You've got a great story going on here. I'll be sure to stop by regularly for more updates.
Thank you!
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You've got a great story going on here. I'll be sure to stop by regularly for more updates.
Thank you!
@Chirurgeon: That's what I want to know as well. :laugh4: Actually, I've played a little farther than I've written, but I don't know everything that's going to happen in the background story yet. I hope the growing tension between Cavarillos and Cadwalador is coming through loud and clear. That will be key in the days ahead. Right now I'm juggling work and my other writing projects, so I don't have another chapter ready right now. Will update as soon as I get more written. Thanks for following.Quote:
Originally Posted by Chirurgeon
@Yossarian: Haven't seen you around before, but thanks for pushing me to page 2. Only Chirurgeon posted after that huge battle chapter and I wondered if I had lost everyone. It's going to get hotter!
I think everyone is playing 1.1 or something. I have had a sharp decrease in comments. Im gonna leave the current chapter up (which is a big one) and see what happens. I guess some people are getting burnout.
Not me. Drunkards seem to be a heavy feature in both of our stories, which is odd 'cause I don't drink. But I'm enjoying the story a lot more than I thought I would. And don't forget, no one knows what has happened to the cities back in Gaul or the army that invaded Ireland. :sweatdrop:Quote:
Originally Posted by Chirurgeon
ah yes. That can be a surpise later on. Maybe have a Bard describe what happened.Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Chapter VIII: A Time for Choosing
Two days later, we ran into the remnants of the Lugoae. They carried fresh weapons, the booty of a Dumnone search party they had overpowered. They added to our numbers. And more importantly, they brought news of Tancogeistla. . .
“Where is he?” Cavarillos demanded the moment they spoke of him. I thought for a moment that they would detect the anger in his voice, but they either did not, or ignored it deliberately. Perhaps they felt the same way.
“A day’s journey toward the rising sun,” their leader replied. “He waits with the nobles who survived, as well as a few of the Gaeroas and slingers.”
“Take me to him,” Cavarillos instructed gruffly. I could see the look in his eyes, the look that assured me that Tancogeistla would die. I glanced away, into the meadows and fields that stretched before us.
A man would die, and I knew of it. A chieftain of my people. And yet to warn him would assure the death of a man I called my friend. I felt twisted inside, torn between what I knew was right and what I wanted to do. The loyalties of tribe, and the stronger loyalties forged in the fires of battle.
“Cadwalador.” I turned, suddenly aware that Cavarillos was speaking to me.
“Yes?” His eyes seemed to be looking right through me, as though he could see what I was thinking.
“You will march beside me.”
I nodded. It was plain he wanted me where he could see me. And that was all right by me.
We didn’t stop that night, kept pressing onward through the hills and valleys of this strange land we now wandered in. Cavarillos was pushing us like a man possessed. Tancogeistla was not far away. I looked on my left and right, to the men marching there. The last swordsmen from southern Gaul. Mercenaries. I had no way of knowing whether they were in on Cavarillos’ plot.
If they were, I was outnumbered. If they weren’t, I was outclassed still. There was no hope of me beating Cavarillos in a fair fight. I had no desire to. My only wish was to dissuade him from this mad plan that he had conceived, this plot to murder one of my fellow tribesmen.
By morning we had reached a ridge that rose steeply above the surrounding terrain. From its height, we could look down and see the scattered campfires of Tancogeistla. So few. The last of the Aeduan army. . .
“He is still here,” Cavarillos observed quietly. I didn’t respond. To answer in the way I knew he wanted would be to lie, to deceive a friend. To answer in the negative—I feared what would happen then.
I fingered the javelins in my hand. They were my one advantage. Cavarillos was not skilled in their use. If I could keep him at range—But I prayed it would not come to that. He was one of the few friends I had left. Loyalty to him, loyalty to tribe, to the clan of my fathers. . .
My heart sank when I saw Tancogeistla. He was sitting beneath a large tree, his back resting against its bark. His sword-arm was swathed in dirty, blood-soaked bandages, clearly the result of a battle wound. He had fought bravely, despite his drunken foolishness.
“Cavarillos,” he greeted quietly as we came to a halt before him. Once again, he didn’t remember my name, and I didn’t expect him to. Cavarillos had been the leader of the army from Mediolanium. I was merely a foot-soldier.
“Is this all that’s left?” Cavarillos demanded abruptly.
Tancogeistla nodded, clearly sensing the condemnation in the mercenary’s voice. He was dead sober now. He nodded to the two nobles who flanked him, his bodyguards.
“Help me up.” It was then that I noticed the bandages on his foot as well. They lifted him into a standing position and he faced Cavarillos.
