That was pure gold. Your characters are much more alive than most AAR's, keep it coming! :2thumbsup:
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That was pure gold. Your characters are much more alive than most AAR's, keep it coming! :2thumbsup:
There was a moment there with the one god bit, where you almost lost me. But hey, I'm back on the wagon now! :beam:
BTW, Celts used mostly oral accounts, so the pen bit might be slightly out of place. Anyway, I'll be here waiting for the next instalment. Keep it up.
@Chirurgeon: Thank you. But which screen do you mean, the one with Tancogeistla falling from his horse?
@Cadwalader: This story will continue with the start of the Aneirin moc Cunobelin's reign. Will be interesting.
@Sarcasm: Good to have you back. Looking back, I feel I made one mistake regarding the conclusion of monotheism in this story. Despite the common ancestry, I feel that probably the Aedui of 272 BC would have had no inkling of the one god they had once worshiped. Therefore I agree with you. Maybe my next AAR. . .
The one with him right next to the Chariot. Its black and white. It looks like everything is moving around him and he is the focal poiint
Chapter XXXVIII: Succession
It was a victory. Oh, yes, Ictis was a victory, but it felt hollow, as empty as the defeat we had experienced on these same plains seventeen years earlier. And now, as then, the situation was grave.
As we stood there around the body, Lugort came up to us, his clothes torn and clotted with blood. Only a few of his Ordmalica had survived the assault on the square. “My lord,” he began humbly, addressing our new Vergobret. “What is to be done with the population of Ictis?”
I almost thought Aneirin hadn’t heard him. He kept gazing at the body of his adoptive father for a long moment. Then he slowly turned, glancing first at Lugort and then down the hill where the women and innocents of Ictis were being gathered at spear-point. “Kill them,” he ordered, his face like a flint. “Kill them all.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...os/Revenge.jpg
Old soldier that he was, Lugort turned to obey, his expression showing no disquiet at the job he had just been tasked with.
Aneirin turned away toward the chieftain’s palace, and I followed behind him. “Is this necessary, my lord?” I asked quietly.
He turned, anger in his eyes. “They killed my father, Cadwalador. A lesson needs to be taught here. It is what oi Neamha would have wished.”
That, I could not argue with. And indeed, I felt his anger surging through my own body. Yet I shuddered at the screams I heard floating up from the foot of the hill. The screams of women and children. Women like Diedre and Inyae. Children like Faran. There was no difference. We were all one.
“Come inside with me, Cadwalador. There are things which we need to discuss.”
I turned, catching the eye of several nobles who stood behind us. Aneirin sensed my hesitation and spoke sharply to them. “Give us a few moments.”
They obeyed grudgingly, and we went into the palace grounds. Aneirin’s sword was still unsheathed in his hand, my javelins at my side. We knew not where enemies might still lurk.
“Much blood will be shed before I can take the throne Tancogeistla bequeathed to me, Cadwalador. You know that full well as I. And I need your advice.”
I hesitated, unsure what to say. “My lord,” I began slowly. “You ask for something I cannot give. There are many men in the Aeduan state far more experienced than I, men who would—”
“Betray me at the turning of the wind,” Aneirin interrupted angrily, his eyes flashing. “You saved my life, Cadwalador. There in the battle.”
“My lord, I—”
“Do not diminish it,” he said, interrupting me once again. “My rage blinded me to my inability. If not for your intervention, Drustan would have killed me. And the adversaries of my father would have danced upon our graves. I owe you much, Cadwalador.”
“It has been my honor, my lord.”
“Bah!” Aneirin cried, spitting upon the sod. “You talk like one of the groveling courtiers of my father. Tell me the truth, Cadwalador. Forces are gathering, even as we speak. If you were in my place, what would you do?”
It was a long moment before I answered, “You need time, my lord. Time to consolidate your rule over the state. Time you will not have if we continue at war with the Casse.”
“What are you suggesting?”
“That you send Ivomagos moc Baeren to them once again, to try to make peace with Barae, the High King of the Casse.”
Silence. “Do you know what you are asking me to do?” Aneirin asked finally, looking over into my eyes. “You are asking me to go to our sworn enemies and beg for peace. You are asking me to pardon the garrison of Yns-Mon, to forgive their betrayal of my father. You are asking me to forget all that they have done to us!”
