Across the Waters: A Story of the Migration

https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...odotos/AAR.jpg

Prologue: The Watchers
Once we had been a nation, a people great and mighty, beloved of the gods, a federation of the Keltoi stretching from sea to sea. All that was gone now, as though washed away by the surging tides of the sea behind me. The past.
Our brothers, the Arverni, led by their heathenous god-king, had turned against us, driving their sword deep into our ribs while grasping our hand in fellowship. Over the last few years, they had succeeded in driving us from our lands. They had robbed of us our birthright, backed our people to the wall. Over a year ago now, our Vergobret, a wise man named Cocolitanos, had made the decision. My people would flee.
We had abandoned our towns and settlements before the Arverni onslaught, fled northward to the sea, to the place we had prepared a small fleet for our departure. Many of the Aedui left immediately, over a thousand fighting men with their wives and children.
I, Cadwalador, son of the Wolf, had not left. I was one of the horsemen detailed to stay behind with Tancogeistla, one of our generals. Another detachment was working its way up from the south, from the settlement at Mediolanium. We must wait for them.
I and my fellows formed the Leuce Epos, the Light Horse. Taught from childhood to throw our javelins from the backs of our rapidly-moving steeds, to close with spear for the final charge. None of us had passed our thirtieth year. Many of us might never live to see it.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/.../LeuceEpos.jpg

Tancogeistla was a volatile man, fond of his drink and of fighting afterwards. He grew weary of our enforced stay on this barren headland, as did indeed all of us. But he most of all. The ships were back from the land to the north, from Erain as it was apparently called by the natives. He was impatient to be gone.
Rumors ran through the cavalry, stories told by those that said Tancogeistla was preparing to leave immediately, in defiance of the orders given us by the Vergobret. In the end, who would know the difference? We were leaving our homeland for the last time.
I was never to find out if there was any truth in those rumors. Ogrosan closed upon us before he made up his mind and stranded us upon the cliffs, foraging through the snow every day for food for both us and our horses.
One day, as I was out on a scout, I glimpsed men through the trees. I took my javelins in one hand, watching as the column marched forward, all of them on foot. Many of them were bandaged and limping, leaving stains of blood in the snow as they advanced.
It was the column from Mediolanium. But something was wrong. I kicked my horse in the flanks, urging him forward as I rode toward the body.
The men halted as I moved into the clearing. I could see the suspicion in their eyes. There couldn’t have been more than one hundred and fifty. Less than a third of their reported strength.
“Who is your leader?” I demanded, riding to the head of the column. A tall, red-bearded man stepped from the column, an unsheathed sword in his right hand.
“Who asks?”
“Cadwalador, son of the Wolf, a member of the army of Tancogeistla. I was sent to look for you.”
A look of relief spread over his swarthy countenance. “Lead me to him. I am Cavarillos, captain of this detachment.”
“Then the rest of the army follows behind you?” I asked, praying to the gods that he would answer in the affirmative.
He suddenly looked tired, sheathing his sword with the motions of an exhausted man. “We are the army. All that remains of it.”
“The Arverni?”
He merely nodded. I wheeled my horse to the north and commanded him to follow. The rest of the men fell into step behind him, moving sluggishly, wearily. Bloody footprints in the snow. . .

Well, guys, see what you think. I'll try to update as frequently as I can. I don't know how far I'd take this young horseman--don't know how long he'll survive. But enjoy! :yes:

It's a promising start. Please continue. :book:

I love celts.

Looks good. I will follow your progress.

Excellent start. Thank you for this. :yes:

Chapter II: Across the waters

I never heard all that passed between Tancogeistla and Cavarillos, but we would soon learn most of the story. That Catamantaloedis, the young chieftain from Mediolanium, had been killed in a surprise attack by Arverni warbands just north of the great mountains. He had died fighting, along with most of his men. All those that survived were here with us now. An incredible blow to our dreams.
We stayed where we were for the rest of Ogrosan, waiting for the warm months to come, when we too could sail north.
Over the following months, I grew to know Cavarillos well. This was the first time he had been this far north. He was one of the Botroas, or Sword Soldiers, a mercenary employed by Catamantaloedis.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...os/Botroas.jpg
A man who had seen much fighting. He was unmarried, without children, as myself.
We had much in common, though he was ten years my elder. As the warm months approached, he borrowed a sword from one of the soldiers and taught me its use. I had never felt a blade in my hand in all nineteen years of my life, but it was a simple weapon and I learned quickly. Still, I felt more comfortable astride my horse.
In the month of Giamon, we at last set sail for the unknown land to the north. None of us knew what lay ahead. The army sent ahead might already lie dead, slain by the natives. We might be sailing into a trap.
Our boats posed a threat as great as the unknown that lay ahead. They were light craft, hide stretched over wood frames.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...otos/ponto.jpg
We bound the feet of our mounts so that one of their hooves could not pierce the hull, and were very careful in stowing our weapons. At finally, we were off, sailing north. I could scarce help trembling as we hove out of sight of land. It was the first time in my life that I had ever been surrounded by water.
For three weeks we continued, fixing the sail to the mast whenever there appeared to be a breath of wind, rowing till our backs felt fit to break.
I was seated by Cavarillos on the bow oar of the ponto on the first day of the fourth week when suddenly he grasped my arm. We hadn’t spoken for several hours, just bending steadily to our task, and his action surprised me.
“What is it?” I demanded, nearly losing my grasp on the oar. A strange pallor had come over his dark countenance, contrasting oddly with the fire of his beard.
He gestured wordlessly to the sky, off to the south. A dark cloud about the size of a clenched fist was rising, moving toward us. It did nothing to answer my question.
“What’s wrong?”
Clearly some of the others were considerably more knowledgeable in the ways of the sea than I, for already some of the sailors were engaged in stripping the sail from our mast. Cries to the gods rose from among us.
“It is the squall, the storm,” he responded fearfully. “I have seen it destroy the ships of my homeland.”
A chill gripped my heart. He had told me of the seafarers of the south, and their ships. Any one of which would dwarf the small vessel that was now carrying us to our destination. We didn’t stand a chance. . .
The squall was upon us almost before we could react, darkening the sky, rain lashing the boat. We lost sight of the rest of the flotilla.
We took our helmets and began bailing water from the boat. They were the only containers we had. My clothing was plastered to my skin, water dripping into my eyes. Cavarillos cursed and prayed alternately, clearly wishing himself elsewhere. As did I.
The storm had not yet abated when night fell, nor when morning broke the next day. The wind ripped at our tiny craft, water poured over the gunwales in a flood. My arms and hands felt like they were on fire, yet to cease bailing was death.
Day and night blurred into one, a dark void into which our vessel was cast. Several of our men had been swept overboard, dragged screaming to their deaths by the merciless waves. There was nothing we could do. We were all alone. Us, the sea, and the gods. Alone on the water.
An eternity later, one of the sailors cried out. For a moment, I paused, the helmet full of salt water still clutched in my raw and bleeding hands.
He was pointing, and in the darkness my eyes followed his outstretched finger. With an angry curse, I flung the helmet into the bottom of the boat. It no longer mattered. Nothing did. All our efforts had been in vain. The caprices of the gods had decided our fate long before we set sail.
Cliffs towered over us, mighty and high. The sailor had glimpsed the white foam of the waves breaking against the rocks. Our destruction was certain.
A breaker lifted our ponto on its crest, tossing us into the air. I glimpsed the look of terror in Cavarillos’ eyes, fear on the countenance of a man who had witnessed countless death in his short life. The next moment we came down, slamming into the rocks. I felt myself falling, hurtling through space. Darkness. . .

