Amleth's answer
Author: * Fraoch Niafer - 9 Posts
Date: Oct 3, 2003 - 11:35

Amleth's answer comes even more quickly than I expected. Looking across the table at him, once again I see the hazy form of a woman appear behind him, smiling this time. The Dane notices my odd stare but I shrug and reach for one of the markers on the gaming board.

"Here is the Carrigfin," says I, putting the piece down in front of me. With a gesture of my fingertips, I indicate the course of the Boinne. Then I take another marker to show where Nevvyn's sticks located the Cruithne's camp. Amleth nods as I describe a few of the landmarks that he will find along the way. "I brought an extra horse with me if you have need. When you have determined the Cruithne's intentions, come straight to the rath! Now, if there is nothing else to be said or done, I must make haste now and tell the Rian you are on your way."

Amleth rises when I do and we warmly clasp each other's wrists. Throwing my brat over my shoulders, I wish him a safe journey and depart into the cold autumn night.

Just before dawn
Author: * Flidais Niafer - 153 Posts
Date: Oct 3, 2003 - 21:06

After Dobhar and Fraoch leave us, my father lingers by the hearth, gazing silently into the flames. Is he looking for more omens or is he merely contemplating the Cruithne chieftain's apparent betrayal? I sit for awhile, trying not to disturb Nevvyn's reverie, but I am too restless to be still.

Leaving my father to his own thoughts, I throw on my hooded cloak and slip outside. Cormar suddenly emerges from the shadows by the door. He falls easily into step with me.

"It is late, Rian, you should not be going about alone," the bodyguard remarks. His watchful eyes gleam in the torchlight. "No one is resting well tonight. I saw the war chief wandering past the stables not long ago."

"The war band will assemble tomorrow," I reply. "We are certain it was Domnall and his minions who raided the harbor. And they have added some mercenaries to their renegade horde, probably Cruithne."

Cormar skids to a stop, his mouth agape. "Cruithne?" A wicked grin twists his handsome face into a devilish mask. "Ah, but we have those hostages they gave us last summer to show their trust! We can use them now for -"

"Not yet, Cormar." I squint into the darkness that hides the gates, suddenly yearning for the spearman's safe return, before I continue. "We are sending the Dane as a spy, to visit with their chieftain and determine whether they are truly turned traitors against us. Domnall has no honor. He may have forced them to come here, or deceived them with false promises."

The bodyguard bristles at this news. His hand fondles the hilt of his sword. "Who says we can trust the Picts any more than we trust Domnall?" he snorts. We walk on in tense silence until Cormar's temper cools. He then talks of trifling matters - the weather, his winnings at dice, the lass he is currently pursuing - until we have walked three times around the rath and I am weary of his chatter.

Just as I am about bid him good night, the watchman calls from the top of the wall. The spearman is returning at last! Cormar bows and melts into the darkness.

Wrapped in Fraoch's arms, all the tension of the day falls away. "You're safe," I whisper against his warm lips. "What of the Vatling?"

"He will go." Ever so gently, Fraoch kisses my brow. "Now to bed, Flidais Foltchain. Dawn is near."

Reverie
Author: * Nevvyn Niafer - 30 Posts
Date: Oct 6, 2003 - 13:28

I sit before the fire, elbows resting upon knees, staring silently at the fitful flames and energetic embers. The brightness chases itself from one place to another, racing about like the life-sparks that surround me. My daughter eventually tires of my lack of communication, and leaves to wander about the rath. I watch her golden flame depart, to be joined almost immediately by the red of Cormar. She will be safe! Many others are afoot this night, when they should be abed. It is always a restless time, just before a raid or a battle. Warriors cluster in the barracks or the armory. Cooks are busy with preparation of food for the trail.

