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Curious Invitations
Thuram Speaks On The Subject Of The
Caravan Thieves
And so often it
is not true to say that my enemy’s
enemy is my friend. More often a
tribe with enemies has earned them,
and so first thought shall be that
there are two enemies, whose hatred
of each other may or may not be
stronger than the hatred of
themselves.
Soon after
setting camp those outside Vetiven
law made themselves known to us,
lands like these which often change
hands and are disputed borders, make
good place for their kind, clear
warning of authority advances, tax-free
trading opportunities and freedom to
live as they will, hard indeed to
find anywhere else within the city
states.
Tinkers, they
would appear to the unobservant, for
do they not have marks upon their
fingers of a bowmen fresh from the
hunt? Simple poachers they would
appear to the uneducated, for a
sword has no need of concealment to
a stag. Honest Traders they would
appear to the foolhardy, for no true
trader can afford too great a
bargain.
So it was that
after the pots and bowls were laid
down and the others came with cheap
sword, that thieves, brigands and
men of low regard, were our fire
guests that Friday, though some took
their time to see it. But a dram it
took before they spoke clearly of
the Vetiven forces, of the fist, of
the taxes and of the fort, and so
the guests had served well all,
those who trade not just those after
metals without history. But another
hid amongst them, and his face was
much less welcome upon the next time
the sun was high.
For at this
time there was a commotion in camp,
guests invited from yesterday,
returning, but captured in their
route by an armed body of men, in
the Vetiven green and making clear
their intent, at their side an
urchin by appearance who now spoke
with his own voice to prove that he
is a man of lies.
As if to
strengthen the argument that had
been heard but a few bells before,
many of the assembled in the caravan
saw the swift death that befell a
small boy and the howls from his
father at the pain, not the pain of
his own loss of hand, but the
ripping of his heart that preceded
it.
Hakeem and his
associate sought to defend the freed
thief and soon found what they
should already have seen, the
Vetiven fist and men, were not the
type to take lightly to an assault,
nor be bothered much from it either.
So it was that
a force, on its way to free a border
fort, came across their chosen enemy
and dealt with them swiftly before
challenging a caravan and seeking to
charge it taxes mightier than a
mountain, whilst on a land no longer
theirs, perhaps because of the
reaction that some had to the
slaughter of thieves.
So why do I
call them thieves? Well suspicion is never my friend as much as deduction and
that even less than overt
elaboration and above that there is
proof.
After the caravan had decided to
spend more time befriending the
nearby Gael clan, there was a small
moment of disruption and theft
within the caravan, items later
proven to be in the hands of our
trading impostors, worse still,
another came to pour on unbearable
insult by robbing my very own
pavilion, some bells after his
fellows had picked at it already. He
met the just fate of aiding the
harvest of next year with his own
contribution.
So remember
well this lesson, those who would
steal and those who would buy what
others might steal, a bargain will
mean only that you pay with more
than your purse.
Sir Rhodry And The Priestess
With
great reticence, but trusting
caravan master Thuram's decision for
the welfare of the caravan, Sir
Rhodry Maelwedd accompanied the band
that were welcomed to accept the
hospitality of the Gaels. Refusing
to take drink with the savages,
Rhodry remained outside the long
hall meditating upon the will of the
Celestial, while his companions ate
and imbibed of ale with the pagans.
His patience tested by the Gaels and
the boasts of their heathen Festival
of the Harvest, Rhodry went to the
walls of the fort to keep careful
eye on the woodland and plains
beyond, concerned that the Vetiven
retribution would be swift and
brutal. Bound by word to Caravan
Jodassian, Rhodry pondered what his
actions may be should he and his
companions have to face the force of
a Vetiven troop.