“Nay, my lord,” I replied, shaking my head. “Not forget. Never could I ask you to do that. I only tell you that we must buy time. Else the Aeduan state will be torn apart from within while we are distracted by the warbands of the Casse. In Erain, Malac’s son Praesutagos has already taken the governorship of Ivernis. His brother-in-law leads the garrison of Emain-Macha. We must make peace.”
“And then what?”
“You must go to Attuaca without delay, establish the government there. Make Attuaca the center of power, the capital of the Aedui. Should Erain rebel against you, you dare not risk losing your capital as well.”
He seemed to consider my proposition for a few moments, then he lifted his eyes to the western sky, where the sun was setting, a blood-red ball of fire slowly sinking into the sea. “It shall be as you say,” he acknowledged slowly. “In three days, we will ride for Attuaca.”
We set out at the appointed time, riding north with thirty-five hand-picked men. Ictis was left under the command of a sub-chieftain, a man Aneirin trusted to look after his interests there. Of course, so too had Piso been trusted, by both Aneirin and Tancogiestla.
However, there was an added surety with this man. His wife and children resided Attuaca. Should he betray us, he would never see them again. And that would have to be good enough.
Snow began to fall as we rode on, the chill winds of Ogrosan whipping over the low hills and meadows of the southern half of the island. At one of the villages we stopped at, we hired a guide to direct us to the northern road.
The village held many people loyal to us. It belonged to the territory of which Yns-Mon was the capital. Apparently the Casse had not yet completely subjugated the people, though they held the oppida.
Aneirin was quiet as we rode, a silent intensity transforming his person. Tancogeistla’s death had changed him, I knew not how, but he was different.
We lit no fires at night, instead eating our rations raw. We were thirty-five men in a country that could muster hundreds hostile to us.
As we moved deeper into the territory of the Casse, we changed the pattern of our riding. No longer would be ride in the daytime. Rather we hid in the woods at dawn and saddled our horses again after dark.
It was on one early morning, as we continued to ride northward, that I heard voices through the fog in front of us.
I grasped Aneirin by the arm. “Listen!” I whispered fiercely. He pulled his horse up sharply, motioning for our column to halt.
“What did you hear, Cadwalador?” he asked after a moment.
“Voices, my lord. Directly ahead of us.”
“Probably the wind in the trees, lord,” our guide put in obsequiously, glancing at me from his position at Aneirin’s right hand.
“No!” I exclaimed, returning the look. There was something wrong here. Something I couldn’t quite place my finger upon. . .
A light breeze rustled the bushes near us and Aneirin smiled. “He is probably right, Cadwalador. With the sleep we’ve gotten the last few nights, it will be little wonder if we all don’t start imagining the Casse behind every tree. Let us proceed.”
I was looking at the guide when Aneirin spoke, and a smile flickered across his face at the decision. Not a smile at the words, or at the predicament we all found ourselves in, but something else. Something only he knew.
I placed my hand on Aneirin’s arm to keep him from moving forward, looking him in the eye. “No,” I said firmly, surprising myself with my boldness. “There’s something wrong here.”
I rode around in front of him. A worried look furrowed the guide’s brow at my approach, a look which turned to defiance as I rode up to him. “What is ahead of us?” I demanded through clenched teeth.
“Nothing, my lord,” he replied, in the same groveling tone he had used ever since I had first met him. “This is the shortest way to the road you wished to find.”
Then, from the fog ahead of us, I heard a shout of alarm. We had been led into a trap, the nature of which I knew not, but his treachery was clear.
“Liar!” I hissed, grasping his horse’s bridle to keep him from escaping. To my surprise, he launched himself suddenly upon me, a knife appearing in his hand.
I fell from the back of my horse, falling into the snow with him on top of me. I grabbed his wrist with all my strength, forcing the knife away from my face. Feral rage filled his eyes as he struggled to free his knife hand, sink it deep into my throat.
Around us I heard shouts, the sounds of hoofbeats pounding into the snow. Then it all faded away, all my senses focused on that glittering knife. The only sound surviving was the sound of our ragged breathing, puffing in the chill morning air. The only sight that of his face, his knife.
Do not wait for an opportunity, I thought, Cavarillos’ words of years gone by flickering through my mind. Make one.
I spat in the guide’s face and he flinched involuntarily. The opportunity made, I took it, heaving my body up in one mighty effort and throwing him off me. The knife fell into the snow.
He rolled over and retrieved it, started to rise, but my boot caught him just beneath the point of the chin in a savage kick. I heard a sickening crunch as his neck snapped. He fell helplessly back into the snow, dying.