I lose my focus on the fire before me, and begin reaching out, past the walls of the rath and down toward the village. Things are quieter by the river. Sentries stand quietly, watching and listening for a possible repeat of last night's attack. At one end of the bridge, two brighter sparks have just separated. The silvery-blue, which is Fraoch, followst the road to the rath. The second, a pale green which I recognize to be Amleth, returns to the river for a while, then sets out on the road in the opposite direction. He moves with great haste. Greater than one would think possible, until I notice the dull gray spark, nearly obscured by the brighter one of Amleth.

Horse and rider continue along the shore road, then take a turn to the right. The trail runs swift and straight until it reaches the hills. The spark of Amleth fades to a pale glow with increasing distance, eventually blending into the uniform mist that is the product of all the different life-sparks 'twixt here and there. He appears to have the correct heading, and should encounter the Cruithni quite soon.

I watch as Fraoch returns, joins Cormar and the Rian. the gold and the silver-blue dance together, then come this way, followed by Cormar's dark red. I draw my thoughts back inside my head, and stretch the full length of the bench. With my staff resting upon my breast, I quickly drift off to sleep. I am thinking I will need my wits about me on the morrow.

The path to Niflheim
Author: * Amleth Yngling - 85 Posts
Date: Oct 7, 2003 - 03:55

I waste no time, for the darkness will be my ally in my journey. The sei› wisdom is in me, and my eyes are able to penetrate the thick and deep wood, like the cat and owl.

My steed is borrowed. He is a fine charger, much more stately and urbane than the feral Garbhán. Hengest, I decide to call the beautiful, dappled, grey stallion. The spiraling bronze discs upon his bridle flash moonlight from both sides of his nodding head. With the reins wrapped tightly around my right hand, my left rests easily upon the hilt of Weyland’s weapon – that terrible blade that had nearly been lost upon my arrival at Inver Colpa.

I had hoped it was lost. Though it be wrought of magick, the greatest weapon of Weyland’s forge, it had also been an instrument of evil, having taken gentle Balthar’s life. The loss of the sword had diminished my guilt. But I now realize that the Mistillteinn – both bane and blessing, loathéd and beloved – is destined to be in my keeping, and I must honor the Wyrd. I sing to myself the Lay of the Keepers of the Ford both to remind myself of my heritage and to keep me awake in the saddle.

The Hall of Ydalir had stood
Among the yews of Autumn Wood.
The winter season
Forsook its reason
With treason
Paid in blood.

Before the skill of Eitri’s hand
The Vatlings had been forced to stand
Against a hammer
Of lightning clamor
And glamor
Gold and grand.

But Vate’s three sons were quick to smith
A sword and cup for Odin's kith,
Of richer stuff
Than hammer rough --
Enough
To counter with.

O, Vate was felled by Odin's malice
'Gainst the Vatling sword and chalice,
And Aesír's greed
For Kvasir’s mead
Did bleed
The Autumn Palace.

And from the Keepers of the Ford
The Skjoldungs stole the Mighty Sword,
Good Weyland's pride.
They vainly tried
To hide
The alfr's hoard.

The future of that Eldritch Blade
That Horvendil and Weyland made,
Of Mjollnir's might,
Will hide from sight
And fight
When it is bade.

I sit taller upon my mount and breath in the chill of Samhain. I can feel the rhythm of the earth changing, and the ley lines beneath Hengest’s feet are clamoring for the evergreen leaves and red berries of Tinne. The air is distinctly colder, and I am glad for the hood of my olive cloak, which bunches about at my neck, warming me greatly. The mist of my breath is a cloud of starlight, and I find that the woodland path, under Hengest’s hooves, crackles with frost. I am no longer where I just was. The sei› magic has brought me to a glade bathed in silver moonlight. Great oaks reach their rime-covered branches high above my head, from all around me, and I am enclosed in an envelope of the Otherworld.

Geruith has clearly brought me to Niflheim, the cold lands of the Ancestors. I see her sitting upon a slab of stone, cradling a babe in her arms. My mother is dressed in the most lavish raiment I’ve ever seen on her, and her plaits of hair are crowned with a ring of frost. She looks up – "Failte, Amleth." This is not my mother.