Chapter II, everybody! I regret not being able to provide more pictures, but perhaps I'll be able to do better in the weeks ahead. Cadwalador is up against some rough traveling before he ever sees his tribesmen again. Will post up another chapter shortly.
@Ludens: Thanks for taking a look-see, sir. Perhaps it's your job as moderator, but thank you anyway.
@Shylence: So do I. Particularly around St. Patrick's Day :beam:
@Chirurgeon: Thanks for following, my friend. I trust I will live up to your expectations. Will keep a weather eye on your progress as well.
@Keravnos: Any compliment from an EB team member is rated highly. You guys deserve a lot of credit for your work--even if the Aedui don't speak Greek! :laugh4:

Quickly man i need some more

Chapter III: Cast Ashore

When next I awoke, the sun was high in the heavens, beating mercilessly upon my exposed body. I was ashore---somewhere. . .
Every fiber of my body was aflame, my muscles wracked with pain. I raised myself gingerly on one elbow and looked about. The rocks I had seen just before the wreck lay exposed now, jagged pinnacles pointed like daggers to the sky. How I had survived was anyone’s guess.
A body lay only ten feet from me, prostrate on the sand, the clothes stripped from its back. I staggered to my feet, grasping for the sword at my waist. It was gone, washed away in the chaos of the previous night.
I recognized the corpse. A warrior from my village, one of my boyhood rivals. As I gazed down into his dead, unseeing eyes, I remembered. We had fought over a girl once. Knives had been drawn, my javelin had been in my hand. The elders had intervened before we could do each other harm.
I had wanted to kill him, then. I felt nothing but pity for him now. He deserved better than this.
His wife awaited him in Erain, with the rest of the women and children of the tribe. She had been the girl who had put us at each other’s throats.
The thought that once again she was a free woman gave me no joy. He was now nothing more than a comrade, slain by the pitiless designs of the gods.
He had deserved better.
“Cadwalador!” The voice slowly penetrated the haze that seemed to surround me, its tones strangely familiar.
I looked up. Cavarillos limped toward me, a ghostly apparition. He had apparently gashed his head on one of the rocks. What had remained of his clothes was wrapped around his head to form a bandage. In his condition, he looked for all the world like one of the Gaesatae, the naked, drugged warriors who had so often served in the armies of the Aedui. His sword was clutched in his right hand. There was no sign of its scabbard.
“Cavarillos!”
We embraced like brothers there on the beach, hugging and crying in the sheer joy of being alive.
“Have you seen any of the others?” he asked, pulling away from me. I gestured to the corpse that lay at our feet.
“Only he. And you?”
“I saw movement on the cliffs. Perhaps we are not alone.”
I smiled grimly. “I only hope they are ours and not the natives.”
“Then prepare, my brother.” It was the first time he had ever called me that. Perhaps it was true, what the druids told us, how chaos, how crisis binds men together in a relationship unknown to any others.
I shrugged. “How? My sword was washed away.”
Cavarillos gestured to the body of my fellow villager, in an instant reverting to the professional he was. “Take his. He has no more use for it.”
I hesitated, glancing up through the morning mist at the rocks towering above us. There was something moving up there. Friend or foe, I knew not. With a quick motion I bent down and jerked the sword from my rival’s sheath. Cavarillos was right. He had no more use for it. In a few more hours, I might not either. . .

They just get better :thumbsup:

Ohhhhh washed up on the southern shore of Hibernia. It will be hard for this young man to make a life in such a harsh enviroment.

This is just brilliant. Absolutely brilliant. It reads like a novel, why you keep the fact that it's a game in it.

Awesome stuff, waiting for more.

Chapter IV: A New Land

We waited, crouched motionless beside a cliff trail as the sun rose higher in the sky, burning away the fog that surrounded us. Had it not been for the determined look on my comrade’s face, he would have looked quite ludicrous, stripped as he was.
However, despite his decided lack of armor, I had reason to pity whoever came to attack us. I had seen his skill with the sword evidenced back on the headlands of northern Gaul. He had taught me only a bare fraction of what he knew.
The sun was almost directly above us when a pebble came rolling down the path from above us. Cavarillos tensed himself instinctively, the sound of footsteps following the small slide.
He looked across at me and nodded. My hand closed around the hilt of my sword. Sweat dripped down my brow and the palms of my hands were slippery as a new sensation gripped me. Perhaps it was fear, I had no idea.
The footsteps were moving faster now, there was more than one man descending the path. For all I knew, we were outnumbered.
I glanced over at Cavarillos, watched as his lips slowly formed the word Now!
He sprang from behind the rocks, his sword brandished high above his head. I was two steps behind him, moving swiftly to his side.
A surprised cry broke from the lips of the men on the path, then a long, quavering yell. I grasped Cavarillos’ wrist before his blade could descend, recognizing the Aedui war-cry.
Tancogeistla stood facing us, his hand on the sword in his scabbard. Three of his bodyguards surrounded him, their bodies poised for the defense.
“Cavarillos,” he acknowledged. I could see that he was searching for my name.
“Cadwalador, my lord,” I introduced myself. It was the strangest of moments, Tancogeistla standing before us, surrounded by his bodyguards, his clothes still dripping of saltwater, Cavarillos naked save for the cloth wrapped around his brow, I with the longsword clutched unfamiliarly in my hand.
“I remember you,” Tancogeistla said at long last. He spoke to his bodyguards, ordering them to sheath their weapons.
As we conversed with the great general, we learned that his party had been swept ashore a few miles up the coast. He had no better idea where we were than we did.

But he was our commander, and so we followed him, encamping high on the cliffs. Days passed and more survivors appeared, arriving in various states of disarray. Several came in leading the few horses which had survived the disaster. Eventually, enough arrived to equip Tancogeistla’s bodyguards. I was relegated to the Botroas, to serve in the ranks beside Cavarillos. I had an idea that my stern friend found something humorous in my demotion, but he would never own it. We would march together from now on. The question was, march to where.
It turned out that we had lost almost fifty men in the storm, and almost as many horses. Many of my comrades in the Leuce Epos were drowned or missing, and those of us that remained were either made infantrymen or promoted to Tancogeistla’s bodyguards. We now numbered less than two hundred men, little enough in this strange land we now traversed.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Roster-1.jpg
At the time of the next full moon, we set out for the north, having gathered weapons and clothing from many of the corpses which had washed up on the beach.
Several of the general’s bodyguards rode ahead of our column, scouting out the territory before us. On the third day, they came galloping back into camp at sunset, their steeds panting and lathered with sweat.
Cavarillos was close enough to hear their conversation with Tancogeistla, and a few minutes afterward he came over to where I sat beneath a towering oak tree, laboring over a small fire.
“The scouts report a village ahead of us,” he announced without preamble. “It’s name is Ictis.”
“Perhaps we can get supplies there,” I said, gently blowing on the flames.
“Tancogeistla thinks so.”
There was a note of uncertainty in his voice and I looked up in surprise. “You don’t?”
“I believe they will show us nothing except the sharp end of the spear.”
“Why should they? We are no threat to them. They have never even seen us before.”
“Listen to your own words, Cadwalador. They have never seen us before. We are alien, strangers. It is the nature of man to suspect what he does not know. We number less than two hundred men, but we are all armed. We are an invading army. How are they to know that we are alone, and not merely the advance guard of more to come?”
“Tancogeistla will be able to convince them otherwise.”
There was no smile on the mercenary’s face as he gazed into the fire. “I pray to the gods that it will be as you say. Until then, Cadwalador---make sure your sword is sharp on the morrow.”