“Let your men rest today,” he said calmly. “We head north tomorrow. You can bivouac your men over there.”
“My men?” Cavarillos asked, irony dripping from his tones. “All four of them? The four that survived?”
“I understand how you feel, my brother,” Tancogeistla said softly. He wasn’t a bad leader when he stayed away from the bottle. “I lost many good friends in the fight as well.”
Cavarillos nodded, seemingly mollified. He turned and led us over to the place Tancogeistla had indicated. He stripped off his sword and scabbard and threw them on the ground, sighing heavily. The march had been hard on all of us, him not the least.
I waited till we were alone before I spoke. “You have abandoned your plan?” I asked quietly.
He looked over at me, humor glinting in his dark eyes. “There is a time for everything, Cadwalador. Including his death.”
“But he was nearly crippled in that battle!” I protested, keeping my voice down with an effort. “There’s no way he can meet you!”
“So much the better.”
“So you would murder him?”
He turned on me, eyes blazing. All humor was gone now. “Yes, if you choose to call it that. Otherwise he will kill us all. His stupidity has already caused the death of too many.” Once again I felt as though his glance was searching the depths of my soul.
“Are you with me, Cadwalador?”
My eyes met his, and in that moment I knew I had to answer him. It was a time for choosing, between the loyalties I held dearest.
I nodded slowly. “I will be at your side when the time comes. . .”
*Gulp* This is getting intense. I can feel the tension coming through my computer monitor! Great little update there. One of the nice things about AARs is not constant fighting. And even better I have found that readers enjoy a break from huge battles. If all you do is fight big battles the don't seem so big anymore. Great job!
i say cut n run, find a nice brythonic gal. Migrate to the Isles of Scilly raise some pigs and trade it with some aquitanians. Happy days!
Chapter 9 is coming up! I got busy and knuckled down over the weekend. And a bad situation can get worse. . .
@Chirurgeon: Glad you can feel it. Cadwalador's between the devil and the deep blue sea. This whole business of writing in the first-person is new to me, but I'm enjoying it.
@Shylence: :laugh4: :laugh4: Wait and see, my friend. Wait and see.
Chapter IX: Massacre
We rose at sunrise the next morning, falling into formation almost immediately. The foraging parties had been unable to find food, and I heard the men murmuring as they shouldered what remained of their belongings. I saw the Brihentin helping Tancogeistla onto his horse. He appeared to be little stronger this morning.
Cavarillos seemed in unusually high spirits, despite the lack of sustenance. Another day, I would have been deceived into thinking he no longer harbored evil against Tancogeistla. But not now.
By the time the sun was high in the sky, we were marching northward, through rolling fields of tall grass. Several of Tancogeistla’s bodyguards rode out in advance of the column, acting as our only scouts.
By this time, I was sure that the remainder of the Botroas were with Cavarillos in his plot. I had seen them talking together earlier, a conversation which had abruptly ended at my approach.
Cavarillos apparently no longer trusted me. I risked a sidelong glance at him as we strode along, his powerful body moving effortlessly when other men lagged. His cloak had been lost in the battle and the muscles of his chest and arms were clearly defined. A formidable foe.
I thought back to the day we had first met, that day in the snows of northern Gaul, how he had stumbled in at the head of the army from Mediolanium. How in the months that followed he had taught me the use of the sword, striving to pass away the time.
I had never dreamed of needing to use that knowledge against him. As our friendship had grown, I had never thought that we would be separated so violently.
Early in the afternoon, one of the riders came galloping back in. He was a noble from my village, a calm, dignified man. I had never seen him so excited.
“There are houses ahead!” he cried to Tancogeistla, striving to get his horse under control. “A village!”
I could see the look in Cavarillos’ dark eyes. The last village we had approached had been Ictis. His memories of that bloodbath were clearly visible.
I heard Tancogeistla demand the number of houses, the strength of the villagers. Clearly he was acting more rationally this time.
Before the nobleman could give a full report, however, another scout came riding in, his mount lathered with sweat. “We were discovered,” he gasped, panting out his message. “One of the village women. She ran back into the houses before we could stop her.”
Tancogeistla hesitated for but a moment. He knew, as we all, what had to be done. He turned to face the column. “Warriors,” he began, raising himself in the saddle. “Before us lies a village of the natives. It is too late to go around them. They have already discovered our presence. The village is small and should not pose a problem to our army.” He paused for effect, glancing at the weathered faces of the men he led. “In short, we must leave no one to carry word to the Dumnones. Kill them all!”
