Lancelot and Talon.

 

Talon and Lancelot.

Within the massive city of Oculus the crown jewel of Norica, through its mighty geared furnaces, past glorious inventions, prosperous laboratories, a single mansion posed on noble hill shuddered with strife.

Panting, Lancelot awaited the next assault, rapier in hand, wig discarded to clear his sight.  Looking over the railing at his opponent with grim reality.  Love is painful. “I have the high ground, surely you can see reason in this matter.”

With a grunt, a short sword cleaved rope, as the chandelier rocked, its weight pulled down by gravity. The man below rode the severed strand up, easily vaulting the railing twenty paces from Lancelot. Expensive glass shattering upon the polished marble foyer causing Lancelot to wince in dismay. Drawing a black powder pistol once firm purchase was obtained the man brushed black curly hair from his face.

“Reason? That is rich coming from you, bastard!” Barked Talon, pulling the hammer back on the pistol.

Lancelot ran a hand over his bad head, before reaching for the banister. Confused sadness marking his voice. “I warn you sir, you are about to make a mistake most foul.”

Breaking into a run Talon leveled the pistol with his charge. The floor parted as Lancelot pulled the banister lever leaving a gap heading down to the foyer. Leaping the trap, Talon dove tucking into a roll. Springing up, only to have his pistol bearing hand caught at the wrist as Lancelot grappled with the man.

“How dare you make this impersonal! She told me everything you two did, confessed!” Hissed Talon, losing his grip on the pistol as Lancelot jabbed a nerve cluster near his armpit.

“She is lying!” Was all Lancelot could get out as Talon used his superior strength to heave the man away.

Gasping for air, Lancelot flipped back to his feet, clicking his heels. The spurs on his boots whined as they rotated rapidly in a whirl, powered by the tension wound springs. Parrying an incoming strike from Talon with a back kick, sparks showering from the impact.

Rapier met shortened blade, as Lancelot added more kicks into his defensive dervish. Snarling, Talon withdrew before thrusting out an arm, palm facing Lancelot. A sliver of steel exited the opening in the man’s palm. Cursing, Lancelot ducked nearly taking the projectile in the face.  Seizing the opportunity Talon grappled with Lancelot, hands seeking his throat. Pressed against the railing, Lancelot fought for breath, stars dancing on the edges of his vision.

“Dad? Father? What are you doing?” Came a tiny voice followed by a petite yawn.

The pair stopped in mid motion, muscles tensed and minds reeling. Heaving for breath, Lancelot composed himself first. Eyes of five winters blinked blearily as the girl yawned again, watching her fathers. A clockwork bear tucked under her arm that rarely ever left her side, ragged and worn.

“Uhhhh, we were talking, is that not right, Talon?” Lancelot said, expression begging for concurrence.

Blowing wig strands from his mouth, Talon smiled quickly with tension. “Yes, your father and I were just talking, roughly and loudly. What are you doing out of your repose chamber, Zelda?”

“I could not reach sleep. The room is too cold after Regina left.” Answered the child.

Looking to the other, puzzled the pair considered Zelda. “What do you mean your room is too cold?” Ventured Lancelot.

Hugging the bear close, Zelda shrugged. “Regina put me to bed and went out the window, I could not shut it. Who broke the hanging glass
?”

“We are sorting that out. How about Daddy tucks you in and your father can meet me in the kitchen and help clean up the glass?” Talon said with a smile, the heat of conflict making it awkward to present proper subterfuge.

“Sounds like a smashing idea, Daddy. I will give the house a once over to make sure there is no…stray glass.” Replied Lancelot.

Kettle whistled as the steam rocketed free. Lancelot sat slumped at the counter back to the door. Sensing Talon at the doorframe, Lancelot sighed as he poured the boiling water into a teapot that lacked a handle.

“My long rifle is missing.” Lancelot said.

Talon chewed his lip; grateful he did not have to look at the man he accused so recently. “She is tucked in and sealed up. It will not open until morning. Why would Regina take your rifle?”

“I could care less of the firearm. Why did she say we coupled? Even further, why did you believe that nonsense?”

Talon leaned on the opposite counter; regret etched in flesh. “She was in the guest chamber, sleeping with your tunic on.  When confronted she told me that you two had been having a tryst for nearly a month.”

“And of course, with your temper, I see. I would never sleep with the help; it is just crass.” Lancelot said turning to his husband.

“I would not blame you if we parted ways. I have no words to amend what has been done.” Talon said with growing misery.

Sliding to his feet, Lancelot slipped an arm around Talon, edging his husband closer. “I broke a thousand hearts before I gave you mine. I will not take it back any more than I would let you throw out this teapot.  Let us have tea, and then sort out this enigma that Regina has woven.”

“When I get my hands on that bitch…” Talon started, massive muscles tensing. Glancing at the teapot, the man leaned Lancelot upon his shoulder calming slowly.

“I was so nervous that night. It felt as it the world was ending in slowest most hideous way. I was late for our first viewing.” Talon said with a wince.

Pouring a cup Lancelot passed it to Talon with a reassuring smile. “The attendees were awful at that café! Two men is service to the King and they somehow managed to run out of tarts when already paid for?”

“I was so tense; I broke the handle off the teapot.” Talon said nearly laughing at the memory.

“What ever happened to the handle?” Lancelot asked as he had so many times before.

Taking his husband’s hand in his own, turning it over before raising the hand to his lips. Kissing the bonding band of silver smelted and forged from the handle of the pot, Talon’s eyes never left Lancelot’s, leaving him feeling renewed and balanced.

“It is somewhere safe.” Came the answer as always.

Finishing tea the pair rousted the servants from their guest house and proceeded to the study knowing the help would ask no questions as was tradition until the dawn.

“She has my long gun. What events are happening this evening?” Lancelot asked.

Talon rolled his eyes, “You jest? It is Baroon Uncle to the King’s birthday. We were invited to attend the event by the Seneschal. I was not going to go because I am no good with nobility and would be easy prey for the Seneschal.”

“There is no love lost between he and I either, yet…” Lancelot mused.

Snapping to his feet, Lancelot’s mind reeled. “We have to get to that party!”

Tea forgotten as the pair made their way from the lavish house to the stables. “Which one are we taking? I like Strider.” Talon said, donning a pair of goggles.

“She takes too long to warm up, we are taking Bruce.”

Making a face Talon gripped a sheet cloth and yanked it free, stirring dust from the old chariot. “I think you are being too nostalgic about this, Lance.”

Clucking his tongue, Lancelot led a massive steel laden horse from its stall. The whine of steam wisped from its ears. Muscle met gear as steel hooves clanged on the floor of the stables.  Patting the flanks of the steed, Lance grinned as the horse’s eyes flashed from red to green. “So, call me old fashioned. All styles have retroactivity. Let us be off in the name of Norsica.”

Dashing through the streets of the industrialized Oculus, Lance felt the chill of the air and danger brewing.  Carts maneuvered out of the way, yet the road grew clogged with carriage and pedestrians. Cursing, Lance made a rude gesture at a man on a smaller, faster, mechanical horse.

“Toll house ahead! Light the authority lantern, we could use the short cut.” Barked Lancelot, already angling the chariot towards the structure.

Bearing down on the wooden structure the man sitting on the roof nervously gripped the handle as Talon lit the golden light on the lamp. The flickering flame signaling the man on top of the house. Yanking the lever, gears trundled, rope and pulley whined as the house split open, folding on itself by panels. A woman cried out as she was forced to move the kitchen table before it was run over by the colossal mechanical horse.

Beyond the house led into an alley, steel hooves sparking off cobble stone. Picking up speed as the road dipped. Talon clutched the railing standing over his husband.

“How do you know she is out to kill the King?” Talon asked.

Unable to resist, Lancelot maneuvered himself to rest his back against the chest of his husband. “She kills him using my rifle, leaves the rifle. Everyone knows my gun. She shoots and wounds him. Proves that we are inadequate, the Seneschal has us replaced with guards of his recommendation. She gets caught; she is under my employ. Too few reasons not to make the attempt.”

“And the irony to consider. The Seneschal planted her in our laps. Such a slap in the face once realized.” Added Talon.

Gritting his teeth, Lancelot spurred the horse on, “Precisely.”

Ferrell the Farmer 13

Episode 7 Part 1

*** ** **

Rothman did his best not to leer as he sat naked with Lady Dana in the luxurious steam bath house. She was an exotic beauty, one of the last Silvians that had not been murdered by the Empire. They were a peaceful people, founders of many a philosophy and profound wanderers. Leaning back on the warm marble bench the bard considered the Lady. “So ye have heard from me. How did ye meet de’ farmer?” Rothman asked casually.

Lady Dana’s eyes darted to the ceiling, steam swirling above. Her voice wavering, growing tight. “I am to mentor the prince today and you would desire to sink my heart? Almost nightly I weep for that man, be it one tear or a glass worth.”

Knitting his brows, Rothman felt for his student. “A good bard kin change their heart in less thn’ a breath.”

Wiping at her eye, Dana nodded accepting the challenge. “That is a skill I hope to never master easily.”

*** *** **

The capital of Silvia being overrun and burning reflected in the bard’s eyes. Cannons snapped, finally toppling the massive statue of King Tristan the Even Handed. Plumes of smoke clogged the air as libraries and factories burned. Below, grey uniformed men swept the streets like rats piling up and dragging down the golems animated to protect the city one at a time.

Lady Dana found her eyes dry; she had used her tears up weeks ago at the news of her brother’s death as he and hundreds of others tried to defend the outer cities. All that remained was resignation of what was inevitable. The Nosican king refused to reinforce the Undying Emperor but allowed the Empire’s armies through his land, directly into the weakest point of Silvia to the west.  Turning away from the scene the bard faced her captor. It had been easy work to convince him that she was no threat, so shackle and binding were not required. They were already so high up that escape would only end in her death anyways.

Captain Tills of the air ship Wave Dodger skirted the city, working the wheel to veer away. Pausing to pack more Grak into the side of his mouth, Tills spit expertly over the side of the medium sized ship. “We are wastin’ time they never leave anything behind worth looting.” Complained, the first mate to the Captain.

Adjusting his belt under his gut the captain muttered, “Aye, we got our prize already. Set a course for the Tower, three fourths ahead.”

The Captain was keen enough to set to men ready to seize the bard as the order was given louder for all to here. “Set spans for the Tower, three fourths ahead!”

Holding up a hand to show she was not going to leap off the side, the bard set her gaze coolly on Captain Tills. “How much?” Dana asked simply as she straightened her tunic.

Tills averted his gaze in shame as the helmsman took the grand wheel. “Half your weight in platinum. You will receive every luxury my humble crew can provide and I swear you will arrive with your virtues intact.”

Staring a hole through the captain, Lady Dana stopped herself from snorting. “Not that it would matter after the visit to that cursed place. My thanks Captain Tills.” The last of her statement dripping with sarcasm.

Whipping his head up, Tills lumbered closer to the bard his breath reeking of cheap Grak. “I have done all I can. A man does what he needs, to keep on.”

Turning on her heel, Lady Dana walked the deck away from the Captain. “Sooner or later the litany of the Emperor will come for you. By his own words. What I create is good. That which bends to me is favored. That which serves survives. The rest is clay to mold or discard.”

Pausing at the entrance to the cabin areas, the bard shook her head in pity for the Captain. “How does it feel to have the same value as clay?”

Tills refused to look her way, spitting over the side of the ship as he pretended to busy himself with other matters, checking the rigging and issuing orders.

*** ** **

The Captain had altered the course, choosing a black route. Air pirates often used the gale winds near the mountain tops to gain speed and surprise slower ships from above. It seemed her words inspired guilt in the man and he chose to get the matter over with as quickly as possible. They were still eight days out but the maneuver and route cut off at least three. It also brought more concern as talk among the crew grew quieter and horror stories were passed about.

They were uncomfortably close to the lands of Unseen. The murderous creatures had holed out a section of the Empire’s western border. All attempts to contact the creatures received no response as the messengers never came back from the mist riddled forests and mountains save for one. Even that sole survivor died from infection after they cut his eyes out. They used the severed heads and stripped skins of less fortunate men to mark the bounds of their lands. What they even looked like was up for debate as well, no one could say with certainty. Other than they were tall, fast and did like to be seen.

In her cabin Lady Dana checked through her satchel. A few maps that could only be read in various lights, a compass and her quills. They had taken her books likely to sell them on the Dark Market. Scooting her bed, the bard began to paw at the floor, knocking softly. Pirates and smugglers did not even trust their own so there was a good bet something of use was hidden in the room even from the master of the ship, Captain Tills.

Noting a drain grate under the tub, the bard would deal with that later and kept searching. Her efforts were finally rewarded after tapping a knothole in the wood grain at bed height were the original comforter was placed. Whistling as she pulled a double shot Javin black powder pistol from the small compartment. The gold plated inlay of a snarling, wingless dragon, wrapping around the brown hickory. This was quite a beauty, its light weight obviously from being mixed with star metal unlike the bulky rifles the dwarves used. This was a gentleman’s weapon for display but it appeared serviceable. Slipping the pistol in her bag, Lady Dana set about removing the bolts that held the tub to the wooden floor.

The rivets were loose from some service in the past that involved pulling them out, making her task almost too easy.  Pulling the grate gingerly, the sound of the steam engine chugging grew louder. Slipping into the hole, her hands and knees soaking with rotted sludge and trickling water. She did not bother replacing the grate, the tub was out of the way and it would just be wasted time on subterfuge.

Measuring her crawl, the bard counted mentally paces; falling back on Waldo Zyke’s lector on airships from nearly three seasons ago. Save for the Javin and Dwarven blimps, most airships were pretty much the same according to the scholar. On the side of the tube lay a circular hatch. Working the wheel of the hatch she found she had to adjust and use her leg muscles to work it open. The stench was deep and Dana did not want to imagine what was in the sludge. Slipping out with a good deal of water and waste, the bard looked at her hands with distaste not using them to fix her hair as was habit.

The head engineer snoozed, bottle of rum in his lap the harmony of the piston steam engine music to his ears her presence undetected. Slipping past the man Dana considered the engine. Now the choice; was she to die causing the ship to crash into a mountain or be torn apart by the nearly unknown? Taking up a steel wrench she tossed it into the gears leading to the engine on what she thought was the port side. The steel met greased brass, gears locked as ship veered sharply to right.

Chiding herself Dana forgot all movement starts from the stern. Instead of the mountain she sent the ship into the territory of the Unseen…

Ascension’s Requiem (Demo)

*Apparently there is interest in my hand at space opera. So here ya go. More Farmer later.*

Falling with Claudia I had to shut my eyes as the rush of reconstituted air forcefully assaulted my eyes. Plus, what she was doing was calculated insanity and I certainly did not want to witness the possible error. I could only imagine what was going on in her processors. The descent slowed as her legs tensed, clattering along something metal skidding to a diagonal stop.

Chancing a look, I could see the expanse of the impound port going down as far the eye could see. In a normal station there would be the hustle and bustle of ships coming and going. This was an impound ring, no traffic going out unless you had deep pockets.

Claudia held on to me like a piece of cheap luggage, her other hand holding on to a hose of one of the magnetic impound claws. Glancing down at me, her lips twitched into a thin smile, “Ready?”

Shaking my head, “No- not really.” trying to puzzle out what she had in mind as my lungs worked in overtime to catch my breath.

With a wink the android hurled me seemingly without effort out horizontally towards the center of the impound ring. Flailing, I try to form a scream as Claudia launches herself after my falling body. Slipping her arms around me, she giggled in my ear as our bodies twisted around the other. The hull of the ship went into vertigo as the android contorted her body to protect me from the impact. Arms closing over my head, knees tucked under my hips, rolling perfectly along the top of my ship. Finally, we come to a stop with me on top, my face buried in the expanse of her chest. The texture of her ‘skin’ was very uncanny valley. It almost felt human. Almost.

Arching her back slightly, Claudia gazed towards the rail we originally took the plunge from. “Was it as good for you as it was for me?” She asked teasingly.

Placing a hand on her chest I pushed myself off and lay face down on the deck. The cool metal doing little to calm my hammering heart. “I…next time we are taking the stairs.” I didn’t have to see her to know Claudia was pouting. “I keep hearing about how humans have a sense of adventure. What happened to yours?”

Staggering to my feet, I field my automatic response. “We have gone over this a dozen times already. Adventurous humans-“

“Get deported back to Earth.” Claudia completed my statement with a mirthless huff. “But you are a-“

“Don’t” I snap. “Just don’t.” My cheeks flushing with a mix of anger and embarrassment.

