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<blockquote data-quote="Greenfield" data-source="post: 5934185" data-attributes="member: 6669384"><p>*** </p><p>Penn heard the explosion behind him, heard the battle cries turn to offers of aid and encouragement, but he had bigger problems. With the strong wind blowing out from shore he wouldn't be able to turn and give aid, even if he should try. And there was still a ship out there with hundreds of men waiting to kill him and his companions.</p><p></p><p>He beat at the night air heavily, striving to gain altitude. If he couldn't rise enough to clear the yard arms then he'd run afoul of the sails or tangle himself in the halliards. Or, more likely, he'd be filled so full of arrows that it wouldn't matter. He considered turning away, to pass abeam of the dark vessel, but that would leave him open to more archery fire. The safest way past was right over the top, stem to stern. </p><p></p><p>He was close enough to hear the creak of her timbers when he passed, and saw the mad scramble in the rigging as sailors strove to reef her sails. Then the ship shook slightly, and there was a grinding sound as her heavy keel struck the first of the rocks.</p><p></p><p>He continued to rise, looking down onto the crowded deck as he went, and saw a sight that chilled him even more than the cold night air. Stacked amid ships were landing boats, coracles by the look of them. Enough to set a small army ashore.</p><p></p><p>"Of course", he thought to himself, cursing for not seeing it sooner. No matter how good a pilot boat they had, there was no way for this craft to actually make shore. At least, not here. All she could do was get close. From there she'd have to drop anchor and lower her boats.</p><p></p><p>Coracles were ideal. A set of wooden ribs, covered in oiled hide, they were lightweight, and they could be stacked one on another during transit.</p><p></p><p>He altered course, and prepared his second flask of the Greek Fire. He had two left, and a pair of the red flasks they had taken from the raiders earlier in the evening. He hoped they were fire, but hadn't had time to check.</p><p></p><p>He watched the small flask drop away in a steep arc, an arc that grew steeper once in the wind shadow of the sails. He missed the stack of boats he'd been aiming for, but caught another, and suddenly the ships deck was illuminated in dancing red.</p><p></p><p>The last of his own followed the first and struck a second set of boats, sending splatters of flame onto a third. </p><p></p><p>Arrows were flying his way, but those shooting from the deck were firing almost straight up, and risked having their own spent quarrels rain back down on them.</p><p></p><p>He left a bank of archers behind as he passed each mast, only to encounter a new set waiting and ready. He saw no more landing craft, so he didn't feel the need to risk using the enemy's weapons against them. He was wounded and bleeding when he passed the ship's stern castle, but managed to stay aloft.</p><p></p><p>Now he wheeled about, shifting out of that enchanted tailwind, and slowly made his way back towards shore. For better or for worse, he'd done all he could.</p><p>*** </p><p>Seeburn reached the small struggling form and held out a hand. His had closed only on water, but the stout sailor struck out with a final effort and grabbed the Barbarian's hand instead. He looked outward, striving to see the other survivor, and sadly, he could.</p><p></p><p>The second Halfling was struggling, floundering and thrashing in the waves but making no headway. Seeburn knew that he might reach him in time, but doubted that he'd be able to drag both back to shore. With leaden limbs and a pain in his heart, he turned back towards shore. "A bird in the hand.", he muttered to himself.</p><p></p><p>Cassius was slowly making his way out as Marcus played out the line. When he reached the end of the first rope, Nedel was ready with a second one. He'd sent magical lights dancing out across the water, and was just able to set them above the far swimmer, but he had no actual aid he could lend.</p><p></p><p>Then First spoke up. "Help is on the way.", he said, intoning a conjuration. </p><p></p><p>"Shark!", screamed the far Halfling, as he saw a dorsal fin cut quickly through the foam, blood in the water drawing him like a lodestone to iron. He thrashed more desperately, but with no more effect.</p><p></p><p>Seeburn found new life in his lifeless limbs, and it seemed as if he nearly ran across the remaining distance to shore. There he collapsed on the rocks, his tiny burden wrapped in shivering arms.</p><p></p><p>Cassius cursed. He hated to abandon the small swimmer after having come so far, but ... </p><p> </p><p> He redoubled his efforts, his powerful arms pulling him farther from shore with each passing moment. He didn't really think he could outswim a shark, but he was certainly going to try.</p><p>*** </p><p>"Whooohaaaa!", whooped the King as he launched another cask of flaming tar at the enemy ship. Aboard he could see that the crew had given up trying to work the rigging, and were now fighting fires with everything they had. Yet her captain was stubborn, and had refused to signal the surrender. The other two had white pennants flapping in the breeze, but the commander of this last one was bound and determined to go down with his ship.