Tired though the men were, I saw the line surge forward, each man grasping his shield and spear more firmly. Men once about to drop dead from exhaustion now ran through the meadows, spurred on by the twin motivations of food and women. From the village ahead I could hear the shouts as the hapless villagers rallied each other in their defense.
“Rabo!” Our war-cry burst from the lips of the Lugoae as they charged down on the defenders. I felt strangely sick. If the fight at Ictis has been stupid, senseless, then this was twice so. Only this time we were in the position of might.
I kept moving forward, as though lost in a dream. Cavarillos was running ahead of me, eager for blood. And other things, perhaps. He was a warrior, a man who lived for the fight. We were opposites.
I saw the sword of one of the Botroas descend upon the neck of a villager, severing the man’s head completely from the torso, sending it spinning into a pile of straw. A young woman, her hair the color of flame, ran from one of the houses toward the dead man, a high-pitched wail breaking from her lips.
The mercenary turned, the blood-red sword still in his hand. I saw him grasp her by the arm, a strange leer on his face.
I stood there numbly as he pushed the sobbing girl roughly up against the side of her home, wiping his blade on her garments. All around me the slaughter continued, but I could not hear it. The screams of the dying were a dull ring in my ears. My eyes were locked on the mercenary, on the girl.
He began to tear at her clothes and her sobs turned instantly to screams. I moved forward instinctively, barely considering the consequences of what I was about to do.
“Stop,” I ordered in an unaccustomed tone of command, laying my hand on his shoulder. I didn’t know what his reaction would be, I only knew I couldn’t stand by. He would rape this girl and then kill my general. I could have no parts of either. What had I told Cavarillos?
If I help you, it is as bad as if I had done the deed myself.
There was no difference. The mercenary turned angrily to me, lust glazing his eyes. “You can have her after I’ve finished.”
He turned, ignoring me. My sword was unsheathed, carried in my right hand, down low as Cavarillos had taught me. I didn’t want to kill him.
She screamed again, tears running down her cheeks. The sound galvanized me into action and I thrust my elbow into his ribs, sending him sprawling into the dirt of the street.
He rolled over on his back and lay there for a mere moment of time before scrambling to his feet, roaring like a wounded bull. My sword was already raised to guard myself.
I blocked his first thrust, frustrating him. He swung the longsword in a two-handed sweep toward my head. The ferocity of the blow took me off balance, nearly ripping my own blade from my hands. The point of his sword sank into the flesh of my forearm, which I had raised to protect my face.
I winced, forcing myself to ignore the pain, find the space Cavarillos had told me about. That strange state of mind where the combatant is no longer a participant, but the spectator of his own actions. I reeled backward into the side of one of the houses, with him following hard on my heels.
His sword bit deep into the sod of the house as I dodged the blow. I had reached it. It was as though I was above and behind myself, watching a dirty, bedraggled, bloodstained fighter carry out the dictates of my mind. Except that was me.
I slammed the hilt of my sword into his cheekbone, breaking the flesh and perhaps the bone. He toppled backward, howling in fury. His sword was left stuck in the wall of the house.
He was defenseless, on his back in the dirt. The girl was still slumped where he had left her, maybe in shock. My blood was up and I followed him, striding down on him as he tried to roll away from my approach. An avenging fury.
The sounds of battle around me had faded to a low hum, punctuated only briefly by the screams of the vanquished and the shouts of the victors. It was me and him.
I glimpsed the terror in his eyes as my sword descended upon him one last time, lust replaced by fear. A crimson spray erupted from his body, spattering my clothes, bathing my sword. Sightless eyes stared back at me as I looked down on the corpse. One less in the plot against Tancogeistla.
The eyes I was looking into when I lifted my head were anything but sightless. I was facing Cavarillos.
“Can’t you find a better way to occupy yourself, brother?” he asked, his face creasing into a strange smile.
He kicked aimlessly at the corpse as the slaughter around us continued. “He was a good man. I’m amazed you beat him.” The smile vanished as quickly as it came. “All over a woman!”
The back of his hand came up like lightning, slapping me across the face. My head swam from the force of the blow. I could hear his voice dimly through the ringing in my ears. “Take her! Use her as you like. But never, Cadwalador, never kill one of my men again. I am warning you of this.”
I nodded, striving to preserve my temper. The time would come soon enough. I turned back to the girl. She was sitting the dust of the street, cradling the torso of the young man the mercenary had decapitated, tears flowing down her face. Whether husband or brother or lover I could not tell. Her language was unknown to me.
I took another look about the small village. Our men were out of control, looting and killing. I saw a man dash out of one of the houses, a loaf of bread in his hand. By the door he stopped, spotting a villager lying wounded nearby. He paused only to thrust a spear through the helpless man’s belly, dispatching him. Then he was gone.