Looking around the android whispered loudly, “You are an Aldrin. You come from a line of risk takers.” Her eyes dilated until the striking green was overtaken by black. “And judging by the reaction in your pants, the fall was thrilling.”

Snapping my long coat closed, I stamped my foot. “Get in the ship.”

Claudia shrugged and sauntered by with a mock airy sigh. “Right away, Captain Aldrin.”
********** **********
Settling in behind the controls, I open a channel to the station listening for news on the emergency. Claudia busied herself checking the ship systems, “When are we going to trade this ship in?” She inquired, instigating one of her favorite rituals.

Rolling my eyes, I play along. “I inherited this ship. She handles fine, never for a lack of fuel. Did you have your eye on some other junk pile?”

Pointing out the viewport, “How about that one? The cozy looking blue box.” She replied moving her eyebrows suggestively.

Squinting at the tiny craft, “Leave it to the Manks to impound an escape pod. Look at those view ports on the side. So tiny and impractical.”

Shrugging her shoulders, “It is probably bigger on the inside. Still, that blue is eye catching.”

“Makes me wonder what luxury liner it came from.”

The comm crackled dragging my attention back to the task at hand. ‘Begin evacuation of the station. All personnel and patrons are required to proceed to the nearest vessel. This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!’

Level by level the docking ring of impounded ships lit up as clamps unlocked. Dozens of turbo lifts began to move as the station began to evacuate. Claudia brought up a schematic of the ship, the all too familiar metal box on long legged tripod thrusters flashed on the screen. “Core is online. Thrusters are hot.” Drawing out the last word and batting her eyelashes.

Taking the controls, I whistled at the growing space traffic. Several near collisions occur as ships jockey to achieve escape velocity. “Someone is going to lose it and start blasting their way out.”

On cue a Crux saucer opens fire on a much bulkier K’Tar hauler, rapid bursts of heavy laser fire nearly cutting the vessel in half.

The android clucked her tongue, “I am getting readings all over the station. Every panic button has been activated. Look out!”

The resulting explosion turned the rest of the docking ring into a space version of the iconic saloon brawl. Ships bounced off each other due to raised shields and deflectors. Repulsors flared, rail cannons soundlessly fired. Long streams of disruptor fire lit the darkening ring of the station. Slamming the thrusters forward I rolled the ship in a starboard direction as plasma bursts raked the sections of dock the ship occupied seconds ago.

Claudia worked quickly on the console, “Shields are up!” A squealing navigation droid impacted off the shields at our viewport as it ejected from a small fighter. “What are we going to do, Brett?”

Racing the ship along the ring of the station, giving any attackers a limited attack scope as I flicked a switch. “Time to do what humans do best; piss everyone else off. Seismic charge armed, launch!”

My ship didn’t carry any weapons, its design was for busting asteroids and mining the smaller pieces for fuel. The released canister flipped through space and detonated in an orange ring of sonic particles. The generated force knocked several combative ships into each other. Punching the accelerator, I angled the ship to the now clear path.

With the path of panicked destruction fading to our backs, I guided the ship towards the nearest slip gate. Only to find it was already activated as a phallus shaped Mank heavy cruiser spilled out already launching fighters. Everyone’s favorite race of law enforcement had arrived…

Picking up speed and barrel rolling to the port side, we clipped one of the Mank unmanned drone fighters sending it spiraling out of control. The comm chimed politely, Claudia smirked. “They are hailing us.”

Pushing the reply option on the console. “This is the Ice Breaker; how can we be of assistance?”

A short humanoid face appeared on the screen. Typical Mank, it was more grey hair than face. Its large crooked nose tattooed with warts snorted. Beady deep set black eyes peered unamused back at me. “This is Commander Slen-Bak-Tu. You will power your ship down and prepare to be boarded.”

“We aren’t a part of the mess going on behind us.”

“I will not ask again!”

I nod holding my hands up. “Ok. Ok. You win. Just give me a second.”

Claudia posed her face to portray a disgusted look as I cut the channel closed. “Just like that? You are going to just let those as you call them ‘space dwarves’ walk all over you, again?”
Closing my eyes, I let out a long breath. Claudia was right. I already owed an outrageous sum to them. They would just impound the ship again and I would be deported to a place I have never even seen.

Glancing over to my companion knowing her look never wavered. I guided the ship into docking range with the heavy cruiser, a cluster of ion cannons already trained on my ship. At five meters from the docking port I kicked the accelerator into over drive, rocketing my ship towards the still open slip gate.
The android flickered an expression of shock as we sped along the body of the cruiser, the guns rapidly training on us. The first ion bolts began to work over the rear shields, a price I was willing to pay. Once we reached the gate we were home free…

The ship rocked under the firepower of the heavy cannons, panels blew out in a shower of smokeless sparks. The displays on the console sputtered and died as the ship lost control, tumbling end over end as we entered the slip gate.

“Oh, fuck me.” I cursed as the view port went from the blackness of space to the milky white of the slip stream.

“Not now.” Claudia replied clutching the arm rests of her chair.

Well that was a first.

Ferrell the Farmer 6

Episode 6 part 1

Lady Dana pulled back from the hug she gave Rothman. “You are a sight for sore eyes. Welcome to Edina, Kingdom of the rolling sands.”

Rothman smiled, ruffling the short hair of the female bard.  The trek to find her had taken nearly a month. “Still sportin’ that boy cut I sees. No exactly laying low I see.  Mingling wit’ nobles no less!”

Lady Dana turned to the railing of the massive town ship watching the sunset as she began to fix her hair, “Edina values scholarship. They need good, keen minds to keep their population growing or their air ships flying and sailing the desert.”

Frowning, Rothman joined Lady Dana at the railing watching the dunes shift below. “The Empire has taken a pair of these flying ships. They be working round the day in an’ out to make ‘ore.”

Shaking her head Lady Dana let the last rays of the sun dance on her face, “I have heard the same. They enlisted the help of the Dwarves who are just as at a loss as the Empire. Simply put they are asking the wrong race. So, what brings my favorite mentor to this grand place?”

Setting down his pack, Rothman piled through it, pulling a stack of papers. Watching her reaction as he tried to hand them to her as he spoke.  “Yer farmer friend be alive. It appears ye gonna have to change yer song about ‘im.”

Hearing the news Dana’s hand went to her heart, clasping the other over it as she took in a joyous breath. Silently thanking the gods, the bard hugged Rothman again. “I will gladly change it! I was so worried for him.”

Rothman grew insistent, “We need to talk of him. Tings of import. How did ye meet the farmer?”

Lady Dana felt her heart slide into sadness, “I did not meet the farmer. I met a man so rooted in grief even the mightiest of the gods could not move him. -I call for protocol. You came to see me and that means you tell me what you have seen, first.”

Settling in a deck chair Rothman pulled at his beard. “Ye be right. See, I just escaped the custody of two of the most imbecilic brigands I ever lay eyes on. Convincing dem to take me safely north in return for plans to rob a silver mine near the border of Swenton…”

** ** ** *

The farmer woke, head aching, body stiff from sleeping at the table. Nursing a tankard of water, Ferrell looked about bleary eyed. “Rothman?”

Silence greeted the farmer, spinning the map on the table he read the words the bard had left. Rolling up the map, the farmer shook his head, immediately regretting the gesture. Draining more water, the farmer set about creating a meal of pork and sliced apples. Bosco bounded up, leaping up on the table, “The bard left?” The kobold asked.

Shrugging, the farmer sighed. “Bards do that. They come and go.”

Wringing its tiny talon laden fingers together. Bosco watched the farmer. “Good. Now we can come out?”

Attempting not to nod, the farmer stretched. “Get some sun. We got chores to do.”

Checking the wall inside the pantry the farmer noted a series of strings were slack in the elaborate network. Someone or something was on his property and triggered the series of bells he slept through. The orchard. Considering the season and timing, it could only be one cause. She had returned and ready for more. Cranking open a chest the farmer donned a heavy leather and hay filled vest. Taking up padded mitts and placing them over his hands, a smile reached his lips. Not all intruders were unwelcome…

*** ** ***

Ferrell watched the large growing hands move, ‘More!’ the hands signaled.

Nodding, Ferrell stuffed more bundled hay into the protective vest he made for the exercise. “Alright then. Hands up. Good.”

Swinging a slow fist at his opponent, Ferrell continued his instruction. “Back step left. Back step right.  Lean left, snap the right! Perfect! Again! Watch your feet, shift right.”

A large fist beat against the cotton and hay stuffed mitt covering his hand. “Again! Faster! Harder! Faster. Twist right, go left.”

Throwing a series of strikes the farmer watched his slightly smaller opponent duck and weave and finally take the opening provided. A fist slammed into Ferrell’s padded chest sending the farmer down on his back, stars littering his vision.

The pig nosed creature loomed over the farmer, its eyes glittering in delight and success.  Its stubby fingers twisted forming into signals. ‘Win. I win. Is good.’

Groaning the farmer sat up before getting to his feet knowing the growing orc wouldn’t help him, it was not their way.  Blinking rapidly. “Yes. You are doing well. You mother would disapprove you being here, regardless.”

‘She does not. In quiet. In tribe yes. Very loud.’

Ferrell had learned that orcs could indeed understand human speech, it was just too whiny and distracting for them to warrant a reply in speech. Too much talking not enough fighting. Those that spoke the human languages were the lowest of the low in the tribes, right up there with cripples and the insane.

Uncovering a basket of apples, the farmer stood aside as the female orc tore into them with reckless abandon. “You did really well today, you will be gaining scars in no time.”

‘Good Apple Man.’

Chuckling Ferrell looked at the stance and boxing charts he had hung around the barn. “I do try, Gnat.”

Ferrell had saved the orc from a pair of heroic opportunists and the little one kept sneaking back for apples ever since. She caught the farmer shadow boxing a few times and started using the moves to bash the trees to shake loose apples she could not reach. Gnat grew, yet not as fast as the books say she should and was of the age were dominance battles began to happen.

She was faster than the average orc so the farmer only added to it with teaching fisticuffs or at least the basics. It had caused quite a stir already. Of the fights he could translate she had won eight out of nine. Losses were never talked about but amount of fights was always up for display.  Orcs did not bob, weave, duck, jab, or continuously use fists. They were more prone to biting, clawing, grappling and utterly breaking their opponents.

Gnat paused from her gorging, ears flittering and centering on sound. Tiny eyes falling to slits as the orc grew agitated. ‘Danger.’ Stubby fingers said to the farmer. Taking up the loaded crossbow, Ferrell nodded.  Checking the door to the barn, the farmer saw two men on horseback draped in ponchos of oil canvas and masks over the lower parts of their faces wheeling their horses about obviously upset.

The larger of the two yelled, “Rothman! We know you are here, come out. We demand explanation!”

Measuring the odds, the farmer found them in his favor; speaking to Gnat. “Stay here. I will make them go away.”

Gnat stamped a foot, drawing it back slowly as her fingers worked in signal. ‘Fight. Want fight.’

Quickly finding a middle ground Ferrell tensed. “Stay here and protect me if I get attacked.”

‘I will do this.’

Stepping out of the barn the farmer closed the doors with the rear of his foot. Facing off with the two highwaymen the farmer felt a chill over his bones. “He is not here. Why do you want him?”

The smaller one piped up, “That be our business. Think you can take us with a single shot crossbow?”

Kicking a tuff of hay outside the barn, the motion planted another crossbow in Ferrell’s off hand. “I got one for each of you. Now, state your business with my friend who is not hear to defend himself.”

The pair looked to the other before slowly raising their hands in surrender. Ferrell felt his eye twitch, “Put your horses in the barn. One at a time.”  Gnat could use the practice…

 

Farrell the Farmer

Episode 6 Part 2

The pair huddled in the far side of the barn as Gnat snorted and paced. Daring them to try and get passed her. Ferrell tossed the orc an apple after setting down one of the crossbows. “Alright then. Let us start off with who you are and why you are looking for my friend.” Taking a seat on a closed barrel the farmer laid the crossbow on his lap, still pointed at the two.

The smaller bandit pointed at the orc, fearfully. “You have a pet orc?”

Ferrell winced as Gnat stopped in mid chew. Slowly turning to the smaller bandit, the orc snarled, hands working rapidly. ‘Stupid female human I eat your face!’

The larger bandit showed a bit more courage, putting himself between the two. Pulling down the mask showing ugly black gapped teeth, the man balled his fists. “Don’t you dare cast on…him! You’ll have to go through me first! You green skinned-“

The bandit never finished the sentence as Gnat hit the man in the stomach and clubbed him behind the ear dropping the man like a sack of wet mud. Ferrell hung his head, voice tired already. “Gnat that is enough. You two will start talking or my friend is going to be really upset.”

Holding his stomach lower torso, the larger bandit groaned. “Just keep that magic using orc back.”

It was the smaller man’s turn to shield the fallen bandit. His voice pitched high, scared and obviously very young. “I’m Blane and this is my brother, Ced’ric! We have business with Herr Rothman.”

Gnat snorted and kicked loose straw on the fallen man before padding away back to Ferrell. ‘Stupid female human. Want hit it.’

The farmer signed back to the orc, correcting Gnat curiously. ‘Is male child.’

‘Female.’

Giving up before he grew frustrated the farmer watched the two once more. “What sort of business? And my friend here can smell it if you are lying.”

Gnat sniffled and narrowed her gaze playing along. Blane swallowed hard, Cedric interrupted angrily.  “Don’t tell him nothing!”

“Unfortunately, you are going to talk one way or the other.” Ferrell reminded the two, patting the crossbow and nodding towards Gnat.

Blane stammered, “Herr Rothman exchanged safe passage north for information on a new silver mine in Swenton. The three of us planned to plunder it and retire rich as lords.”

Arching a brow, the farmer looked amused. “The three of you? Looting an Imperial influenced mine? How?”

Blane huddled his shoulders as Cedric took over, “Rothman had the details. It was his plan. It would be easy, he said.”

Nearly falling off his perch on the barrel Ferrell laughed. “I see!”  Looking to the roof of the barn, the farmer sighed in relief. “I am sorry to say that Rothman was indeed here but left about six days ago.”

“Where?” The two asked at the same time.

Rolling his shoulders in a shrug, the farmer took up his crossbow. “I know not. However, you two have to be dealt with. I do apologize.”

“Please! We can come to an agreement. We won’t tell anyone about this place or your orc friend.  We swear!” Cedric pleaded, putting himself in front of Blane.

Lifting the crossbow Ferrell aimed. “Do not make this any harder than it already is.”

Blane cried, the man on his knees begging.  “Herr Rothman said it would be easy because there were guards for the slaves but not as many to protect the silver when it was on the move.”

“Slaves? From where?” Ferrell asked, his mind trying to sort this out. The Empire did not use slavery but it appeared their appeasing allies did?

Cedric took over again, his bluster gone with the wind.  “He did not say. Please good farmer, shoot me and let my brother go.”

Lowering his aim Ferrell took to swirling his thumb though his growing beard. “Where is this mine?”

Blane shut his eyes, awaiting the end. “Near Barrows off the northern pass. As, Herr Rothman said.”

“I know Rothman and you are going to need more than his word.” Ferrell mused.

The pair looked at each other, then Blane brightened. “They are buying dwarven powder from the post at Stringburg. We passed through there when a shipment was heading north. Cost us a whole day till we could be sure the road was clear.”

Giving Gnat a side look, the farmer nodded. “Alright then. Let’s have a peek.”

*** *** **

The four made their way through the rough forest terrain at dawn the next day. Gnat in the lead, carrying the shoddy weapons of the bandits. Blane and Cedric followed with Ferrell crossbow in hand another over his back brought up the rear. The two bandits conversed among themselves in a language only the two could seem to understand. They moved so similar to the farmer it only added questions for the farmer. Gnat stopped, going stock still. The pair nearly bungling into the orc the began to complain only to be silenced by the farmer. Thunder sounded in the distance; the farmer checked the late afternoon sky. Not a cloud to have caused the noise.

Gnat placed her hand on the ground and motioned for the farmer to do the same. Again, the thunder sounded, Ferrell could feel the vibration through the rock faintly. Eyes darting to the crest of the mountain the farmer pushed his way ahead. Grey smoke that smelled of heavy sulfur crawled over the ridge top to meet them. The ridge dropped steeply; the sounds of tools no longer shielded by the mountain side. Dropping to a crawl Ferrell pulled Tetsuo’s long viewer focusing it on the activity below. Men toiled with pick and shovel, clearing freshly blasted rock. Tents ringed in a horseshoe around the site, the green uniforms of Swenton men dotting the milling crowd. Horse drawn wagons were loaded with debris and taken to a make shift on the far left of the camp.

