“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.

It was a day like many many others.  Her world was a room.  Two paces, cool stone, three paces, rough wood, a door, and in that a smaller door, a tiny one, a food door. Kitsuniko would have despaired, but it was her world and she could remember nothing else.  There was a dim light coming from the light place, sometimes it was yellow, now it was blue.

“Daylight.  The day begins, the words must be said, the ritual must be performed, that I might find my mother, that I might help her in her need.” She gathered herself, moving by feel the proper distance from the wood, from the door. “Body remembers what the mind has forgotten,” In the semi-darkness Kitsuniko moves, fighting shadows with shadow knives.  In the half light nothing is unreal.

Heart beating rapidly, the circle complete, the ritual almost full.  Her body is as it always is.  There is delicious ache, there is need for food, there is life, blood rushing, there is, “This, that I might find my mother, that I might help her in her need.”

Breath in, breath out,  and, there is silence there is discord in her world.

Puzzled, Kitsuniko knows that there should be an opening of the food door, the smell of it, wholesome, needed and there the bowl which ever holds what is needful.

*   *   *

Above there is discord indeed.  The Scholar and the Herb Witch have come before the Shogun of the Pinnacle of the Rice Fields.  They have come to plead for Kitsuniko’s release with subterfuge.  There have been four Shogun since Kitsuniko killed the Shogun the fourth replaced.  That Shogun did not last long enough to release his ally before the third put him to the sword.  All this was most unfortunate.

The scholar was speaking in the way that he had that made men of action’s eyes glaze, “It has been fifty long years since Kitsuniko was placed in that cell.  Apparently, she was a hired assassin and in my research there are tantalizing hints that the woman was a skilled sorcerer.  In fact, there is good reason to suppose that claims that she could transpose herself with another were not just fictions meant to cover misdeeds, but in fact true.  This I have from many reliable sources.  Kitsuniko can, given the right conditions, move from one place to another where there is a victim, and in turn the victim assumes the previous position of Kitsuniko.  I think the Herb Witch can confirm that such is possible though not common.

The Shogun’s eyes were glazed, but he felt justified as a man of action.  He waved off the scholar and tried to get the man to his point, ”All of this is fine to hear, facts and sources and hints, but what exactly or you telling me?”  The scholar blinked stupidly, as if he could not comprehend the Shogun’s clear question.

The Herb Witch stepped forward, “Simply put, the Kitsuniko in your dungeon, is not Kitsuniko at all, but an innocent.  The assassin and sorcerer, Kitsuniko herself, has escaped leaving the poor innocent to pay for her crimes.”

“I don’t see how this involves me.”  began the Shogun, “I didn’t even know this creature was in my dungeon.”

“Most regrettable,” said the Scholar.

“Most unfortunate,” agreed the Herb Witch.

“How can you possibly know?  If it has been fifty years, who would know the assassin?  Besides, I have no complicity at all.  This is not my affair.”

“MMmmm, true, and yet Kitsuniko’s assassination of Warlike Name, brought Sneaky Dragon to power.  She undoubtedly expected quick release.  But when Strong Phoenix overthrew Sneaky Dragon she was never freed.  She has languished there ever after.  Through the unfortunate reign of Strong Phoenix and the grievous mismanagement of Golden Stag even when your father, Wise Griffin, saved our good pinnacle from sure destruction, may he be remembered reverently for all time, and you now ensure our continuance with your strong sword, she has been left to rot in the deepest darkest dungeon.”

The Shogun, Rising Tide, shook himself.  His eyes had glazed again, “I don’t see the problem. You keep talking and talking and I wish to understand, but I see no problem in this for me.”  The old scholar looked dazed himself, perhaps he wasn’t totally immune to his own droning.

The Herb Witch stepped forward again to explain, “Only this my lord.  Kitsuniko might well be in great anger at the Shogun of the Pinnacle of the Rice Fields though you are not the foolish man that did not release her as promised.”

“But that was Sneaky Phoenix’s problem . . .”

“ummm, Sneaky Dragon, my lord.”  corrected the Scholar helpfully.

“Fine, Sneaky Dragon, but how could this assassin hold me accountable for something done long before even my father, . . .”

“May he ever be reverenced,” intoned the elders

“. . . Wise Griffin was Shogun before me?”

“Fifty years in prison might cause one to be unhinged. . .” said the Herb Witch.

“Assassins . . ,” furnished the Scholar

“I thought you said she had escaped by changing places with another.”

“How to know but to look and see?” asked the Herb Witch.

Being a man of action, the Shogun, seeing an action to be done, did, “Guards attend me.  You Scholar, and you Witch, come also.  There is no need to wonder when we can see.”

The trip down into the deepest darkest dungeon was revealing, this was a place where a prisoner was sent to be forgotten.  The Shogun wondered how anyone could survive fifty years with the weight of the pinnacle above them.  The jailer only spent time here when he worked and he seemed a bit made, “Is it much farther, Jailer?”

“Not much to the door.  Who can say if it will open?  That door has been shut tight for. . .”

“Over fifty years.”

“Long before I started” The jailer shoved his key into the lock and struggled for a few moments.  They heard a metallic click and mumbled curses, “That’s the key, it’s broken off in the lock,” said the man.

“What now?” asked the Shogun.

“I push it in?” asked the big galoeer.

“Do so,” said the Shogun, Rising Tide.

*   *   *

They had found the girl cowering in the corner, blinded by their torches.  It seemed obvious to the Shogun and when it was explained, the Jailer, that this child, no more than twenty, could not be the seventy-year-old assassin, Kitsuniko. 

The Scholar advised, and then produced a written pardon and parole, absolving the former Kitsuniko of her former now fifty-year-old deeds.  It seemed stupid to the Shogun, but for some reason the Scholar thought this might molify the great sorceror and assassin Kitsuniko.  Being a man of action, Rising Tide, the Shogun, signed and had this pardon proclaimed throughout the pinnical.  Why borrow trouble?

The two elders, the Scholar and the Herb Witch, had even taken care of the poor waif, wisking her off to their den, the Shogun hoped, never to be seen again.  All was well, all was back to normal. 

*   *   *

Behind the Herb Witch’s shop and the Scholar’s library there was their home.  It was dimly lit now and the two elders fussed over the disoriented girl.  “You need to eat, I know this all is strange to you.  Rest, be refreshed,” said the old woman.

Are you my mother?  Are you in need? Kitsuniko thought.  All this is strange, this of the old woman, this speech.  I do not know it and yet I understand.

Now the old man spoke, “We apologize for the long delay.  It is not right that you were in that hole for so long.  We do beg your pardon.

The hole, Kitsuniko looked at the old man, he meant well, but his words confused her.  When he said hole did he mean the world?  And what was this place?  So bright, and with these others.  “Are you my mother?  Are you in need?” Kitsuniko directed her question to the old woman, the words came with difficulty.

The old man was confused to silence by her mumblings, but the old woman heard and reshaped the words into something intelligible.  “Am I your mother?”  The old woman smiled and look to the old man.  The Herb Witch smiled at Kitsuniko, “No, I am not your mother, but we,” and she made a motion that included the Scholar, “We are all blood.”

There was silence, comfortingly like her world.  Quiet like the old world, this one was messier, confusing, but she knew from her ritual that there was a wider world that she wasn’t allowed, but one day she would.  It was today.

The old woman and the old man got to their feet and stood, hand pressing hand, “Daylight and dark.  The day begins, the day ends, the words must be said, the ritual must be performed, that I might know my purpose, that I am ready at need.” The words were different, but the ritual was the same, the movings and steppings, Kitsuniko flowed with her blood, two she could not remember but seemed to know or be known by. ”Body remembers what the mind has forgotten,” In the semi-darkness Kitsuniko moves, fighting shadows with shadow knives.  In the half light nothing is unreal.

Concubar the king and his friend and weapon-master Fergus were sitting together over a game of Fidchell, ”Fergus, what can you tell me of the skill at arms of the little fellow, Curuada,”  Concubar glanced around to make certain they were alone before adding in a whisper, “my son?”

“Not hard to tell,” said Fergus as he pondered the board, “His strikings are vigorous, he plies his shield with success, his counter-striking is without flaw, his spear throw is ever true and he has mastered the catching feat, the dance of the three spears, and the casting and catching feat, and none is more skilled at the salmon leap than is Curuada.”

“What is the season? false Summer, hmmm see here, I entrench my footman.” The king made his move and then looking over at Fergus he asked “What of his skill with the chariot?”

Fergus scowled at the board considering. “Easy to tell, oh king,” said Fergus, “he has mastered all the throws from the chariot, he is proficient in the tongue feat and the horse back feat, his turnings are sharp, he knows the use of the scythes, he drives with great vigor so that none can fault his rein work, why, Curuada already can execute the wheel feat. He is without peer oh king.”

“What is your move then Fergus?” asked Concubar smiling to himself with fatherly pride.

“Do not rush me.  Patience is wisdom and a piece moved in hurry is a piece soon lost. I have several moves in mind, I but choose the best of many brethern.”

“Have you taught him the use of the long-sword, oh my master-of-arms?”

“Of course, he is a prince after all.  Know oh king, I have schooled him in long-sword slashings and parryings, all the whelming blows and the cutting strikes he knows well.  Though the weapon should be difficult for one so small, he plies it with ease.”  Fergus reached to the board and moved a mercenary closer to Concubar’s province. “He saw Cormac achieve the shield leaping reverse grip whelming feat and did what Cormac has labored for three years to perfect.  This was on his first attempt mind you.”  Fergus scooped up the die and cast. “5 days,” he counted the marker along the board edge. “HAH! it is full summer and I have advantage.” Fergus rubbed his hands together and moved the same mercenary to capture the king’s most advanced chariot.

Concubar leaned over the board and scanned it, but without much interest.  “I could have used that chariot. . .” Fergus smiled to himself, pleased with the game.

“I have never trained a lad so canny.  He is by far my best work.” Said Fergus.

“In truth he was my work, remember?” said Concubar.

“As you say,” began Fergus, “Cathbad is not so very pleased that you got him on that Faery woman.  I have seen him watching my training of the boy.”

Concubar cursed under his breath, “Don’t speak to me of that druid, he won’t leave off badgering me about how bad it is to mix with the fae folk.  And yet, here is the boy who excels in all things.  How is that bad?”

Fergus shrugged but said no more.

Concubar moved a javelineer behind his entrenched footman and gathered up the die.  “He sees trouble where there is none, and more trouble where there should be pleasantness.  Do you know he pesters me now about finding a bride?”

Fergus shrugged again, but almost spoke before he thought better of it.

Concubar made his cast.  “Two only,” he moved the marker and said, “still Summer and you to move.  With all of this of the boy, is this really the time to seek a bride? I ask you.”

Fergus looked to his king and decided the question was rhetorical.

“I have no idea where I might find a proper wife.  You are right to say that a quick move in Fidchell brings loss.  You should tell that to Cathbad, how much worse to charge off to find a woman because of a boy?”

Fergus nodded supportively and kept his eyes on the board.

“If I was to go a hunting, I’ll tell you it would not be for a wife.” Concubar leaned close to Fergus and whispered conspiratorially, “I find the comfort I need without difficulty, it is easy to find a woman.”

Fergus moved a charioteer out farther on the flank, “I know a girl that would be perfect for you.”

“Truly?  Who is she?”

Fergus smiled, “Emer, the daughter of the hostler.  Well formed though delicate, she has all the womanly virtues so that no woman is her equal in face, or in voice, in sweet speech, or in grace, nor any as skilled with needle and thread.”

“Emer you say? The daughter of the Hostler at the fording of the Red River on the South Road?”

“Aye, that is he.” Fergus steepled his fingers and pondered, “How long, oh king, has it been since you travelled this your realm and saw to your subjects?  Perhaps it is time you did.”

“I could take CuRuada hunting and test his skills in that regard as well, might I not?”

Fergus grinned, “Who knows? There might even be the sort of action that a hero might find to hand.  Perhaps a neighbor’s cows might find there way to our own possession?”

Concubar frowned, “That would be merry sport, so I guarantee that spoil stew Cathbad will be against it.  Of what possible good is it to be king if I must always dance to every finger snap of the Chief Druid?”

Fergus reverted to his standard non-commital shrug in lue of a real answer.

“Well, he can’t complain about hunting.  That at least I can still do.  Fergus, what say we plan a long day of hunting, CuRuada included, and then perhaps this fellow at the ford, the hostler, will feast us so I can have a look at his daughter.  What was her name?”

“Emer, to be sure.”

“Emer, right.” Concubar clapped his hands, “Oh Fergus, this is just the thing, killing two birds with one stone, three really, a bit of hunting with my son, a bit of pleasure while I see to a wife, and best of all, Cathbad won’t be in any of it.  See to preparations.”

“I fear it can not be for a week or so, the funerary games of Macha are set for Bright’s fullness, and there is an opportune conjunction of the Stranger as well.  Then too, it is the time for a few of the lads to take up their arms.”

“hmmm, then we simply must have a cattle raid on our hunt afterward, the boys can test their mettle, and I can bring my potential new good father some wealth on the hoof.” Concubar winked, “Never a bad thing to give a gift that costs someone else”

Fergus laughed along with the king, “Aye, and he will likely be freer with the wine if we bring him good beef, eh?”

“Even so.” The king smiled expansively.  Concubar grew serious, “Say nothing of this to Cathbad, he would only spoil our fun.”

“Ah, here he comes now”  Fergus whispered and both men turned to study their game. “um, who’s turn was it?”

Thoroughly disgusted with Cathbad, Concubar could not bear to sit on his throne and think.  He did not wish to wait for Cathbad and the Brehon to return and berate him anew, so he rose from his throne and walked out to the hurley pitch to have another look at the Little Fellow, Son.

He saw Fergus standing above the pitch and chuckling to himself.  “What is so amusing Fergus?  Please tell me, I could do with some good humor after that horrible wizard Cathbad.” said the king.

“Well,” said Fergus, “Having beaten the boys and sending them away with their tails between their legs, the Little Fellow is playing with the hounds.  They’re not much for the rules, but they are very entertaining.”

“Playing the hounds?  I thought I told you to make sure the boy came to no harm?”  Concubar looked down on the field and saw nothing but a mass of writhing dog flesh in a scrum in the middle of the pitch, “Are you mad?  I don’t even see him in all that.  Have they eaten him?”

“No, the lad is too good with that cam.  Add to that the dogs seem to love him.”

“Are you sure?  I don’t even see him.”

“See there?  He’s the red haired hound in the middle.”

“Cu Ruada you say?” The king tugged his whiskers in thought, “Now that’s a fine name for the boy.”

“CuRuada?” Fergus nodded, “aye, I think it would serve.”

“The lad is good with the cam.  Let’s see what he can do with the sword.  Take him to the field and see how he is with shield and spear and . . .  Well, you know the training of the boys.  I think you may need to train him to be careful of his mates, so at first would you see to him alone Fergus?  I don’t need a lot of angry Red Branch Warriors bellowing about Cu Ruada’s  mistreatment of their sons and too we must consider Fand and Muirthemne.  The boy must come to no harm.”

“Well, if they’d complain about that, they should know they were better served to take a switch to any boy who would complain about being bested by that little hound.”

All the same, you see to the boy.  Let me know what you learn of CuRuada’s skill.