I reached down and grasped her shoulder. She fought against me as I tried to pull her to feet. “It’s not safe here,” I hissed, painfully aware she couldn’t understand me. I’m not sure I understood myself fully. What I had hoped to achieve by rescuing her.
I bent down on one knee, sheathing my blood-drenched blade. Her eyes were a startling green, stained with teardrops. “I won’t hurt you,” I whispered gently, hoping something would get through. A glimmer of understanding flickered in her eyes and she slowly relinquished her hold on the body, allowing it to slump onto the hard-packed earth.
It was as we made our way down the street that I spied Tancogiestla. Afoot now, he staggered away from us sword in hand. He was singing wildly and swaying from side to side. Somewhere, gods help us, somewhere—he had gotten hold of wine. My heart sank within me and I looked back at the girl I had rescued. She didn’t know it, but we were now all in worse trouble than we had ever been before. Tancogeistla was drunk again.
Wow!! Man that is some good stuff. I am so glad he did what he did. Your descriptions of chaos in the village was great. I could hear the screams, see the destruction, and smell the despair of it all. Excellent update! I cannot wait for more...the plot thickens
Chapter X: Consequences
The slaughter continued until nightfall and after darkness descended upon the small village I could hear the screams of the village women. I didn’t even want to imagine what was happening to them.
The young woman lay huddled in the corner of the hut we had taken refuge in, curled upon her cloak. She wasn’t asleep.
Who would be?
I crouched there by the door all night, my sword clenched in my fist. Once or twice I heard footsteps approach, but no one entered. No one tried to harm us. I must have dozed off in the wee hours of the morning, for I awoke to hear her scream.
For a moment, I thought someone had slipped by my guard and I sprung to my feet, ready to go to her aid. My bloodshot eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I could see more clearly. We were alone.
She was sitting bolt upright, her body shaking uncontrollably. Muffled sobs escaped her lips. A nightmare. Clearly reliving some of the moments of the previous day. I sheathed my sword and went over to her, gently wrapping my arms around her thin form. She didn’t react to my presence at first, but I could feel her body slowly relax.
“Shhh. . .” I whispered, speaking gently, soothingly, as I would have to a little child. It didn’t matter that I had no idea how to speak her language. Some things are universal.
When next I awoke, the sun was shining through the door of the small hut. Motioning to the girl to stay where she was, I left the hut. Viewed in the light of morning, the devastation was even more terrible. Flies were beginning to gather on the corpses strewn everywhere. The villagers had been massacred.
I found Tancogeistla and the Brihentin on the edge of town, gathering the rest of the troops from their looting. Tancogeistla was still clearly under the influence of his drink and was cursing at the troops as they staggered into formation.
Cavarillos was standing on the edge of the group, arms folded across his brawny chest. He smiled at my approach, his mercurial temperament once again asserting itself.
“Sleep well?” There was something suggestive in his tones. I shook my head, knowing what he meant.
“Where is she?”
“In the village,” I replied. “I am going back for her.”
“Why not leave her here?” he asked, clearly baiting me. I didn’t like the look in his eye, the way he glanced over at Tancogeistla.
“You left no one else alive,” I shot back angrily. “There is nothing left for her here.”
“That’s not entirely true,” he retorted, amusement in his tones. He was always amused whenever I showed anger. “We left a few of the women alive, but—I’m afraid they didn’t last the night.”
I turned away, sickened by his humor. “You had better hurry,” he instructed, still laughing. “One of the village men agreed to show us the way north. We will be moving soon.”
I went back to the hut where I had spent the night and collected the few things that belonged to me. The young woman I had rescued sat motionless in the corner of the hut, her knees tucked up under her chin, eyes staring straight ahead. She didn’t even seem to notice my movements.
There was no way I could leave her here. It wouldn’t be safe. I wasn’t sure taking her with me would be much safer, but I was beginning to feel a strange attachment to her, despite her aloofness, despite the barrier of her alien tongue.
By use of signs, I gradually managed to make her understand that we were departing, that I wanted her to go with me.
We picked our way through the ruins of her village, past the distended corpses of those that had been her friends and family members. I didn’t wonder at her distance from me. I had saved her life, that much was true—but everything she had ever known had been destroyed by my people. The noble warriors of the Aedui.
I spat bitterly into the dust. There was nothing noble about this, any more than the fight at Ictis. Slaughter. Massacre. We had been in the position of might, and we had never even stopped to question whether the butchery was right.