"I am called Befind, my young Keeper of the Ford." This beautiful woman appears to be decades younger than my mother, though the depth of her dark eyes is ancient. I dismount. The intensity of the rhythm underfoot grows. "Geruith is a beloved heir of Dana," Befind continues. "Her feet walked always in Brighid’s path, her hand never a fist made, and her tongue not an ill word spoke." Before I can ask, Boand’s sister answers, "Your mother now gathers holly for the child." I need not ask who the babe is, for I already know. This child is the new year, sleeping in the arms of the Danann before being handed over at Samhain.

I kneel before the faery woman. "I need your help, Befind," I finally say, overcome with purpose. "The Great Spearman of Inver Colpa is called Fraoch. Like me, he is able to perceive elements of the Otherworld." Before I can finish, the woman lets free a laugh that is like song upon my ears. "Of course, young Vatling! Fraoch is my son. I already know your purpose, Amleth, and I know that the stars of Gerutha look down upon you always. You would have your mother bring word to my son of the intelligence you ascertain from the Cruithne." I open my mouth to speak, but think better of it. I let out a frosty sigh and smile, and the wise and wonderful woman of the sidhe smiles back.

Hengest grunts and chortles.

It's Always Darkest...
Author: * Gartan Cruithni - 2 Posts
Date: Oct 7, 2003 - 14:26

The sky begins to lighten in the east, but the sun has yet to climb out of the sea. The paling of the sky makes these woods seem all the more dark. The wind does not blow and the leaves do not rustle. No bird yet sings in the trees. It is a penetrating quiet that makes me almost want to hold my breath for fear of disturbing this vast silence. I sit like a statue of stone... rock upon rock... waiting for the light.
From far down the valley there comes a faint sound... almost as of someone singing. After a moment, the deep and manly voice stops and the silence descends once more. I sit and wait as the sky slowly brightens. I close my eyes and put all my energy into hearing. There... softly at first... a rhythmic clop, clop, clop. A horse is coming, with rider if my hearing of the singing was true. Does King Domnall send a messenger at this hour? I wonder what could be his purpose? Spear in hand, I stand and work the night-time kinks from my muscles. Walking a short distance from our camp, I stand in shadow in the middle of the path and await the arrival of our early visitor.

Horse and rider round a bend in the path and halt some twenty paces away. He knows I am here. Perhaps a glint from my spear point has given me away. Even in this gloom, I can see that he is well dressed and neatly groomed... completely unlike King Domnall and his warrior band. Slowly, almost casually, he rides forward to a wider and lighter part of the path. Raising both hands in the air in a gesture of peace.

"I am called Amleth!" he announces quietly, almost conversationally. There is no hint of challenge in his voice. "I am sent by the leaders of the local clan to ask of your intent. They would know why you do come here? Who do you serve and what is their purpose?"

All this he says in the basic Cruithni language. Though his words are heavily accented, it is easy for me to understand this man. His easy manner, his open hands and his quiet voice make me want to trust him. He is not all bluster and force, like King Domnall. I turn my spear such that the point is downward, and with a nod of my head, I invite him to follow me. We go, not toward our camp, but further down the path. When I am sure we are out of hearing of the rest of my group, I stop and take a seat on the grassy bank.

"I am called 'Gartan'", I begin, "and as you already seem to know, I am of the Cruithni, from Alba. We were brought here to this land of yours, under duress, by King Domnall. He came to our village some weeks ago, seeking warriors for hire, with promises of great riches and feats of valor. He had, he said, a great enemy who needed to be brought low. When no aid was forthcoming from our small village, he threatened us. He burned two of our thatched huts with his arrows of flame. He said he would burn more if our warriors did not come with him." I pause in my narrative, as I hear sounds of stirring in the direction of our camp. Soon, they will come looking for me. I hasten to finish my tale.