@Frodge: I will do my best to supply them.
@Brave: That's the way any good story should be. Thanks for your kind words.
@Shylence: Oh, but IS it Hibernia? Either way, remember what I said of Tancogeistla's temperament in the Prologue. Cadwalador's in trouble no matter WHERE he landed.
@Hax: Once again, sir, you are too kind. I'm glad people are enjoying this. It's more novelistic than most of the forum AARs, but then again, I am a novelist, so I couldn't resist.

Thanks for all the comments, guys. I am open for any constructive criticism, so feel free to point out anything you think is wrong, as well. I'm enjoying this experience. All hail EB!

Man, keep it up it's good.:book:

Nice update sir! Like the soldiers that have been cast away I also wonder where they are. Great job man.

Chapter V: King of the Dumnones

At daybreak, we were up and moving. Breakfast was perforce light, consisting of a mere few handfuls of berries. Once again our scouts rode out ahead of us, cantering up the trail. I swung into step beside Cavarillos at the head of the Botroas.
I had been marching for days now, but I still had trouble keeping up with his powerful strides. He glanced sideways at me as though to assure himself of who accompanied him. “Did you sleep well last night, Cadwalador?”
“Tolerable,” I replied, surprised by his solicitude. It wasn’t like him.
“Good,” he retorted gruffly. “It’s liable to be the last good sleep any of us get.”
I nearly stopped marching, looking over at him surprise. “What do you mean? With any luck, we’ll sleep with full bellies tonight.”
“Luck is a fickle wench. Tancogeistla’s been drinking,” was his short reply.
“What? Where did he get liquor out here?”
“Ask the gods,” Cavarillos shot back. “And while you’re at it, pray that they’ll take it away from him.”
I nodded, my cheer suddenly ripped away from me. I had seen Tancogeistla drunken before, back on the headland of Gaul. He had gotten into an argument with one of his subordinates and ended up killing three men before his bodyguards could restrain him. Just the man we needed to conduct diplomacy with the people of Ictis, the Dumnones, as they were called.
Just then, Tancogeistla rode by, as if an embodiment of our thoughts. Cavarillos was right. Our general’s face was flushed with the fire of liquor and he was unsteady in the saddle. Passing the Lugoae, the levy spearmen, he cursed their leader and ordered them to march faster.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...ncogeistla.jpg
“If he lives to see the end of this march, I will own that the gods are protecting him,” Cavarillos stated quietly. “If he does not lose his drunken head to the natives here, he will insult one of his own men to the point of killing him.”
“He is the anointed of the Vergobret,” I replied hotly. “They wouldn’t dare!”
“Once again, Cadwalador, hearken to your own words. We are all alone here, far from the magistrates of the tribe. We may never see our tribesmen again. In this case, the men may decide that one as volatile as Tancogeistla is not fit to lead. A knife in the darkness, a sword thrust on the field of battle. That is all it would take.”
I glanced into the mercenary’s dark face, the man I called my friend. “You speak of treachery as though it were a light thing!”
He shook his great head slowly. “I have lived longer than you have, my brother. I have seen many men die, felt their blood run over my hands, watched their eyes as life fled them. We number nearly two hundred men. Are we all to die because of the foolishness of one? Or is it better for that one man to die that we all be preserved?”
I couldn’t answer him. I could scarce believe what I was hearing. And yet his words made a strange, twisted sense.
The sun was directly above us when we arrived in the clearing before the village of Ictis. A small wooden palisade about the height of a man’s shoulder encircled the small settlement. Behind it one could see the homes and buildings that housed its inhabitants.
Tancogeistla rode to the front, his bodyguard of Brihentin or knights encircling him. Very few of them now were of noble blood, most being replacements from the night of the storm.
The king of the Dumnones, a man named Drustan, came out to meet Tancogeistla. He was on foot, surrounded by the champions of the tribe.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...os/Drustan.jpg
I heard our general ask him for food and supplies for his men. Perhaps Tancogeistla had sobered up since his morning binge.
“Why should we give you succor, since you come before our gates with armed men?” Drustan demanded. “Are not there more warriors behind you, to march in once you have spied out the land?”
Cavarillos tensed at my side, his hand going instinctively to the hilt of his longsword. “I pray you followed my instructions, Cadwalador,” he hissed in my ear. “Is your blade sharp?”
I nodded silently, my eyes focused on Tancogeistla. The reply he gave would determine our fate. I silently asked the gods that he would be sober enough.
“A month ago, we were washed up on the shores of your land,” Tancogeistla replied angrily. “We are the lone survivors of the wreck, yet you would turn us back in the wilderness to starve!”
“The lone survivors?” Drustan asked, his eyebrows going up suggestively. “Ten score of heavily-armed men? Nay, but to spy out the weaknesses of our defenses are ye come. Go find your food elsewhere, and get from my sight.”
Tancogeistla drew himself erect in the saddle, towering over the Dumnone chieftain. I could see the flush of liquor upon his cheeks and he was unsteady on the horse’s back. “If it is not within your will to give us food, then by the gods, we will take it! Fall upon them, men!”
His naked sword gleamed in his hand and he lashed out at Drustan before any of us could react. With an agility few would have suspected, the chieftain leaped back and Tancogeistla’s blow fell upon one of the champions, laying the man’s shoulder open to the bone.
Cavarillos swore furiously at my side. “He has done it. He has slain us all. See, Cadwalador, he has slain us all!”
As one man, our warriors advanced toward Drustan’s bodyguard, to shelter our general. Seeing our numbers, he began to fall back, toward the gates of the palisade.
Waving his sword in the air, Tancogeistla swung his horse to follow them, but two of his nobles reached out and grasped his bridles, turning him away from the enemy.
It was too late. The damage was done. We could no more stop the battle which was to come than we could stop the chill winds of Imbolc blowing through the trees. Once again, Cavarillos was right. We were all dead men. Only our bodies didn’t realize it---yet. . .

Chapter 5!
@Captain Black: Thanks. Haven't seen you around before, but welcome to the Guild, friend. Hope you'll keep following.
@Chirurgeon: Glad to hear from you, good sir. I think Shylence now knows exactly where poor Cadwalador is--as will anyone who has ever played in the British Isles. I keep following your progress in Iberia, here's luck! :book:

HAHA a drunken leader. Perfect. Funny that you have that. The Heir to the throne in Iberia is a drunkard as well. He has so many negative traits. I am roleplaying him as well. Great update!

Bah my mistake. The West country is good enough for me. Very nice down there shame the local culture, a remnant of the ancient celts. Is being drowned out now by big city types who build houses and up the prices that force the poorer locals out. Such is the nature of "progress" But are we progressing to a eventual collaspe?! enough of modern world ponderance!

I like this and how it is going. My role playing is just beginning. In my A.A.R we all know how the Big 3 Bros are. Im going to begin to focus on Mowg and Massorias traits as they are the young inheritors of Britain

Hmm...whats the garrison of the Dumnones in Ictis?