She and I caught up with the column just as it was marching out. I spotted several of the men leering at the girl as we hurried past them to where Cavarillos was marching. Clearly Tancogeistla was not the only one drunk on this morning.
Our guide, as Cavarillos had sarcastically termed the prisoner, was mounted on a horse up with the Brihentin. Maybe he knew the way, maybe he was just trying to save his own life. An atmosphere of butchery is a strange one in which to accurately judge a man’s motives.
We marched for several hours, each step carrying us farther into country covered with rolling meadows of tall grass bordered by dense woods. The girl kept pace at my side, her face stoic. Each step carrying her farther from what she had known as her home. . .
Milk-white clouds drifted lazily across the sky, sunshine peeking between them. There was a slight chill in the air, but we hadn’t yet seen snow. And it was quiet. Almost too quiet, the silence broken only by the step of marching feet. And Tancogeistla’s drunken singing.
All at once the girl plucked at my arm. I turned suddenly, having almost forgotten that she was there. She was gesturing wildly, apparently trying make me understand something. A stream of unintelligible words came rushing from her mouth. I grasped her by both shoulders and tried to settle her down. Cavarillos had fallen out of column beside me.
“If she can’t keep up, you will have to kill her,” he stated coldly. “We can’t leave her to give word of our presence to the Dumnones. And we can’t slow down the march just so you can have the pleasure of her company, Cadwalador.”
I turned, angry, but the words died on my lips. I looked forward to Tancogeistla and the Brihentin, saw the prisoner suddenly jerk his bridle from the grasp of one of the nobles, digging his heels into the side of his mount. The horse leaped forward, carrying him away from his captors with a single bound. It was a signal. Men emerged from the woods on our left, from the tall grass on our right.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...tos/Ambush.jpg
The girl had been trying to warn me, something she had seen, something she had known. Cavarillos let out an angry curse, seeing the same thing I had seen. The battle standards of the Dumnones.
Our pursuers had caught up with us.
“What now?” I asked. Even with my recent mistrust of Cavarillos, he was a veteran. I would follow his advice. In this.
He snorted, calling to his fellow mercenaries. “Now, Cadwalador, we do what we should have done in the beginning at Ictis. We run.” He sensed my hesitation and struck me angrily, shouting, “Leave the wench and run, brother! Now!”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Ambush-2.jpg
(Sorry, no picture of the girl)
I ignored him, reaching out as she took my hand. I had risked my life for her already. What was once more?
Our enemy was closing in on us from three sides. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tancogeistla charge into the midst of the Dumnones, leading the Brihentin in a display of foolhardy bravery. I didn’t stay to watch the results, I had too many problems of my own to worry about. The path Cavarillos had taken was the only left to me. I took my javelins in my hand, leading her toward the gap.
Several of the Dumnones rushed towards me in an attempt to cut us off. I let go of her hand, drawing back the javelin until it was well back of my head, balanced in my hand.
Now! The shaft flew from my hand, flying straight as an arrow. It caught the enemy spearman in the left thigh, sinking deep into his flesh and twisting. He screamed in pain and went down. My second javelin found a resting place in the belly of his comrade. There was one more.
My shield was still strapped to my back. I had no time to remove it, but instead jerked my longsword from its scabbard with a quick motion, confronting the warrior. He feinted toward me with his spear, drawing blood before I could knock the shaft away. He countered my blow with his shield, nearly trapping my blade as it bit deep into the wood.
He hit me a glancing blow with the edge of his shield, taking me off-balance. His spear gouged a path along my ribs and I went down to the ground, hard.
I saw the same look in his eyes I had seen at Ictis. That look of triumph the moment before a kill. I rolled over on the ground, reaching for my lost sword, knowing in my heart I could never reach it in time.
I heard a scream at that moment, a woman’s high-pitched scream resounding loud above the sounds of death all around me. My fingers closed around the hilt of the longsword and I looked back towards my antagonist.
He was holding his shield up to protect his face and as I looked beyond him, I saw the reason why. The girl stood not five feet from us, holding one of my javelins in her hand. She had screamed to get his attention.
The weapon looked strangely out of place in her small hands, but I didn’t stop to think about it. I rolled to my feet, the blade in my hand. He heard me coming, started to turn. . .
I didn’t give him a chance. All was fair now. It was a fight for survival. My blade sank into his side between his second and third ribs, driving into his body up to the hilt. He screamed, life leaving him as he crumpled into the tall grass.