I ignored him, realizing my own situation. The breeze was lifting the fog, revealing the scene around us. We had nearly ridden into a camp of the Casse.
One of the young Brihentin rode up, looking at me with wide-eyed awe as he handed me the bridle to my runaway horse.
“Quickly, Cadwalador!” I heard Aneirin’s voice call. Looking behind me, I saw the reason for his urgency. Hundreds of Casse warriors rushing from their encampment and forming in line on the plain directly in front of us.
Indeed, there was the road, just as the guide had said. But, there also were the Casse on the other side of it. The voices I had heard.
I vaulted into the saddle with all my remaining strength and threw myself low over my horse’s neck, kicking it into a gallop.
Satisfied with my safety, Aneirin kicked his own horse in the flanks and together we galloped across the plain, away from the pursuing warbands.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Flight-1.jpg
I could see the fear in Aneirin’s eyes as we rode, fear mingled with disgust and fury at how nearly we had been tricked.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Flight-2.jpg
Had any of our enemies possessed horses, I fear that we would have been doomed, for the Casse possessed very fleet ponies, but no cavalry accompanied the warbands.
We rode hard until we reached the cover of the woods, then perforce we slowed our steeds, lest a low-hanging branch crush one of us from the saddle. Clearly, we would need to find another way north.
Four days later, as we saddled our horses at dusk, one of the young Brihentin who had been posted at guard came running back into our small camp.
“Horsemen approach from the north, my lord!” he cried breathlessly, halting before Aneirin. “A small band.”
“How small?” Aneirin demanded, anxiety clearly showing on his face as he reached for his sword-belt.
“No larger than our own, Vergobret,” the young warrior replied. “ Perhaps slightly smaller. We should be able to take them easily.”
His voice betrayed the confidence of youth. A confidence I myself had once felt. Aneirin glanced over at me, a question on his face.
“Stand or flee, Cadwalador?”
I looked up the narrow forest road. Whatever decision was made, it had to be reached quickly. “First perhaps, my lord, we should find out the identity of these mysterious horsemen. They come from the north, perhaps they are messengers from Attuaca.”
“And if they are an advance guard for the Casse?” he asked, uncertainty in his tones.
“Their horsemanship will do them little good in these forest glades,” I replied, reaching for the war hammer that lay across my saddle bags. “Give me two men and I will go out to meet them. The rest of you saddle your horses to be ready for flight.”
“I will go with you,” Aneirin said quietly, drawing his longsword from its scabbard and hefting it in his hand.
“Nay, my lord,” I replied. “Get you up and mounted, ready to ride should this be the enemy. We cannot afford that you should lose your life in these forests.”
My words might as well not have been uttered for all the attention the Vergobret paid them. Seeing the example of their leader, the rest of the Brihentin drew their weapons and moved out behind us. Instead of the two men I had requested, I had thirty-three. That would suffice just as well.
Hammer in my hands, I stepped out onto the forest trail, in the path of the oncoming horsemen. I saw them the moment I stepped from cover, a scant sixty feet away.
“Halt and declare yourselves in the name of Aneirin moc Cunobelin!” I demanded, planting myself firmly in their way. Aneirin came to stand beside me, the naked sword glitterin in his hand. A faint sense of disquiet rippled through me. The horsemen were dressed in the manner of the Aedui. Brihentin, no less. But whose?
My question was answered a moment later when a stripling cantered his horse to the front of their body, taking off his helmet to reveal a smooth, hairless face. “I am Prasutagos, son of Malac. . .”
Now this is getting interesting. A fight between Aneirin and Prasutagos, perhaps? Or will something suprising hapen and Prasutagos declears loyality to Aneirin? Cant wait to see what comes next. Great writing.
Keep a close eye. Interesting times ahead. Will Aneirin moc Cunobelin be up to the challenge of ruling the Aedui? :inquisitive:
DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUUN!
Looking forward to the next chapter!
Great read!
However, do the Casse really have cavalry? I thought they had chariots and nothing more.
Yeah, the Casse have extremely light skirmisher cav, I think they're called Mycharn, or something like that. But that army was lacking, fortunately. . .
Another update posting up soon.
Chapter XXXIX: Son of Malac
I stiffed instinctively at the mention of our foe’s name, my hammer held more tightly in my grasp. Aneirin straightened perceptibly at my side, fire flickering in his dark eyes.