I think its pretty big, Slingers included

great story, its really gripping, keep it up!

Chapter VI: Dead Men Walking

That night we encamped in the plain facing Ictis, preparing for the fight to come. Several of the nobles had counseled flight, but Tancogeistla, although now perfectly sober, was still adamant. We were the warriors of the Aedui, and we would remain where we were, stand our ground. Eventually most of the Brihentin went over to his side of the argument.
“This is madness, Cadwalador,” Cavarillos said as he joined me by the campfire. The flames danced into the night sky, casting strange shadows all around us. The number of our fires was pitiful in comparison to the light blazing up from Ictis. In the distance, torch-bearing runners could be seen hurrying through the woods, undoubtedly rallying the warriors of the Dumnones to the standard of Drustan.
“Tancogeistla actually believes we can win,” he said a moment later, his tones full of disbelief.
“He was not appointed by the Vergobret for nothing,” I said weakly. “Perhaps we can.”
Cavarillos glanced across the fire at me. “Cadwalador, have you been pillaging the general’s wine?” He shook his head derisively. “We have no more chance of winning than we do of taking wing like the birds. Several of the men are planning to run tonight.”
“They are betraying us!” I cried heatedly, anger rising within me. My hand reached out for the longsword laying beside me. “Tell me who they are.”
“I don’t think I will,” Cavarillos replied in a voice more amused than angry. His humor nettled me.
“Why do they run?”
“Because they are mercenaries like me, businessmen. A dead mercenary does not show up to collect his pay. It goes to another, just like his woman and everything else he possesses. That’s not good business.”
“Serving your country is not about business!”
His eyes locked with mine and all humor was gone from his voice. “These are not my people, Cadwalador. This is not my tribe. All of my tribesmen died in the mountains on our journey to meet Tancogeistla. This mythical country you speak of is but an ancient dream from the days of the Keltoi Confederation. Those days are gone, just like the men who leave camp tonight.”
“Then why don’t you go with them?” I shot back.
He shrugged. “As I said before, I am a businessman. Just as dying does not strike me as a good proposition, neither does running through an unknown land peopled by those hostile to me. There is safety in numbers, Cadwalador---even if those numbers are commanded by a drunken fool. Go to sleep.”
I lay there for a long time as the flames danced high in the air above me, as Cavarillos snored noisily on the other side of the fire. I was seeing another side of my friend, and I didn’t know what to think of it. Finally I fell asleep, there on my cloak on the hard ground. Deserters were not my problem, staying alive soon would be. . .

When next I woke, the sun was rising in the eastern sky, casting its rays over the camp. Cavarillos was stirring the ashes of the fire, apparently hoping to find some hot coals. Two fish lay at his feet.
“Where did you find those?” I demanded, raising myself on one elbow.
He smiled for the first time in days. “A stream back that way,” he replied, pointing. “Our last meal should be a good one.”
Just then a shout arose from the town. “What’s that?” Cavarillos dropped the fish and sprang to his feet.
I was at his side in a moment, my hand going nervously to the hilt of the longsword at my waist. Before us, we could see the Dumnones issuing forth from the town, their warriors marching in formation.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...Deployment.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/Dumnones.jpg
Drustan was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a man rode out before them with a horn in his hand. “Hear me, foreigners!” He screamed, rising in his saddle. “Prepare to die!”
“He’s not wasting his breath,” Cavarillos observed dryly. He kicked the fire out and grabbed up his cloak and sword. “We’ll fight on empty stomachs, Cadwalador. Perhaps it’s just as well.”
All around us, our warriors were scrambling to get ready. Behind us I could see Tancogeistla pulling on his armor as he called for his horse. The scene was chaos. We were encamped slightly below the town, and we knew without being told what would happen if the enemy charged down the slopes into us. Massacre.
The Lugoae were already moving up to the ridge, their simple spears grasped in one hand. Cavarillos was gone, gathering his men. Together we ran to the high ground, barely a dozen of us. Thirty of the Gaeroas were moving up behind us.
The enemy continued to pour from their gates, hundreds and hundreds of armed men. I tried counting the battle standards of the chieftains, but lost count. Cavarillos had been right.
The slingers began their fire from behind us, stones whizzing overhead to fall upon the bodies of the enemy. A number of the Dumnones had stripped off their cloaks and were completely naked as they marched against us. I had seen our own warriors do this, but it still unnerved me. They were completely without fear.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...eodotos/CC.jpg
“What did I tell you?” Cavarillos appeared suddenly at my side. His javelins were clutched in his right hand, his longsword still sheathed. “We throw these first,” he said quietly, reminding me of my duty.
I flushed hot, returning my sword to its scabbard and taking my own two javelins in my hand. In my excitement, I was forgetting the proper order of things.
I looked back to where Tancogeistla waited, with his band of Brihentin. Perhaps they would be the deciding factor in this battle. The enemy seemed to possess no cavalry.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...TheGeneral.jpg
The slingers were taking a toll of the enemy, but I could tell it would not be enough. They would run out of stones before the Dumnones ran out of bodies to absorb them.
To our left, the first enemies advanced, tossing their javelins into the ill-protected Lugoae before charging home. I closed my eyes, hearing the sound of metal tearing into flesh, the screams of the wounded and dying.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...tos/Braced.jpg
“So the battle begins,” Cavarillos observed quietly. He looked my way, a quizzical expression on his face. “Have you ever been in a battle, Cadwalador?”
I shook my head. “We raided a village---a year ago. It was just a skirmish.”
“I see.” His voice was studiously neutral, but I could tell he was not pleased.
A second band of the Dumnones suddenly appeared in front of us, charging into the Gaeroas on our left. Once again the clatter of weapons and the shrieks of the dying filled the air. A new sound, hoofbeats to my right. Tancogeistla and the Brihentin were circling around us. They were obviously planning to charge into the axemen that had attacked the Gaeroas. Javelins slew several of the nobles even as they passed before us.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...eBrihentin.jpg
One could tell from where we were standing that our brethren were taking heavy casualties. The javelins seemed to tremble in my hand, as though they wished to bury themselves in the flesh of our enemy. Cavarillos’ face was impassive, unmoved by the carnage. Aloof. The Brihentin slammed into the enemy flank, trampling many of the axemen.
For a moment, I thought perhaps they might succeed in routing the enemy army, in turning this debacle into a victory for our tribe. It was not to be. Their moment of glory was short-lived indeed, as yet another warband of our enemy descended, trapping Tancogeistla and his bodyguards.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...otos/Peril.jpg
We were the last uncommitted body of warriors. I glanced to Cavarillos. “Now?”
He looked around, saw the bloodlust in the faces of his men. Perhaps he realized he could restrain them no longer. “Follow me,” he ordered simply, breaking into a trot.
We charged the enemy spearmen. I hefted my javelin in my right hand, hurling it ahead of me as I ran.
“Rabo!” we screamed, expelling the air from our lungs in the age-old cry of the Aedui.
“Rabo!”
My javelin caught one of the Dumnones in the arm, ripping him open. He lost his grasp of his spear and stumbled backward. One of Cavarillos’ men was upon him before he could recover, nearly disemboweling the man with a single slash of the sword.
We slammed into the enemy ranks, swords drawn. We had never bothered throwing our second javelin. One of the spearmen tried to block my sword, but I knocked him backward. To my right, one of my brothers fell, his face covered with blood. I stepped over the corpse, driving my blade between the ribs of the man who had killed him.
A strangled cry rose from his lips, a strange, gurgling sound. His eyes seemed to glaze over, and he collapsed forward, his blood spilling onto my trousers, a dark red life-fluid. I pulled my sword from his flesh with an effort, raising it to protect myself as a blow descended toward my head.
The force of it nearly took me to my knees, but I recovered. I had lost all sense of what was happening around me. My world was now restricted to the few feet around me, which were filled with my enemies. We were badly outnumbered.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...utnumbered.jpg
My comrades were dying all around me. We were dead men. I brought my sword’s edge down on the wrist of one of the Dumnones, severing the hand. He screamed in pain, blood spurting from the stump as his shield fell to the ground. He tried to bring his sword up to block me, but I knocked it aside, ignoring the terror in his eyes. Another moment and he lay dead at my feet.
From behind me, I heard a long, keening cry of rage, resounding above the cacophony of the battlefield. A blade sliced across the bare skin of my back, opening a wound. I spun around, my longsword raised high. A boy my own age stood in front of me, a sword in his hand. A sword which was descending toward my head. I raised my shield to block it, but the force of his blow knocked me to the ground. I lost my grasp on the shield, rolled away to escape his next slash. I saw his eyes in that moment of time, saw the hatred and agony there. Perhaps I had killed his father, his brother—none of that really mattered now. I raised my sword to deflect his, but he beat down my guard. I was losing for all the reasons Cavarillos had taught. Balance, mobility, I had lost both of those and now I stood to lose my life because of it.
I saw his eyes again as he aimed a final blow to my head, and I couldn’t tell which fate was the more merciful. Mine, to die. His, to live with the knowledge of his loss.
He screamed again, but in pain, not rage. Drops of something wet showered over me and I looked up. Cavarillos stood over me, a bloody sword clutched in both his hands. My opponent was sagging to the ground, nearly beheaded by his blow. I was covered in his blood. I staggered to my feet, starting to thank my savior. Cavarillos stopped me.
“Run for your life, brother!” he screamed in my ear. I glanced around. There were only four of us left. The Lugoae had already broken and were running from the field. One of the Dumnones aimed a blow at Cavarillos and I blocked it savagely. My mind refused to believe this was happening. That we were losing.
Cavarillos took me by both shoulders and thrust me toward the rear. “Run, Cadwalador!”
I did as I was told, running for my life. It filled my heart with shame, but Cavarillos ran at my side, threatening to run me through if I turned back. I kept running.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...os/Running.jpg
Behind us, Tancogeistla himself was fleeing, with only a few of his bodyguards remaining. They had been butchered.
Tears were running down my face, tears of shame and rage. Behind me, I could hear the cries of our pursuers, baying like wolves on the trail.
“Have the gods abandoned us, Cavarillos?” I cried. It was a stupid question, but for some reason, I had to ask it.
He struck me between the shoulderblades, forcing me onward. “The gods haven’t been with us since we were washed ashore on this land! Don’t talk—run!”
And we were all running, all those of us that were left alive. All the valiant tribesmen of the Aedui. Running from the enemy. Running in defeat. . .
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...theValiant.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...feat-Ictis.jpg
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...Statistics.jpg