I wiped the bloody blade on my trousers, motioning for the girl to join me. There was no time to thank her for saving my life. The Dumnones were closing in on all sides.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...h-Overview.jpg
All around me our men were fleeing. Men once so brave in the slaughter of the villagers, now fleeing like rabbits. The Brihentin had been massacred, pinned in after Tancogeistla’s reckless, drunken charge.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...eat-Ambush.jpg
We were defeated, not by our enemy solely, but by our own general. Wine was a mocker. And perhaps Cavarillos was right. . .
And it gets better. Man your writing pace is phenominal. The quality is also quite good. Weird how more people are not commenting. This is top notch stuff! Keep it up and I look forward to more
I like it, and thats all that matters tbh
This is a great AAR! I had been reading, just never had time to comment. Sometimes I wonder, though, with the title of the AAR if you had originally intended to win that first battle :laugh4: . Still, it's turned out great. I can't wait to see what happens next!
Dude this is amazing, keep it up.
And how in the world is Tancogeistla not dead yet, that prick.
Haha this makes for a good love story too, ahh Bahhh, when can their be room for love in war, but I like the spice!:yes:
this is great!
:book:...
:smash: :smash: :smash:
Excellent job, and nice, you got me wondering right now whether he'll survive or not.
Theodotos, you deserve this: :balloon2:
Chapter Eleven should be up shortly. I'm amazed by everyone who's reading.
@Chirurgeon: Thanks for your comments, as always. I ran into the ambush by mistake and thought about reloading, but I decided it would work quite well with the story. So I wrote the bit about the attack on the village to coincide. I told you things could get worse.
@Shylence: Thank you very much.
@Chaotix27: Yeah, I'm tickled with the way things have worked. One thing, though. Are you positive I DIDN'T win the first battle? :inquisitive: To the Bestower of Blue Balloons from the Bestower of Cryptic Comments. :laugh4: :laugh4:
@Captain Black: Tancogiestla is not dead because the gods of AAR-writing have not yet decreed it. :laugh4: And, yes, women are a complication in a guy's life. Blessed complication.
@gurakshun: Thank you. Glad you like it.
@gamegeek2: Thanks for the balloon. I'll try to add it to my sig, although I may not be able to list the name of the giver. :embarassed: And, oh yes, will he live or will he die?
Chapter XI: The Night Watches
We ran for hours. It was becoming a way of life for me. Once I would have considered it shameful. The dead feel no shame.
The girl hurried along at my side, still carrying my javelins. Something had changed between us, something I couldn’t place my finger on. She seemed less distant than she had been, as though the struggle had brought us closer to one another somehow. I was grateful to her for saving my life, but I knew no way of expressing my gratitude.
Night fell, and with it came the chill of the coming season. Ogrosan. Once, I would have prayed the gods that we reach our kinsmen before we were hindered by snows, but I had long ago lost faith in their power to save. The heavens were silent, deaf to our pleas.
I paused to strip off my cloak and give it to the girl, draping it over her shoulders to ward off the cold. She looked up at me in the darkness and whispered a word in her native tongue. It sounded like thanks, but I had no way of knowing. I smiled at her and pushed onward.
A chill breeze rustled through the trees surrounding us, raising gooseflesh on my bare chest. I forced myself to ignore it, as I had in the days of my boyhood, when I had bathed naked in the icy mountain streams of my homeland. It had been meant to harden me. Perhaps it had succeeded.
Ahead of us, I spotted the light of a small fire, flickering up from the mouth of a cave in the hillside. Something told me the Dumnones would not bother making such a small fire. Something told me that our men should not be so careless.
That left one option: Tancogeistla. I moved ahead of the girl, drawing my sword as a precaution.
The general lay with his back against a smooth rock, with several of the Brihentin attending to him. I had no idea how many of Tancogeistla’s bodyguards had survived. Not enough.
One of them glimpsed our movement in the darkness and called out. “Who goes there?”
“Cadwalador, son of the Wolf,” I replied, advancing into the small circle of firelight, my hands empty. “From the army of Tancogeistla am I come.”
The noble attending Tancogeistla rose to greet me. “Another sword is always welcome,” he said, clasping me by the shoulders. “Only seven of us survived.”
“None of you will be alive much longer if you keep that fire burning,” I replied bluntly, surprising myself with my own boldness. “The girl and I were guided to you by its light.”
I glanced behind me to see her coming into the light, advancing haltingly, as though unsure of herself. There was a haunted look in those beautiful green eyes, the same look I had seen in the wild deer, penned in by the hunters.
I reached out her, took her hand. She was trembling. The men surrounding us were the same men who had ordered the destruction of her village. I could understand her fright.
The noble held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. “We thought only of the health of the general. I did not realize.”
“How is he?” I asked, aware that Tancogeistla was asleep.