“Where are you bound?” I demanded, the first of our party to recover his voice. The youth looked at me sharply, apparently surprised at the hostility in my tones.
“I know not who you pretend to be, but I am on my way south, to join the army of Tancogeistla oi Neamha.” He pronounced the name with audible pride, as though he expected its utterance to open all doors for him. A strange attitude for a son of Malac.
Aneirin stepped in front of me, his sword still unsheathed in his hand. “Tancogeistla is dead,” he announced flatly. “Fallen in the taking of Ictis.”
Prasutagos’ face changed in a moment, genuine sorrow in those youthful eyes. It shocked me, I must admit. He swung down from his horse to stand before Aneirin.
“Then who leads the Aeduan state?” he asked, looking from one to another of us with the air of expectation.
Aneirin nodded slowly. “I do. I, Aneirin moc Cunobelin, have succeeded my father as Vergobret.”
Prasutagos turned, staring into our leader’s face for a moment. Then he extended his hand. “Then it is to you that I must offer the use of my sword. I have heard many things of you.”
“All bad, I assume,” Aneirin stated, his voice full of suspicion. I could scarcely blame him. Malac had been a shadow over all our lives. And this young man’s older brother and brother-in-law had usurped Aneirin’s authority in Erain.
Prasutagos flushed red-hot, looking down at the ground. “You do me an injustice, my lord. I come to you, as I would have come before Tancogeistla oi Neamha, as a beggar, with nothing to my name save these men who have sworn their loyalty to me. And is not loyalty the greatest treasure of all?”
“What would a son of Malac know of loyalty?” Aneirin hissed, bent on provoking the young man.
“Were you to ask that of my brother,” Prasutagos replied calmly, “I know not how he would answer you with honesty. It is because of his lust for power that I find myself before you today. I fled Erain pursued by his Brihentin. Only these companions follow my banner.”
My eyebrows shot up instinctively. If what he said was true. . .
“Why does Praesutagos fear you?” Aneirin asked, still skeptical.
“He swore a false allegiance to Tancogeistla out of nothing more than fear. He knew he could do nothing against the charisma and power of oi Neamha. He dreams of nothing more than reestablishing the line of my father. He feared that I might become a rival. I knew I could find refuge with Tancogeistla’s army. That is why I was riding south.”
Aneirin seemed to consider his words for a moment, his eyes searching the young man’s face for any signs of duplicity.
“We were on our way back to Attuaca,” he said finally. “You are welcome in our camp.”
Prasutagos nodded respectfully. “It is an honor, my lord.”
We rode north the next few nights, now in the company of the young Carnute and his companions.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...Prasutagos.jpg
He was a remarkably unselfish young man, willing to endure without complaint the same lot as his companions, despite his noble birth. He was nothing like his father. Indeed, there were times when I found myself wondering about the faithfulness of Malac’s wife.
The snow continued to fall as we moved into the highlands. Aneirin seemed impatient at the delay. I found out why as we huddled together near the small fire one night.
“It has been over a year, Cadwalador,” Aneirin said, rubbing his arms to restore their circulation. He went on before I could ask his meaning. “Over a year since I have seen Margeria, since I’ve held her in my arms.” He blushed. “I’m prattling on like a stripling. You must find it amusing.”
“No, my lord,” I replied, gazing into the fire as the sparks pranced into the dusk-dark sky. I knew exactly how he felt, the yearning which seemed to come from deep inside a man, from the depths of his very soul. A yearning for nothing more than the sight of one’s wife, one’s love. Aneirin’s marriage to Margeria had been a fruitful one. She had born him two fine sons, future heirs to the throne of the Aedui, perhaps. And he seemed to truly love her. Remembering her glance at the marriage-feast, and rumors I had heard since, I wondered if his love was completely reciprocated. But that was none of my affair, and I was glad of it.
Prasutagos seemed to sink lower into the depths of despondency at Aneirin’s words. The spirit seemed to have been taken out of him at the news of Tancogeistla’s death and he had grown increasingly gloomy as the journey continued.
“I too, have a wife in Attuaca,” he said soberly. Both Aneirin and I glanced his way in astonishment. He was young. . .
“That is yet another part of the reason for my flight. My brother wished her for his own.”
I looked over at Aneirin, watching as the light dawned in his eyes. Perhaps we were getting at the truth at long last.
Aneirin forced a smile to his face. “Well, then. We have a double reason for haste. Let us ride.”