Lost
in contemplation, Rhodry stared out
over the walls of the fort when his
gaze fell upon a figure in the
distance. Dressed in the
unmistakeable white and purple robes
of the Celestial Church, a lady was
struggling up the slope towards the
fort. Rhodry started out to meet
with the priestess and take her
warning to avoid the fort that was
now a place of darkness in the eyes
of the Celestial, a haven for pagan
worship. However as he moved to the
gate three Gael warriors sprang from
their hiding places in the
undergrowth and charged the unarmed
priestess. They brutally struck at
her, but the priestess implored the
Celestial to protect her and fended
off their attacks, shattering limbs
with her very touch. But still the
Gaels came on all about her and
suddenly bore her to the ground.
They bound and gagged her and
dragged the lady to her feet. The
priestess lay limp in their grasp as
the pagan warriors carried her as
their prize towards the fort.
Incensed
by the brutal acts of sacrilege, Sir
Rhodry drew his sword and pausing
only to collect his shield ran to
the front gate to confront the Gael
ambushers and demand the release of
their hostage. Blocking entrance to the gate
the knight faced down the barbarians
refusing their entry to the fort and
swore to cut them down where they
stood for their actions, Master
Thuram and the Gaelic Chieftain's
hospitality be damned. At the sound
of this commotion, the chieftain
came to the gate. He broke into a
broad grin as he saw the prize his
warriors carried and proudly
announced that the priestess would
make a highly suitable offering at
the Festival of the Harvest. Sir
Rhodry went for his sword, but was
stopped by a harsh word from Master
Thuram. Outraged, but realising that
the Gaels would murder the priestess
before he could strike at them,
Rhodry stayed his hand.
The
savages led the priestess to the
centre of the fort and bound her to
a post. Rhodry forced himself
defiantly between the priestess and
her brutal captors. He swore that he
would cut down anyone who should try
to lay a hand upon the priestess. He
turned to faced the Gael chieftain
and demanded the release the lady. Amused by his confidence in
the face of such adversity the
chieftain claimed ownership of the
priestess and mockingly quoted the
laws of hospitality to the enraged
knight. Balking at the chieftain's
words Rhodry again demanded the
lady's release offering his own life
in place of hers. The chieftain
seemingly impressed by Rhodry's
steadfast conviction agreed to
release the priestess from her bonds
and that neither he nor his men
would harm her, but she was not free
to leave the fort. He bade Rhodry to
ensure she did not flee, stating
that he would be slain and the
priestess offered up in the Festival
of the Harvest.
Rhodry
was furious at such treatment of a
holy lady of the Celestial, but
acquiesced to the terms and
immediately cut the priestess' bonds
and bade her sit and rest. The
Chieftain left his warriors and
returned to the long hall to discuss
further business matters with Master
Thuram. Rhodry requested Lady
Katriona to tend to the priestess
while he fetched her food and wine.
Concerned that the Gaels would
rescind on their agreement Rhodry
considered the position. He realised
that a Vetiven attack on the fort
was a certainty and that it would
only be a matter of time before an
army arrived. He considered it would
be possible for him to aid the
priestess to escape during the
melee. Rhodry relayed these thoughts
to the priestess who, while grateful
for the protection of the knight,
did not care to simply wait in the
company of the pagans. She was
enraged by the treatment she had
received at their hands and the
slaughter they had visited upon the
outpost. She rose from her seat and
invoking the Celestial as she struck
down the nearest Gael. He dropped to
the ground, pain ripped through his
head as he was wracked by the fury
of the Celestial for his sinful
acts. As he struggled to his feet,
Rhodry saw that the Gael's eyes were
white, pupiless. He was blind. The other Gaels called for
blood but Rhodry stood before them
and begged the priestess to remain
behind him and to seek a way to flee
as he faced the vengeful mob.
A
shout rang out across the fort, the
Chieftain emerged from the long hall
and demanded an explanation. As the
blinded Gael poured out his
accusations to the chief and called
for justice, Rhodry beckoned to
Master Thuram. It was clear that if
the priestess continued her actions
the Gaels would slaughter her and
anyone who stood in their way.