“In no condition for the journey he must make,” was the blunt reply. “His old wounds are bleeding again from his exertions and his shoulder was laid open to the bone. We were trying to keep him warm.”
He turned away from me and quickly barked an order to the other Brihentin, who immediately began to extinguish the fire, sending sparks flying into the night sky as they stamped at the flames with their feet.
I glanced around into the darkness. Seven men. Tancogeistla. Myself and the girl. Little enough. Danger lurked in the night, danger these men of the nobility knew not of. They thought only of the enemy army, the Dumnones.
But I knew. Another, a greater danger, was out there somewhere. Cavarillos. . .
One of the Brihentin took the first watch of the night. I was to follow him, to stay on the alert for any enemies that might approach. I lay down by the smoldering embers of the fire, using the hilt of my sword to scrape out small hollows in the hard ground for my shoulderblades. That was another thing Cavarillos had taught me, in the days of our friendship.
I did the same thing for the girl and she stretched out beside me, rolled up in my cloak to keep warm.
I glanced over at her in the darkness, making out her slim silhouette only a few feet away. Stars twinkled through the canopy of trees overhead and she was gazing straight up at them. Stars which had shone down upon her people and mine for hundreds of years. Even for millennia.
I had a sudden yearning to know her name, a feeling, as though I would never have the opportunity to ask again. I rolled over on my back, longing to know how to ask her. The barrier seemed impenetrable.
“Cadwalador?” Her soft voice startled me from my reverie. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. I glanced over to her to make sure.
She was propped up on one elbow, gazing earnestly into my face. A faint smile crossed her face as she pronounced my name again, hesitatingly, as though unsure of herself. She had a beautiful smile.
I nodded, tapping my finger against my chest, still afraid I was dreaming. She smiled again and a flood of words came rushing from her mouth. Nothing I could understand. But I had to know.
I pointed toward her. “What?” I asked, hoping my meaning would get through, that I could break the barrier that separated us. That I would at least know her name.
“Inyae,” she whispered, smiling once more. “Inyae. . .”
I reached over, clasping her small hand in mine and smiling at her through the darkness. It was enough, for now.
I rolled over on my back and went to sleep, two faces drifting through my mind as I slipped off. The smiling face of a beautiful, green-eyed maiden and the red-bearded countenance of a warrior. Two names: Inyae, and Cavarillos. . .
Hmm..ok I guess I'll leave room for love in this story, which is amazing so far man.:book: :2thumbsup:
I like the character development...even with the dark clouds of doom hanging over them. It gives a more three dimensional feel to the whole thing. Its so easy to forget that people are trapped in wars and conflicts. These are the stories that go untold. Thank you so much for spending time bringing us the average person's story.
Chapter 12 is on it's way!
@Captain Black: A wise man once said that all wars are fought for love. Of something, family, nation, money:laugh4: . So I guess to solve the problem of war, we should outlaw love. :juggle2:
@Chirurgeon: I am deeply honored. To truly understand war, one must grasp the decisions made in the halls of power, and the viewpoint of the infantryman slogging through waist-deep mud to reach those objectives that looked so tidy on the war-room map. Only then do you realize the enormity of it and understand that you will never be able to understand.
Chapter XII: Confrontation
I awoke during the night, something, a noise, a movement in the darkness that surrounded us. Something that didn’t belong. Voices.
I raised up on one elbow, reaching out to where my javelins lay not a foot away. They were my weapons, fitting my hands far more easily than the still unfamiliar sword. The voices were coming closer, floating through the night. I recognized the voice of the Brihentin who was to precede me on the watch. And another. . .
Cavarillos.
The sound of his voice struck a chill through my heart. I knew why he was here, why he had come. One reason and one reason only. Tancogeistla. . .
The nobles trusted him, they had no idea of his planned treachery. He would have no trouble. I rolled to one knee, gathering my weapons quickly, buckling the sword-belt around my waist.
Inyae stirred, throwing back the cloak which covered her. There was a bewildered look in her eyes, bewilderment not unmixed with fear. I placed my finger against her lips, motioning for her to remain where she was. I could only pray she would obey.
“You are welcome here,” I heard the Brihentin say. “We can use every good sword-arm. There’s not many of us.”
“How many of you survived?” I heard Cavarillos ask. A necessary question.
“Seven of us. A young man joined us just after dark,” the Brihentin replied, stirring the embers of the fire. “He is one of your men, I believe.”
I could see Cavarillos stiffen, his face changing involuntarily. “Who?”
I took a step towards them, entering the small circle of light thrown by the reawakening fire.
“Here I am, Cavarillos.”
“Cadwalador!” He replied, advancing toward me. “My brother. I feared the Dumnones had caught you and the wench.”