Chapter VI! I really never thought it would be this long, but it's not over yet. Thanks for all the comments.
@Chirurgeon: I thought it would be a nice touch--give Cavarillos and Cadwalador something to worry about. Now my young hero just has to decide if one man should die for the people. . .
@Shylence: I figured you would know where I was headed. I actually back-tracked for AAR purposes, but that's beside the point. Thanks for following.
@Captain Black: Shylence is right. It's big, as you see in this chapter. I have no clue what Tancogeistla was thinking:laugh4:
@Long-lost Caesar: Thanks for the compliment. It's strange for me to write about a world in which there are no guns, airplanes, sat phones; a world where the weapon of mass destruction is the stone in the sling. Not my normal work. I hope you'll follow along.

Wow that was an awesome description of battle. I felt like I was there. If they felt isolated before imagine what they feel like now. I don't think things could get much worse. Not only do you lose a battle. But you lose a battle on an island and have no way of returning home.

Sorry all, I didn't notice that the link hadn't worked for that one picture. I posted up in a hurry Friday and didn't notice. It's fixed now.
Looks like everyone was away for the weekend, but I've kept busy. The next update should be posted in a few minutes.
@Chirurgeon: Thanks a lot. It means something coming from an AAR veteran like yourself. As I told Long Lost Caesar, these ancient battles are something entirely new for me, but I'm enjoying myself. War never changes, men still bleed and die. Their orphans and widows still mourn. Only the means of devastation change with the times.
BTW, there's a land bridge to the northern end of Britain. All hope is not lost--unless Tancogeistla gets drunk again.

Chapter VII: The Fugitives

How long we ran, I will never know. We ran until our legs ached, till the sun sank low in the western sky. Behind us we could still hear the cries of the pursuers. Drustan was a determined man.
Cavarillos stayed behind me, his sword still unsheathed. I glanced back once and caught sight of his face. Saw the anger there, the bitterness of a man who had always played to win. And who had now lost. His bare chest was streaked with blood, whether his own or that of his enemies, I had no idea.
As night fell, we camped ‘neath a towering oak, inside a dark forest. Perhaps we could rest there in safety. The night air was cold, reminding us both that Ogrosan was coming. We dared not build a fire, lest the Dumnones spot it and come looking for us.
“I will kill him,” Cavarillos whispered harshly, rubbing his bare arms to keep warm.
“Who?”
He shot an angry look toward me. “Tancogeistla, that’s who! Next time we meet, I will kill him.”
I looked away, into the darkness of the forest, hoping to avoid the conversation. It was a futile hope.
“Are you with me?” The question came sharp as a sword-thrust, his tones cold as ice.
“He is the anointed of the Vergobret,” I replied weakly. “I cannot raise a hand against him.”
“The Vergobret!” Cavarillos hissed the title as though it were a curse. “He is not here. We will never see him again, nor your people. My tribe is dead. I am the last of the clan.”
“Do you want their legacy to be that of a murderer?” I shot back angrily, regretting the words the moment they left my mouth.
He started to rise from his seat on the moss, then apparently thought better of it, his lips relaxing into a sardonic smile. “I should have killed him yesterday morning, before he had the chance to slay us all.”
“How many do you think we lost?” I asked, trying to steer him off the topic of Tancogeistla’s imminent demise.
“Fourscore, maybe a hundred, how am I supposed to know? I was too busy trying to keep you from getting yourself killed. And the first opportunity you get, you call me a murderer.” He laughed humorlessly.
“I’m sorry,” I replied, but my voice must have lacked conviction. At least he seemed to think so.
“I don’t ask that you slay Tancogeistla,” he went on after a moment. “Just help me.”
“They are the same thing. If I help you, it is just as bad as if I had plunged the sword within his heart myself.”
Cavarillos’ form came erect suddenly, and for a moment I thought he meant to fling himself upon me. Instead, he raised a finger to his lips and reached for the sword at his side.
“Quiet,” he whispered. I looked quickly around us and suddenly saw torches flickering through the trees, the low hum of voices coming from perhaps forty feet away. The searchers.
We threw ourselves flat on the ground behind a fallen tree, watching as the search party went by. I counted fifteen men, all heavily-armed. They flitted along the forest path, moving effortlessly. Without doubt they were part of the Dumnone army that had chased us away from Ictis.
There was no question that Tancogeistla had played the fool. I knew that. But he was the Taoi Arjos, the “chosen superior” of the Vergobret. I couldn’t have any part of a plot against him.
We watched until the men had passed, then Cavarillos grabbed my arm. “We can’t stay here,” he hissed. “Let’s keep going.”
I nodded, acknowledging the wisdom of what he said. My legs ached as I rose to my feet and I wasn’t sure I could keep going. But there was no choice. . .

