system allows us to calculate the elevation and distance variables, ensuring greater accuracy, when combined with the aiming device-"
Loomius cut off the scholar. "-I still don't see how a metal bracelet is going to improve our aim."
"That is merely the holder for a device too precious to leave with the machine," Querl started, but was distracted by the view coming into sight, now that the hill's crest and tree-line had been passed.
The two had finally arrived on the top of Gertus' Hill, where they saw the torchlight of all Londinium, Wynn's defending forces - and the approaching Khunds.
"Wow," said Loomius.
Querl nodded in agreement.
"You were saying something about the aiming device?" asked a Khundish accent.
A circle of Khunds stepped out from the woods, leaving the scientist and craftsman with nowhere to go.
[ December 26, 2005, 05:56 PM: Message edited by: Hey you ]
From: Vancouver, BC, Canada | Registered: Dec 2003
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Mekt the plotter - I love it! Agravaine's anguish - great stuff!