Rhodry implored the caravan master
to negotiate for the release of the
priestess. Master Thuram agreed and
called to the chieftain. The
chieftain issued a stern warning
that any fate which befell his men
at the hands of the priestess would
be visited upon the knight
threefold. Rhodry looked back
without fear and accepted the
punishment of the priestess as his
own.
After
their chief departed to negotiate
with Master Thuram, the Gaels called
out their threats and jeers at the
priestess, who simply stood and
smiled back at them with a look that
showed she trusted the path that the
Celestial had bid her to walk, even
if it meant her death. With sword
loose in its scabbard Rhodry stood
before the priestess and met the
gazes of each Gael. The anger that
burned in his eyes dared them to try
and lay a hand on the priestess. An
age seemed to pass before Master
Thuram and the Gael chief came from
the long hall. It was announced that
a deal had been agreed: for the
freedom of the priestess the Gael
chief would seek an unannounced
favour from Sir Rhodry. Shocked that
Master Thuram could suggest such a
compromise Rhodry began to object
and offered his own life as suitable
payment the priestess' freedom.
Thuram quickly explained that, when
Rhodry was called upon, the favour
to be performed would not be such to
compromise the knight's sworn oaths.
With
understanding of the importance of
the compromise for the safety of the
priestess and diplomatic relations
between the caravan and the Gaels,
Rhodry nodded his assent and
accompanied the priestess from the
fort to the road to Vetiver. When
they reached the road he begged her
to send word to the Church in
Vetiver to acknowledge the faithful
deeds of Master Thuram and, in this
instance, overlook his sins of
consorting with the pagans. The
priestess agreed and with thanks for
his courage and protection she swore
she would also take word of Rhodry's
honour and kind deeds to the Church.
Sir Rhodry watched her walk away and
mused that the way of the Celestial
can, at times, be truly testing...
Fionn Mac Siophaigh:
Banu A’Seabhac (The Dawn
Hawk)
The child was born as the sun
rose on the first day of Lughnasadh,
the festival of light and life, the
time of the harvest, the time of the
cross-quarter day. It is also the
time of three days of religious
rituals, the celebrations marked by
unending contests of strength and
skill. The woman is glad that the
trials of birth are over, that the
time of the mother is here at last.
The wailing infant is carried
struggling into the crisp air of a
summer’s dawn. The first amber
rays giving warmth, beginning their
eternal task of filling the world
with life. Edana, wife of Baudhachan
Mac Siophaigh, presents her
firstborn to Lugh. It is as it has
always been done. As it always will
be done. And as the infant is raised
skywards, the golden orb breaks the
horizon, showering the mid-world
with radiant light. Momentarily
blinded, Edana hears the keening of
a hawk, and as her vision clears,
the tawny raptor dives as if out of
the great burning disc itself.
Later, in a small room of the
family great house, mother and
child, are visited by Bebhinn, head
of the druid council. The wise man
is directly responsible for the use
and command of the Mac Siophaigh
family and his presence is expected.
Talking to Edana, who is yet weak
from the labours of birth, he asks
questions. Questions of rite and
presage. Questions of augurs and
omens. And a question about that
morning’s offering.
“And what did you see?” he whispers. “What did the Sun
God show you?”
Pale with the memory, she pauses,
recalling clearly, but unable to
articulate the incident. As if it
took place a hundred years ago and
not that very morning.
“When I raised the child to
greet the sky, dawn came. Blinding
me with its light. Touching me with
its warmth.” She falters, and the
druid thinks she is too tired for
this. But he waits, and presently
she gathers herself and goes on.
“As my eyes cleared I heard a
piercing screech. It was so close, I
almost dropped the child. A golden
hawk struck out of the sun to take
the life of a black serpent between
the rocks. Standing with its
prey’s still writhing coils in its
claws, it looked directly at me. Its
eternal, fathomless eyes unreadable
and unknown. Despite the warm
morning, a chill ran through me and
as my unease ended, the bird leapt
into the skies and was gone.