</p><p></p><p>The King was more than willing to oblige, and all but danced with glee as he called for the catapult to be reloaded.</p><p>*** </p><p>Nedel and Marcus were busy tending to two prisoners and a near-frozen Barbarian prince.</p><p></p><p>The Sorcerer's magic quickly helped shed the shivering trio of seawater, wringing the wetness from them head to toe. That, however, did nothing to warm the blood.</p><p></p><p>"There's an Inn nearby.", Nedel observed. </p><p></p><p>"It will be closed and shuttered.", Imagina countered as she shared her own woolen cloak with the blue-lipped swimmers.</p><p></p><p>"I can fix that.", laughed Cassius, taking up his sword again. "Bring them."</p><p></p><p>"I've never seen anything like that.", Marcus kept saying. "I've never seen a shark help a man to shore."</p><p></p><p>"Well, you have to ask him nicely.", smiled First. "I've set him and his friends to circle the ship, and keep the others in their place."</p><p> [FONT=&quot]***</p><p>"You say there was a fourth ship?", asked the King. "We only saw three."</p><p></p><p>"The fourth rode in dark, and tried to land troops at the headland.", Marcus informed him. "They were using a pilot boat to fathom a passage close enough to shore. First and a few of his Centaurs helped us, and together we managed to take out that pilot boat, and drive the main ship aground. We have prisoners from both battles."</p><p></p><p>"And I suppose you're going to credit my son for these victories?", asked the King, his voice heavy with scorn.</p><p></p><p>"He called on battle magics to help him in the first fight.", Marcus confirmed. "The second one was a team effort."</p><p></p><p>"I knew it!", swore the King. "Not just books and letters, but magic as well? Of all the useless...", he trailed off into a stream of obscenities, his face flushed with fury.</p><p></p><p>"Um, did you want to direct the capture of the last ship, Your Majesty?", asked Marcus, at a loss for anything else to say.</p><p>*** </p><p>The King and his immediate entourage arrived at the north shore to take charge of things. Local fishing boats were called into service to ferry prisoners from burning or disabled vessels, and the King himself reviewed the damage.</p><p></p><p>"It looks like you folk did a good job here.", he admitted grudgingly, after looking things over.</p><p></p><p>"Who destroyed the wall on that hut?", he asked, already knowing the answer.</p><p></p><p>"The building was damaged during the battle.", Penn offered. "Your son simply didn't know his own strength."</p><p></p><p>"And he used magic to do this?", the King demanded.</p><p></p><p>"He was a giant on the battlefield.", Penn assured him. "He and Cassius blocked the two streets leading from the entry plaza. He was foaming at the mouth, and laid such a swath of destruction that his enemies dared not close with him. They hurled poisoned blades at him from the fringes, but with none who could stand up to him for more than a few moments, the 'fringe" became the front line far too quickly for their taste. Two fled the field with their tails between their legs. The last wasn't quick enough, and died where he stood. Seeburn seemed almost sorry when he ran out of people to kill."</p><p></p><p>The King turned a leary eye towards the Bard, unsure if he spoke the truth, or was just telling what he might wish to hear. Then he looked towards Seeburn, measuring him as one might look at a horse on the auction block. </p><p></p><p>"You seem to have forgotten how to defend yourself.", he observed, noting the myriad of scabbed over wounds on the Barbarian's body. "But at least you haven't abandoned the blade entirely. Go clean yourself up."</p><p></p><p>Men arrived to report the status of the port, and the King seemed pleased.</p><p>*** </p><p>"People!", the King called to the roaring crowd. "You've done well tonight. While Stonehoof clearly won the Archery tournament, you, my people, have won the day. Let us have another day tomorrow, a day of feasting!"</p><p></p><p>He waited for the roar of the crowd to fade before continuing.</p><p></p><p>"The shipwrights tell me that one of these prize vessels can be made seaworthy again within two days. At that time my son, Seeburn, will lead a small war party against our enemies in Hibernia. And then the real celebration will commence!"</p><p></p><p>Penn buried his face in his hands. Unless the King had some other plan in mind, he had just announced to the enemy their exact time of departure, and exactly where they were going.</p><p>*** </p><p>"It's not quite as you take it, friend Bard.", the King explained. "Your wit has proven its worth, and you've stood the test of battle. You don't fight the way I do, but then your people aren't mine either. But my son, he was raised to be a man, to face his opponents squarely. This magic thing...", he shook his head in near despair.</p><p></p><p>"The battle magics can make him a mightier warrior than ever before.", Penn argued.