Two weeks of hard riding later, we neared Attuaca. We rode single file through dark forest paths made slippery with snow. But something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones, as though the long years of campaign I had spent with Tancogeistla had given me another sense, a warning of danger.
Taking Prasutagos and three hand-picked Brihentin with me, I gained permission of Aneirin to ride forward and reconnoiter the ground ahead of us. Clear the road to Attuaca.
A feeling of danger gripped my chest as we rode forward, toward a narrow bluff which I knew offered a good view of the town. Below us, in the gathering twilight, between us and Attuaca, was an encampment of the Casse.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...a-Besieged.jpg
The town was under siege. . .
Excellent writing! I haven't checked on this AAR in a month, and I am enjoying reading so much of it in a short time... I imagine that there will be some tough times ahead for the Aedui, if they face a fully mobilized Casse! Good old T- man is dead, I actually felt a little twinge of sorrow at that, but alas he went out like a Hero... By the way, what about Caddie's succession? surely he must have a son or something to keep the story going... and that means yet another woman... or maybe a grandson via his step daughter? Perhaps she can marry into a noble family, after all Cad is moving up in life!
It's good to see you back. It had been a while. I too was sad to see Tancogeistla die, but he was going to expire of old age in a few turns and I felt it was better for him to "die with his boots on", so to speak. As for Cadwalador's succession, I'm not sure that will be necessary. . .
Wait, so Malac named his sons Prasutagos and Praesutagos?? Wow, the game couldn't make things more confusing for your AAR! Just for clarification, Prasutagos is the good one and Praesutagos is the bad one, right?
Excellent writing. As I have been on Holiday for the last week in Miami I have missed much of this. I took the time to update my AAR and am now catching up on my list of favorites. Excellent job and I love how this is playing out. What does the map look like? I am curious to see how things are progressing.
Chapter XL: Night of Slaughter
I felt my heart sink at the sight of the encampment, saw the despair in the eyes of Prasutagos. But though my feelings were the same as his, I dared not express them. Despite his noble birth, I was the leader here. Mine was the decision to be made.
“I will stay here and keep an eye on the Casse,” I whispered, well aware of how far a voice could carry in the chill night air. “Depart and warn Aneirin.”
“What should we tell him?” Prasutagos asked, obedience implicit in his tones. It was clear he wanted none of the responsibility of the next few hours. That was just as well.
“Tell him to bring his men on as quickly as possible. Smite the Casse by the light of the moon.”
Prasutagos stared down at the encampment and I could see the reluctance, the fear in his eyes. Another moment and his resolve might break. It was the critical moment. “If you confess defeat,” I whispered harshly, “if you confess fear, the battle is already lost. Now go on and bring Aneirin moc Cunobelin back to me. Hurry!”
Without another word, he and his three bodyguards scrambled back down the trail, to where they had picketed their horses. And I was all alone, exposed upon the chilly bluff, looking down upon the encampment of my enemies.
It would take at least three hours for Prasutagos to go and bring Aneirin, and that was if things progressed smoothly. I had no way of knowing whether other patrols of Casse roamed through the woods.
The moon was already coming out, rising into the night sky. One by one, the campfires of the Casse flickered out, their ashes growing cold as sparkling embers fell to the chilly sod. If I was to execute the plans forming in my mind, I would have to move quickly.
I guessed there were well nigh three hundred of the enemy below me. I would be going in all alone. For a brief moment, I contemplated slipping through to Attuaca and summoning help, but I dismissed that idea from my mind. The risks of being killed by a nervous Aeduan sentry were too great. Not to mention the Casse.
By the second watch of the night, I left my post upon the bluff and slowly slipped down the backside of the hill, careful not to dislodge any rocks or debris on my way down. I could scarce credit the plan I had formed, the madness that had seized my mind. I knew one thing, and one thing only. We could never hope to beat such a host in a fair fight. Thus craft and guile were our only allies. . .
Many of the Casse slept in the open, wrapped only in their cloaks. Others had taken shelter under trees, stunty conifers which dotted the highlands of Attuaca. Still others, I suspected the richest of the warriors, had brought some rude form of tent with them and set them up above their heads.
It was a motley collection, I thought as I moved stealthily, quietly, among them. Beardless boys and men in their prime, gray-haired champions and young men who had not yet drawn blood in anger.