“Did it take the serpent?” Bebhinn asked.
“No,” she replies, “It did
not. It left the remains of its foe
to the sun.”
The druid gave the woman a look
as unreadable as the hawk’s. When
he spoke again his voice was
different somehow, more resonant and
majestic.
“The dawn hawk. This shall be
the name your child bears before
gods and spirits. It is a name only
for the druids, for you and, in
time, for the child also. For it
holds much power… for those that
would do him harm. I fear this one
has been born with enemies. Dark
enemies.” Now was the time when
Bebhinn would prophesy about the
life of the child, and Edana held
her breath at what would be
foretold. For this man held the
power to save or damn her new
son’s life. And the thought
terrified her. “An air spirit
loved by the sun, a raptor… a
hunter of evil. Your child has the
potential to do great things,
however one so gifted, if set on the
wrong path, is capable of grievous
damage… My vision is clouded.
There is conflict. A maelstrom. As
if his destiny remains to be
decided. The gods have yet to cool
the crucible that holds him fate. To
this end we will watch him from
afar, and do our best to keep him
ever in Lugh’s light.”
His judgement passed, Bebhinn
strode from the hall.
THE FLEDGLING GROWS
Years pass. Ever under the
watchful eyes of the druids, Finn
grew up like any other boy on the
isles. At eight years of age he was
sent to live in the village training
ground where, for the next five
years, he would learn about Lugh and
the way. He and his select classmates
were also taught callisthenics and
athletics to make them grow strong
and true. Fionn had an unnatural
enthusiasm for weapons training,
pushing himself harder and further
than his peers. By the time he was
thirteen, the young man had
developed into a loud boisterous
prankster who delighted in shocking
people with casual obscenities.
However under the mask he possessed
a good heart, a hatred of dishonour
and a loathing for injustice. And
all the while the druids worked
subtly and quietly, hoping to shape
this young warrior for a purpose of
which even the gods themselves were
unsure.
At the end of the fifth year of
training, the young men were
presented back to their parents. The
day was a celebration, containing
much happiness and including
displays and competitions to
showcase their new skills. Following
a harsh winter back home, Imbolc saw
Fionn and his fellows sent to a
further school. Set upon a seemingly
forever mist covered isle, they knew
the honour of this choosing. It was
known that fewer than sixty boys
annually arrived at the camp.
Once arrived, Fionn lined up with
all the others, before being made to
perform a series of tasks under the
watchful eye of the dour-faced
tutors. When these had ended, each
tutor chose from the crowd of young
men, the most venerated first, down
to the last. Fionn performed better
than he guessed and was fortunate
enough to be chosen by the greatest
of the trainers, a man named
Cearnach of the Mac Ruari clan, one
of only nine. Among the three times
three was Caimbeaul Mac Caba, who in
time became Fionn’s closest friend
and long-term rival.
Under the tutelage of Cearnach,
Fionn and Caimbeaul grew in skill
and power. Yet it was always so that
however Caimbeaul triumphed and
excelled, Fionn would always do
better. So it was that in the final
years of training the companion’s
relationship took a darker turn. The
years of competition had taken their
toll on Caimbeaul. Constantly living
in Fionn’s shadow planted the seed
of resentment, and that coiling
sapling had grown into enmity and
then finally into the tree of
hatred. Rivalry replaced friendly
competition. Friends became foes.
The nascent gallowglass did get a
degree of free time at religious and
seasonal festivals, including the
yearly gathering of the families.
The gathering was a huge social
celebration across all of the isles
with the main event being three days
of martial games and competitions.