“I count about twenty soldiers, maybe one hundred workers.” The farmer remarked darkly collapsing the long viewer.

Moving along the ridge, the four stopped again at a clearing that could be seen from below. Hastily lashed together wooden beams creaked as the wind picked up, swaying the corpses of three men that hung by the neck from them. Gnat pawed at her snout, ‘Dead man smell bad.’

The two bandits made warding gestures; Cedric removed his hat placing it over his chest. Ferrell frowned as he examined the bodies from the edge of the clearing. No whip marks yet there was a plethora of bruises. Their tattered clothing still hailed where they were from. The farmer looked away bitterly. “They are from the Isles.”

Blane tapped Ferrell on the shoulder point down the way breaking the farmer’s train of thought as ice flooded his veins. Along the main road leading to the site a pair of wagons stalled in the mud of the overworked road. The four made their way down the mountain, hiding in the tree line near the road Ferrell again used the long viewer. “Five guards, twenty prisoners. By all that is unholy…”

Wiping his eye in utter disbelief, the farmer peered through the tube again, centering it a bald man the guards had hauled with a few others to lighten the wagon and push the cheap wagon. Puffing his cheeks, the farmer regained his composure. Looking to Gnat, “Give them their weapons.”

Gnat shook her head rapidly, tensing. ‘No.’

Hefting his crossbow, Ferrell stared at the pair. “Help me free these people. Help me and I will help you steal all the silver you could possibly want.”

Cedric and Blane nodded in unison, the farmer moved his fingers signaling Gnat. ‘Want to fight?’

Slapping a meaty hand in the other, the orc snorted. ‘Yes! Fight now!’

The first wagon lurched, making progress as muscle began to overcome nature. “Then give them their weapons.” Ferrell said again.

Gnat tossed the belted weapons at the bandits harshly. Blane squeaked as his short sword hit him in the chest. “Hey watch it!”

Cedric strapped his sword belt on, watching the wagons as he spoke to Ferrell. “What’s the play?”

One of the guards broke off heading towards the tree line, by the pace he set there could only be one reason. “I guess we let that one come to us first.” Replied the farmer.

Hiding in the brush the quartet waited, the guard whistled tunelessly working the top of his trousers down. Sighing in near ecstasy the man began to relieve himself. Ferrell figured he would wait until the man was done but Gnat had no such scruples.  Breaking cover the orc punched the man in the kidneys, knocking him into a nearby tree.  The wind exited his lungs from the impact, Gnat spun the man to face her a stream of still flowing urine pattering her along the leg. Taking offense to the ‘insult’ the orc worked over the man’s midsection driving the blows deep, twisting the fist at the end of each blow.

The guard managed to sound off a scream before Gnat made stew of his innards. “Shit!” Cedric said knowing all too well the other guards heard the call.

Readying their weapons Ferrell loosed his crossbow, in a rare moment the bolt missed, flying between the pair of guards. Dropping the first the farmer readied the second only to find the bolt had come out somewhere along their wanderings. Loaded but useless. Cursing, Ferrell drew the fallen guard’s blade. Running after the bandits as they broke cover the farmer circumvented the battle as he headed to the wagons.  The prisoners barely held in check by the remaining two guards, “Get back in the wagons or you will hang when this over!”

Spotting Ferrell the remaining guards chose to go after the armed farmer. Ferrell hurled the sword with purpose between the two, and held his hands up in surrender. “I give up! In the name of the Undying Emperor, I yield!”

Confused and angry the guards shouted for him to get on his knees, the prisoners began to scatter trying to make it for the trees. Skilled fingers closed one at a time over the hilt of the fallen sword. Lithe, wiry muscles outlined in ground mud flexed and stretched. A shark like grin played over the bald man’s chapped lips. The sword was rubbish in the man’s opinion but it would have to do. Whistling loudly the bald man tested the eighteen inches of chain the shackled his wrists.

Cedric and Blane struggled with their opponents, the further apart they were from the other the worse things seemed to get for the two. Blane cried out as the bandit took a cut to his off arm. The prisoners making for the trees back peddled as the yells of ‘ORC’ took to the air.

The bald man casually swaggered as the armed guards rushed to meet him. Flicking his sword, he tapped the flat to the charging guard’s blade brushing it wide. Half turning, the bald man bashed a lightning quick elbow into the soldier’s face sending the attacker flying off his feet. The man was grim poetry in motion. Parrying an incoming blow, slapping down another sweeping strike with contempt before slicing through the guard’s neck. Rolling to stand the fallen never got to his feet as the bald man cleaved through the back of his enemy’s head without hesitation. Wrenching the blade free the man’s expression twisted into one of anger upon seeing the farmer.

Unarmed, Ferrell was still kneeling, knowing he would have no chance against the man even if he was armed. The farmer waited, looking the man in the eye without flinching. “Still angry with me, Shamus?”

The duelist said nothing as he wiped the bloodied flat of the stolen sword on the shoulder of Ferrell’s tunic. Flipping the sword Shamus repeated the motion on the farmer’s other side. Glancing back at the two dead soldiers the duelist glowered. “I am still very upset with you, farmer. If I had a few more of these to dance with I might feel better about it.” Shamus fell back into his fake Noskie accent.

Pointing to the beleaguered bandits, Ferrell dared a grin. “As luck would have it…”

*** *** **

Casting the last of the shackles into a pile Ferrell pondered quickly of what to do. Cedric and Blane bore minor wounds but whined continuously. Gnat had all but vanished, the farmer knew she was nearby but chose to hide which she could do rather well. Shamus looked impatiently down the road. “Where is Aideen?” The duelist asked a sliver of hopefulness in his voice.

“I’ll take you to her.” Replied the farmer trying to keep his nerve.

In the end, eight of the twenty chose to remain and scatter to buy time for the others to escape with Ferrell and his band. The night made things tricky as the moon was hidden by the trees and Ferrell was the only one with a lantern. Ferrell coaxed the ragged line to keep moving. He seemed to know the way when in reality the farmer was following apple cores the orc was leaving behind.

Reaching the farm stead at the false dawn, Ferrell led Shamus to Aideen’s grave at the opening of the apple orchard. Shamus grew rigid sword tumbling from his fingers.  Collapsing to his knees the duelist murmured, tears streaming in muddy stripes. “No, no, no. Me friend. Me friend! How?”

Clawing at the ground Shamus howled, trying to dig at the grave. Ferrell struggled to restrain the duelist from behind. Shaking the duelist’s lithe form wracked with sobs. “How kin dis be?”

“She was murdered by soldiers of the Empire nine years ago.” Ferrell said his voice growing uneven with renewed grief.

“Why?”

“I know not. You need rest, we will sort this out. I swear it.”

Tear blurred eyes fell to the sword on the ground. Grief turned to rage, “De’ Empire did this? I see a grey uniform I kill de’ man wearing it.” Shamus vowed.

*** *** **

Ferrell listened to the news of the Isles from the escapees. Economic growth had risen so much those of the Isles looked to settle unclaimed land to the north. For two winters the land prospered then in the spring an army bearing no colors composed of mercenaries swept through the land using Empire weapons. Capturing the small villages and seizing nearly impenetrable port cove. Eight cycles after Aideen’s murder.

A man named Foster anointed himself as King and immediately allied with the Empire. From there the King attacked the Pyrat navy only to be humbled by the swift ships and seasoned sailors of the Isle people. The King of Swenton enlisted the help of the Dwarves who were always happy to serve the highest bidder made odd machines to traverse the sea in winter. Every year the contraptions got closer and of better make.

This year spring had come early, a stroke of luck for the Isle people as cluster of steel vehicles could be seen from the shore. They moved without the pulling power of horses and belched black smoke. The ice gave way sending every single machine to the bottom of the bay. The Emerald Queen ordered two of the outermost islands to be stripped being made into large shipyards. Every man, woman, child was to undergo military training. Six of the thirteen flotilla communities were broken up to increase the size of the Pyrat navy.

Due to Swenton’s numerous failures the Empire taxed the life out of the small kingdom. Demanding tributes of iron and silver to the point where Swenton’s people were merely slaves without chains.

Putting the escaped prisoners up in the remains of the fort, Ferrell pondered what to do, it would be an easy matter for Swenton to cross the border looking for the Pyrats. He would have to act fast…

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 6

Episode 5 part 11

Aideen pleaded with the large man in front of her. “Ye be great, never a question. I spen’ many a night recalling yer fights when I was wee. Jus’ let this one go. Please, brother.”

The mountain of a man considered his younger sister. Scar tissue on his forehead grew tight, his voice deep as any giant of seven feet. “It is me duty to fulfill the contest, just as it is for yer suitor.”

“His name be, Ferrell.” Aideen snapped defensively.

Working a set of tongs, the massive blacksmith checked the steel rod in the furnace. “I make it quick, ye’ah see. Ye thank me fer it dow’ the road.”

Stamping her foot, Aideen fumed. “I be thanking’ ye now if ye just’ walk away!”

Settling on an overly large stool, the giant checked his cup. Seeing it was empty the man groaned. “If ye liked women like I hoped ya would dis no’ah be an issue. Even if she ‘as from the Em’pire. I have me own problems to mull over, larger den a fight with a mere farmer.”

** *** **

Xavier stood at the foot of the bed Ferrell was resting upon. The farmer stared at the ceiling; uninjured arm draped over his stomach wound. Pulling up a wobbly chair next to Ferrell the Captain sat down, his brow heavy with concern.

“Hagen Ryan has his own problems. Used to be a brawling champion turned avid gambler. Too bad he is no good at the latter.  He is in some serious debt to rather nasty people. Word is the delegates are willing to pay the difference if he puts you down. Cutting the Empire out of the trade picture for at least a pair of  solar cycles. No one likes to trade with losers.” Explained the Captain, watching his cousin.

Slowly checking the sealed wound on his stomach, the farmer hissed in dulled pain. “Guess I will have to win that brawl then.”

Xavier debated continuing, the need to succeed battled with what little conscience he had left. Against all sense his conscience armed itself with guilt and words spilled out. “I did a little tree shaking and something unexpected fell out.”

Focusing on Xavier the farmer frowned deeply. “What do you mean, Xavier?”

The scoundrel captain winced, failing to brush off the question as usual. “He is on a permanent regiment of willow root. For his head.”

Ferrell stiffly sat up, flexing his injured hand. “I could use some of that now. Why for his head? You are being oddly specific, Cousin.”

Lending a shoulder Xavier helped Ferrell ease into a sitting position. “He’s brawled for years. One too many shots to the head, the healers have warned him in the past a decent strike there could kill him or leave him without use of his arms or legs. Still he is as stubborn as you are and refuses to quit. This could be good for us; he has a secret that we now know. I suggest we use it.”

Touching the stitches under his jaw, Ferrell replied. “I am not killing that man.”

Snapping to his feet Xavier paced at the foot of the bed once again. Face distraught with anger. “Damn the man! Save the Empire! You have four days to rest when the healers say you need at least fourteen.”

Ferrell painfully reached for a cup of water on the stand next to the bed, “I will not kill that man.”

Xavier surged towards Ferrell, clamping hand over the top of the cup staring his cousin in the eyes. “You might not have a choice.” Releasing the grip the Captain straightened out his uniform.

*** ** ***

Xavier left the Wilson’s abode, noting the crowd growing in the front of the property. Abbey Dunn was telling the farming community all about the fight she witnessed between Ferrell and Shamus as the sun set behind her.  That and she was still missing seven pigs. Ren Wilson sat in a chair on the front porch with the prostitutes from the carriage, one on each lap. Each taking turns whispering dirty deeds and invitations to the elderly hero, giggling the whole time.

“Well I be no satyr in spring ‘dese days but the invitation has appeal.” Ren said with an amused smile.

Spotting Xavier walking away from the house, Ren quickly payed the two a coin a piece. Urging them up with a pat on the rump. “Me thanks fer gettin’ Ferrell here safely. Now if ye kin excuse me I have’ a man to talk to about a dog.”

Calling to the Imperial, Ren strode to catch up with Xavier. “Captain. A word if ye please.”

Slowing, Xavier sighed, waiting miserably. “What can I do for you, Captain Wilson?”

The air had grown cold enough for breath to be seen, Ren peered at the stressed Imperial. “How did ye fall?”

Flicking invisible lint off his sleeve, Xavier muttered. “What are you talking about?”

Ren Wilson hefted his tankard, sipping the contents before offering it to Xavier. “Yer’ drowning in lies an’ schemes. How that come to be?”

Accepting the container, the Imperial took a heavy pull of the tankard. “You think I wanted it this way? I did it to stall the inevitable. I have seen good people put to the sword and noose for resisting the Emperor’s word. Lands that no longer exist because they angered him. I did this to save this place.”

Silence passed between the two, Ren taking back the tankard, sipping at it again. “Everything dies eventually. Ye did it because ye knew what he be doing is wrong but you no’ah wanted to face ‘im.”

Wiping at an eye Xavier felt too tired to get angry again, “He is going to come here one day with his armies and wipe this place out. The survivors will be peacefully cowed and complacent. Just like Ferrell.”

Ren’s lips creased downwards as Xavier went on. “All his life people have called him simple. Just a farmer. Until that is all he wanted to be, it is his purpose of being. To dutifully serve the Empire in a singular role. Now look at what my bringing him here has done.”

“Even simple folk kin ‘ave dreams, Captain. Tis why yer Emperor kin no truly win.” Ren again offered the tankard only to have the Imperial turn his back to the elderly man.

“Yet the complicated man has the nightmares. Where is the justice in that?” Xavier replied bitterly, ending the conversation by walking away.

*** *** **

Abigail grunted tightening the wrappings over Ferrell’s hands as the two sat in a small wooden alcove of the live stock center. Reminding the farmer of the rules as she worked on Ferrell. “Three ways ye kin win, Ferrell. One, knock yer opponent out. Knock ‘em down for a count of ten. Or toss ‘im out the box for a count of ten. No rules on blows, the only law is the bell. It rings ye stop.”

Adjusting the bandages Abigail covered them with strips of red cloth around his stomach. “If he sees ya bleeding he is going to target it. Dis should ‘elp a wee bit.”

Ferrell felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as the roar of the crowd grew. “What are my chances?” The farmer asked, trying to keep Abigail talking; it helped with his nerves.

“I wouldna go toe to toe. Hagen be slow, if he git his hands on ye it be quick. So be quick, use yer feet, tire ‘im out.” The hero replied, leaning forward kissing Ferrell’s wrapped hands and then his forehead. “Fer luck.”

The crowd booed as Ferrell was escorted to the wooden walled ring. The place was packed with rows upon rows of spectators. Torch light was spread to illuminate the ring with angled reflective metals. The Baroness’s balcony box was dark but the farmer could make out the outlines of occupancy. Wondering if Aideen was hidden in the shadows of the box, part a head of rotted cabbage bounced off the farmer’s shoulder bringing him back to the affair at hand.

Xavier sat in the front row with many of the opposing delegates, listening to their jeers. They apparently sat on Ferrell’s side because they would not be able to see around Hagen if they took seats on the champions side. The crowd parted as joyous cries erupted, announcing Hagen’s arrival. The monster of a man flexed, shaking hands his beard had been shaved off, head coated with tattoos of black flames.  Where Ferrell had to be let into the ring by a gate, Hagen straddled the wooden wall before stepping over it.

Settling in his corner, the fence groaned from the weight of the man as he sloppily kissed a female fan.  Turning an eye towards Ferrell as the hammer met bell the giant was on the move immediately. The farmer padded forward to meet Hagen in the center. Hagen bellowed freezing Ferrell in place with the sudden yell. With a ham hock palm the brawler slammed it into the center of Ferrell’s chest lifting the smaller man off his feet.

Playing to the crowd the giant held up a finger as the crowd began to count. ‘One!’ ‘Two!’

The farmer sucked wind, rolling to his feet at the count of four. Hagen half turned when Ferrell punched the man in the side. Back stepping from the return blow, Ferrell hit the same spot, the big man leaning into the blow tensing muscles to absorb the hit. A massive boot stomped forward planting itself in the farmer’s stomach sending him into the wood railing. Instinctively Ferrell moved as the follow up fist shattered a plant of the fence.