</p><p></p><p>"But a true warrior finds the fire within and draws his might from there. He needs no magic for that."</p><p></p><p>The Bard pursed his lips, thinking carefully before he replied. "He's as fierce a warrior as I've ever seen. I know how it must feel, to stare a foe in the eye and see the truth dawn there, that he isn't man enough to face you and he knows it. That he's going to die and there's nothing he can do about it. But you know the greater truth than that. You know that it takes more than a warrior's fury to be a King. Your son seeks to grow beyond the fury, to be more than just another warrior on the line."</p><p></p><p>"But he must still be a warrior of the line. He won't be a man that other men will follow if he gives up being a man at all."</p><p></p><p>"Your son will make you proud of him. He won't lay down his blade, not while he lives. Of that you can be certain."</p><p></p><p>"We'll see.", the King said, still troubled.</p><p>[/FONT] ***</p><p>Seeburn resisted the urge to pick at the stitches that traced their way over his body. He'd refused magical healing, and gone instead to the wise women of the castle, for it was the way of his people that the women would work the needle, and gut a man's wounds closed after the battle. </p><p></p><p>Magic had always been available, but there were always more in need than there were blessings to share, and a warrior's battle scars were the trophies he would carry forever.</p><p></p><p>He looked up when his father entered. The King hadn't knocked, but then Kings didn't have to, and manners weren't exactly emphasized in Mor Castle.</p><p></p><p>"We're having some games tomorrow, at the celebration.", the King announced. "You'll be fighting in the first round, so get your rest."</p><p> *** </p><p>"I don't believe it.", Imagina declared when she saw Penn trundle down the stairs. "You've been here two days, and you're still waking up alone. Is that a new record?"</p><p></p><p>"Well, darlin', you're welcome to cure that condition any time.", the Bard laughed in reply, making his best imitation of the local tongue.. They were both getting comfortable enough with each other that they could joke about such things, for they knew that that particular match would never be made.</p><p></p><p>"He's probably smart to keep a lonely bed around here.", Seeburn said as he doctored his porridge. He was in the battle games today, and didn't want to weight himself down, so he ate light.</p><p></p><p>"The women around here are possessive, and the fathers are protective.", he continued. "And they've heard about you.", he added pointedly.</p><p></p><p>"Why so down my friend?", the Bard asked, straddling a chair at the table. "We won last night, and we did it with almost no casualties."</p><p></p><p>"My father has called a celebration today, a day of fun and games.", Seeburn replied, as if that explained everything.</p><p></p><p>"So again I'll ask, why so down?"</p><p></p><p>"You have no idea what my father considers 'fun'."</p><p>*** </p><p>The lists were posted, and Seeburn fumed. </p><p></p><p>"Valmont? Sargent of the Guard?", he growled. "My father matched me against him?"</p><p></p><p>"Too challenging?", asked Penn, looking the matches over himself. "Ah, I drew someone named Feardig'."</p><p></p><p>"No, it's an insult. I should be matched against the Captain! And what do you mean, you drew Feardig'? Don't tell me you posted to the lists?"</p><p></p><p>"Of course. Spirit of the occasion and all that.", Penn laughed. "It's a game, how bad could it be?"</p><p></p><p>"Remember what I said about my father's idea of 'fun'? It's blood sport, live steel. You'll get yourself killed." Seeburn then watched as his friend realized what he had gotten himself into. "Why so down?", he finally asked in satisfaction.</p><p>*** </p><p>The crowd had gathered on the slopes above the shoreline to cheer their favorites, and the rocks echoed back their cries. Below stood the first two contestants, Seeburn and Valmont.</p><p></p><p>The two were well matched, despite Seeburn's wanting to face a greater warrior. Seeburn was quicker, even on the damp sand, but Valmont's stamina was all but legendary.</p><p></p><p>Seeburn stepped forward smartly, bowed towards the King, then raised his blade in salute to his opponent.</p><p></p><p>"Wha' the devil is all tha'?", asked Valmont in confusion.</p><p></p><p>"Those who are about to die salute the King.", Seeburn explained.</p><p></p><p>"Ye've been in Rome too long, lad. This is sport, not to the death, and all this bowing an' waving your sword about all fancy, well, I guess what they say about you is true."</p><p></p><p>"My father would be just as happy if I died here.", Seeburn said grimly. "So yeah, it's more than just sport."</p><p></p><p>Valmont hefted his axe as if truly feeling the weight of it for the first time. It was the burden of life and death, a weight that couldn't be felt with the hands, but one that the heart felt all too well.</p><p></p><p>"If that's how it has to be, lad, then, well, good bye."</p><p></p><p>And they were at each other.