"We landed some days ago, at a small inlet down the coast. King Domnall, with his raiders were all mounted on fine steeds. While we Cruithni can quickly travel great distances on foot, I feared we could not keep up with mounted warriors. This was not the case, as they stopped at each village and farm for "refreshment". We came north, up the coast, and came to this river village in the night. King Domnall ordered us to run up and down the main road, screaming our war-cries and creating confusion. Before we knew what was happening, he and his men had set fire to some ships in the harbor, as well as several of the small huts. Then, he hurried us out of the town and led us to this spot saying he would return for us, but not when. We have waited for word since yestermorn." Again, I pause, digging the point of my spear into the soft earth. "And that, sorry though it may be, is our tale. Will you return to your leaders and tell them what I have said?"

Gartan
Author: * Amleth Yngling - 87 Posts
Date: Oct 8, 2003 - 14:41

I am familiar with the Old Scythian tongue, and it would seem to be very close to the modern Cruithne, at least close enough for me to converse with Gartan. The blue, woad-painted warrior is lean and strong in appearance, like images I have seen of Cuchulainn. Though he is alert at his nightwatch, this Pict is so unlike the stories I have heard. There is no ferocity, no insanity. His barbaric appearance is juxtaposed with his thoughtful speech and his seemingly virtuous ideals.

We talk at some length about his people's hardship, their desperation for prosperity, and Domnall's cruelty. It takes Gartan little to win me over. Then it is my turn to speak.

"The river-folk that Domnall attacked were that of the Clan Niafer. I understand that Rian Flidais and her clan were the ones responsible for defeating Lutrin and his Wyrm in Alba last year. They will be greatly relieved to know that your involvement in this attack was minimal and was done so under duress, without knowledge beforehand of your victims' identity."

Gartan's eyes close slowly and his brow is knit. His hand grips the handle of his well-crafted spear tightly, and I would wager he imagines Domnall's lifeless corpse impaled upon it.

I pray that Befind or Geruith are present and are able to report these tidings to Fraoch.

Controlling the Rage... Barely...
Author: * Gartan Cruithni - 3 Posts
Date: Oct 8, 2003 - 22:00

I grip my spear and grit my teeth to control the rage I feel coming over me. The object of my ire is not here, so I suppress my anger, to be loosed at another time. "A cruel trick it is that is played by King Domnall!" I say with grim expression. "The NiaFer are our friends and benefactors. It was the old wizard with the white hair who taught me the value of the yellow stone. It has made our little tribe wealthy. It was he who near gave his life to defeat the dread Wurm. Tell me. if you please. Does the ancient one still live?"

"Indeed he does!" replies Amleth. "It was he who knew where to find you!"

"I must speak to my warriors!" I tell him. "I must let them know we have been tricked again into going against the NiaFer. Will you come with me?"

"I will come if you pledge me safe conduct!" he answers.

"That I will do! On my honor and that of my mother, and my father's mother, as well!" I hand him my spear in token of my pledge.

After a moment's thought, he gives it back to me. "I would not have you dishonored before your people!" Together we walk the shadowed path to the open meadow where we are camped. My men jump to attention as we enter. There is a mixture of anger and chagrin amongst my motley crew. One of the elders suggests we set out after King Domnall and his group at once. I reply that this is not a wise action. though he has fewer men, they are better trained, mounted, and may be among friends.

Amleth looks to me and asks, "Why do you call this man KING Domnall? He is nothing more than a renegade princeling... a younger son with nothing better to do than to cause trouble!"

"Not King?" I reply with some surprise. "He swore to us that he was king over all this part of Eire! That explains much. I thought it strange that a king would travel with such a rag-tag bunch, but he claimed they were in disguise." I pause and breathe deeply, trying to control my anger and my humiliation. "Will you take us to Rian Flidais... that I may throw myself at her feet and again beg her forgiveness?"

"I cannot do that," says Amleth. "The War Chief is already on the march to confront Domnall. I do not know if the Rian is with him, but the Wizard and the Bard most certainly will be. They will pass nearby. Perhaps you could negotiate with them?"