Twisting around Hagen, the farmer lined up a punch to the bent man’s head before balking at the action. The hesitation cost the farmer as Hagen grabbed Ferrell in a crushing hug. Ferrell’s back popped as the man shifted the farmer around like a rag doll. Managing to slip and arm free Ferrell jabbed the blacksmith in the eye with a finger. Dropping the farmer, the former champion held his eye, Ferrell kicked the man behind the knee.  The bell clanked, Hagen trying to get at the farmer was barely held in check by a pair of guards that hopped the wall to break the two up.

Slumping on the stool, holding his chest Ferrell felt like he was breathing fire. Abigail cleaned Ferrell’s face with a wet rag. “No ‘ah bad. Ye need to loosen up, yer workin too stiff. Hit’em in the face.”

“I can’t. I can’t hit him in the head.”  Ferrell replied taking a gulp of water.

“Why not? No like he gonna git uglier.”

Taking another gulp, “He has Bucket Head.”

Focusing on Hagen the elder nodded. “I understand. There be something wrong with his right foot. He favored it after the kick he put on ye. Suggest ye investigate it.”

With the call of the bell the two engaged again, Ferrell worked his feet staying ahead of Hagen, ducking and coming in, working the body of the massive man. Hooking a punch towards Hagen’s chest the blacksmith blocked it allowing Ferrell to step in and stamp on the top of the former champion’s foot. Hagen howled as the ingrown toenail of his large toe burst.  Seizing the farmer with almost inhuman strength, the blacksmith raised the smaller man overhead and pitched him into the crowd!

Crashing into a group of patrons, the farmer held his ribs, arms, legs and curses tangled about him. Hagen paced in a pained tight circle calling for the count to start. With the help of the angry crowd Ferrell was hauled to his feet and tossed back in as the count reached eight. The rest of the round the farmer did his best to fall well as Hagen punished him. Ferrell let his hands drop as Hagen’s fist eclipsed the farmers face. The world blurred, spinning as if one had too many bottles of wine. Ferrell staggered, his knees buckling.

The Imperial captain bolted to his feet, checking the sand timer the bell bearer had next to him. It was almost out but Ferrell had just gone down. The time keeper raised the hammer towards the bell eyes going to the falling sand. The crowd began to count. Gritting his teeth, as the count reached seven but the sands had more to pour as Xavier acted. Sneezing the Imperial Captain ‘accidently’ bumped into the time keeper, causing the hammer to strike the bell. The crowd roared it disapproval as the count was broken. Spinning on Xavier the time keeper began yelling angrily. Putting out his hands Xavier kept the man distracted until he was certain the sand had run out before backing away.

Abigail hauled the nearly unconscious farmer to the corner. Xavier slipped over the rail with Abigail, fanning Ferrell before dumping a bucket of water over the beaten man. “He’s not getting tired. You have to finish him.” The Imperial said frantically.

Pushing part of an iron bar that was sized for an average man’s fist into Ferrell’s palm. “You have to go for the head.” Xavier explained.

Abigail frowned seeing the object but said nothing. Ferrell stared at the bar before closing his fingers over it. Abigail waved an herb bundle under the farmer’s nose Ferrell spasmed his eyes shooting open, wildly trying to focus. The crowd cheered as the bell rang. Hagen plodded forward, Ferrell hunched his shoulders.

“Ye be giving as good as ye get, Ferrell.” Hagen said with a sliver of respect as the fighters circled each other.

“I know.” Was all Ferrell replied with a he locked up with the massive man.

Grinding the heel of his boot into the injured foot of Hagen. Using the fist load on the man’s side punching down for the hip. Hagen curled as Ferrell gave him everything he had. Punching Hagen’s kneecap, side, chest, shoulder, elbow. Ducking wild swings Ferrell fell back only to return like a relentless rabid dog.

Pivoting to protect his injured side, Hagen was forced to use his off hand to attack. Hagen’s thick hand found Ferrell’s neck finally, squeezing. The farmer clubbed his iron loaded hand into the spot just below the blacksmith’s arm pit repeatedly. Shoving Ferrell back, Hagen made to follow when his knee gave out with a pop. On all fours, the blacksmith’s face red with rage battling with pain. The scar tissue on his forehead suffered enough tension a rivulet of blood mingled with sweat spontaneously.

A hush fell over the crowd, Ferrell blew the rank moisture from his face, one of his eyes seeking to seal itself shut from swelling. Resting painfully on his heels, Hagen’s heavy arms flopped, beckoning the farmer to continue. With dragging foot steps, the farmer readied the fist load once more, pulling his arm back.  “I know about your head, Hagen.” The farmer said with labored breath.

Spitting the former champion lowered his gaze. “What are ye waitin’ fer den? Finish it.”

“Do it, Ferrell!” Yelled Xavier, his voice carrying hope ridden excitement.

“Finish it, Ferrell!” Hagen yelled, pushing his head forward for the farmer to get a better shot.

Opening his hand, the farmer let the iron piece fall to the floor. “I will finish this.” With a look to the Baroness’s box Ferrell guided the blacksmith onto his back, standing to start the count.  Calling to the crowd, “If I spared that sack of pig dung, Shamus I am not going to kill this man! START THE COUNT!”

“One!” Screamed the Baroness from her now lighted balcony box.

The throngs of patrons reluctantly followed suit. Four. Five.

Hagen stared at the iron piece; pride demanded he get up. His leg twitched refusing to comply.  Seven. Eight.

TEN! The witnesses of the contest applauded weakly but as the realization of what the farmer had done became apparent the roar grew deafening.

*** *** **

Hagen nursed his injures hours later, working a tiny file over the iron piece that could have killed him, etching details with care. The distraction kept him feeling much of the pain and what he knew was coming next.

The door to the shop opened, Hagen did not bother to turn around. “So that is that, eh? Obviously, I donna ‘ave the money to pay. Jus’ make it quick, assassin.”

A small pouch thumped on the workbench next to blacksmith. “I paid your debts, Hagen Ryan.” Ferrell said, leaning heavily on a wooden staff.

Turning to the battered farmer, Hagen’s brows furled. “How ye do that?”

“My cousin used the expenses set aside for my grave and placed a bet on me. You are no longer in debt to those people. I hope you keep it that way.”

Nodding to the pouch, Hagen grumbled. “What is all this then?”

Smiling, then stopping as he remembered how much it hurt to do so. “I want you to make Aideen a new sword.”

Pouring out the contents the blacksmith counted the coins, “There is enough here to make two.”

“I also you want to make one in honor of the child we will have.”

 

*** *** **

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 12

Ferrell was still sore when summoned to court, along with Cousin Xavier. The farmer resisted bed rest since the fight with Hagen. He was not allowed to work, so he made himself a friendly nuisance to those he knew. The courtroom felt empty; no voices sounded from behind the door as the guards opened them to the grand hall. Xavier immediately grew suspicious, his eyes combing the area.

Baroness Sylvia Ryan sat upon the throne, speaking quietly with Aideen. The room had been decorated in celebration for the mid winter festival that would take place later that evening. Candles of hope unlit, crystal shards hung from various beams of the hall.  Ferrell felt nervous. He had not been allowed to see Aideen until her challenge to him. So, this was it, there was no time to plan, no information to glean, just her and he in whatever way she decided…

The Baroness was curt with Xavier, her expression nearly bland. “Captain.”

“Baroness.”

Looking down from the dais, Aideen smiled almost sadly at Ferrell, her eyes filled with worry. Not waiting for the Baroness, the shield maiden went into her words, keeping her voice light. “I asked for the Baroness to summon ye.”

Blinking, Xavier cast a hand about. “And we have arrived. Where are the others?”

“I felt this matter should be private.” Interjected the Baroness quietly.

Aideen shut her eyes, struggling with her next words. “Sir Ferrell. These challenges have been brutal even among our own people’s standards. Even now, I feel small at de size oh yer heart.”

“I would endure them again.” Ferrell said evenly.

Shivering, Aideen nodded. “Aye, ye would. I know. It is with regret that I announce the withdraw of my challenge. I have found ah man to marry and canna go through with this.”

Ferrell felt the world coming down on him in inexplainable pieces. Xavier protested yet the farmer could not hear him. Fighting like a drowning man in a sea of despair Ferrell rallied what was left of his resolve as the Baroness spoke.

“Enough, Captain. Aideen has de’ right to accept or decline as is our way. She ‘as declined.”

Looking at the floor, the farmer forced his hands to his side. Sniffling, “This man you are to marry. Is he a good man?” Ferrell asked not knowing what he would do upon hearing the response.

Aideen hiccup sighed; her voice soft as if handling something fragile. “Aye.”

“There is no man that loves her more than you, Cousin! This is a…” Xavier resumed his previous protests.

Ignoring his cousin Ferrell felt tears breaking loose from the pools at his eyes. “Does he love you?”

Green eyes welled with tears of their own as the shield maiden responded. “Aye.”

“I mus’ go, me husband will be at the altar soon for us to wed.” Aideen added, unable to stay in Ferrell’s heart broken presence a moment longer.

Nodding his head with a stiff jaw, gazed sadly one last time to Aideen. “Then that is enough for me to know. I am happy for you and this man you have chosen.”

Xavier nearly exploded, fists balled. “That’s it? You are just going to give up, Ferrell? You have lost blood for this woman. Took ridicule of her people for nearly a season! Saved her ignorant brother’s life when he sought to end yours! Played through these ridiculous rituals and won only to have her back out because she cannot defeat you.”

Ferrell was already on the move when Xavier spoke. Pausing at the door, head bent low. “Cousin. I will not build a cage for someone I helped set free.”

Baroness Sylvia Ryan slipped from her position on the throne to meet Ferrell at the door. Speaking kindly to the farmer, “Let me walk with you a few moments. Such heavy news can be often misunderstood.” Placing a reassuring arm over the farmer’s own.

Ferrell felt numb as his legs moved mechanically down the hall without direction, yet the Baroness was there to keep him moving. “Did I do well at least in those challenges?” Ferrell asked, his heart rolling in the dust of ruin.

Sylvia gave a small laugh, the Baroness turned them down an empty hall. “Ye changed the coin economy for a good while with all the betting against ya. Aye, ye did well. Better than some heroes I hear tale of an’ better than could be asked of a simple man.”

A servant passed by handing the Baroness something that Ferrell failed to notice other than the passing. “I did not fall in love with her position or her family power. I fell for her.”

The Baroness smiled ruefully, tugging at Ferrell’s tunic, moving it up and off. “I know yer heart, Ferrell.  It is still a shame the way things went.”

Slipping her hands over Ferrell’s shoulders, taking longer than she should the Baroness felt his torso muscles, she replaced the tunic with an open ended robe of sea green. Skillfully tying a black leather belt around his waist. Taking a wreath of green, yellow glass seaweed, she placed it on Ferrell’s brow, stepping back the Baroness’s lips twitched in a smile.

Looking at his attire confused, Ferrell felt duped and childlike.  “I do not understand. I did everything right and I still lost. What is all this?”

Sylvia pressed her back on a set of doors Ferrell had never seen in all his time in the castle the Baroness kept her smile. “It be possible to do everything right an’ still lose. Yet, that day be no this day.”

From the open door poured light bright and true from a dozen windows.  Shielding his eyes Ferrell stepped past the glare into another broad hall filled with people. The finery of the nobles and their servants sat on one side of the expansive temple. The farming community sat upon the other, each side rising to the appearance of the farmer. Wordless applause followed, as Ferrell looked to the high center of the place.  In the center stood the altar, with no man waiting.  Kicking his legs into motion, Ferrell forced himself to run, chasing the impossible dream to its end. Zig zagging to clasp with as many of the inner aisle out stretched hands as possible.

This was a great moment in his life and the greatest was yet to come…

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 Finale

Ferrell felt as if he was in a dream, one he had no desire to wake up from and yearned to relive. Aideen made her way down the aisle flanked by her brother who through sheer will walked without use of a cane. The brace on his leg made his steps stiff but timely. Attired in a sheath dress of sky blue, looped with a golden belt about her waist. Her sword strapped over her back, poorly accessible but ever present. Her sun set red hair hung loose around her shoulders, the beads of valor that ended her braids were worked into a neckless around the neck of the shield maiden. The slender wreath upon her head was emerald encrusted in the shape of the rolling landscape of the Pyrat Isles and dotted with rubies that danced like fire as she moved.

Every row the shield maiden passed the attendees rose and shifted, the two sides of the temple mixing. Noble with commoner, merchant to soldier, sailor to midwife. For the hour there was no rank, just people of one land, together. Clasping hands the two looked upon the other silent vows exchanged along with simple spoken ones. The priest dutifully looped a cord of green and blue over the clasped hands, his blessing was in the native tongue of the Pyrat bonding the two together.

As the priest finished the crowd erupted into cheers as the new husband and wife kissed. The couple walked down the steps to the aisle, the Baroness without her crown of office stood in before them. Wiping at her eye, the noble considered the two. “Tonight, ye both will be expected te’ attend the mid winter celebration. It starts on the seventh bell as always. You are given permission to arrive before the ninth bell.”

Aideen blinked with her confusion. “Why are we allowed to be late?”

Ferrell gently gripped the dress of the shield maiden at the hip pulling her closer. Watching the blush curl to the woman’s cheeks, the farmer grinned. “I think you know why…” His words rang deep with invitation and promise of things to come.

*** *** **

The celebration also served as the reception of the newlyweds. The couple received many gifts that Ferrell did not understand for they were mere scrolls of paper with writing. Aideen promised to explain them later.  Abigail Dervish and Ren Wilson sat at the back of the ball, hands together as they drew their final breaths. Sights fading at the edges of their vision drawing to a close upon Aideen and Ferrell as the two danced in the country way. Ren’s famous silver tankard slipped from limp fingers to the ground, a single stream of amber liquid trickling from the container. Their passing would not be discovered until the morning as they both appeared to be merely sleeping peacefully.

Days passed and the two proved to be inseparable. Hagen flipped the near molten steel over. Hammer ringing upon anvil in time to the activity happening in the loft on the other side of the shop. A missed strike caused the blacksmith to glare in annoyance which changed to a sigh capped smirk. Jabbing the steel back in the furnace the massive man cleared his throat. “Ye know, ye can take that elsewhere if ye like!”

The two prostitutes Shamus had hired for his post battle celebration crossed their ankles for warmth under the trio of heavy blankets as they rested on the roof of the carriage watching the night sky.  The vehicle rocked side to side. Eyeing the sand timer, one of the working women yawned. “Gonna hav’ to flip it again in a few. Like a pair of hares they are.”

Other giggled, “Could think of worse ways to spend time. Sides, all the motion down there feels good on me back up here.”

*** ** ***

Rothman feverishly worked his quill through the night and into the start of the dawn. Ferrell had fallen asleep after telling the tale at the table. Half a cup of brandy near his head. Hand clamped over the braid of Aideen his thumb minutely moving over the strands of red.  Sometime during the night, the farmer had brought out an ornate wooden box during Rothman’s distracted writings.

Curious the bard opened decorated container, peering inside. Gingerly, Corbin pulled out a wrapped cord of green and blue, an odd cluster of coin sown to leather came out with it. Looking at the cluster of coins, there were lapped over the other like a piece of armor.  Setting it aside the bard worked through the pile of scrolls. Reading the words lips moving in time with the pace he read. Flicking a glance at sleeping farmer in disbelief, the bard began comparing the scrolls to the other. “Tis no chance this be true.”

Pinning down a scroll with brandy bottle the bard spread out a map. Making marks the bard worked through the rolled parchment as Ferrell slept. Falling back in his chair as he made the final mark. Tugging at his beard Rothman considered the markings. It was roughly the shape of the northern kingdom of Swenton. Ferrell’s farm was at the southeastern most point. Taking the quill up again, the bard struck through the title on the map with the writing instrument. Scratching down a pair of words over the marked area. It read simply, Ferrell’s land? Replacing everything in the box after taking hasty notes the bard found he had a desperate need to find the nearest fellow bard and work through what he discovered. Shoving the box into his backpack, he would need evidence to support this outlandish tale.

Speaking to the snoring farmer, Rothman was beside himself with intrigue. “I ‘ate to leave ya like this but I must.”

Packing up enough supplies, the bard found his fatigue had faded and replaced with nervous excitement. Stepping out into the stead, Rothman produced a piece of flat steel in the shape of a dolphin on the end of a thin silver chain. The piece spun as Corbin chewed his lip. “Com’ on there has to be ‘ah someone close. I have just spent nearly thirty days with Ferrell Ryan! Unbelievable!”