</p><p></p><p>Steel rang on steel, and Seeburn drove forward, seeking to press his advantage early. Valmont yielded a single pace before the onslaught, then held. </p><p></p><p>They traded blows, Seeburn's speed matched by the sheer power of the other's great axe. Soon Valmont was bleeding from half a dozen cuts and slices. Seeburn's wounds were fewer, but deeper, and he began to realize that he might lose this fight.</p><p></p><p>So he let loose. He opened his heart and let the inner fire flood his body, the battle madness wash through him. He went berserk.</p><p></p><p>Now the fight became a matter of desperation for Valmont, for when he looked in his friend's eyes he could see that friend no longer. And he knew that Seeburn wouldn't stop until one of them was dead.</p><p></p><p>Sparks flew as Valmont slipped a parry, and he felt a streak of fire in his guts as his quicker opponent laid a low slash just above the belt line. A little deeper and that cut might have gutted him.</p><p></p><p>Seeburn saw his opponent flinch and recoil, saw the blood on the tip of his sword, and drove forward in pursuit of his rapidly backpedaling foe. He saw the other lower his axe for a moment, and with a roar he brought his sword up into a towering overhead blow.</p><p></p><p>And it was over. The victor stood panting, watching the surprise in the eyes of his foe, his friend, as he sank to his knees.</p><p></p><p>The victor pulled his axe free and stepped back. Yeomen rushed in with a litter, and healers pressed vinegar soaked cloths into the wound to staunch the flow of blood. The pain would be excruciating, but it would save his life, if there was any life in him to save.</p><p></p><p>And on the rocks above, the King smiled in satisfaction.</p><p>*** </p><p> "You've seen what this is now.", Marcus warned Penn. "You can get killed out there. Don't be afraid to run away, if it comes down to it."</p><p></p><p>"I'll be okay.", Penn assured his friend. "And of course I'll run. I'm not stupid, you know."</p><p></p><p>"I don't know.", said Nedel. "You signed up for this, didn't you? That was pretty stupid."</p><p></p><p>"True. But I'll bet I'm giving the odds makers headaches."</p><p></p><p>"May you know the blessings of Jupiter, and may his glory carry you through this day.", Marcus prayed, feeling the twin blessings take hold.</p><p></p><p>Across the way, his opponent was receiving similar guidance and support from the local priest of Dagda.</p><p></p><p>Marcus and the other priest locked eyes for a moment, then each smiled.</p><p></p><p>"I'll wager a gold on the Bard.", Marcus offered.</p><p></p><p>"Make it platinum and you have a bet.", replied the other. The pair shook hands, and the deal was struck. Then, almost as an afterthought, the Dagdanite spoke a few dreaded words: "<em>Dispel Magic</em>".</p><p></p><p>Penn felt part of Marcus' blessing fade, and so he did what he always did when he was afraid. He sang.</p><p></p><p>"..welcome to your gory bed, or to victory. </p><p>Now's the day and now's the hour,</p><p>see the lines of battle lour,</p><p>see approach proud Breton's power,</p><p>chains and slavery.</p><p></p><p>Who would be a traitor knave, </p><p>who would fill a coward's grave,</p><p> let him turn and flee..."</p><p></p><p>Penn watched his opponent as he sang, a heavily built man, human, hefting a battle axe in one hand and sporting a small buckler shield on his forearm. The man was all but laughing at the slender rapier in the Bard's hand, barely a sliver compared to the arms he knew.</p><p></p><p>Then the baton dropped, and the battle was on.</p><p></p><p>Penn sprang forward, muttering a spell as he went. "<em>web of steel</em>" His hooves dug into the wet sand, and he fairly danced circles around the other. A quick slash slid in above the buckler, and the oak thick arm revealed there flowed red.</p><p></p><p>Then the magic took hold, and he flicked his light blade upward to ring the flat of it against the other man's helm.</p><p></p><p>Feardig' blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision from that light but ringing blow.</p><p></p><p>Then the merrily dancing Fey was upon him again, slashing at his other arm, and again rapping the side of his helm with that toy of a sword. That dancing, lightning quick, razor sharp toy of a sword.</p><p></p><p>Again he saw double from the surprise blow, and he staggered back a step, trying to buy time for his head to clear.</p><p></p><p>And Penn was on him again, pinking his left thigh this time with a low cut. But the whip-like back slash of the blade missed its mark this time, and Feardig’s vision remained clear.</p><p></p><p>"My turn!", he growled, gripping the axe in both hands. He stepped towards Penn, his axe a circle of shining steel that drove the Fey back, stopping his dance.</p><p></p><p>"Ohhh crap.", swore Penn, realizing that his game might be over.</p><p></p><p>And now the battle was on in earnest. No longer dazed or confused by the flashing sword technique, Feardig' was battling like a true berserker, pressing and driving, and leaving the Bard with no time to plan, no room to dance, barely a chance to breathe.</p><p></p><p>But that hard, furious attack was weak on defense and left Feardig' open to the Bard's blade, which scored again and again whenever the pair closed.