We kept moving all through the night. How we did it, I have no idea, but about morning we met up with two of Cavarillos’ mercenaries, the last survivors. They didn’t know where the rest of the army was any better than we did. Their bodies bore fresh scars, the marks of a brush with a search party. Perhaps the one we had seen—I had no way of knowing.
Tancogeistla—for the moment he was beyond the rage of Cavarillos. We were all alone. We were fugitives. . .

Man great update. You officially have me addicted. Whats going to happen to this rag tag outfit of men?

You've got a great story going on here. I'll be sure to stop by regularly for more updates.

Thank you!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Chirurgeon

Man great update. You officially have me addicted. Whats going to happen to this rag tag outfit of men?

---

@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.
@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.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Chirurgeon

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 Theodotos I

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:

---

ah yes. That can be a surpise later on. Maybe have a Bard describe what happened.

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!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Shylence

kill the b***. 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.

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.

Well she is. She has saved his life because Cadwalador cant now kill the woman he has saved. I thought one of the Brihetein(sp) would get him but i dont know now. I belive he may get injured or captured, not dead! Maybe he will escape and return with some more of his Bredrins and try his best to finish off that drunken lout.

But the prediciment is that the army is gone and has no chance of survival unless it links with one of the others Theodotus hinted on.

WHERE WHAT WHO!, whats gona happen.....:help:

The storytelling is great and I am really interested to see how this little band is going to take a city to call its own. TBH I'm half expecting the drunken king to win the ancient version of the powerball lottery and bribe himself a town but I'm sure you'll have something a little more engaging and realistic than that ;).

Quote:

---

But the prediciment is that the army is gone and has no chance of survival unless it links with one of the others Theodotus hinted on.

---

OMG ..I just wet my pants

Chapter XIII: Treachery

My gaze lifted and I stared into the eyes of Cavarillos. The Brihentin were still occupied with the last of his mercenaries. I was the only one who threatened him. But his cause was lost. And he knew it.
“I warned you not to stand against me, Cadwalador,” he stated, a trace of sadness in his voice. “Together we could have achieved much.”
“Betrayal is worse than death,” I snapped back.
“All my life I have survived by choosing the winning side, going with it. It is the life of the mercenary. And I’ve never been wrong.”
“Until now.”
“That is your view. Now lay down the javelin, Cadwalador. Before I slay this woman.”
I hesitated, and he moved the sword higher, until its tip pricked the skin of her throat. He wasn’t bluffing. I knew him too well for that.
“Will you leave now?” I demanded. “I can let you go before they get here. Give me the girl and leave!” I glanced over his shoulder to where the Brihentin were fighting, bargaining with everything I had left. A lump rose in my throat, nearly choking me. If there was any way to save her, I must try it. She had saved me in the ambush.
He seemed to consider my proposition for a moment. “All right,” he nodded. “Throw the javelin over here. Underhand.”
I obeyed wordlessly, taking my javelin by the shaft and pitching it to him. He smiled as it touched the ground and released Inyae, shoving her toward me.
She had not taken two steps before he stepped up behind her, driving his sword into her body before I could cry a warning. She screamed, staggering toward me. I could see the tip of the sword protruding from between her ribs. It had gone completely through her.
I felt as though I was in a dream, as though I had gone to sleep beside her a few hours earlier. When I had learned her name. This was all a dream. A sad, twisted dream.
In a haze I saw Cavarillos pull his blood-stained sword from her body and smile at me through the night. A death’s head smile. The face of a killer unmasked.
She collapsed into my arms, sobbing with pain, her life-blood soaking her garments, staining my chest. Her breath was coming in short gasps, each one an effort. Her lungs had been pierced.
In the vision I saw Cavarillos spring to the back of one of the Brihentin’s horses, straddling it bareback. He turned to wave a mocking farewell to me before vanishing into the night. A dark horseman.
I was crying too, with rage at my own foolishness, with fear at my helplessness now. She was dying, I could see it in the way her eyes were glazing over, the agony on her face.
Words came from her lips, but nothing I could understand. I had never been able to. Now I never would.
The nobles surged past me, their swords still drawn, past where I sat on the hard sod, cradling Inyae in my arms, to the place where Tancogeistla still lay. The drunkard she had been sacrificed for.
I looked down into her pale face, into the now-listless green eyes glazed with death. She lay still, her head lying limply against my chest, fiery tresses flowing over her shoulders.
Her spirit had departed. What remained was the shell of the woman that I had loved, the woman that had risked her life for me twice. And I had failed her. . .
A hand fell on my shoulder. I heard a voice through the mists that surrounded me. “Tancogeistla wishes to speak with you.” One of the nobles.
I obeyed numbly, laying Inyae’s corpse gently on the earth as I rose. But for the pain on her countenance, but for the dark-red stain of her torn garments, I could have imagined her asleep. With all my heart, I wished she was.
They had propped Tancogeistla up with his back against a rock. He looked up at me in the glare of the fire the Brihentin had rekindled.
“Thank you, my son. I owe you my life.”
I nodded wordlessly, striving to restrain my emotions. “But for you, he would have been accepted into my camp as a friend. And he would have slain me before anyone could stop him.” He paused, seemingly to regain his energy before going on. The wounds had sapped his strength. “Three of my bodyguards died this night. The traitor Cavarillos stole one of their horses. I am giving you one of the others. You will ride in my bodyguard.”
It was not a question, not a request. It was an order, reminding me of my station in life. He was the Chosen Superior.
“We ride tomorrow. First to rally what remains of our army, then north.”
“Yes, my lord,” I managed, still numb with shock. I glanced up into the sky, above the dancing flames, to where the silvery moon shone down upon us. Another eight hours separated us from the dawn. There would be no sleep for me this night, nor for a long time to come. It was all a terrible dream—but one from which I could never awake. . .

Time for Chapter Thirteen, everyone!
@Chirurgeon: Thank you, kind sir. I try to deliver. Love or loyalty, I’m always astounded by how well the ancient formulas still work today. Thirty-three basic types of stories exist; they were all invented well before the birth of Christ. Mankind has been unable to come up with anything truly new since. All novels fit into one or more of those thirty-three types.
@Reality=Chaos: Welcome to my story and thanks for reading. I attempt not to be predictable.
@Shylence: I understand, sir, but try to keep your jokes inoffensive. Thanks for continuing to read.
@Captain Black: I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again: caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. The formulas of the ancients. . .
@Midnj: Never fear. I use cheats sparingly and would never do something like that.
@Captain Black: Don't worry.

man this guy is a mess. I knew this would be tragic. He should have thrown the javelin at him as he ran away...oh well. I actually thought he was going to let her go. Evil bastard. I will be curious as to what happens next. Could this guy suffer any more? I think I would have fallen on my sword after that. So sad.