Two hours had gone by. I could tell by the position of the moon. One more hour I guessed until Prasutagos would return. Perhaps my last hour on earth.
My javelins were in my hand as I crawled slowly toward one of the last-burning fires, my knife thrust in the waistband of my trousers. Instruments of destruction. Death.
A few smoldering faggots still lay at the edge of the fire, along with several half-empty jugs of liquor. They had been drinking to keep off the cold.
I extended my hand toward one of the burning pieces of wood, seeking to seize it. The next moment, I withdrew my hand, hearing one of the sleepers stirring nearby.
Pressed flat against the ground, I held my breath, the night still as death around me. I could hear the sleeper throw off his blankets and rise, footsteps against the earth. Coming toward me.
I quickly reached out and grasped one of the jugs, jerking it toward me. The liquor splashed over my mouth and cheeks, staining my tunic. Then I sagged against the earth, the jug clasped in one hand as I lay on top of my javelins, apparently asleep. The footsteps came closer, then stopped directly above me. I nearly stopped breathing.
The next thing I heard was a low chuckle, as if he was mocking my drunkenness. Then he moved off. I watched him go, walking off to the edge of camp as if seeking to relieve himself.
The flame was dying on the piece of wood I had seized, dark coals flickering ever more slowly. I glanced toward the bluff again, then at the moon. Perhaps another twenty minutes. I breathed slowly upon the faggot, seeking to fan it into fuller flame.
I could wait no longer. I must be about my business. I pulled myself up onto my hands and knees, clutching the fiery brand in one hand, my javelins in the other. The little cluster of Britonic tents was only a few yards away. Undoubtedly their chieftain was within.
Silently, I whirled the brand round my head once, then twice, the air forcing the embers into full-blown flame. Perhaps the warrior who had passed me at the fire saw me. I thought I heard a shout. Perhaps it was nothing, but none of that mattered. I was past the point of no return. No one could stop what I was about to do.
I ran, stooping low, to the first tent and shoved the brand against the thin fabric, waiting until it smoldered and caught, then running on to the next one. At the third tent, I heard a shout from within. A light breeze came rolling down from the north, aiding my efforts.
I saw the fire leap from one tent to the next, fanned by the breeze as men came running out of the first tent. One of the men shouted and pointed in my direction. My javelin caught him in the hollow of his exposed throat and the words died on his lips. I tossed the faggot away, into the doorway of another tent. Now I was just another warrior. Nothing more. Nothing less.
The sower of confusion. The bringer of death. Another warrior, indeed. . .
Men rose from their resting places all around me, confused by the fire, panicked by the sudden attack from their midst. Screams, confusion, death wrought everywhere.
I tossed my second javelin at a tall, noble-looking figure who emerged half-clad from his tent, still struggling to pull on his armor. He fell, pierced through the chest. A spear swished through the air near my head and I turned to confront a young lad, an enemy Lugoae. Whipping my dagger from my belt, I thrust it into his flesh, his scream filling my ears as he crumpled forward. His agony meant nothing to me, I was deaf to his cries.
All that mattered was the mission I had set for myself to accomplish. Faran sheltered behind yonder palisade, Diedre’s little daughter. My tribesmen. They were all that filled my mind. This bloodshed was necessary.
Men were falling everywhere about me, as Casse killed Casse in their panic and confusion. And then I heard it, the sound of a horn sounding loud above the chaos. Looking to the south, to the hills above Attuaca, I saw a dark mass of horsemen.
They swept into the camp, the sound of their hoofbeats dark thunder against the frozen sod. A few tried to resist, I saw several horsemen fall. But the slaughter had already been too great.
One of the Brihentin swung my way, his blood-flecked spear extending before him like a lance, seeking to skewer me.
I stepped nimbly to the side at the last moment, shouting at him over the noise and chaos of battle.
He pulled his horse up sharply, his steed rearing into the air at the suddenness of the halt.
“Is that you, Cadwalador?”
“Yes!” I cried. “Give me a hand!”
The young bodyguard extended his arm and I swung up behind him on his horse, my eyes scanning the encampment from the vantage point as we rode out of danger.
A dark mass of men was pouring from behind the walls of Attuaca, the garrison come to aid us.
It was the final blow. The Casse broke, running from the field with our horsemen pursuing hotly. The battle was over, if the night’s slaughter could be called a battle. . .
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...sSlaughter.jpg
I did not see Aneirin moc Cunobelin until the next morning, when his horsemen came streaming back into the palisade along with the rays of the dawning sun.