</p><p></p><p>Then came the moment. Feardig' lunged, and Penn dropped to one knee, below the incoming blow. And then the foam on the man's lips turned pink with blood as he impaled himself on the extended blade. He staggered for a moment, looking lost, as if he didn't quite know what had happened, or how he had come to be on this beach.</p><p></p><p>But the battle madness was still in him, the madness that will drive a man to spend his dying breath striving to reach his enemy. He swung his axe with all that he had left in him, felt it bite deep, and saw the Half Satyr fall just as the darkness overtook him.</p><p></p><p>And it was over. A howl of disapproval rose from certain quarters of the crowd, for both men lay on the sand, and without a clear winner, no wagers could be paid off.</p><p></p><p>And on the rocks above, the King looked troubled.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Greenfield, post: 5934185, member: 6669384"] *** Penn heard the explosion behind him, heard the battle cries turn to offers of aid and encouragement, but he had bigger problems. With the strong wind blowing out from shore he wouldn't be able to turn and give aid, even if he should try. And there was still a ship out there with hundreds of men waiting to kill him and his companions. He beat at the night air heavily, striving to gain altitude. If he couldn't rise enough to clear the yard arms then he'd run afoul of the sails or tangle himself in the halliards. Or, more likely, he'd be filled so full of arrows that it wouldn't matter. He considered turning away, to pass abeam of the dark vessel, but that would leave him open to more archery fire. The safest way past was right over the top, stem to stern. He was close enough to hear the creak of her timbers when he passed, and saw the mad scramble in the rigging as sailors strove to reef her sails. Then the ship shook slightly, and there was a grinding sound as her heavy keel struck the first of the rocks. He continued to rise, looking down onto the crowded deck as he went, and saw a sight that chilled him even more than the cold night air. Stacked amid ships were landing boats, coracles by the look of them. Enough to set a small army ashore. "Of course", he thought to himself, cursing for not seeing it sooner. No matter how good a pilot boat they had, there was no way for this craft to actually make shore. At least, not here. All she could do was get close. From there she'd have to drop anchor and lower her boats. Coracles were ideal. A set of wooden ribs, covered in oiled hide, they were lightweight, and they could be stacked one on another during transit. He altered course, and prepared his second flask of the Greek Fire. He had two left, and a pair of the red flasks they had taken from the raiders earlier in the evening. He hoped they were fire, but hadn't had time to check. He watched the small flask drop away in a steep arc, an arc that grew steeper once in the wind shadow of the sails. He missed the stack of boats he'd been aiming for, but caught another, and suddenly the ships deck was illuminated in dancing red. The last of his own followed the first and struck a second set of boats, sending splatters of flame onto a third. Arrows were flying his way, but those shooting from the deck were firing almost straight up, and risked having their own spent quarrels rain back down on them. He left a bank of archers behind as he passed each mast, only to encounter a new set waiting and ready. He saw no more landing craft, so he didn't feel the need to risk using the enemy's weapons against them. He was wounded and bleeding when he passed the ship's stern castle, but managed to stay aloft. Now he wheeled about, shifting out of that enchanted tailwind, and slowly made his way back towards shore. For better or for worse, he'd done all he could. *** Seeburn reached the small struggling form and held out a hand. His had closed only on water, but the stout sailor struck out with a final effort and grabbed the Barbarian's hand instead. He looked outward, striving to see the other survivor, and sadly, he could. The second Halfling was struggling, floundering and thrashing in the waves but making no headway. Seeburn knew that he might reach him in time, but doubted that he'd be able to drag both back to shore. With leaden limbs and a pain in his heart, he turned back towards shore. "A bird in the hand.", he muttered to himself. Cassius was slowly making his way out as Marcus played out the line. When he reached the end of the first rope, Nedel was ready with a second one. He'd sent magical lights dancing out across the water, and was just able to set them above the far swimmer, but he had no actual aid he could lend. Then First spoke up. "Help is on the way.", he said, intoning a conjuration. "Shark!", screamed the far Halfling, as he saw a dorsal fin cut quickly through the foam, blood in the water drawing him like a lodestone to iron. He thrashed more desperately, but with no more effect. Seeburn found new life in his lifeless limbs, and it seemed as if he nearly ran across the remaining distance to shore. There he collapsed on the rocks, his tiny burden wrapped in shivering arms. Cassius cursed. He hated to abandon the small swimmer after