/he lives in a tough enviroment, im sure he will cope.

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Chirurgeon

man this guy is a mess. I knew this would be tragic. He should have thrown the javelin at him as he ran away...oh well. I actually thought he was going to let her go. Evil bastard. I will be curious as to what happens next. Could this guy suffer any more? I think I would have fallen on my sword after that. So sad.

---

Indeed, he is. Yet, there is something in every warrior that pushes him to go on, keep moving, keep fighting even after crushing heartbreak. This is true of Cadwalador. I'll try to update in a day or two. Keep reading. :book:

Quote:

---

She had not taken two steps before he stepped up behind her, driving his sword into her body before I could cry a warning. She screamed, staggering toward me. I could see the tip of the sword protruding from between her ribs. It had gone completely through her.

---

Argghhh.....this is a dead man, now I don't care if Tancogeistla lives or not, I just want Cavarillos dead. Wow I am forgetting you wrote this Theo... curse you, curse you, nah j/k but wow man this is just amazing.

Chapter XIV: Starvation

We rose on the morrow and pushed northward, joined by a few of the slingers and Gaeroas that had survived. We were a small band of men, shadows of the once-great army that had been washed ashore what seemed like an eternity ago.
It had been months since I had felt a horse between my knees, and it would have felt good—if anything could have. I rode with my left arm wrapped in a sling, bandaged to stop the bleeding from Cavarillos’ sword-cut.
Cavarillos. . .
We had seen nothing of him since he vanished into the darkness on that bloody night, riding a stolen horse. He might have joined the Dumnones, guided them in their pursuit. He might have fled to one of the other tribes that populated this wild land. There were a thousand possibilities.
We had buried Inyae at the spot of our campsite, along with the Brihentin who had fallen. I still saw her, appearing in my dreams, reliving the last few moments of her life. Horror.
I had failed her. I couldn’t get away from that. Failed her, and she was dead.
We rode north for weeks, slowed by the early snows of Ogrosan. Foraging became harder and we slew the extra horse. The others would soon follow. It was them, or us.
Tancogeistla’s wounds from the ambush were healing slowly. And he was still sober. I watched him from a distance, listened to his conversations with the nobles. I was not a participant in those conversations. I was merely his bodyguard, not his equal.
Some of the men were murmuring, whispering of mutiny. But they had nowhere to go. We were all equally lost, plowing through deeper and deeper snows as the weather turned colder. One of the men was found frozen to death in his blankets. His comrades ate his body.
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...Starvation.jpg
I found some bugs under a rock, stripped them of their wings and ate them raw. I was too hungry to care.
One day Tancogeistla approached me soon after we had settled in for the night, sheltered from the angry north winds by a small wooded knoll.
“Cadwalador,” he began. He had finally learned my name. I glanced up, popping a termite into my mouth. It had an unusually fruity taste, rather enjoyable in fact. Certainly there were enough of them under this log I sat on.
“Yes, my lord?”
He looked weary and cold. As were we all.
“Our scouts reported footprints in the snow to the northwest at midday. I need you to ride out and see if there are people in the area. One man will be perceived as less of a threat than the entire party of us.”
I nodded slowly. “Should I find the area to be inhabited, do you wish me to make contact?”
“Yes. See if you can procure food and supplies, as well as the goodwill of the inhabitants. That will be essential.”
“As you did at Ictis?” I snapped, speaking before I thought. Tancogeistla flinched as though I had struck him, but there was no anger in his eyes. Only a tremendous sadness.
“Their blood is on my hands, Cadwalador,” he acknowledged after a long, awkward pause, holding those hands up to the sky and gazing into the palms. “Sometimes I think I can see it. That’s what Cavarillos thought, wasn’t it?”
His question took me off-guard. “Perhaps so—I really. . .”
“Come now, my son. You were his friend. You knew, else how could you have sounded the alarm that night? He blamed me for the death of his men, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And he was not alone.” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
“No he was not, my lord.”
“It must have been a difficult choice for you to make. Between your friend and your leader, between your brotherhood with him and your loyalty to the tribe of your fathers. Between a warrior who had taught you much of his skills, and a drunken imbecile who had led your army to destruction.”
His frank self-appraisal took me completely by surprise. It was hardly what I had been expecting. “That is hardly my opinion,” I remonstrated, “I have the—”
He cut me off. “It is the truth. I wonder at times, Cadwalador, if we will ever see our people again? Whether we are condemned to wander the rest of our lives in this desolate wilderness? I suppose only the gods know the answers to those questions.”
I didn’t respond. Telling him that I no longer had any faith in the gods of my people would hardly be diplomatic. I dared not abuse the sudden familiarity he had offered to me, strange though it was.
“And perhaps the people of this area,” he added. “That is why I wish you to ride ahead.”
“I understand,” I replied, rising slowly from my seat. “I will endeavor to report back as soon as possible.”
“I am counting on you, Cadwalador. Of all my men, your loyalty is unquestioned. That is why I chose you for this mission.”
I nodded once again, taking my javelins in my hand and walking quickly to my horse. I carried no sword, had not since it had failed me that night with Cavarillos. I could not even see one without seeing a vision of his blade protruding from her belly. The image haunted my dreams.
Swinging lightly into the saddle, I took the reins in my hand and gently kicked my horse into a slow trot out of camp. What I found ahead would determine our future plans.
The wind whipped at me as soon as I moved out from the shelter of the hill, slicing through the thin, ragged garments I wore. I might as well have been naked, for all the protection they gave.
Soon my horse had slowed to no more than a walk, and I was unable to urge him to go faster. He was as exhausted and hungry as I was. His bones were clearly visible through his hide. I could feel them beneath me.
It began to snow, small flakes drifting down through the darkness of night. Whatever chance I may have once possessed of locating the tracks the scouts had spoken of was rapidly vanishing. If there had been any chance to begin with.
We wandered for hours, I and my horse. The snow was falling heavier now, accumulating on any surface that would stand still long enough. We were one of those surfaces.
I kicked my horse in the flanks, forcing it out of its languid walk. It had been full moon when I had left the camp, but all was white now, snow obscuring the moon, the stars. I had no guides left.
I was tired, incredibly so. And sleepy. So sleepy. I wanted to do nothing more than rest. Rest forever. Inyae, Cavarillos, Tancogeistla, the army; they were all a faint memory, fading from my mind. My mission, it no longer seemed important.
The reins slipped from between my fingers and I suddenly felt myself sliding, falling from the horse’s back. I reached out wildly, losing my javelins. I hit the ground with a bone-rattling thud, feeling something snap in my lower leg. Pain shot through my limb and I sank back into the snow, gritting my teeth, fighting to keep conscious.
The snow opened up to welcome me, folding me in its pillowy arms. At first I struggled to regain my feet, but I found I couldn’t. My leg was broken—at least it felt that way. Maybe it wasn’t, but I no longer cared. Sleep. That was all I wanted to do. Lie back in the soft drifts of snow and rest. Forever. . .

Wow. So thats it. Man that is quite the tale. Superb writing there. I have never seen the "starvation" announcement. Sure was rough. This was a complete tragedy, save for his reconciliation. Ok I need a drink now.
Only thing that bothered me was that I thought they ate their horses and yet he was riding one at the end? Other than that a great final chapter!

Quote:

---

Originally Posted by Theodotos I

What I found ahead would determine our future plans.