His words were full of the same friendship I had known before. Yet something rang false. I couldn’t lay my finger upon it. But I knew. The time had come.
He couldn’t have helped seeing the javelins in my hand, the sword strapped at my side. As he advanced, I saw the glitter in his eyes, understood his gesture of friendship. It was a ploy. I took a step backward, my eyes locked with his. “I call no traitor my brother,” I replied, taking one of the javelins in my right hand.
“Traitor?” the Brihentin asked, coming up beside Cavarillos. “This man was the leader of the army from Mediolanium. He—”
He never got a chance to finish the sentence. Cavarillos turned on him with a quickness that even I never expected, drawing his sword from its scabbard and disemboweling the man with it, one motion. The noble screamed and collapsed backward upon the hard soil, blood pouring from his body.
I drew back my javelin, hurled it at my friend, acting instinctively, without thought. The barbed head sank into Cavarillos’ shoulder, twisting under the weight of the shaft.
With an angry curse he ripped the javelin from his flesh, tossing it away. He called to the two mercenaries with him, ordering them to kill the Brihentin, who were just now rising from their beds. I looked back to where Tancogeistla lay, awake but helpless. He was my leader, my general, my tribesman. The die had been cast.
I dodged backward, ducking as Cavarillos tossed his own javelins in my direction. I could have taught him many things in their use, as he had taught me all my skill with the sword. But now I was glad I hadn’t.
It would be little enough to save me. I caught a brief glimpse through the darkness as one of the Brihentin fell, cut down before he could even grasp his weapons. Cavarillos had the advantage of surprise.
He was upon me before I could throw my second javelin. He knew my strengths and weaknesses just as well as I did. Perhaps better.
I jerked my sword from its scabbard, ducking his first slash. The advantages were all his. He still had his shield. I had lost mine at Ictis.
“I knew from the first that you would never stand with me, Cadwalador,” he hissed, his blade ringing against my own. “You weren’t fooling anyone.”
I tried to ignore him. It was another ploy, a trick to throw me off-balance. He kept forcing me back, across the clearing, towards Tancogeistla. His attacks were relentless. He had never shown me the half of his skill.
His blade sunk deep into the flesh of my forearm, which I had tossed up to protect my head. A red spray erupted from severed veins, spattering my chest with my life-blood.
I gritted my teeth, fighting against the pain, struggling to muster the force to meet his next blow. I was growing weaker. I saw one of the mercenaries fall behind him, killed by the swords of the Brihentin. Tancogeistla’s bodyguards, at first bewildered by the sudden attack, were rallying to my aid. It wasn’t going to be soon enough.
His sword caught mine, clanging out with the clearness of a bell. I could see the look in his eyes. “You should have stayed with me,” he whispered, twisting his blade suddenly. It wrenched the longsword from my grip, sending it spinning into outer darkness. There was no hope for me to retrieve it in time.
“I am sorry, brother.” It was a prayer, a eulogy over my death. A death that had become as inevitable as the rising of the sun. A sunrise I would never live to see.
A blur erupted from the darkness to my right, a form flitting out of the night. Inyae. She threw herself on Cavarillos, small fists beating against his mighty chest. I grasped my final javelin, well aware I could never match him with the sword, even if I was able to find it.
She was a distraction, nothing more. A fly buzzing around his ear. A woman that had sacrificed herself for me. He jerked her around, pulling her arms behind her body, using her as a shield.
My javelin was poised to throw. He looked at me across her shoulder, that familiar, feral grin spreading across his countenance. “Go ahead,” he invited me. “Throw it.”
My hands trembled involuntarily. I looked into her eyes and saw the fear there once again, the terror I had saved her from once. His sword nestled against her throat, its blade still wet with my blood.
Time stood still. . .
kill the bitch. shes got cat AIDS!
Excuse me, sir, and if you are going to refer to women in such a way, do it somewhere outside my AAR. Please.Quote:
Originally Posted by Shylence
wow great little piece there. I was waiting for the confrontation and here it is. Now he has to make a very difficult choice. Love or Loyalty...This should be interesting indeed
WTF Shylence?
Wow I only recently started reading this AAR and it is awesome! you completely blew me away with it.:dizzy2: :dizzy2:
Shylence what wa that? Not used to things like that from you...:inquisitive: :inquisitive: :inquisitive:
bah im always joking around you will be pleased to know my next chapter of the longest AAR in history is neqarly finished EXCELSIOR!
Man she should've stayed where she was, If Cavarillos wanted to he would kill her, but that is his key to Cadwalador. Whewww... man this a hell of a story.