Held before the entire druidic
council and leaders of the various
warbands, these proceedings were
intended to assess the skills of the
young men as they reached the end of
their training. Fierce were the
attempts by all of the warriors to
demonstrate their quality, both
before their kinsmen and the
soldiers of other clans. For the
finest competitors there awaited
assured positions in the more
prestigious companies and the top
three would win the right to train
to become liach-nan-claidheamh-fada;
a warrior of the long sword. Also,
it was at these events that the
young men started to fraternise with
the opposite sex.
Charismatic and witty, Fionn was
never short of female company and by
the time he was in his fifteenth
year, he and a girl named Alanna
were destined for marriage. The only
difficulty was that Alanna had also
found a place in Caimbeaul’s
heart, and finally here was a
contest that the warrior could not
bear to finish second. Secretly, in
the shadowed places of Caimbeaul’s
mind, he lusted for Alanna, a lust
which was became ever more extreme
with every day that Fionn and the
young woman were together. Then came
the day when Caimbeaul’s hatred
passed the point of no return. For
some time before, he never missed an
opportunity to ridicule or slander
Fionn, pouring scorn on his
achievements and dreams. For the
sake of old friendship and the good
times they had shared, Fionn endured
this new relationship between them,
but knew that he could not endure it
forever. He knew that he was
beginning to look foolish in front
of everyone, and by doing nothing he
also appeared weak.
One day, after a particularly
scathing outburst from Caimbeaul,
Finn’s previously impotent
frustration turned to rage. The two
fighters smashed into each other
like blood maddened beasts.
Shrugging off their training, they
attacked without mind, without mercy
and with a savage rage that
terrified all who beheld it.
In the aftermath of the fight,
with both warriors bleeding and
aching and broken, Fionn’s father
sought out his son. And he was
accompanied by a druid. Though they
knew of Caimbeaul’s malice, they
were unaware that such horrific
consequences would result between
these once friends.
Having ended the fight only with
a loss of consciousness, Fionn knew
nothing of what they spoke and when
he questioned their words he was
told that Caimbeaul was dead.
“He died of his injuries while
he slept,” his father said.
“There was nothing anyone could do
for him.”
“You must be told,” added the
druid, “that we do not hold you
responsible for this. We know of the
restraint you had shown Caimbeaul.
Perhaps we should have guided the
boy from this path. Perhaps it was
the gods’ will that he died so as
not to pass on this poison to his
children.”
Fionn felt numb at these words, a
numbness that did not pass from him
for many moons. Yet in remembrance
of his former companion, of happier
times and the consequences of
hatred, he kept Caimbeaul’s skull
with him. Sometimes on cold nights
he would talk to his old friend.
THE LEARNING OF LOVE AND LOSS
After Caimbeaul’s death, the
usually outward, gregarious,
sociable warrior turned all thoughts
and actions inwards. For the
following two years, Fionn
concentrated on little other than
his training. Despite a deep love,
ultimately his relationship with
Alanna suffered, but fortunately
when the young man realised this,
his own feelings shattered his
despondency. And so, the time of his
soul searching ended as abruptly as
it had begun. Soon back to his
former obnoxious self, Fionn focused
on the last months of his training
with renewed strength and purpose.
Through one-on-one training and
sparring with Cearnach, the pupils
became stronger and more deadly with
every passing day. Finally the time
for the games was again upon them.
More than sixty boys from ten
different masters were pitted
against each other in tests of
athletic and martial ability. As
each contest ended, those placed
last were removed until only sixteen
warriors remained, and these were
then organised into pairs for a
final series of battles. Fionn was
well aware that he was the best
swordsman in his class, even though
Cearnach had never shared this
knowledge with him, for the tutor
had seen arrogance destroy too many
in his time.
True to form, none of Fionn’s
fights lasted long, and even the
most talented fell to Fionn’s
swift swordsmanship. And when the
fighting was all done, a great roar
erupted from the Mac Siophaigh
clansmen as they witnessed one of
their own among the three who would
be awarded the honour of being
called liach-nan-claidheamh-fada,
a holy warrior and champion of the
light. Before the Grian Ri and high
council of druids, Bebhinn awarded
Fionn the champion’s torc, a huge
circlet of fine workmanship in
recognition of his achievement.