---

Maybe it ain't over.

Hmm.... I do hope it's not over, Cadwalador still has to avenge Inyae. In any case, that was a great chapter.

Someone earlier said it was Ireland. No, they're in Sussex/Southwest Brittania

It ain't over till it's over.
@Chirurgeon: Had you fooled there, man. Incidentally, they had only eaten the spare horse, not all of them. He was speaking of the future.
@ReverendJoe: Perceptive. Thanks for commenting.
@Chaotix27: Thanks. Keep reading.
@Gamegeek2: Moving north.

Another chapter will be up shortly, everybody. The saga continues. BTW, I thought of a contest that all the readers of my AAR could take part in. It will start today and continue till next Tuesday. I will give three balloons :balloon2: :balloon2: :balloon2: to the person who can come the closest to guessing my true age, based on what they've read of my writing. Good luck!

Chapter XV: Rumors of War

I came awake slowly, dimly aware of an unfamiliar sensation that permeated my body, seeping even to my bones. It took me a moment to place what it was.
Warmth. I was warm. It was a strange feeling. My eyes flickered open and I began to take in my surroundings. I lay on my back on a blanket, only feet away from a small fire built within a hut. I started to get up, but pain shot through my right leg and looking down, I remembered. I had broken my leg. The snowstorm, the fall, all came rushing back to my consciousness. Someone had fixed a splint on my leg, straightening it.
Movement behind me. The form of a woman moved into the circle of firelight. Inyae. . .
Light fell upon her face and sorrow flooded through me as I remembered. Cavarillos, Inyae, Tancogeistla. That terrible night of betrayal and horror.
This woman knelt by my side and spoke gently to me. I shook my head, unable to understand her tongue. Where was I? How had I come here?
Her hand felt cool as she placed it upon my brow, apparently checking for any signs of the fever that often smote one so exposed.
She spoke again, but I could sense that she was no longer talking to me, but rather to another who had entered the hut behind me.
Another voice. That of a man. He moved into my line of vision, a tall, powerful figure, red-haired, but clean-shaven of face. Despite the weather, he wore only leggings and a cloak draped loosely around his shoulders. Strange designs were painted on his chest.
He spoke in the same language as the woman, apparently expecting me to comprehend. I shook my head in growing frustration. “I can’t understand a thing you are saying!” I exploded, swearing in my native tongue.
The pair exchanged glances and the man spoke sharply to the woman. She disappeared behind me and I could feel sunlight stream in as she left the hut, closing the rude door behind her.
“Where am I?” I asked next, sensing something I had said had gotten through. I started to rise up, but the man bent down on one knee and laid his hand upon my shoulder, forcing me to lie back down.
“Wait,” he said, speaking in Gallic.
I stared at him in shock. “Why—I mean, how—you know my language!”
He shook his head. “Wait,” he repeated. For the first time, I noticed he carried my javelins in his hand. Apparently he was one of the men who rescued me.
“How did I come here?” He shook his head, apparently unable to understand my question. It baffled me. One moment he spoke my language clearly and the next he couldn’t comprehend what I was asking.
The hide door behind me flapped open again and I could sense people entering, shadows thrown over my body.
It was the older woman and another, no more than a girl, maybe thirteen or fourteen years of age. She bent down beside me.
“I am Diedre,” she said, once again speaking in Gallic, “a maiden of the tribe of the Belgae.”
“Then how did you come here?” I demanded, interrupting her.
A faint smile flickered across her lips. “I could ask the same of you,” she responded boldly. “But the Aedui are not unknown here.” She went on before I could reply. “As for myself, I was taken prisoner in a raid by the Casse upon the mainland nine years ago. They sold me to these people in one of their trades north.”
“Then you are a slave?” I asked, pity apparently coming through in my tones.
“I remember nothing else. They recognized the tongue you spoke as my own and brought me here to act as an interpreter.”
“Who are these people?”
“They are the Calydrae, the tribe which controls the northern tip of this island.”
“That’s what this is?” I asked. “An island?”
She smiled again. “So say the druids. Everyone believes their word.”
“What is this place called?”
“Attuaca. It is the chief town of the Calydrae. You escaped from the army that attacked here five months ago, didn’t you?”
I was surprised, and apparently it showed on my face. “What army? What do you mean?”
Her dark eyes held mine for a moment, apparently trying to discern whether my surprise was genuine. “Five months ago, a small army came from across the waters, from the place where the sun sinks into the sea. They were led by a great, white-haired man mounted on a mighty horse. His companions were also mounted. They laid siege to this place, circled it round, demanded its surrender. A week later, the Calydrae sallied out against him, led by this man,” she gestured to the man who had spoken with me.
“Who is he?” I asked.
“His name is Cinaed, the war-leader of the Calydrae. I sat by the wall as the battle was joined, and I heard the cries of the enemy army. It was the language of your people.”
My eyes never left her face, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What happened?”
“Their leader charged his men directly into the Calydrae, cutting down many of our warriors.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...s/TheStory.jpg
“But he was outnumbered and Cinaed’s men fought bravely, hamstringing many of the enemy horses and bringing their armored riders crashing to the ground. In the end, the enemy chieftain was surrounded by warriors. Blood poured from his body and from that of his steed.”
I closed my eyes, the scene playing itself out across my mind. I could see it, images coming from my past, the sound of horses and men screaming in pain, terror. Pandemonium. My memories of Ictis, the ambush, that awful night facing Cavarillos. My life since I had come to this island. She was still talking.
“. . . he fought on gallantly, slaying some of the mightiest men of Attuaca. His bravery was beyond question. Cinaed himself charged forward to challenge him and his arm was laid open by a sword-slash.”
“And?”
She looked down into my eyes. “He died, the last of his army, surrounded by our warriors.”
https://i272.photobucket.com/albums/...hoftheHero.jpg
“His armor hangs on the palisade surrounding Attuaca. Cinaed ordered that he receive a hero’s burial. That was the last we saw of them, until the men found you in the snow two days ago.”
“Two days ago?” I asked in surprise. “I’ve been here that long?”
She nodded. I looked past her to where Cinaed stood, beside the woman I assumed to be his wife. “Do they know the origin of the men who attacked here?”
“That they were Aedui? No, I have only taught them a few words of your language. To my knowledge they have no suspicion. Just be careful what you say.”
I acknowledged her words with a quick nod. “Can you interpret for me?” I asked. “I need to speak with Cinaed. I have comrades out there.”

Wow... this is a good AAR... I like the the black and white screenies! Keep writing!

Thanks, Irishmafia. BTW, personal note here. Due to my new job(started as of last Friday), I probably won't be able to update as frequently. And I've also downloaded 1.1, so I've got both installed currently. However, this AAR will be played out to the bitter end. The best is yet to come, so keep reading. :book:
And don't forget the contest. I'm interested in your guesses!

Well, I'm guessing he goes native. It just sounds like this story is headed that way; plus it would be harder than hell for him to reunite with the remaining Aeduli, if there are any left.

Edit: oh, hell, I just read "I'm interested in your guesses" there at the end and, without thinking, assumed you were talking about the AAR. Well, hell, I have no idea how old you are. If I had to guess, though, I'd say 15-16. Just a feeling.

Well, you have a job, but no one is impressed by a thirty five year old writer (albeit good writing is good writing) my guess is that you are 18 and haven't started college yet.... About the age of some of my students actually...