He dismounted, taking off his blood-stained helmet to reveal a tired face sweaty even in the cold morning air of Ogrosan.
“I owed you much before this last night, Cadwalador. Now I owe you more than I can ever repay. The lives of my wife, my sons, for all this am I indebted unto you.”
He grasped my hand fiercely, tears shining in his dark eyes, his words embarrassing me. “I did not do it for your sake, my lord,” I replied with honesty. “I did it for my daughter’s sake, for the sake of my last link to the wife I lost those years ago.”
“Why you did it matters not, Cadwalador. The deed itself is all that concerns me. Thank you.”
I looked across the square at Faran. It had been nearly a year since I had seen her, and the changes in her saddened me, at the thought of what I had missed. She was well past her seventh birthday now, maturing more with every passing day. And she still remembered my face. That was enough.
“Have you seen Margeria?” Aneirin asked, glancing once again in my direction.
“Nay, my lord,” I replied. “Has she not come down to welcome you home?”
He shook his head soberly. “No. I must go assure myself of her safety. Fare thee well, my friend.”
It was two weeks after our slaughter of the Casse in the plains before Attuaca, that a lone horseman came riding into the town. I recognized him immediately as he reined up his horse in the square. It was Ivomagos moc Baeren, the emissary Aneirin had sent to Barae, High King of the Casse.
He looked at me as he dismounted. “Take me to Aneirin,” he said soberly. I nodded, leading him into the palace of Attuaca. Aneirin met us there.
“What news do you bring?” Aneirin demanded, his voice anxious.
Ivomagos remained silent, stripping off his cloak and casting it onto the stone floor. He turned away from us wordlessly, revealing a back that had been flogged with a whip, the flesh scored into fiery welts and blisters of clotted blood.
“He ordered me whipped,” he whispered, his voice a low hiss.
“What?” I heard Aneirin gasp.
“I was scourged by order of Barae!” Ivomagos hissed out. “He said that there could never be peace between us.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...atyRefused.jpg
He reached into his baggage and pulled out a long, finely-crafted sword. “Barae told me also to give you this, my lord. He said to be sure and keep it sharp, for the day when he comes to meet you draweth nigh. . .”
Yeah, I love it. Can't imagine the type of Dad that would make things that confusing. And your guess is right.Quote:
Originally Posted by Chaotix27
@Chirurgeon: Hope you enjoyed your vacation and glad you like how this is turning out. Things are getting interesting.
And a special note for Cadwalader. Many thanks for your suggestion regarding the sword. I think you will like how I used it. A balloon for you :balloon2: :2thumbsup:
:inquisitive: Everyone must be on summer vacation. . .
im not! ive been updating my AAR and i just finished reading yours! ITS SO GOOD I LOVE IT PLZ GO ON!!!
lol
great gob mate!
Thanks a lot, "mate"! I'm guessing you hadn't read any of it before you left the forums.Quote:
Originally Posted by hooahguy
no i never left- i just only hung around the EB tavern.
btw you should join us there always a good convo to participate in!
But, I don't drink.Quote:
Originally Posted by hooahguy
its ok- we also carry apple juice, milk, water, smoothies, OJ, chocolate milk, milkshakes, and the list goes on......Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Sarsaparilla?
anything you want!
we have a genie in a bottle who lives under the counter so all i need to do is ask him for the requested drink if it isnt on hand.
*shoots thodotos with a memory dart, erasing his memory from the past 30 seconds*
I'd be as bad as Tancogeistla. . .
Will be updating Monday if all goes well. Keep reading! :whip:
Sioux City Sarsaparilla.Quote:
Originally Posted by Theodotos I
Don't think I didn't get that Big Lebowski reference. :grin:
And yeah, the AAR is goin' good. I think you're getting a real balance of good and evil in the characters, especially with the way Tancogeistla unfolded. Just be sure not to swing too far to the bright side now.
I drink root beer. And no, there's no danger of going too far to the bright side. Wait and see.
I would like your permission to submit your AAR for the AAR of the Month Competition over at TWC. I need your blessing to do this. Here is the link if you want more info :) http://www.twcenter.net/forums/showthread.php?t=182706
@Chirurgeon: You've got more than my blessing, you've got my thanks. I really never knew how to enter that competition before. So go right ahead and thanks for considering it worthy. Will be updating momentarily, so don't go anywhere:laugh4: