Lugh had not slept, but he felt refreshed after his night under the stars. I wonder if Oatie will be there when I get back.  I wonder if she’s stolen what I have of value and gone?  Lugh wasn’t very concerned about that possibility.  There’s no way she could carry it all, besides I could run her to ground in half a day anyway, he thought as he slipped silently through the young trees toward the campsite.

There was no sign of Oatie  save the remains of a neat hearth and his backpack, packed and sitting with breakfast atop it and his other things neatly arranged.  Ah see?  All is forgiven.  Still, Lugh sniffed the biscuit before taking a bite.  No need to risk a poisoning with carelessness.  But it was as he suspected, perfectly safe and delicious.

Lugh could not help whistling a little tune as he shouldered his pack, and followed the path he and Oatie had been traveling.  He took the precaution of looking for sign that she had indeed continued ahead and there on the path he saw her tread, here a scuff where she turned back to see if he followed, there a careless step in a low moist spot at the edge of the path.  Lugh was well satisfied that Oatie was apologizing in her own way and making it impossible for him to miss her trail.  Good and good, I’ll just let her stew for awhile and close the distance in the afternoon when she will be missing me most, he thought to himself.

The day was warm, too warm, thought Lugh and his pack heavy, too heavy, she’s put all the pots in my pack so I guess I’m paying for my breakfast anyhow, Lugh fumed.  Yet again he tied his bow atop the pack instead of carrying it along with his belted short, leaf-bladed, sword.  Having his hands free let him ease the strain on his shoulders.

Then, when he was thinking far more of a stopping for a break than of catching Oatie, he saw her, rounding the next ridge.  He stepped off the trail into the undergrowth and watched as she gazed back the way she had come. Looking for me, no doubt, and only a few minutes ahead now.  When Oatie turned back to her way and walked out of sight Lugh redoubled his pace to close the distance, perhaps she’ll have lunch too, when I catch her, he thought.

Soon he was puffing and sweating under the weight of the pack and the climb to the turn around the ridge where he’d seen Oatie not an hour before.  His legs ached as did his back and he all but groaned his relief as he topped the rise and looked down into the vale below.  And there she is, and stopped in the shade too.  I needn’t have hurried, she’s given up the chase as it is, thought Lugh.

Below, he saw Oatie, fiddling with her pack.  Where she kneeled seemed heavily wooded and so an odd place for her to do her Norfolk sphere planting, but she had her sling in hand.  Likely she just needs an excuse to let me catch her, Lugh surmised.  He started to move into the undergrowth the better to watch and go unseen.

Oatie began to whirl her sling and only then did Lugh see dark figures begin to rise from the undergrowth to his right and down the hill.  She released and there was a howl from one of the creatures separating from the woods and bramble.  Oatie bent and snatched up another stone.  There, laid over the top of her piled stones, Lugh noticed her copper dagger spear, fixed and ready.

Lugh dumped his pack and tore into it to free himself of the burden and retrieve the things he needed.  Long training for hunting and war made stringing his bow a matter of a moment.  He shrugged his quiver loosely over a shoulder and drew out an arrow even as he glided down the  hill toward attack directed at his friend.  He watched as Oatie released another bullet from her sling to smack loudly into one of the foe.  The thing didn’t even howl as it crumpled and fell to the ground, that’s my girl, thought Lugh.  He took aim at the fur covered back of of one of the monsters and released.  Confident of his skill, he was already reaching for another arrow as the first shaft sped toward its target.

Iamerge heard greetings and apologies as Corinthians entered the refectory.  In any case, the discussions were no-longer going on and Iamerge felt foolish listening at the door with naught to hear.  Iamerge glanced around nervously, this is madness, he thought and followed old Corinthians into the refectory.

Gospels was already leaping to assist the older monk as he began to gather food and the pain mendicants.  Iamerge noticed that the new abbot was concentrating his attention on Rhaury UiBirlinn, and then, with a start, he noticed that Rhaury was watching him.  Their eyes locked for a moment, UiBirlinn’s face was a mask of cautious appraisal.  Iamerge turned to offer his help to Corinthians.  He glanced over at Gospels, but there was nothing he could read from that man, only earnestness on top of helpfulness, which covered much more below the surface, but that was deep water that Gospels kept to himself behind his dauntless smile.

Before he quite knew what was happening Iamerge was loaded with teapots, salve jars, and bread baskets.  Burdened he found himself following Gospels out the door with Corinthians in tow.  Rhaury and the Abbot had their heads together again, talking intensely, but in tones too low to hear.  There goes my best chance to talk to Rhaury about my investment, Iamerge thought.  Worse yet, he began to suffer a sinking feeling that perhaps his investment, and his arrangement to retrieve it with Roderick UiBirlinn, had been long forgotten by the man’s son.

It was all Iamerge could do to pour soup and pass the monks mendicants and bandages.  His heart was not in it. Corinthians took a hand in the feeding and nursing, and Gospels was his usual bustle of kindness and efficient service.  It was easy to step aside and let those who cared to serve do so.  It was not long before Iamerge, disappointed by another missed chance to speak to UiBirlinn, slipped out the door to sulk.

I ought to be writing, but instead I’ve been playing around.  I love games, I can’t help it, I would sit around all weekend and play RISK if I could find any takers.  I try to get my kids to play UNO, anything, but no. . . 

I ought to be writing, but instead I’ve been playing.  One thing I’ve been doing with my very limited computer time is creating my own Celtic Utopia in the war torn world of Terra Bellica.  It operates in your browser and you can sign up with a little questionaire. 

If you decide to give it a go, do look me up.  I am called Red_Hand and I’ve joined the Knights Templar.  (You can find my own little Tir Na Nua on Continent 28.)  I’d love to see you.  Use this LINK and I get in game gold to lavish on my friends and allies.  But seriously, give it a try and tell me what you think.

Anyway, Terra Bellica is sort’a like Risk online with limits on growth and a little bit of help starting out so you aren’t so far behind if you come later than others.  It’s something that sort’a scratches my RISK itch.

Another geeky diversion I’ve fallen prey to is Magic The Gathering.  I know, I know, you feel a little something in the back of your throat, but a housebound friend and people who I actually interact with at work are all playing this card game and I had cards from who knows when which I THINK I was using as sort’a a writer’s crutch to randomize geography.

Magic the Gathering is a fascinating and somewhat more involved game than it would appear at first blush.  (Can you believe they won a Mensa Award in 1994?) You can just throw some creature cards and some buffs with some lands and wing it.  You’ll probably loose horribly and humiliatingly as I have.  Good clean fun. 

But that’s only the most basic level of complexity.  Why there are critical decisions to be made regarding mana production and card probability.  What is your mana curve look like, and is there are better than even chance of your finishing strategy coming off or are you likely to get blocked at a critical juncture?  How do you deal with mana burn?  What if it’s an infect deck?  How do you deal with Flying? With Vampires? With Slivers? What about. . .

 . . .  Well, I’ve sort’a fallen into wanting to play a lot more than actually play, but my kids won’t even play UNO with me.  Magic has the advantage (disadvantage) of being a trading card/strategy game that takes some thought and research and pondering and deck building to do before you ever get to play anyway sooooo. . .

. . . I’ll get back to writing.

LSO

OH!  8-3 in my Fantasy league. YEAH! If I can make it past next week I think I’m probably a lock for the play-offs. . . sorry, writing.

“Defend yourself if you can little fox.  I’ll make you famous,” shouted Fer Ulli, Champion of the Airgialla.

“You’ll never know the tenth part of my fame,” said CuRuada hefting his spear in an overhand grip and limbering his shield arm.

“Oh? Why is that?” scoffed Fer Ulli wading through the ford.

“You’ll not know anything beyond today.” CuRuada crouched as the big man came splashing toward him.

Fer Ulli drove his heavy headed spear hard toward CuRuada’s legs, hoping to wound him, but CuRuada knocked it away easily even as his spear dug a furrow in Fer Ulli’s shield.  The two men traded blows, each catching and diverting the other’s blows as they churned the water of the ford to brown mud.

Fer Ulli was the older of the two by far, so as the battle continued, and he could not get his spear past the boy’s shield to wound him, the shrewd champion attacked less and sought to conserve his strength for an opening.  Using his bulk he worked CuRuada into a deeper place in the ford, hampering his movements.  Fer Ulli feinted weakly with his spear and CuRuada struck it aside with more power than was needed.  Fer Ulli seemed to follow that weak jab, staggering and exposing his side.  CuRuada lunged and his spearhead grated along the rings of the champion’s mail.  Suddenly CuRuada was reeling from a shield edge smashed against his head on the way to striking his arm and carrying away his spear with his balance.

Fer Ulli pressed his advantage, thrusting again and again, but CuRuada’s momentary unbalance was gone.  Now with his short sword in hand, CuRuada began to press the older man.  Fer Ulli should have had an advantage in range with his spear, but CuRuada, angered now, seemed able to slip past Fer Ulli’s guard at will and his sword cuts were telling.

Worse yet, as Fer Ulli’s strength ebbed with each cut, flowing away like his blood on the river, CuRuada seemed to strengthen and his anger seemed to grow. 

To look on him now was a fearsome thing.  Where Fer Ulli had struck the young man was a deep bruise that had nearly closed his eye, but around the purple his face was almost as dark a red as the purple of the bruise.  While one eye squinted the other gaped wide with madness.  The boys hair stood on end like his name sake, and he now moved with animal quickness.

Gasping, Fer Ulli tried his best to defend himself.  CuRuada’s attacks seemed more like the maddened onslaught of a rabid animal than a warrior.  Then, for a moment, CuRuada seemed to slip and Fer Ulli tried to gather the last of his reserves.  He let his shield drop low and reared back to attempt a fight finishing thrust.  Too late, for CuRuada was already erupting from the water.  The feat was the Salmon Leap and last thing Fer Ulli ever saw was the arching body of his nemesis above him before the edge of CuRuada’s shield tore his shoulder from it’s socket and his sword found its way down beside his neck, through muscle and bone to find his heart.

Here then is another Writing dot Com contest story.  This one postulates a world where people live in castles and strive to be knights (both men and women) but with all our technological advancement in place.  Sadly, I feel I’ve wasted a lot of time trying to write this story I’m not that interested in writing.  It has gone slowly and taken time away from posting here on my fiction blog.  Therefore, I believe I’ll inflicted it on you so I at least get something posted on my primary writing tool.

Knights Tale

Steel rang and hissed against steel as the two armored men battled each other.  The taller of the two unleashes a powerful overhand cut.  The smaller man caught the blow on his blade and turned it away returning a  viper-like riposte knocked aside by a hammer blow from the larger man.  Under all the clang and hiss of steel on steel could be heard the steam-engine sounds of ragged breathing.

The training hall was filled with contestants, some worked their bodies in odd contraptions grimacing and grunting, others engaged in combats together or against contrivances, training butts and quintains, more than usual watched the sword ring as Michael Talon stalked sir Manfred of Columbia Heights.

Once more Talon’s sword rose and fell driving the armored knight back, his shield clattering against his helm and upper armor.  Fatigue and armor conspired to rob the knight of his balance.  Desperately he flung up his shield to ward his head for the anticipated blow, but the younger man’s sword did not fall there, instead Talon’s blade snaked beneath the knight’s guard to thump sir Manfred heavily in the middle and send him sprawling.

There was a flash of light on the contest scry.  Michael Talon stepped back while the knight clambered to his feet with the aid of the ring rail.  “Four strikes to one,” puffed the knight weakly.  “That’s enough Talon.”

“Wasn’t it to be best of nine?” Talon asked, puzzled.

“Oh aye, it was to be nine when the count was nil nil, but here at four and I’ve not been near a touch since the first one. . .  You’re better than me Michael, and one more point won’t prove it more than the other four.”  The knight straightened and stated loudly, “I yield!”

The contest scry flashed the result, the auto-herald echoed Sir Manfred in a flat business-like-tone, “Black yields to Red.”

“Well, thank you for the match, sir Manfred,”  said Michael Talon saluting crisply, then withdrawing to the red side and exiting the ring.  Manfred waived weakly, chuckling.

Talon gathered his things from the ready area as another armored figure pushed past to take the ring.

Outside the ring, Michael Talon pulled off his helm and dropped it at his feet along with his other things.  Talon stretched, reaching up to slap a support beam with his gauntleted hands.  He stripped them off and tossed them on his pile of belongings.  He bent with a groan to grab a water-bottle from the clutter and took a swallow of water between deep breaths.  He rested heavily against the ring rail, still trying to catch his breath.

Michael Talon’s was a restless mind, so while he tried to recover his wind enough for another go at the sword, his eyes were locked on the wide-screen Omni-View display.

Another armored man brushed past Talon, “I’ve got Salazar in the third,” said Allard as he too slumped against the rail by Michael, smelling of sweat and liniment, “I doubt anyone will touch the Three Eyed Eagle this week.  Not in the tilt.”  Talon was slightly irritated that he hadn’t noticed his fellow squire’s approach.

Michael tossed back a gulp of water and grunted non-commitaly.  Truth was, Roseby had “touched” Salazar already, but Salazar had broken two lances to one on the Carnegie Steel knight.

Talon looked down at the pile of gear at his feet, Allard was annoying personally, but Talon thought his gambling habits were worse.  Michael Talon liked to hold his destiny in his own hands.  He liked to do, not talk.  Allard’s gambling didn’t affect Michael but, the endless chatting about the gambling irked him.  “I think I’ll cue up for the sword again,” he said and shoved himself off the rail.

Michael knelt and started to gather his things.  “Here they go,” said Allard as the tilt began on the Omni View and Michael froze to watch the combat.  Salazar was a prohibitive favorite, and icon really.  His gold chased, ebony, plastisteel tilting armor had spawned half a dozen copies.  His opponent, in green and yellow, was Roseby, a knight Talon had seen in the pits, not that premiers mixed with the rabble like him very often, but he’d traded blows a couple of times in a practice melee.  Lord Carnegie made more than his share of knights, thought Michael.  Wearing Carnegie Steel, green and yellow, was fine if it came with his spurs.  It was the man in the armor that made the knight.

Michael watched how Salazar handled his mount.  Like a man, he thought, commanding. The flag dropped and Salazar spurred his courser down the list toward the man in yellow and green.   ”That’s Roseby,” Michael mumbled.

“I guess,” Allard barked, “Not that it matters against Salazar”

Talon frowned.  Salazar, usually a rock, seemed not so well seated, his lance drifting.  Roseby was solid, if unspectacular.

“Two and one,” said Allard, “I figure Eagles closes him out this pass.”

Michael wasn’t so sure.  There is something wrong with Salazar.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the screen as he backed away along the rail.  The view snapped to high-side-on for the impact.  Michael stood up clutching his stuff mostly laying in and on his helm.

“What the. . .” cursed Allard as the view tightened and both lances erupted in splinters, Salazar’s low enough to draw a foul for risking the horse and Roseby’s slipped over Salazar’s shield and struck his helm.  Salazar reeled in his saddle, fighting to avoid a fall.  Carried away with the shards of Roseby’s lance was  Salazar’s helm, Ostrich feather crest and all.

Talon spun on his heel to make for the sword que so as to avoid Allard griping about loosing his bet and almost ran down a dark-haired squire in practice arms.  Talon topped this squire by a full head, but then he was taller than almost everyone.  Janeen was a talented knight prospect in her own right, tall for a woman, and just about the most beautiful creature on God’s green earth, thought Michael.

“Careful Mike.  Save that charge for the melee,” said Janeen Taylor winking, she patting Talon on the breastplate before looking straight into his eyes and smiling that irresistible smile.  Michael couldn’t help but look away from her frank stare and crooked smile.  He knew he blushed as she slipped past him.

Michael didn’t quite know what to make of Janeen.  He thought her too lovely for a knight, almost too lovely to bear.  Then too, as she brushed past, he smelled lavender and horse.  Good smells compared to the sweat stink of training.

“Geez Taylor, I’m at training.” Allard whined, “Must you descend upon me, like an ill wind, begging for money?”

Janeen laughed, “Begging? No, I’ll have my money from you or your factor.  You’re an idiot, not a welcher.  I’ve descended upon you to gloat and for no other reason.”

“It was a lucky blow, struck false.”

“Say you so? I’d say that Salazar’s blow was nearer a foul than a hit to make the tie, not that it would help you, but judges favor the Three Eyed Eagle for his reputation, as do gamblers.”

“How could you possibly know that Roseby had a chance against Salazar?”  Babbled Allard.  Talon began to edge away from Allard and his gambling talk, making for the sword cue, but he couldn’t help but notice the way she swayed to one side, hip stuck out and arms crossed.  Talon moved along the rail anyway, but slowly.

“Roseby isn’t much better than you, but he is a knight and Salazar is hurt.  Didn’t you watch his tilt with Jessop?” teased Janeen.  Even being cruel there was that about Squire Taylor that made her beautiful.

“Salazar won three to one!”

“Aye, trading blows on the last pass and getting pulled off his horse and tended on his lance side.  He’s old and he’s hurt.  I knew he wouldn’t be ready to concede, too stubborn, nor well enough to win, too old.”  Of course she was right.  Trust Janeen to notice and act upon something that Talon had felt without knowing the whys of it.

Janeen stood, hands on hips, slim even in her practice armor, and Talon imagined, that wide grin on her pretty face.  Michael couldn’t help but stare at her back and wonder at her.  Ask her or forget her you idiot, one or the other.  You’ve no time for giddy schoolboy antics and I doubt she has patience for them either.  They were here for the same reason, to try to become knights.

“Fine, I’ll get my scry and I can settle up,” pouted Allard.

Janeen turned with Allard toward the lockers and Michael was left standing, awkwardly watching her go.  Janeen glanced over to Michael and graced him with a brilliant smile, a wink, and a flip of her long dark hair.  Get a grip boyo, remember what you’re here for. Talon shook his head and once again headed for the sword cue.  Truth is, if I was all about the pursuit of a knight’s spurs, I’d find training nearer my estate. He’d Paged here, and Squired here while he was competing for his schools, but that was now three years past and, if he was honest, he really didn’t care for those of his mates who were still training here.  I’m here for Janeen.  He looked back over toward the locker-room, but she was nowhere to be seen.  Talon felt sick, unaccountably.  Really, it was all too obvious.  He’d been considering transfering his membership to another training facility over two years ago and on the very day he would have penned his resignation and moved his gear he’d seen her riding at quintain in the yard.  Since then he’d wanted to talk to her every time he saw her and never could get more than a word or two before freezing up and making an idiot of himself.

Talon sighed and turned wearily back to the sword cue.  If Phillip knew I was wasting time and resources because of a girl I can’t get the courage to even talk too, he’d more than laugh at me.  Knowing his brother, he’d figure in his head what Michael’s silly infatuation was costing him in real money and present him with the bill.

The cue was short and he was quickly matched against a young hotshot who thought he’d nothing to learn.  Talon took out his frustration.  The boy was so sure of his conditioning, that he requested a longer match length.  the best of thirteen afforded him a good beating before it was over at seven to three.  Michael had a kind word of encouragement, a formality that he observed without really thinking about it.

“Hey Talon,” Janeen caught his attention.  Talon flipped up his visor.  Janeen was dressed in street clothes, riding pants and a doe skin jerkin.  “Gee, Mike.  I never figured you for a bully.” Janeen laughed.

Michael blushed and figetted with his armor, trying to remove pieces with his gauntletts on.  “I didn’t. . . I mean I. . .”

Janeen cocked her head, “I’m just kidding.  He’s a squire same as you, just not nearly as good as you, or even as good as he thinks he is,” she slapped his hands away and began to help him with his breast-plate. ”You done?”

Talon shrugged out of his armor, “Yeah, I guess that’s good enough.”

“You hungry?  I bet you’re hungry.”

“I could eat, would you do me the honor. . .”

“No no, no lord and lady stuff.  I just took five pounds off Allard and I don’t like to eat alone.  Besides, I’ve wanted to talk to you for a long time Michael Talon.  I’ve never had so much trouble getting a man’s attention before.”

“You always had my attention.” Talon admitted.

Janeen laughed, smiling, “You had a funny way of showing it.   Am I going to have to do all the talking at lunch?”

“That wouldn’t be so bad.  I’d like to hear what you have to say.”

“My father says I talk too much,  my mother too.  What do you say Michael Talon?”

Talon laughed, “I’m not one who’s heard you enough.  Keep talking, please.”

“Go get showered, I’ll send my coach away, and we can take yours.”

Talon blushed, “Are you sure?  I’ve the light lorry today, I went to the engineers for my brother. . .”

“She waved him off.  The lorry is fine.  I prefer a horse to a lorry, but this training field is so bloody far away.  I’m used to lorry’s and horse trailers.  I like lorry’s and horse trailers.  Go get clean.”