having come so far, but ... He redoubled his efforts, his powerful arms pulling him farther from shore with each passing moment. He didn't really think he could outswim a shark, but he was certainly going to try. *** "Whooohaaaa!", whooped the King as he launched another cask of flaming tar at the enemy ship. Aboard he could see that the crew had given up trying to work the rigging, and were now fighting fires with everything they had. Yet her captain was stubborn, and had refused to signal the surrender. The other two had white pennants flapping in the breeze, but the commander of this last one was bound and determined to go down with his ship. The King was more than willing to oblige, and all but danced with glee as he called for the catapult to be reloaded. *** Nedel and Marcus were busy tending to two prisoners and a near-frozen Barbarian prince. The Sorcerer's magic quickly helped shed the shivering trio of seawater, wringing the wetness from them head to toe. That, however, did nothing to warm the blood. "There's an Inn nearby.", Nedel observed. "It will be closed and shuttered.", Imagina countered as she shared her own woolen cloak with the blue-lipped swimmers. "I can fix that.", laughed Cassius, taking up his sword again. "Bring them." "I've never seen anything like that.", Marcus kept saying. "I've never seen a shark help a man to shore." "Well, you have to ask him nicely.", smiled First. "I've set him and his friends to circle the ship, and keep the others in their place." [FONT="]*** "You say there was a fourth ship?", asked the King. "We only saw three." "The fourth rode in dark, and tried to land troops at the headland.", Marcus informed him. "They were using a pilot boat to fathom a passage close enough to shore. First and a few of his Centaurs helped us, and together we managed to take out that pilot boat, and drive the main ship aground. We have prisoners from both battles." "And I suppose you're going to credit my son for these victories?", asked the King, his voice heavy with scorn. "He called on battle magics to help him in the first fight.", Marcus confirmed. "The second one was a team effort." "I knew it!", swore the King. "Not just books and letters, but magic as well? Of all the useless...", he trailed off into a stream of obscenities, his face flushed with fury. "Um, did you want to direct the capture of the last ship, Your Majesty?", asked Marcus, at a loss for anything else to say. *** The King and his immediate entourage arrived at the north shore to take charge of things. Local fishing boats were called into service to ferry prisoners from burning or disabled vessels, and the King himself reviewed the damage. "It looks like you folk did a good job here.", he admitted grudgingly, after looking things over. "Who destroyed the wall on that hut?", he asked, already knowing the answer. "The building was damaged during the battle.", Penn offered. "Your son simply didn't know his own strength." "And he used magic to do this?", the King demanded. "He was a giant on the battlefield.", Penn assured him. "He and Cassius blocked the two streets leading from the entry plaza. He was foaming at the mouth, and laid such a swath of destruction that his enemies dared not close with him. They hurled poisoned blades at him from the fringes, but with none who could stand up to him for more than a few moments, the 'fringe" became the front line far too quickly for their taste. Two fled the field with their tails between their legs. The last wasn't quick enough, and died where he stood. Seeburn seemed almost sorry when he ran out of people to kill." The King turned a leary eye towards the Bard, unsure if he spoke the truth, or was just telling what he might wish to hear. Then he looked towards Seeburn, measuring him as one might look at a horse on the auction block. "You seem to have forgotten how to defend yourself.", he observed, noting the myriad of scabbed over wounds on the Barbarian's body. "But at least you haven't abandoned the blade entirely. Go clean yourself up." Men arrived to report the status of the port, and the King seemed pleased. *** "People!", the King called to the roaring crowd. "You've done well tonight. While Stonehoof clearly won the Archery tournament, you, my people, have won the day. Let us have another day tomorrow, a day of feasting!" He waited for the roar of the crowd to fade before continuing. "The shipwrights tell me that one of these prize vessels can be made seaworthy again within two days. At that time my son, Seeburn, will lead a small war party against our enemies in Hibernia. And then the real celebration will commence!" Penn buried his face in his hands. Unless the King had some other plan in mind, he had just announced to the enemy their exact time of departure, and exactly where they were going. *** "It's not quite as you take it, friend Bard.", the King explained. "Your wit has proven its worth, and you've stood the test of battle. You don't fight the way I do, but then your people aren't mine either. But my son, he was raised to be a man, to face his opponents squarely. This magic thing...", he shook his head in near despair. "The battle magics can make him a mightier