At last the dolphin stopped spinning and slowly centered on a direction to the east. The amount of time it took to settle down informed the bard the closest of his brethren was quite a way off. At least a quarter of a season. “Oh, kick der road!”

*** *** ***

King Foster walked the parapet overlooking Freeman’s Bay, though the locals had a different title for it. Hangman’s End.  The Imperial war machine was a demanding mistress, as they called for more silver from Swenton. More iron. More, more, more.  The King had taken to wearing his armor as there had been a pair of attempts on his life in the last half of the solar cycle. The people obviously did not understand to the lengths that were required in their role to the Empire. He would have them instructed by force, again. As many times as it took.

The coin mail was a comfort as the King gazed out over the land he killed for.  Fingering the ripped section of the armored vest, the king failed to repair it. Using it as a reminder of the lengths he would go to get where he stood now. Watching a ragged line of slaves that were once settlers from the Pyrat Isles being guided into the mines which were nearly stripped of their silver due to the needs of the Empire.  Their numbers were dwindling, Foster figured they would have to raid for more in the early summer.  His forces had yet to make land on the Isles but with the Imperials weapon advancements it would only be a matter of time.

Turning to the south a bitter line of thought rose from the dead, the King rarely wondered of the man but this morning it was different. A simple man that brought ruin to his dreams. A pair of things made him uneasy concerning the simple man. The guards he sent to eliminate the man nearly a decade ago did not return. Nor did the next set. The second reason was the simple man was just too stupid to be stopped. Like a raging bull that did not understand that its heart had been pierced and it was supposed to be dead.

Shivering, the King blamed it on the morning cold. He had his duty to the Emperor to think of. King Xavier Foster, knew his role…

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 5

Episode 5 part 9

The next evening Ferrell was summoned to court. Sitting next to Xavier the pair faced off with Sylvia and Aideen Ryan across the grand hall. The rest of the court was spread along the sides of the room, Abigail and Ren waited patiently taking turns whispering to the other. Finally, Sylvia stood addressing the crowd. Her voice steady and practiced. “Two venerable heroes. Blessed by the people to be the embodiment of our gods. Stand before us submitting themselves to be challenged and seen if they are still fit for the titles granted. Who here will challenge?”

Murmurs rolled through the crowd, no one was in haste to commit. Aideen fumed having had more than enough. Rising to her feet brushing off the Baroness’s attempt to stop her, striding towards the two.  Glaring at the crowd with barely suppressed spite, “I am glad to see the respec’ ye give Ferrell’s champions. It tis the shame that respect no reach the man whom brought them ‘ere first.  Likely, they wouldna answer yer call anywho by yer actions present.”

Xavier winced, silently chuckling. “Ouch. She just hamstrung the entire court.” The Captain whispered to Ferrell.

Hand on her sword Aideen bowed to the two, respectfully. “Ye grant me hope, a debt I kin nora pay.” Turning to Ferrell the shield maiden’s eyes grew soft, her smile gentle. “I accept yer challenge and me thanks for the gift.”

Ferrell clicked his tongue, watching Aideen somewhat confused. “You are welcome?”

Twisting back to the elderly couple the shield maiden stared at Abigail. The elderly woman’s eye twitched as she returned the stare.

“Really?” Was all Abigail said with menace before dropping the war hammer and dragging the sword of office that hung at her husband’s hip out of the sheath.

Wrenching her own sword, Aideen ground the blade edge along Abigail’s new weapon with a joyous ringing sound. Ren sighed taking another swig of his tankard before considering Ferrell who sat worried, “There is nothing finer; than watching women fight.”

The initial clash between the two sent Abigail into a spin. Grabbing Ren’s arm the woman hauled him into the battle. “Ye donna get to watch! Flank that slippery tart!”

Flicking the contents of his silver container out, the stream of amber liquid slowed and curved into a frothy cutlass with the tankard as a handle. Ren rolled his shoulders sheepishly, mock resigned to do as he was bade. “As ye wish, love.”

Ferrell sat transfixed; the summoned blade was the first act of magic he had ever witnessed. Aideen seemed to be holding her own, definitely faster and had more endurance but there were two of them and they knew each other inside and out. When one faltered the other covered.  The crowd shifted uneasily, scattering when the fighting got too close and regrouping on the other side to continue to watch. Aideen tried to use distance to get them to chase her and they merely plodded after her. If she concentrated on one for too long the other would flank her away.

Abigail locked her sword with Aideen’s blade dragging the shield maiden’s arm down. Putting muscle to use, the shield maiden worked to power out of the pin only to be sent into a half spin as Ren unapologetically thumped the body of the tankard into Aideen’s temple.  Whirling, Aideen stopped her blade neck to Ren’s throat leaving a skin parting scratch white scratch. Abigail had reversed her hold of the sword she held, stopping it a hairs breath from Aideen’s chest, her off hand closed over the back of the hilt to shove the blade clean through the maiden. Gasps and tension filled the air, Ferrell nearly fainting.

Breathing hard, Ren tenderly pulled his head back from Aideen’s blade, then worked Abigail back.  With a turn of the wind, Abigail smiled at her husband,  “I like this one. Always have.”

Stepping back Aideen touched the spot Abigail’s sword nearly punctured taking a breath to make sure should could hold it before releasing it in a rush.

Ren coughed, dabbing at his lips. Holding a hand out to Aideen. “I offer a draw.”

“I be unsatisfied yet agree to the offer.”

The shield maiden and elderly woman glared at the other for saying the same thing at the same time.  Aideen took the offered hand from Ren, Abigail clamping her wrinkled digits over the two. “Well fought.” Abigail wheezed.

“Well fought.” Replied the shield maiden.

“I think I may have hurt me back.” Complained Ren.

Xavier sidled up to the Baroness trying to be casual. “So now how do we proceed?”

Wiping her eyes from witnessing the battle, Sylvia composed herself. “Not a ting. It be out of our hands now. She accepted, now it be a lottery. One fer a champion of water, one for fire. The last challenge she calls personally. Yer Cousin has little to no chance.”

The Captain moved to comfort the Baroness only to be held back by a suddenly firm hand from her. “If he fails your people will quickly recover.”

Angrily blowing stray hair from her face, Sylvia Ryan gritted her teeth in a rare moment of expressed anger. “Ye donna understand. Ye brought him ‘ere as a lamb to slaughter. To hide corruption ye have brought for years to dis court! Yer mistake was not knowing me people could tell still good from de bad.  Despite your plots he flourished!”

Xavier tried to grasp her words, shoring up his bravado. “Yet he has been successful if quite the handful.”

Watching the elderly couple instruct the shield maiden post battle, the Baroness turned to the Captain her expression one of hurt. “He brought back love to my court. I opened my chambers to ye… hoping for the same. He truly loves her.”

Frowning, Xavier jutted his chest, “I love you as much as he loves, Aideen. That is apparent is it not?!?”

Draining her glass of wine, she offered Xavier to take it, when the man reached for it, she let it fall to the ground shattering upon the stone. “Ye do not love me. I took yer cousin’s clothes an’ what did ye do? Not ask me why, yet ye punished yer cousin. As if I be a stolen an’ sullied property not worthy of conversation or parlay!  I change not a word of the trade arrangement yet ye look for ah’ lie. Ye love what I can give ye, what would come from me. Yet, ye donna love me.”

The Captain’s mind scrambled, he chose to try and appease. “How can I make this right?”

Sylvia turned her back on Xavier with stone cold finality. “Ye need to help ‘im. If he loses, ye lose everything. Should he win, ye might salvage past trade agreements.”

Xavier gripped the arms of the chair Sylvia sat in moments ago, desperate. “What of us if he wins?”

The Baroness refused to turn around, “No change. I loved you, yet ye do not for me. I will carry on, suggest ye do the same. I sculpted the best part of ye weeks ago out of stone me-self for remembrance so I might look at what might have been. Ye can stay till the thaw, yet ye will do it elsewhere than me chambers.”

 

*** ** ***

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 10

The farmer leaned on the bar at the tavern Aideen had first taken him to. The mulled cider steamed, inviting with its warmth yet Ferrell found he could not drink. The champions had been selected by lottery and tomorrow he would face the first one. He was not allowed to see Aideen until the ordeal was over but they could send messages to the other. Draping part of a braid the shield maiden had cut from her own hair over his fingers, feeling its smoothness, clasping his other hand over it. The man looked to be praying as he gently inhaled her scent.

Xavier pushed his way through the patrons as they had clustered near the farmer.  They had kept their voices low, not entirely sure what to do with Ferrell. Leaning his back against the wooden bar, Xavier took in the quaint ambience. “Got news, Cousin.”

Staring at the back of the bar, Ferrell waited. Flagging the barkeep, Xavier asked for schnapps. The barkeep spat into a tankard, blowing his nose in a rag and using it to wipe the rim before filling it with the clear liquor. Stamping it down on the bar, flecks of liquid spattered the back of Xavier’s hand. With a resigned sigh the Captain, considered the mug. “Charming people you run with, Ferrell.”

“They know what you are about. I just wish I knew sooner.” The farmer replied sullenly.

Xavier measured the distance to the door with an eye, just in case. “You would never understand my life, Cousin Ferrell. Look, I am here to inform you about your opponents, not to revive beratement. Deserved or not.”

Closing his eyes Ferrell disliked the way the Captain tended to draw everything out. As if he was doing Ferrell a favor when it was more than obvious the Captain’s future was on the line as well. “Who is first?”

“Shamus Giovanni. His real name is Shamus Gunn from the outer Isles. He adores the Noskie style. Their greasy hair, puffy clothes, even uses those quill thin swords they fancy. He is a self proclaimed duelist when he is actually a murderer with a hundred excuses at the ready. He wants to know where you will meet him.”

Hearing the name, the crowd came alive. Coins and stories of the man’s reputation began to circle. Ferrell absorbed the words, the not knowing had ended. Now he could plan. “Would you say he is a fop cousin?”

“One that can kill you, yes. Uh, I would like to place a wager if you please.”

Tucking the braid in his tunic, Ferrell looked over the crowd then to his cousin. Draining the tankard of cider not setting it down before every cooled drop was gone. Tossing the empty cup to the barkeep, Ferrell found his feet. “Tell him I will be waiting for him at the Dunn’s pig farm.”

“A pig farm?” Xavier repeated confused echoes of memory scratching at his mind. He knew the name, from so long ago.

“I have an urge for bacon…”

*** ** **

Shamus exhaled the last the Javin opium smoke, the warmth flooding his senses. The carriage rocked over the frozen road making one of the passed out prostitutes to fall over in the lap of the other. Studying the swallow breathing pair the duelist smiled setting down the opium pipe. “Sleep well you two, you will be needed after this.”

Adjusting his black curled wig, Shamus frowned in the mirror at the sharp mustache. Twirling the hair and pulling it tight until he deemed it perfect. The carriage came to a stop. The wind rattling the leather flaps at the window of the horse drawn vehicle. Pulling back curtain, even in the winter the stench of farms made him nauseas. Piling out of the carriage the duelist donned his wide brimmed hat. Sorting his belt out before putting it on, selecting two daggers and his favorite rapier. The farm was distastefully bland. Pigs huddled in the cold, sheltered by a wicker awning. Pulling his cloak over his shoulders, the duelist grinned wickedly as the farmer stepped out of the humble cottage.

The farmer held a sword awkwardly as he stepped towards the duelist. Starting his games Shamus spoke, “I am unfamiliar with your stance, sir. Do you know how to use that?” teasing the farmer.

Ferrell’s expression did not change from its concentration on Shamus. “Not as much as you.”

Bowing lightly, Shamus adjusted his cloak. “Then we have time for a few lessons.”

Readying his blade Ferrell moved to circle Shamus. Flicking his cloak, the duelist snapped the heavy cloth forward, the metal plates sown in the hem bashing the sword out of the farmer’s hand. “That is a disarm.”

Stepping back Shamus motioned to the fallen weapon, the most insincere expression the duelist could muster in the cold on his face.  “I apologize I am being unfair.  Let us begin again.”

Ferrell lunged for the weapon sweeping the steel at the duelist who side stepped the attack and jabbed the thin sword lightly into Ferrell’s stomach. “That is a wound. Won’t kill but it hurts. As you can clearly see.”

Clamping a hand over the bloodied spot, Ferrell hacked at Shamus. Nearly laughing the man parried the weapon, down and away. Rolling with spin the duelist lashed out with a back kick. The sharpened spur on his boot cutting Ferrell under the jaw line. The duelist began to look bored as he dished out another light wound upon the farmer, gashing Ferrell’s forearm. “Please sir, do something other than bleed!”

Yelling a curse Ferrell charged the duelist sword looking to cleave the man in two. With a pivot Shamus side stepped the charge as the farmer barreled on by the duelist striped the back of Ferrell’s vest with his rapier. Off balance Ferrell fell towards the cottage sword clattering out his hands.

Whipping his cloak gallantly Shamus bowed airily. His next taunt stuck in his throat as he returned from the bow taking a clod of frozen earth to the face. Sputtering and spitting Shamus ran a gloved hand over his face and wiped it with a sleeve. A streak of blood creased his wrist. Fuming the duelist traced the blood to a nostril, eyes narrowing on the farmer as Ferrell fled around the corner of the cottage. “Bad form, sir! Ye be a cheat!” Shamus was angry enough his native accent reared its head.

Giving pursuit Shamus’s eyes shot wide as he rounded the corner a scythe arced in an upward swing. The crude iron blade made contact with thin steel, snapping the rapier and tearing off the duelist’s wide brimmed hat. Working the farm tool in a twirl Ferrell swept low for Shamus’s legs. Leaping the attack, the duelist’s cloak was pierced pinning it to the wall of the cottage. Quick drawing a dagger Shamus’s eye sight blurred as Ferrell punched him the jaw, loosening a few teeth.

Slashing with the knife, the duelist kept the farmer at bay nicking the back of Ferrell’s hand. Clutching his wounded hand, Ferrell again fled.  Ripping his now ruined cloak free the duelist cast the remains of his rapier aside. Following the droplets of blood Shamus set eyes on the on the large pen of pigs. “Hidin’ among yer own wonna save ye!”

Inspecting the herd, the duelist opened the gate to the pen his vision trying to sort through the filthy animals. Stepping into the pen, Shamus kicked at a piglet. “Let us finish this, ya bastard!”

Ferrell inhaled painfully, blowing into a pig whistle. Squeaks and squeals of alarm ripped through the herd.  In a panic the farm animals charged for the entrance of the pen. Bumped and jostled by the animals, Shamus found himself being drug down by the cloak as the pigs trampled him. Curled into a ball the beating was brief but effective as the duelist struggled to move with pigs bleating their distress in the cold still ringing in his ears.

Rolling off his perch on the roof of the sheltered pen, Ferrell dropped into the mud near the crawling Shamus. Taking length of rope the farmer lassoed one of the larger pigs who had stopped moving as the pig whistle had ceased its terrifying call. With shaky hand, Shamus gripped the top of the fence to haul himself up. His clothes were ruined, and the smell of pig shit was everywhere. Wheezing, the duelist was certain he had several fractured ribs.

Putting his back to the fence Shamus stopped upon seeing the farmer with a leashed pig at his side. Ferrell smiled darkly with the whistle clenched between his teeth. “Did you know pigs can eat a man if they get hungry enough?” The farmer asked before puffing the whistle.

The pig lunged, trying to get away from the sound, its mouth snapping in fear too close to the duelist, ripping the man’s boot. “They can chew through bone. Like a hot knife through butter.” The farmer added, struggling to hold the pig back.

Glued to the rail the duelist wailed, “Get that ting away! Take it away!”

“She is telling me she is rather hungry. I might not be able to stop her.” Ferrell said bluntly, again blowing on the whistle and loosening some of the rope.

The terrified farm animal knocked the duelist over, the pig now inches away from his face. Its breath was of rotting death, the teeth promised messy dismemberment for the duelist. “I yield! I yield! Anything, just donna let it eat me!”

Ferrell dropped the rope and Shamus clamped his eyes shut, screaming, hands held out in a last ditch effort to ward off the monster before fainting. The pig snorted, moving away from the duelist having no interest in eating the man. Ferrell removed the remain dagger from Shamus’s belt, using the tip to peel off the wig. “I will be taking this.”