"That is more favor than I should expect," I humbly reply. Hastily I organize our group for travel. Amleth, meanwhile, goes off into the trees for a bit. Perhaps he has a way of sending a message...

Restless night
Author: * Moss Niall - 36 Posts
Date: Oct 8, 2003 - 22:13

I cannot sleep well in the bruidean, even if it is warm and comfortable. The old Cruithne woman who is trying to sleep beside me on the bemch is restless too. She wimpers and moans in a bad dream. When I gently shake her awake, she mutters in her own language.

"What is it, Seanmháthair?" I ask respectfully. The shawl has fallen from her lap. I pick it up and cover her again, folding it snugly around her shoulders. "It was only a dream."

Skene stares at me. Her dark eyes have a faraway look, like they are still someplace else, in whatever land her dream happened. "They've come over the water. My kinsmen, they've come to take us home again," she whispers.

Before we settled down to sleep, word was going around the hall that a Pictish war band had joined Domnall in raiding the harbor. Their war cries were heard after the huts were set afire. Could Skene's dream carry a message from her clanspeople? I have heard tales of these blueskinned warriors, horrible stories of merciless slaughter and fierce battle-lust, men gone mad with a thirst for blood. I shiver and draw my cloak close. It is hard to think of the frail elder Skene as kin to such monsters. And are they now truly in league with Domnall? The idea of it curdles my stomach.

"It was only a dream," I repeat, more to reassure myself than Skene. She nods, smiles and closes her eyes, snuggling into her shawl. In the dim glow of the hearthfire, her smile appears crooked and menacing.

Unable to go back to sleep, I sit and stare into the embers until the sound of a war trumpet bellows at dawn. Dobhar is gathering his forces. I wonder if the Vatling will join them. I have not seen Amleth since I spied him with the spearman and the Rian. I watched for him to come to the bruidean but he never arrived. What has become of him? I wonder.

The embers turn into dragons and war ships as I gaze wearily into the hearth fire. Feargus would be among the first to answer the trumpet's call if he were still here. My brave lost husband, where is he now? I wipe away a tear as the war horn sounds once more. There is a shuffling, a low rumble of voices, and the sound of weapons waking in the hall. A cold wind enters as the door opens for them. The embers, encouraged by the breath of air, flicker into small flames, reborn. I hug myself, trembling, and move closer to the fire.

The call to arms
Author: * Cormar Niafer - 1 Posts
Date: Oct 9, 2003 - 12:39

The blare of the war trumpet wakens me. My first thought is of the Rian Flidais. Will she ride with them? As her bodyguard, I have fought at her side in many other battles. She handles a sword as well as anyone in Dobhar's noble band. But some of us must stay behind to protect the rath. I buckle my weapon to my waist and run outside. The trumpet blasts again, stirring my blood to fiery pride.

Anxiously I wait by the Rian's door to see if we will go or stay. The well-tended lawn in front of her house is trampled by a rush of warriors and horses. Dobhar, mounted on the magnificent red Dearg, looks fearsome with his limed hair spiked and bristling, his weapons shimmering in the first light of the day. I search the teeming mob for the head spearman but he could be anywhere in the surging chaos. My impatience makes me pace. I roar encouragement to Dobhar and he grins, punching his fist into the sky. The chief bard marches past with his harp riding high on his shoulder. His cloak of many colors swirls behind him.

I pace and wait...

Ever vigilant
Author: * Fraoch Niafer - 10 Posts
Date: Oct 9, 2003 - 15:50

I wait until Flidais finally falls to sleep, enfolded in my loving embrace. When I am sure that she is deeply at rest, I kiss her one more time and then drift away, following her into slumber.

In my dreams I keep watch by the silver road between this world and the realm of the Sidhe. It is not long before the message comes, carried on a white wind of twinkling mists. From the swarm of tiny lights that glow like fireflies, a familiar and beloved form slowly takes shape. My mother. Befind!