At eighteen and finally deemed a
man, Fionn was presented to the
master of the sword, Cathmor Mac
Dubhgaill. This grizzled veteran was
one of the king’s men, one of the
highest ranking officers and trainer
of all liach-nan-claidheamh-fada.
The first task was Fionn’s
initiation into the cult of Lugh, a
cult in which he was to become a
devout and devoted servant.
This further training took place
on another island, and here Fionn
undertook more stringent and
intensive instruction. Over the
following years he learned to use a
great sword and to steel his mind
and body to all hardship in order to
prepare him for facing dark foes.
Here also was he taught of the inner
mysteries of Lugh and the purpose of
the Gallowglass as a people.
Advanced martial training was
combined with spiritual development,
administered by visiting druids.
Yet his time was not completely
taken up with the arts of war and
the understanding of the divine.
Fionn married Alanna when he reached
the age of twenty. After a fine
wedding, they spent what time was
available and for two years, all was
as Fionn wanted. And when Alanna
announced that the physician had
said she was with child, Fionn was
the happiest he had ever been. Yet
tragedy was to strike, for after a
difficult labour, both mother and
child were lost. And with Alanna’s
death, the warrior turned again
within, blocking out the world as he
had after the loss of Caimbeaul.
The final years of his training
were spent with a new mentor; Liam
Mac Suibhne, a highly experienced
warrior of the sword. Liam took
Fionn on missions to the Gaelic
lands and taught him of the outside
world and the warrior’s part
within it. It was Liam who drove
Fionn out of his depression, and
in-so-doing became the young man’s
friend and hero. With Liam’s help,
Finn’s swordsmanship developed to
the stage where he could hold his
own in a sparring match with the
master of the sword.
THE YOUNG HAWK FLIES
In his twenty-fourth year, just
before he would be recognised as a
full liach-nan-claidheamh-fada,
all that remained for Fionn was the
final physical and spiritual tests
forever binding him with his sword
and his god. For this, Liam took
Fionn on a final journey to the
mainland, escorting one of the high
council to an important religious
gathering in the Gaelic heartlands.
One night towards the end of
their journey, in the confines of a
dense forest, they were set upon by
the minions of the dark.
These creatures of shadow were
unlike any opponent the young
warrior had ever fought. Their true
forms were hidden by the night,
their eyes the semblance of true
hatred, their talons cold as ice,
their approach like a drum of dread.
Surrounded by an aura of golden
light, Liam flew into their midst,
his great blade flashing like a ray
of sunlight through the hazy storm
clouds of their dark bodies. Driving
the horrors back, he screamed for
Fionn to flee, to take the druid to
safety, as was their charge. Realising that the druid’s
protection was paramount, Fionn
hurried the holy man away from the
shadows. One of the monsters came
after them, briefly blocking their
path, yet Fionn slashed it aside and
carried on running. The last he saw
of Liam was a sudden flash of light
and a resounding thunderclap. For a
heartbeat the dark of the forest was
turned to day, and this was followed
by a noise like all the tortured
souls in hell wailing in agony. Then
the night returned, and there was
only silence
Arriving at their destination,
Fionn escorted the druid to the
threshold of a giant grove of sacred
oak, and there they parted company.
Unsure as to what next would be
asked of him, he eventually was
summoned to an audience. There he
was met by a single wizened druid,
whose face was more lined than the
bark of the oaks that lined the
clearing.
“Greetings, young Fionn,” he
announced to the warrior’s
puzzlement. “I am Casidhe, advisor
to the head of our Order.” He
paused while Fionn took the gravity
of his position. “My master wishes
that you perform a small task for
him.”
And upon the utterance of these
words, Fionn Mac Siophaigh knew that
his time as a Gallowglass was about
to truly begin…
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