warrior than ever before.", Penn argued. "But a true warrior finds the fire within and draws his might from there. He needs no magic for that." The Bard pursed his lips, thinking carefully before he replied. "He's as fierce a warrior as I've ever seen. I know how it must feel, to stare a foe in the eye and see the truth dawn there, that he isn't man enough to face you and he knows it. That he's going to die and there's nothing he can do about it. But you know the greater truth than that. You know that it takes more than a warrior's fury to be a King. Your son seeks to grow beyond the fury, to be more than just another warrior on the line." "But he must still be a warrior of the line. He won't be a man that other men will follow if he gives up being a man at all." "Your son will make you proud of him. He won't lay down his blade, not while he lives. Of that you can be certain." "We'll see.", the King said, still troubled. [/FONT] *** Seeburn resisted the urge to pick at the stitches that traced their way over his body. He'd refused magical healing, and gone instead to the wise women of the castle, for it was the way of his people that the women would work the needle, and gut a man's wounds closed after the battle. Magic had always been available, but there were always more in need than there were blessings to share, and a warrior's battle scars were the trophies he would carry forever. He looked up when his father entered. The King hadn't knocked, but then Kings didn't have to, and manners weren't exactly emphasized in Mor Castle. "We're having some games tomorrow, at the celebration.", the King announced. "You'll be fighting in the first round, so get your rest." *** "I don't believe it.", Imagina declared when she saw Penn trundle down the stairs. "You've been here two days, and you're still waking up alone. Is that a new record?" "Well, darlin', you're welcome to cure that condition any time.", the Bard laughed in reply, making his best imitation of the local tongue.. They were both getting comfortable enough with each other that they could joke about such things, for they knew that that particular match would never be made. "He's probably smart to keep a lonely bed around here.", Seeburn said as he doctored his porridge. He was in the battle games today, and didn't want to weight himself down, so he ate light. "The women around here are possessive, and the fathers are protective.", he continued. "And they've heard about you.", he added pointedly. "Why so down my friend?", the Bard asked, straddling a chair at the table. "We won last night, and we did it with almost no casualties." "My father has called a celebration today, a day of fun and games.", Seeburn replied, as if that explained everything. "So again I'll ask, why so down?" "You have no idea what my father considers 'fun'." *** The lists were posted, and Seeburn fumed. "Valmont? Sargent of the Guard?", he growled. "My father matched me against him?" "Too challenging?", asked Penn, looking the matches over himself. "Ah, I drew someone named Feardig'." "No, it's an insult. I should be matched against the Captain! And what do you mean, you drew Feardig'? Don't tell me you posted to the lists?" "Of course. Spirit of the occasion and all that.", Penn laughed. "It's a game, how bad could it be?" "Remember what I said about my father's idea of 'fun'? It's blood sport, live steel. You'll get yourself killed." Seeburn then watched as his friend realized what he had gotten himself into. "Why so down?", he finally asked in satisfaction. *** The crowd had gathered on the slopes above the shoreline to cheer their favorites, and the rocks echoed back their cries. Below stood the first two contestants, Seeburn and Valmont. The two were well matched, despite Seeburn's wanting to face a greater warrior. Seeburn was quicker, even on the damp sand, but Valmont's stamina was all but legendary. Seeburn stepped forward smartly, bowed towards the King, then raised his blade in salute to his opponent. "Wha' the devil is all tha'?", asked Valmont in confusion. "Those who are about to die salute the King.", Seeburn explained. "Ye've been in Rome too long, lad. This is sport, not to the death, and all this bowing an' waving your sword about all fancy, well, I guess what they say about you is true." "My father would be just as happy if I died here.", Seeburn said grimly. "So yeah, it's more than just sport." Valmont hefted his axe as if truly feeling the weight of it for the first time. It was the burden of life and death, a weight that couldn't be felt with the hands, but one that the heart felt all too well. "If that's how it has to be, lad, then, well, good bye." And they were at each other. Steel rang on steel, and Seeburn drove forward, seeking to press his advantage early. Valmont yielded a single pace before the onslaught, then held. They traded blows, Seeburn's speed matched by the sheer power of the other's great axe. Soon Valmont was bleeding from half a dozen cuts and slices. Seeburn's wounds were fewer, but deeper, and he began to realize that he might lose this fight. So he let loose. He opened his heart and let the inner fire flood his body, the battle madness wash through