*** *** **

Aideen practiced with her bow, trying to master the technique Ferrell had shown her. One of the kitchens servants approached with a silver covered tray. Her heart leapt into dismay letting the bow drop on the stones of the courtyard. Shamus had vowed to serve Ferrell’s heart to her on a silver platter. Tears welled in her eyes, holding herself with one arm the other reaching to the tray top.

Pulling the lid up, her expression grew confused. In a nest of dark hair two daggers lay crossed one over the other. Duelist daggers and Shamus’s wig!  Hurling the lid away, she laughed with relief. Grabbing the servant in a hug the platter and its contents clanging to the floor.

“He’s done it! He’s done it!” Aideen swung the shocked servant around before setting the man down. Kissing the man on the forehead the shield maiden dashed for her room, she had to send a message to her suitor. What message, she had no idea but she would think of something!

Ferrell the Farmer 5 Cont 3

Arriving early to Gorman Bridge, Aideen found Abbey already waiting. Arms crossed, in her tournament attire, the county woman tapped the hilt of her sword with impatience. The site was usually trafficked by soldiers on maneuvers, now devoid of anyone else but the two. Stopping a handful of paces away, Aideen felt a nervousness growing in her chest. Her friend was still angry and that often led to mistakes, sometimes deadly ones.

Turning from the glare of the sun, Aideen put a hand to the warm stone. “We donna have to do this.” The shield maiden offered.

“Sure, we do.” Came the reply, Abbey unbuckling her armor and casting it to the ground.

“I have no desire to hurt you.” Implored Aideen, following suit with her own gambeson.

“Ye done that already. Ye treat me like child cause ye stuck up in that there castle.” Abbey snapped back, drawing her sword.

Slowly pulling her own sword sadly, Aideen readied her stance. “I be under orders to keep an eye on Sir Ferrell.”

Barking a bitter laugh, Abbey spit over the side of the bridge. “It twas not even a social visit then? Ye knew he was there.”

Shaking her head, the shield maiden continued to try and talk her friend down. “Abbey this be idiotic, ye canna win. Surely ye see that.”

Coming at Aideen in a lunge point of sword leading the way. “Keep telling yerself that.”

Parrying the blow, Aideen returned the strike reluctantly. Batting the swing away, Abbey pivoted to the side, swiping down. Rocked on her heels, Aideen slammed metal back driving the country woman in a retreat. Blades weaving, Aideen cross locked the weapons getting close to Abbey.

“Abbey just stop!” The shield maiden said through gritted teeth, muscle strength being put to use in an attempt at dominance.

The county woman’s forehead shot forward, catching Aideen in the cheek. Falling back the maiden worked defensively, parrying and twisting aside the focused attacks of Abbey while working the stiffness of face. Coming in under Abbey’s guard, Aideen landed a light cut on the forearm of the county woman.

Hissing in pain, Abbey disengaged examining the damage. Blood trailed down her fingers. Aideen set her jaw, “Ye earned that one. Ye donna listen. Just end it now.”

Blowing hair from her face Abbey came in again, Aideen locking the swords, turning to wrench downwards trying to disarm the county woman. Abbey let the blade go, causing Aideen to overextend herself. Fist rocked into the shield maiden’s temple. Staggering, Aideen’s vision blurred, Abbey backhanded the sword from the maiden’s grasp.  Out of reflex Aideen clutched her hand though there was no pain.

Skipping back a step, Abbey shot forward, arm clubbing the shield maiden at the neck and chest in a vicious lariat with enough force it drove the county woman to her knees. Aideen felt turned inside out as the world flipped nearly upside down. Crashing on her back and shoulders, the wind driven from her lungs. Stars drifted in her vision, ears ringing. Steel scraped stone, Aideen sucked in wind vision clearing enough to see Abbey standing above her, sword pointed down at her chest.

Weakly putting up her hands, Aideen croak panted. “I yield.”

Abbey frowned, tears forming in anger. “And I miss me friend.” She said casting the sword down next to the fallen warrior with a clatter.

*** ** **

Ferrell slipped into the kitchen of the castle, going over the work he wanted to do the next day. Self inflicted tension ate at the man due to the environment. A building dislike for every stone of the structure he was all but forced to stay in. Gingerly staying out of the way of the bustle of cooks as the second course of the evening meal was shuttled to the attendees of the trade convention.

Discomfort flinched through the man. Rolling up a sleeve the farmer scratched at his arm. Helping Abbey fix a fallen section of pig fence before he let gifted him with splinters. Mocking dark flecks of wood in the underside of his arm, too small to get at with his fingertips and teeth.

Meriwether observed the man as she stood in a side hallway leading to the kitchen, her rescuer from a few nights ago. The uniform did not suit the man, too large. Appearing timid as he jumped at nearly any that approached. The man was also prone to theft, apples and wedges of cheese disappearing to the inside of his uniform as if too frightened to ask for what was freely given.

Walking forward, Meriwether headed towards the farmer. Eyes widened and then went downcast upon seeing the Baroness’s aide. Clearing her throat, “Might I have a word wit’ ye, sir?”

“Of course.” Came a very shy reply, the farmer pulled his sleeve back down.

Leading the man to a servants table out of the way, Meriwether sat down smoothing out her favored blue skirts. Ferrell took the chair opposite of her, waiting.

“Let me see that arm of yers.”  Meriwether said, taking out a small satchel she kept with her at all times.

Again, rolling the sleeve up, the man said nothing. Peering at the arm, turning his hand over in her own Meriwether opened the bundle. Working at the slivers with a pair of needles.

“Think they will ever catch that assassin they be looking fer?” Meriwether asked gently, removing another splinter.

Looking away Ferrell shuddered, “I know not of such things involving discernment, let alone assassins on the prowl.”

Applying ointment to spots after the dirty wood was removed, Meriwether kept her tone light. “I truly hope he gets away. He saved me from irreparable distress.”

Ferrell stirred, looking up briefly. “Do you think that person could escape the justice of the Baroness, M’Lady?”

Slowly rolling the cloth back down over Ferrell’s arm. Meriwether sighed, “I know not. I would just like him to know that me door will forever be open to him in time of need. That he need not steal cheese and apples like a rodent under sentence of death if caught.”

The farmer froze, Meriwether patted the man’s hand. “If ye see him before I could ye let him know that?”

Nodding slowly, the farmer bit the inside of his cheek. “If I happen across this person, I will do that, M’Lady.”

Rising from the table, Meriwether folded the sachet and turned to leave. Speaking her native tongue pleasantly. It twas good to speak with ye, night archer.

*** ** **

Aideen and Abbey sat back to back on the wide railing of the bridge, the cool air rippling the formerly still waters below.  Abbey took a draw from her pipe listening to her friend.

“How be the arm?” Aideen asked, eyes forward.

Letting the smoke curl out her nose, the county woman stifled a small laugh. “Same as the last eight times ye ask. Still works.”

Cradling her knees to her chest, looking out over the darkened waters. Aideen groaned. “I git so swamped with duty; I seldom get time to do much these days. This trade conference be different than the others. It vexes me as to why.”

“It be because Foster brought that Ferrell wit him. Everyone be poised to eat the man, just canna figure if he poisonous or not.” Replied Abbey.

Tossing a stone into the pond below, Aideen huffed. “Nothing makes sense ‘bout the man. Canna read, no know how to ride. Canna tell what end of a sword to use. Sleeps on the floor. Yet, he drops a man at seventy paces in the dark through the break in a stone balcony. Even the war masters be scratching their heads over that one.”

“Why snipe a man in the dark?” Abbey asked, curiously.

Biting her lip, Aideen looked about to assure they were alone. “The man he shot was trying to defile, Meriwether.”

Half turning, Abbey frowned. “And ye did not speak of this before, why?”

Rolling her head back towards the heavens. Aideen kept her voice low. “It not common knowledge of the attempt. Meriwether be fine, I be certain she would be wanting a visit from ye.”

“I be paying her one then.” Abbey said, resuming her pose.

Cupping her cheeks, Aideen leaned back against Abbey. “I be sorry for earlier. Just that Sir Ferrell be so…ugh! I canna even describe it.”

Taking another draw from her pipe, Abbey prodded her brow with the stem of the thing. “ Ye just needed a little reminder where ye come from, no harm. Ye and he got something in common.”

“I be finding that hard to believe, we be nothing alike.” Aideen replied growing confused.

Blowing out smoke from her mouth, Abbey yawned. “Well two things. Ye have a fancy of the other poorly hidden.”

Pausing her protest, Aideen chose to skip it. “What be the second thing then?”

Slipping from her perch, Abbey stretched, looking up at her friend. “Ye both have been hated for no good reason. Color of yer hair, color oh’ his clothes. Same result.”

Aideen fell into silent thought of the words of her friend, an old conflict raising its head.  Heart and duty, the last time the two came to blows she lost Silvanus. Seeing her friend walking away, Aideen called out to her. “I come by again soon, as friend.”

The country girl spun, snapping her fingers and pointing at the shield maiden, smiling. “Hold ye to it!”

*** ** **

Before dawn Ferrell woke as usual, rolling off the pile of blankets he arranged on the hard stone floor. Stuffing his backpack with clothing the farmer put on his uniform, not even bothering to buckle the front. Wandering out of the keep, he bid the guards a good morning. Once out of sight, Ferrell shucked the uniform top off and donned a simple brown tunic with a darker brown leather vest over the that. Stuffing the uniform in the pack, cinching it shut tightly.

Breaking into a light jog the farmer made his way to the north end of the city, towards the farming communities. The final harvests were beginning and there was work aplenty. Abbey was kind enough to introduce him to the other farmers, asking they speak in the Imperial dialect for ease.  Her arm was bandaged but it did not seem to slow or hinder her work, proclaiming it a weak scratch and not to mind it at all. Expressing obvious attraction to the farmer she refrained from inviting the farmer to her bed again, instead filling the role Ferrell needed more. A friend, to which the man was grateful.

Ferrell traded work for meals, secretly coveting the real reason he was there. The toiling made him feel alive, it helped with how much he missed his own home. Hauling wagons out of the mud, wrestling pigs, bundling wheat. The day passed too swiftly as the sun grew low in the sky, the wind growing colder chilling his sweat. With a final stroke of the scythe, the farmer planted the end in the ground victoriously.

Whispering to the rolling breeze, shouldering the aged farm tool on his shoulder. “Thank you, Abbey.”

Moon overhead after the family finished their meal with the stranger, Ferrell collected the names of the farms that still needed help. The castle loomed ahead, a stone sentinel where he would have to return. Days crept by, the time for his silence had ended yet, Ferrell did not want to confront his cousin. So, he did not, instead stealing away to be a farmer.

Ferrell listened to stories about the people of the Pyrat Isles, their culture was steeped in a strong leaning towards the gods. Most of their stories were about love, lost, found, forged, forgotten. Their marriage rituals were in themselves, some epic saga. If one was to petition for the hand of another, the challenger would have to defeat the kin of those the challenger pursued in some sort of ritual challenge.  Contests ranged from foot races, to drinking contests, to all out clan warfare.

Returning to the keep, Ferrell listened to the news of the day. Keeping her word, the Baroness had made thing right, the assassin had been found but if Rupert wanted to question the attempted murderer, he would have to share a cell with man as he would be imprisoned for attempted rape. During the proclamation the Empire emissary lost his temper grabbing the Baroness in court. She hacked his hand off and slapped him with it before banishing the Imperial.  What she used to cut his hand off with varied in the telling. A blade of light, a serrated cheese knife, hidden guillotine in the armrest of the throne, her own teeth! The Imperials were indeed on thin ice due to Rupert’s actions.

Rounding a corner Ferrell was grabbed by the shoulder and thrust up against a wall. Xavier snarled looking wild eyed at the farmer, the Captain’s curled locks looking frayed, breath reeking of stale ale. “Tell me. Tell your secret, Cousin! I can’t take this anymore, what technique did you use on her? Mullen? Destra’s Forty Waves? A Pyra variant? I must know!”

Struggling with his cousin trying to push the man away by the neck, “I do not know what you are talking about!” Ferrell replied trying not to panic.

Trying to pin Ferrell the Captain hiss sobbed, “The Baroness. I know you were with her. I satisfy her every inch and still she wears your clothing! What are you other than sturdy?!?!”

Ferrell relaxed his grip hoping his cousin would do the same, keeping his voice even. “She visited me ten nights ago.”

“I knew it!”

Holding up a hand to be heard, Ferrell glanced about, “She took my shirt in exchange for my silence on a matter still ongoing.  She did nothing else to me nor I to her. I swear it, Cousin.”

Narrowed eyed considered the oath, Xavier steadied his breathing. “A ploy? You were just a ploy?”

“Seems so, Cousin. I am sorry.”

Xavier let go of the farmer, hugging himself looking to the night sky while laughing bitterly. “Oh, happy day. She got me. I am willing to bet she slipped a dozen or two stipulations in our trade agreements with this distraction from the voting delegations I missed. While I studied the greatest lovers of our time. Looking for something that was no even there, just a shirt given and worn in the right way.”

Patting his cousin’s shoulder Ferrell consoled the Captain, “I am sure it was time well spent regardless.”

“That is what happens when you play the game, she got this one, the next outcome will be much different. Come let us get a drink and wake tub bearer, I could really use a bath. What have you been up to? You have been quite hard to find as of late.” Xavier babbled, a sliver of hope and sanity restored.

** ** **

Aideen drew her cloak about her. She had been following Sir Ferrell as per the Baroness’s instructions for the last seven days. He always came to the farming community and worked. The bruising on her chest for the duel with Abbey throbbed, her pride dented heavily. Still it was duty first, in service to the Baroness. Even after making up with the country woman, Aideen felt slightly shamed at her arrogance set straight.

Every family he visited she paid her own appearance to after the farmer left. He worked for no coin but took food when offered. He rarely gave his name and it was always just ‘Ferrell’ when he did. No, Sir Ferrell. He would work alone unless it had to do with gathering. Every family she spoke to wished they had a farm hand such as Ferrell, he knew the tools and the tasks being asked of him.

At the last house Aideen listened to the elderly couple go on about how they had a bigger crop than they had in years and Ferrell was there to handle it. They would have enough for the winter and even help out a few neighboring families if they did not. The wizened wife lay back in her chair, “Ye ask many questions ‘bout a man tryin’ to git ‘ome. He be jus’ a farmer.”

Aideen felt her brows knit in consideration, “How ye know what he be? A stranger that could be a spy or a danger in disguise?”

The couple laughed, the husband answering. “Ah, shield maiden we be always thankful for yer presence but we be knowing our own, nora matter where they come from. That man ye ask about, he be a farmer, nothing more.”

Thanking the family as she exited, the shield maiden adjusted her cloak. The elderly couple had a familiar presence though she could not quite place it. “Just a farmer? It makes no sense.” Still trying to convince herself there was more than was present, even after the thrashing she received at Abbey’s hands.

Mounting her horse, she counted the lights of the farms she had been to. He had helped all those people, her people. A grin formed but she pushed it back in, not fully trusting the intentions of a supposedly simple Imperial farmer residing in the castle she was raised. Time would tell…

 

*** ** ***

Ferrell the Farmer

Episode 5 part 6

The farmer paced until the sun went down, taking up his pack with a heart light. Tonight, was a night for celebration as the last of the crops had been harvested and offerings made to their gods. Revelry was afoot and Ferrell could not wait!  Briefly checking in on his cousin Xavier, he found the Captain buried deep within his work, going over trade agreements. This had been the fourth time and to his cousin’s puzzlement the Baroness had not changed one item on the arrangement. Of course, this too had to be some sort of trick. Unable to help the farmer left the Captain to his plotting.

Working his uniform top off and walking the road while he replaced it with a far more comfortable tunic. Pulling his head through the hole, Ferrell stopped short. Aideen stood in the middle of the road; her face as beautifully serious as always. “Evening, Sir Ferrell.”

Stammering the farmer worked an arm into the tunic, “Evening, shield maiden Aideen.”

The shield maiden tapped her foot, “And ye be off to in such ah’ ‘urry?”

Taking a page out of his cousin’s book the farmer smiled, finishing putting the tunic on before donning the vest. “Why don’t you come with me and find out?”

“Ye know misrepresenting yerself to me people be frowned upon.”

Shaking his head, the farmer looked back to the castle, “No disrespect, but I think you have it backwards.”

Even when she frowned Ferrell felt captivated, “Is that so?” balancing a hand on her hip.

“Are you going to arrest me?”

“I could.”

Stepping past the shield maiden, the farmer began to trot on. “Well until you make up your mind, I am going this way.”