Her essence flows towards me, delicate as starlight but powerful as skyfire. She brings with her the scent of Samhain - dark musk, damp earth and a hint of frost. I bow down, awed as always by the brilliant spark that lives at the core of her faery heart, the heart whose pulse will forever rhyme with my own. She bids me rise and touches her cool hand to my cheek.

"I have met with the star-blest Keeper of the Ford," she smiles. "All is well, my son! Aye, Domnall deceived the blue people with threats and lies. But Geruith's son showed them the truth, and now the leader of the blueskins wishes to throw himself at your Rian's feet." Befinn's laughter rings like a chorus of tiny bells. Then her merry eyes narrow angrily into icy shards as she continues. "They wait to join forces with your war chief near the ruins of the old fort to the south of the river. Make haste, dear Fraoch, for Domnall's evil horde rides north today. They are thinking they will take up with the Cruithne again and return to make more mischief with Inver Colpa!"

My mother spins, weaving a little whirlwind of dry leaves that embraces me with earthy sweetness. Then she is gone before I can make any reply.

The dream is over. I wake and gently nudge Flidais from her sleep. Quickly I tell her of Befinn's visit. We arise from our bed just as the war trumpet shatters the peaceful dawn. Nevvyn is already up and about. Together we hurry to find Dobhar and give him the news.

Cormar greets us by the door, eager to know if the Rian will go or stay. I push on through the crowd, spear in hand, making my way towards the war chief.

The Shortest Night...
Author: * MacMorna Niafer - 188 Posts
Date: Oct 9, 2003 - 17:07

The muted rattle and clank of warriors and weaponry shakes me abruptly from my slumber. Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I see that those of the war band who were sleeping in the Hall are now gone. The sounds coming from the Green tell me exactly where they are. I quickly break my fast with a tankard of ale and a hunk of bread, stuffing the rest of the bread into my pouch. I throw my cloak about my shoulders and fetch my harp, then head for the door. Already, others are stirring. The Healer Moss stares bleakly into the fitful flames. I know not what she sees but, from the look of her face, it cannot be a pleasant vision.

Outside is pure chaos. Warriors milling about... others on horseback are ready to ride... torches glaring in the pre-dawn darkness. I see the Rian's bodyguard and salute him. I am searching for either Dobhar or Fraoch. I find the War Chief at the center of the group of horsemen, and offer my services.

"Play the WAR MARCH, Morna! We ride at first light to find Domnall!" he shouts his command over the noise of the crowd.

I grab the first stable lad I see. "Fetch my gray!" I tell him. He is off at a run for the stables. I climb onto a convenient bench and begin to play. Loud and strong, the chords of the NiaFer War March ring out. Within moments of my starting, the warriors have sorted themselves into their proper battle groups. There is no more talking and milling about. They stand at the ready, beating time to the music with their weapons upon their shields. The stable lad leads my horse to where I stand. I look to Dobhar. He gives the nod that he is ready to speak. I finish the chorus of the march with three resounding chords, then pause to let the War Chief have his words.

Amleth Returns...
Author: * Gartan Cruithni - 4 Posts
Date: Oct 9, 2003 - 17:32

...After a few moments alone in the woods. There is a bemused look about him which I have seen before on the faces of men who have been talkng to their Gods.
"I must hurry back to Inver Colpa," he announces. "I have a task I must see to before the day is much older." He mounts his steed and is about to ride off, but turns and speaks once more. "I have sent your message to the Rian of the NiaFer. I do not know how it will be received. I will lead you to a place where you will meet the War Chief and all who ride with him. You may plead your case, then!"
With that, he turns and starts down the path. Quickly, I form up my warriors into a column and we follow him down the trail. After a short run, he stops at a pile of crumbling stone. "Wait here for the war band. They will be along before the day is much older." Before I can utter my thanks, he turns his horse and urges it to greater speed, back toward the village and the NiaFer Stronghold.