him. He went berserk. Now the fight became a matter of desperation for Valmont, for when he looked in his friend's eyes he could see that friend no longer. And he knew that Seeburn wouldn't stop until one of them was dead. Sparks flew as Valmont slipped a parry, and he felt a streak of fire in his guts as his quicker opponent laid a low slash just above the belt line. A little deeper and that cut might have gutted him. Seeburn saw his opponent flinch and recoil, saw the blood on the tip of his sword, and drove forward in pursuit of his rapidly backpedaling foe. He saw the other lower his axe for a moment, and with a roar he brought his sword up into a towering overhead blow. And it was over. The victor stood panting, watching the surprise in the eyes of his foe, his friend, as he sank to his knees. The victor pulled his axe free and stepped back. Yeomen rushed in with a litter, and healers pressed vinegar soaked cloths into the wound to staunch the flow of blood. The pain would be excruciating, but it would save his life, if there was any life in him to save. And on the rocks above, the King smiled in satisfaction. *** "You've seen what this is now.", Marcus warned Penn. "You can get killed out there. Don't be afraid to run away, if it comes down to it." "I'll be okay.", Penn assured his friend. "And of course I'll run. I'm not stupid, you know." "I don't know.", said Nedel. "You signed up for this, didn't you? That was pretty stupid." "True. But I'll bet I'm giving the odds makers headaches." "May you know the blessings of Jupiter, and may his glory carry you through this day.", Marcus prayed, feeling the twin blessings take hold. Across the way, his opponent was receiving similar guidance and support from the local priest of Dagda. Marcus and the other priest locked eyes for a moment, then each smiled. "I'll wager a gold on the Bard.", Marcus offered. "Make it platinum and you have a bet.", replied the other. The pair shook hands, and the deal was struck. Then, almost as an afterthought, the Dagdanite spoke a few dreaded words: "[I]Dispel Magic[/I]". Penn felt part of Marcus' blessing fade, and so he did what he always did when he was afraid. He sang. "..welcome to your gory bed, or to victory. Now's the day and now's the hour, see the lines of battle lour, see approach proud Breton's power, chains and slavery. Who would be a traitor knave, who would fill a coward's grave, let him turn and flee..." Penn watched his opponent as he sang, a heavily built man, human, hefting a battle axe in one hand and sporting a small buckler shield on his forearm. The man was all but laughing at the slender rapier in the Bard's hand, barely a sliver compared to the arms he knew. Then the baton dropped, and the battle was on. Penn sprang forward, muttering a spell as he went. "[I]web of steel[/I]" His hooves dug into the wet sand, and he fairly danced circles around the other. A quick slash slid in above the buckler, and the oak thick arm revealed there flowed red. Then the magic took hold, and he flicked his light blade upward to ring the flat of it against the other man's helm. Feardig' blinked and shook his head, trying to clear his vision from that light but ringing blow. Then the merrily dancing Fey was upon him again, slashing at his other arm, and again rapping the side of his helm with that toy of a sword. That dancing, lightning quick, razor sharp toy of a sword. Again he saw double from the surprise blow, and he staggered back a step, trying to buy time for his head to clear. And Penn was on him again, pinking his left thigh this time with a low cut. But the whip-like back slash of the blade missed its mark this time, and Feardig’s vision remained clear. "My turn!", he growled, gripping the axe in both hands. He stepped towards Penn, his axe a circle of shining steel that drove the Fey back, stopping his dance. "Ohhh crap.", swore Penn, realizing that his game might be over. And now the battle was on in earnest. No longer dazed or confused by the flashing sword technique, Feardig' was battling like a true berserker, pressing and driving, and leaving the Bard with no time to plan, no room to dance, barely a chance to breathe. But that hard, furious attack was weak on defense and left Feardig' open to the Bard's blade, which scored again and again whenever the pair closed. Then came the moment. Feardig' lunged, and Penn dropped to one knee, below the incoming blow. And then the foam on the man's lips turned pink with blood as he impaled himself on the extended blade. He staggered for a moment, looking lost, as if he didn't quite know what had happened, or how he had come to be on this beach. But the battle madness was still in him, the madness that will drive a man to spend his dying breath striving to reach his enemy. He swung his axe with all that he had left in him, felt it bite deep, and saw the Half Satyr fall just as the darkness overtook him. And it was over. A howl of disapproval rose from certain quarters of the crowd, for both men lay on the sand, and without a clear winner, no wagers could be paid off. And on the rocks above, the King looked troubled. [/QUOTE]
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