Watching the farmer move on left her confused and curious. What could be so important that he would carry on in that manner?

*** ** **

Reaching the gathering the farmers were already in the thick of celebration. Torches lined the outside of the throng, as music played. Baskets of bread and fruit were placed on hay bales. Squealing children taunted a goat, racing to see who could climb the tree to safety from the annoyed creature first. Upon a spit a farmer rotated a three legged pig, making jokes about how one does not eat a pig this smart all at once.

Aideen slowed her pace as Ferrell increased his. The crowd took notice of the shield maiden the volume of their clamor diminishing. Her arrival was obviously unexpected. One smiling Abbey took lead, offering her a wooden cup. “We are pleased to have ya!”

Hugging her friend briefly she nodded her thanks as she accepted the cup Aideen watched Ferrell. He fit in with them so well, just an every man with working people. They spoke in the Imperial tongue when he was in their company.  Moments passed as the crowd resumed its antics. Trying the drink, the maiden blinked, pulling away from the cup to eye it critically. It tasted like cider but it kicked like a mule settling into a warm spot in her stomach. She would definitely be wanting more.

Ferrell made his way through the crowd, clasping arms and exchanging hugs. “Ferrell! Pick us a tune!” said Abbey from the crowd changing to Imperial so the man could understand.

The band stopped causing the farmer to chew his lip as he was put on the spot. “Do you know, Dragon’s Lode?” The farmer asked, shaking off his nervousness.

Shakes of the head in the reply.

“Well how about Barrel of Hay?”

Again, they did not know that one either.

Scratching his cheek, Ferrell snapped his fingers, “Kick the Road.  Everyone knows that one.”

Cups were raised as the crowd laughed, “Kick the Road!”

The tune was a basic beat summed in four chords and all the lyrics were improvised; snippets of the life of the farmers. A portly woman started off, rattling the sides of her skirts, “Me husband be so lazy the boys’ wheel ‘im ‘ome in the wheel-barra. Drunk like a lord, I had me fill. Look ‘im in the eye and I tell ‘im…”

“What ye tell ‘im?” Someone from the crowd crowed.

Spinning on her heels the woman pulled her head back in a howl, “Kick the Road!”

‘She looked ‘im in the eye and told ‘im kick the road!’ The crowd chorused every last line of the lyric.

‘Me wife wanted a dress fine nuff for ah’ queen. So I ‘handed her ah’ shovel and I told her.’

‘Kick the road! He ‘handed her a shovel and told her kick the road!’

So, the song went on of wayward brothers to broken plows, feisty chickens, falling through rooves, funny laments, hilarious mishaps all being expressed and playfully celebrated. Even the stoic Aideen had to cover her mouth from spitting out the brew while laughing.

Finishing her second cup of the brew finally accepted an offer to dance. Awkward and coltish in her movements but no one seemed to notice. There was a freedom to the event. A safety and comfort Aideen had rarely felt. They were celebrating their lives, the gods, their work and each other with no motives of advancement or political leverage. Each time the shield maiden looked over the crowd she would find Ferrell looking her way briefly before smiling and returning to conversations or going back to some simple game.

Abbey appeared at the shield maiden’s elbow. “Ye should challenge him at that game.”

Taking another drink, Aideen giggled. “I would just take the man’s pride if I did so.”

Nudging her friend, Abbey nodded to Ferrell. “Oh? Glad to see he be ascended from an Imperial to a man. He be waiting for ye to come to him, perhaps ye be meeting him half way?”

Handing her cup over, Aideen stretched with a smile. “We shall see.”

Ferrell bowed to the crowd as he stood on the small square, wooden platform having pulled his opponent off their opposing platform using a length of rope. Both players would take the rope and attempt to get the other to step off the block of wood. If a foot touched the ground, that player lost. Likewise, with losing their end of the rope. The contest wasn’t just a test of one’s strength but also wit with a dash of luck. The rope drew firm signaling another player. Ferrell turned to see a smirking Aideen on the other end. Arching a brow, the farmer nodded, “Alright then.”

Bracing himself as the rope drew tight, hunching low to center his gravity. The crowd whooped their approval as the two traded back and forth, loosening their end, drawing the line back to them quickly. Neither made much progress trying to overpower the other. Changing tactics Ferrell feinted a wobble on the edge and Aideen took the bait. Putting her back into the pull, Ferrell let his end go slack. The shield maiden yelped, the back of her heels on the edge of the box teetering.

Ferrell gave a heaving tug on the rope saving the maiden from going off the rear of the box but over the front. Aideen staggered, momentum sending her into the farmer.  Strong arms were there to catch her as the farmer spun to the side, Aideen again found herself on the back of her heels again, this time looking up at Ferrell.  The farmer couldn’t hear the cheering people as his eyes locked with the shield maiden’s. Her look was one of vulnerability before growing amused again, her chin jutting out.

Leaning down Ferrell kissed the shield maiden, their lips brushing. Circling an arm around Ferrell’s neck Aideen hauled herself up, breaking the kiss and blushing shyly. Abbey gaped, hiding the look by drinking the rest of the cider laden mug. Playfully slapping at the farmer’s shoulder as the crowd laughed, “Ye dear sir be too bold!” said the maiden as she sorted through the sensation just experienced.

The country woman offered the shield maiden a cup, smirking, eyes expectant. “To wash that Imperial taste out?”

Staring down in the reflective liquid with mirth, the shield maiden laid the container down on the table. “Perhaps later.” Aideen said, cheeks still burning.

The merriment carried on; Aideen stayed out of reach of the farmer but she would not leave his company either. The shield maiden haggled for a clay jug of the Mule cider as the celebration drew to an end. Giggling, she walked the road home with Ferrell, looping his arm as she went on about the celebration, “T’was aah’ grand time! Ye good folk kin really get to it!”

Swallowing hard, the farmer broached the lion in the kingdom. “Aideen. About that…uh, earlier.”

Stopping at the crossroads leading to the castle, Aideen held up a hand for Ferrell to cease his words. Mischief encircled her eyes, fingers playing with the end of a braid. “Next time give a little warnin’.”

Ferrell felt his legs grow weak. “Next time?” The farmer asked nearly breathless.

Aideen’s arm swept around Ferrell’s shoulders, dipping the farmer as she returned the kiss given at the celebration. Lowering Ferrell to the ground before letting go of the kiss and releasing her hold on the farmer. Turning away to hide her face she began to walk away leaving the farmer on his back in the middle of the road, “Merry night, Ferrell.”

Rolling his eyes up he watched the maiden sashay away, losing sight as the road the shield maiden took dipped. Ferrell plucked an autumn flower from the side of the road and rest it on his chest, counting stars well until the ground grew too cold for any sensible person to take. “Merry night, indeed.”

Shield Maiden Aideen

Shield Maiden Aideen

Episode 3 Part 1

Youthful hands closed around the sheathed body of the near legendary sword. The mid-morning mild rain pattering the deck of the large ship. Aideen found herself filled with shock and duty. Cries of men fading in her ears as eyes remained locked on the pair of ships behind the continuing craft. Early in the morning, Skol’ the craft that ferried the young warrior and her group had encountered a damaged Norsican vessel. Moving to assist they were warned away by another Norsican ship dressed for war, the Jaw Monger. Brett and the captain of the Skol’ communicated with the other two craft attempting friendship and were met with heated wariness.

From what her father told her the damaged vessel was claiming ambush. Knowledge of the language of the Noriscan was still new to Aideen but she understood the chanted phrase coming from the warship. It hurt her heart and devastated Brett. Claims of her people attacking the defenseless Norsican craft left burdening stone in her stomach. An alliance that spanned beyond even written words, now a thread away from collapse.

Rising to duty Brett volunteered to return to Norsica with the ships to plead the case of the Pyrats, seeking an alternate explanation along with the captain of the Skol.  Commander of the Jaw Monger hastily agreed to the conditions having no want to make war over what he felt was inconceivable. The last of the warmth of her father’s hug was devoured by the morning air as he departed.

“Do not go far. I will be right back, my daughter.” He said, grinning, charming as always though his eyes held a resigned light.

Words echoing in her mind as the ship sailed onward. Brothers no more. We weep, brothers no more…

*** *** ***

The island of Noda lingered on at outer parts of the six dwellings of the Pyrat. Often referred to as the ‘Wedding Band’ the isle housed the resting place of the saga worthy ship, the Brawling Whale, a glittering jewel in the middle.  An incredible feat of engineering of track and ramp settled the ship on land in the direct center of the island. Iron and treated oak tread spanned from shore to shore, east to west. Back long before Aideen was born the Brawling Whale would launch in either direction to combat threats or rescue those distressed. Now the track had gone into disuse, leaning in some areas, housing the poor beneath its mighty struts.

Making land, Bear manned the hoist to lower the pillory onto the dock. He said not a word to the maiden, leaving her uncertain as to his feelings about her. Silvanus hefted his pack, standing next to Aideen. Dressed in tabard made from wool of the Sabin steppes, off white meeting dyed stark blue. Sky and cloud of his people. Lady Meriwether had traded in her noble attire for robes in scarlet marking her humble healer. Bandoliers of vials double looped her shoulder leading to a leather satchel. Gazing over the side of the ship the noble took in her wave distorted image, doubt written over the face. Aideen knew the feeling well watching the noble, to do a thing and still believe to be a fraud.

The people of Noda were more homely in contrast to Bale island. Hearty workers, they provided many bounties for the Pyrat people their ability to produce ships second to none. Descending the ramp, Aideen worked her way through the people, wood giving way to mud as the rain poured on. A gap toothed smile called to the would be shield maiden. “Hail, Aideen!”

Turning to the voice Aideen threw her arms open, heart lifting to battle sadness at her father’s departure. “Abbey Dunn!”

Hauling a hand wagon behind her Abbey let it drop to hug Aideen. “I knew ye make it, jus’ knew it!”

Giggling, Aideen pulled back growing curious. “What ye be doing here?”

“I gonna compete! Just like ye!” Replied the country girl before growing shy, “Hail Silvanus.”

An unfamiliar feeling struck Aideen, like a pinch at the back of her neck unable to keep from noticing how Abbey reacted to Silvanus. Growing confused Aideen was unsure shy she took a half step closer to the handsome young man and away from the country girl. The would be judge bowed slightly, “Greetings Abbey.”

“It be ye that got me here, Aideen.” Answered Abbey, motioning to the wagon. “Come see!”

Opening a bundle of cloth, she pulled out a small banner in sun yellow. “I started making them after ye first visit to the pillory. Half shell a piece.”

Taking up the small flag, Aideen gave it a small wave. “I donna understand.”

Beaming Abbey went on. “They be yer colors fer cheering! Sold’em as fast they could be made.  Ye got followers and a good amount of folks are eager for yer return to Bale. Figure once I git tossed from the tourney I kin sell’em.”

Arching a brow, “You do not expect to win?” Silvanus asked.

Aideen was beside herself with wonder, turning the pennant over again. It was suddenly not so hard to imagine the stands filled with people waving the things. Blushing, the maiden put the object back down, whispering. “Can you hear them?”

Abbey waved a hand before balling her fists, bobbing and weaving. “No. I donna care if I win. I jus’ wanna fight!”

After a short introduction between Meriwether and Abbey, Aideen adjusted her father’s blade over her shoulder. “We should seek lodgings and find the registry for the competition.”

Abbey rolled her eyes. “Ain’t a room left up in the arena area. Nobles bought’em all out. I be down at the Finn wit the others. They be keeping the common folk and foreigners separate from those of the blood.  Stupid if ye ask me. Oh, Aideen there be even a Javin princess at the hall! Most beautiful woman I ever did see.”

Echoes of the mob led by priestess in Hope’s Lantern chilled Aideen as she listened to Abbey. Another way the land was being divided; it would have to stop. Bear loomed behind the maiden, pillory over his shoulders, iron securing spikes hung from leather strap on his belt, clanking with each step.

Looping her arm with Abbey, Aideen pushed worry aside, she was among friends and refused to lose the joy of the moment. Smiling, “To the Finn!” said Aideen.

Walking the muddy road, Abbey explained she arrived in the company of men that claimed no land and rode under no banner, soldiers still. “Men of no banner?” Aideen asked.

“Mercenaries.” Meriwether chimed in from behind, obvious distaste shown at the use of the word.

Nodding her head, Abbey frowned “Aye. Led by a man wit one eye. Grabby hands too, almost had to stripe him I did.  Call ‘im the Mug they do.”

Meriwether tensed hearing the name, faltering in her step. Tucking her hands in the sleeves of her robes, fingers closing over the sacred knife she used for harvesting herbs strapped to her forearm. “Where is he now?” The healer asked.

Aideen cut in, concerned. “He did no touch ye did he?”

Answering Meriwether first Abbey pointed back towards the docks. “Likely back at his ship, the Scandal’s Lash.” Leaning on Aideen, Abbey shrugged. “No, he git close though. He claimed it was in jest but it be no funnin’ to me. No matter how much he laugh.”

As if he could read Meriwether’s mind, Silvanus spoke quietly, “We shall we vigilant then.”

“Indeed.” Muttered Meriwether.

Shield Maiden Aideen 2

Shield Maiden Aideen
Episode 1 part 2
Brett Fitzhegh threw back the remaining peppermint schnapps, the warm glow settling in his stomach. The darkened table filled with coins as the gambler raked the winnings towards him. The night had been good to him as always. A nearly unseen hand deftly lifted the empty cup and replaced it with a tankard. Sealing a pouch full the gambler set about to fill the next, taking the tankard and drinking from it without thought. Glorious ambrosia flowed down his throat. The stark difference gave the man earth shattering pause. The look to the tankard brought a grimace. Damn it!
Scent of sweet smoked ginger reaching his nose, once perfect breasts at his back, which defeated the frown, bringing a smile. Coins spilled back on the table as the gambler became aware, he had company.
“Is it necessary for it to be the both of you?” The gambler asked, excited and tired, already knowing the answer.
The tankard was taken back into the darkness as a voice came from the direction of its disappearance amused yet serious. “Ye are being called to task, Brett Fitzhegh. The marker returned.”
A single silver coin, blank and shined like a mirror rolled along the table settling itself in the middle of the unharvested sum. Brett stared at the coin, a reminder of his youth ill spent and those keen enough to use it; perhaps against him for things he needed in the moment of their giving.
“What is it you ask of me to give your last marker away?” Asked the gambler his voice wary; only taking heart in the knowledge the bearer of his mark did not mean him ill.
Smooth honey of sultry voice filled Brett’s ears from behind, feminine in tone and echoed in passioned remembrance. “A child in need of protection and mentoring, honored gladiator.”
Despite the years between them, the idea of sweeping coin aside and taking of the woman behind him upon the table -his mind snapped back to moment at hand. “I am not even of your people. Surely there is someone else.”
An arm extended from the darkness sleeved in faded dark blue of the Pyrat Navy, tankard offered again. “There be others, aye.”
Resignation saluted as Brett took the tankard, drinking of the sacred relic. Once a kings reward to partake, now a literal backroom deal sealed. The oaken taste of home lingered in the gamblers mouth, gone too soon. “I will teach her the sword. No dice, no card, not even the flip of the coin. You have my word.”
Fingertips graced the back of the thin tunic of the gambler, one fingernail grazing skin raising goosebumps over sculpted muscle as the female spoke again, “She be needing more than that, gladiator.”
“What you ask of me I can not give.” The weight of the task beginning to settle on the shoulders of the gambler. Attentions from the woman behind him keeping him off balance.
The darkness grew threatening to send the dimly lit room into total blackness. Across the table the voice grew lightly terse. “What we ask must be earned. I am still displeased wit ye, Brett Fitzhegh. Ye will atone.”
Brushing the next caress off Brett found himself growing defensive. His words rising in heat. “I love her as every man does. No crime in that.”
The tankard slammed down on the table top, scattering coin, liquid spilling down the sides and raising wisps of smoke as the brew devoured the worn wood. “Yet ye denied me! Spurned my attentions! Cast aside my gifts!” The voice bellowed in unleashed anger which fell into a well of nearly quiet sorrow. “Turned away from love offered freely, without reason.”
Gripping the table top, Brett restrained himself from removing the obstacle to get at the man in the dark. “Then why choose me?”
The woman’s voice came from the opposite side of the table now, siding with her husband. “Of all those we could choose, only ye have one thing in common wit her.”
Snatching up the marker, “What would that be? Take it back, task me to something else.” Throwing the coin into the dark, the sound of silver striking the wall echoing. The darkness receded as the candles flared their final strikes of light, showing the room to be devoid of any but him.
Not bothering to pick up the stray coins, Brett took up his sword that leaned against the wall. The worn gray sheath, banded with brass, the hand and a half hilt wrapped in honey eel tongue assuring his hand would never slip from it. Drawing the aged steel partially the man ran his finger over the nearly faded inscription. ‘The heart of the people is the greatest currency there is.’ Snapping the blade back down, wondering if he still believed those words.
“What does not kill me, makes me vicious.” Vowed the gladiator, exiting the room into the growing dawn.
*** *** **
Aideen kept her head low, wandering the streets of Hope’s Lantern. It had been nearly two winters ago since Matilda had taken her own life and Sheamus ran away to the unknown shortly afterwards. She was seldom bullied anymore by other children; it was much worse. They merely ignored her, almost making her wish for the days of the past to return. Rounding a corner on the busy street Aideen impacted with someone spending her into a half spin. Her hands fumbled and danced with something heavy in her slipping grasp.
Using both she clamped down on the long object. Glittering hilt of silvered steel lashed with black tether. Cross guard depicted the famous site of Lucid the main isle where the Emerald Queen resided. The entire sword was just under half as tall she was. Searching the crowd for the owner, Aideen spied a man jogging through the crowd with a bundle of swords strapped to his back. Hugging the blade to her, Aideen gave chase, a childlike wonder pushing away the dredge of forlorn life for a time.
The man came to a stop in front of an older section of the market. The high archways revealed it was much older than the market, and its purpose was much different in the past. Brett tipped the broad rimmed leather hat back, scratching at the blackened stubble on his face. Overheating, the gambler loosened the lace of his crème colored tunic. Aideen drew up short of the man, arms still embraced around the sword.
“Can you hear them?” The man said leaving Aideen unsure if the man was talking to her or himself.
“Hear them calling your name, to the roar of the crowd. The screams so loud it jars the heart. Their love in voice and chant.” The man continued, tilting his head at the marketplace that was once an arena for blood sport.
Setting the bundle of swords down, the man slid his back against the stone wall nearby. Fairly handsome by casual standards, Brett scratched at the scar that parted his left eyebrow. Brown eyes settled on Aideen, cradling the sword. The girl offered the sheathed blade to the man. Brett held up a hand, “It is not mine. I will not take what is not mine.”
Aideen chewed her lip, looking about for the owner once again. Giving up the crimson haired girl asked of the shaded man. “Who are ye, sir?”
Brett took in the vibrations of her words. No confidence, no pride, shy from abuse. Casting a heartbroken glance towards a banner of the Isles Navy, “I do not know anymore. You?” the man replied.
Stepping into the shade, Aideen put her back to the wall, “Same.”
Moments passed in silence as the two watched the activity in the market. “Do you know how to use that sword?” Brett inquired, half hoping for a boastful answer.
Aideen gripped the hilt of the blade, it felt good. “No.” The voice took on a lifeless tone.
The man wilted, there was no fire in this girl at all. Sent on a fool’s errant.
“But I will one day.”
There! From the ashes was a spark. He had to act quickly or it would go out and he may not find another. Tipping his hat down, grin flashing with invitation. “Looks like your luck is about to change, kid.”
Aideen felt something foreign or forgotten. Her arms prickled with goosebumps, her legs wanted to move, heart fluttering. Daring her next breath, she heaved the words out quickly. “Would ye, teach me, good sir?”
Already on his feet, hand held out to Aideen. “Apparently it would a crime against the gods if I did not.”
Taking the hand, Aideen giggled in nervous confusion…

Shield Maiden Aideen

Shield Maiden Aideen

Episode 1 Part 1

 

Nimble fingers turned the page in the worn journal, much of the writing jagged and crude with youth, smeared with weathering. A harsh life unfolded in the small tome of a life that was not meant to be, yet was. The flame of a heart that would not be extinguished in the hurricane of hardship and ordeal. Read a dozen times by the reader, this was the first time the quill was now wet as the words were transcribed onto fresh parchment for preservation.

** ** **

Matilda paced the room, caught up in listening to the activity that would take place in the evening. The Night of the First Sprout was upon the city of Hope’s Lantern. Sheamus worked a series of needles through fabric, a thread hanging from his mouth awaiting its turn. It was one of the few things that kept the boy quiet for any length of time. Cool eyes shifted to the pacing girl as she plucked at the top of her sheath dress. “You are going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up, Tilda.” Sheamus said with a tired superior air.

“It is not fair. They get to go and we are barred from seeing them.” Matilda glowered, pulling back the curtain of the window only to shut it again in disgust a few seconds after.

Aideen was half listening to the two, looking over a four page book she had found near the docks. Her crimson red hair pulled back and tightly braided, green eyes pouring over the symbols then to her favored part, the pictures along the border of the pages. Javin warriors riding various animals into battle against unillustrated foes. Woven armor with long spears, riding pig, cow, ox, and rooster. They all looked ferociously angry on the cover. As the story on the border progressed, they devoured bowls of food and their mood seemed to lighten, content, yet still riding to war.

Finally, Sheamus could take no more of Matilda’s antics. His cruel sneer even at seven winters looked threatening. “Well if your mother and father who happened to be brother and sister hadn’t been caught ye might have been able to go.”

Matilda gawked, her long ruddy brown hair quickly used to cover her face. “Go wear a dress ye…ye…”

Sheamus rubbed his hands together, waiting for the younger girl to cross his mental line to release ‘justified’ fury. Squinting at Matilda, “I be a what? Go on, say it. I dare ye.”

Swinging her legs down from the top bunk, Aideen landed on the balls of her naked feet. Putting herself between the two, worry taking to her eyes. “Would ye two knock it off? It be bad enough we get it from the others. We are not to leave the boarding commune tonight. Just one night, Headmaster’s orders.”

Matilda turned away to look out the window again, her shoulders heaving lightly wrapping herself in the curtain. “But tonight, the God of the Sea and the Goddess of the all lands walk among the people. I want to see them!”

Sheamus rolled his eyes picking up a section of fabric, considering the nine winter old Aideen. “I do not care to see them.” Lied the boy.

The wind rustled, brushing Aideen’s cheek.  Darting forward she caught Matilda by the waist as her bunkmate attempted to scurry out the window. “Stop! Stop. Ye will get us punished!”

Kicking her legs as Aideen muscled the girl away from the window, Matilda sobbed. “It no fair, Aideen. It no right!”

Sheamus’s ear twitched, launching himself off the bunk the boy shut the window with the swiftness of an eel as the door flew open. A tall teenage boy stood in the doorway, swagger stick under his arm. Flynn the Head Boy for the boarding commune had arrived. “What goes on here?” Entitled air rolling off his tongue mixing with distain.

“Sparra got in, sir. Matilda lost her senses until we got it out, sir.” Sheamus bit his tongue at every use of the word ‘sir’.

Flynn, strode along the floor, stopping at the two on the floor. Stuffing a wad of grak in his cheek he studied the two. “This be true, ye two?”

“Aye.” Matilda barely managed to get out between sobs.

Aideen kept herself between the head boy and her bunk mate, hand slowly curling into a fist. If things went badly, she would strike for the swollen wad in the lad’s mouth. Part of her wished it would go that direction. “We be fine now, sir. We are glad for yer vigilance.”

Head Boy Flynn spat grak juice on the floor, “This place be a sty. Fetch buckets and busy yerselfs cleaning, that should keep ye busy enough and out of trouble with sparrahs.”

The crimson haired maiden kept herself in check, anger still dancing its reckless trot behind her eyes. “Right away, sir.”

Turning on his heel the teenage swiped the fabric off Sheamus’s bed. “I am mending that for a friend, sir. No need to take it.” Sheamus winced knowing he sounded like he was pleading.

“Ye do not have friends, Gunn.” Stated the Head Boy flatly, opening the stove and tossing the half constructed garment in, shutting the door with the end of the swagger stick. “Git to work.”

With the door slam, Aideen stomped her foot trying to grind down the anger into the floor. A defiant plan formed in her head. “Fetch quill and parchment. Write down a message for the gods.”

Sheamus tore his gaze from the heating stove. “Why? What good that be?” The boy asked, wiping at a wet cheek.

Whirling to face the window, Aideen pushed the thing open again. “Because I will not risk taking ye two wit me. Message is the best one can do.”

Sheamus picked up his jaw, though he already had parchment in hand from under the mattress of his bunk. “Are ye daft? It no worth it.”

Helping Matilda up to her feet, Aideen smoothed out her bunk mate’s hair looking her friend in the eye. Her words simple with growing determination. “It be worth it now.”

*** ** ***

The streets were filled with merry making, streamers of flowers laced from pole to pole. Drinks flowed freely, taverns crowded with song and boasts of things to come. Tucking the pair of scrolls under her belt, Aideen tightened the blanket over her body like a poorly made cloak. The closest temple was a good ways away. Scents of food and seductive lure of passioned oils were all around. Aideen was tall for her age but the thickness of crowded streets made that advantage useless. Scaling carts to scout ahead she found only seconds to do so as angry merchants would bark their annoyance and she would have to come back down.

Just up the street and to the right, Aideen felt hopeful taking heart in the knowledge she was close to her goal. Hope was dashed as her hood was torn down and spun around at the shoulder. Face to face with Flynn, his expression snarling. “I knew it!”

Dropping the blanket Aideen dashed into the crowd. Weaving among the people her heart pounding, pushing towards the temple. Flynn with two companions gave chase and were gaining. They would catch her Aideen already knew and would have to try and fight them. Picking an alley to make her stand, Aideen had enough time to tuck the messages behind a shattered crate.

Like hounds the three descended upon the crimson hair girl. Twisting out of grabbing hands her hip stiffened as Flynn used the swagger stick like a club. Struggling against the trio more strikes fell blooding her lip, bruising her arms and back. At last she had no more to give they were too much and she was ill trained to be effective. Pinned face down, Aideen felt her tears mingling with the damp alley floor, her heart raging out of control.

“So ye wanna be among the people this night?” Spat Flynn, keeping his knee in her back.

“We will help ye. Help hide that taboo of yers.”

Hair went tight, strands of crimson fell into sight as knife parted it from her head.  Aideen’s braid slapped wetly to the ground like a beheaded snake. Struggles renewed as the beaten girl screamed, blood streaking down the back of her neck. Flynn lifted his weight, stumbling back, his friends dragging him off. “Ye killed her, Flynn! What has gotten into ye?!?”

The trio fled, leaving Aideen curled in a ball. Chanting echoed from the streets as a cart of men sang, “We fight hard! We fight smart! We fight fer love! Fer love!”

Her eye focused on the scrolls she had hidden, the other threatening to swell shut. She was alive and the task was unfinished. Fight hard. Closing her fingers over the ruined braid, Aideen found she could move even if it was painful. Taking up the scrolls, she put her sore back to cool stone at the mouth of the alley. A beggar squatted near the outside in a ratty robe with hood drawn. Cup waggling in a clinking pattern of coin. A blonde hair girl in black boyish clothing trotted down the street only to be caught at the wrist by the beggar. The girl that could almost be considered a teen frowned prettily.  The beggar’s voice carried an Imperial accent, “About damn time, girl. Where is Ced’ric?”

They were speaking the tongue of the Empire and Aideen could understand them, mostly as it was now required to learn at the Commune. Aideen had always found the language guttural like muddy dog. Pulling away the girl stuck her tongue out at the beggar. “You have halitosis again, Father. He was right behind me.”

The two were joined by a red face boy with uncannily similar features to the girl with a box in both hands. Huffing with effort, “Made it, Dad. Why didn’t we just steal the gold?”

“Because stupid, we are going to make our own.” Canted the girl with growing annoyance.

“Go eat a rock, A’lane!”

Looking about the beggar dropped the ratty robe, revealing a barrel chested man in thieving leathers with a slender beard.  Opening the box, the thief scooped out the coin stamps, tossing the box into the alley without a second thought. “We have to keep moving, I want to be off this island by dawn.”

The three departed, the twins plying their trade along the way as coin purses were snipped and nipped. Aideen had no understanding of what she actually witnessed but the robe was a gift. Fitting herself into the overly large garment she set her blurred gaze towards her destination one more time. Fight smarter.

Crowds thickened at the temple; Aideen managed to get in just as they shut the massive doors indicating the final blessings would be seen but no more. High ceilings with rolling scenery, with such detail it trapped the eye. Paintings of wheat blew in the breeze, waves of the ocean rolled restarting with every blink. Aideen felt the hours take hold, her pain constant, clutching the requests of her companions, kneeling to rest only to be on her feet again as the line moved. Dried blood flaked off her neck as she shifted her head to remain awake.

The hierophant spoke to the people in turn as the effigies of the Goddess and God sat upon thrones of stone separated by a smaller throne that stood empty.  The Goddess swathed in green robes with a belt gold that matched the mask placed over the face. Her counterpart wore blue, stars of guidance lining the arms, silver mask with dark pits were the eyes would be.

Aideen became aware the priest was speaking to her, blinking blearily.

“What blessing do you seek this night, little one?” The priest repeated himself showing his calm was wavering.

Seeing she stood alone, Aideen croaked in her speech. “I wish to be a shield maiden.”

Chuckling, the priest bent low to Aideen, “An admirable goal. Ye are willing to lay yer life down for the Baroness, then?”

Aideen knew the script, she had practiced it since she first heard it, still the words veered from her mind as he heart took over. “Nay! I will not lay my life down if there are those that remain standing to threaten her or the weak.”

Words stalled as the priest sorted through what was supposed to be said versus what was actually heard. The figure on the throne of the God of the Sea shifted as a chuckle was heard, deep and joyous.

Seeking the joke in the encounter the hierophant tugged the hood back on Aideen’s robe. His eyes shot wide recoiling, “Dispossessed! Ye are no to be seen this night, it is forbidden in this place of fertility!”

Reaching for Aideen the priest froze as the Goddess of all Lands moved, weathered hands gripping the armrests of the throne. “One hand on her and it comes back a stump.” The voice echoing behind the mask, militant and commanding, carrying no request on the matter.

Turning to the pair, the man struggled to find his words again. “I protest!”

The God of the Sea flipped out a hand fan, “Then do it elsewhere. Leave us with this child of the Isles.”

Frowning the priest did as requested, the woman playing the part of the Goddess gestured to the empty seat. “Join us. Please.”

Wiping at her face, Aideen tripped on the steps the swift arm of the God of the Sea catching her with practiced ease. Settling the girl in the empty throne the golden mask of the Goddess tilted, “Who did such a thing to ye?”

Pouring liquid from a silver tankard into a wooden cup the man embodying the God of the Sea offered it to Aideen. Gulping down the contents the taste of ale faded to spring water. Aideen explained her quest, the attack and numbly gave the names of who accosted her. Offering the wrinkled papers to the God in pained reverence. Gently taking the offering he made sure not to put them down knowing they were of importance to the girl.

“Ye were very brave to come and see us and to that we are grateful. The heart of one so young be seldom seen.” Spoke the man dressed as the God in open admiration.

Holding out a tray to Aideen with three cards face down, the Goddess’s voice warm and comforting. “Yer journey to destiny of desire has taken its first step. The messages in these lots will guide but not protect. Are ye ready?”

With shaking hand Aideen turned the first card over, drinking more water as the man poured for the battered girl.  “Ah, the five staves. Battles ahead, worry not ye got plenty oh fight in ye to handle it.”

Jerking herself awake to the tug of a needle as the God of the Sea finished the stitches on the back of her head. The woman embodying the Goddess of all lands stroked Aideen’s ruined hair, “It be alright, Aideen. Ye dozed off, we are still here, always.”

Reaching for the second card, Aideen turned it over. The picture was of a man on a horse clad in commoner clothing, scythe in hand, bearing the banner of the grey lion of the Empire. The banner hung upside down, fingers open showing the rider was letting the flag go. Horse charging towards the setting sun haloed in red.

The Goddess showed the card to her husband. “I know not this card.” Soft bewilderment taking over.

“They are not for us to understand, my love.” Replied the God of the Sea.

Bells fell away as the two set about seeing to Aideen’s injuries as the child slept. Dawn crept in; the child’s arm bumped the tray sending the third card over the side. Flipping to the ground landing face up. The image unseen by the child stared back at the Goddess its light casting about in all directions under a dull grey sky. A shiver rolled through the couple. A single streak of blood rolled down the side of the golden mask of the Goddess from the corner of an all seeing eye.

“Never.” The God whispered in defiance.