Kheltic Accession: Chapter Four

 

Kheltic Accession

Chapter Four

A magnificent red hart stood ever watchful over his harem, three smaller does with bent heads, drinking from a clear mountain stream. His manner, so regale and poised as he held his massive head high, proudly displaying his gigantic rack of velvet antlers; His ruddy coat now growing full and shaggy, one of many signs that the winter season was soon to arrive. The majestic beast snorted his contentment as fine wisps’ of grey-white steam escaped from his nostrils, into the chilled morning air. The thick lush forest would soon become enveloped under a blanket of pure white snow. The multi-colored leaves would soon depart their safe and secure perch within the tree branches and drifted sadly and slowly to the forest floor, to settle to die and decay, enriching the deep rich soil, providing nutrients for starving seedlings so that they may sprout in the promised spring. Thus is life, too forever feed upon death.

Conaway held his breath, his left eye closed in concentration, and his long unruly brown hair tied back. He watched. He waited. The hart lifted his snout into the air, the Khelt knew that the beast knew that he was there; He released the taunt bowstring. A sharp hiss followed as the arrow sliced through the air. A blur of near unseen momentum as the weapon found its mark. The hart felt the violent impact even before it realized the danger. He staggered to the side, his does now all alarmed and alert quickly lifted their heads, ears and tails. The monarch of the woods felt the deep burning agony of the impaled arrow. His powerful rear leg muscles tense and flexed, spring into action giving the animal an immeasurable burst of speed and force as he bolted across the grasslands, followed by his frightened female companions. Conaway and Padraig stood from their hiding place deep within the tall amber colored grass and thickets. They both watched as the hart jumped and bound over the winding creek and across the meadow clearing, in an attempt to place as much distance between itself and its unseen attacker. Conaway’s piercing brown green eyes watched as the beast crashed through a wall of matted and entwined thickets, bramble, thorns and brush. Padraig looked over at his friend and companion and smiled. “Captain, it seems our night’s dinner is not yet ready to give into your request of sacrifice.” Conaway nodded as he began to search the ground for a blood trail. “Nothing wrong with having to work hard for a meal…” He glanced up to look at Padraig’s face. “It honors the animals’ spirit that we must do so.” The Khelt ran his fingers across a grass blade; he lifted to his nose capturing the scent of blood. The two Khelts spent the rest of their morning pushing through thickets and brush, climbing grassy knolls and rocky crags, tracking down the wounded hart.                                              

 

 

The two Khelts spent the rest of their morning pushing through thickets and brush, climbing grassy knolls and rocky crags, tracking down the wounded hart. The majestic creature was found several leagues away from where Conaway had sent an arrow deep into its chest. The hart lay upon its side; its huge black glossy eyes were empty, reflecting no light, void of life and staring out into the nothingness, into the underworld. Conaway knelt before the stag, placing his hand upon the hart’s thick neck, his fingers trailing through the animal’s shaggy pelt, as he searched for a heart beat, finding none. Both Khelts bowed their heads in a thankful posture, thus is life, too forever feed upon death. Padraig and Conaway began the grizzly task of cleaning their game, the beast was far too massive, too heavy for the men to carry across the fields back to the make shift cottage nestled at the edge of the evergreen forest. It had been several days since they had last eaten and though their strength remained intact, their stamina began to wane. Conaway’s thoughts drifted as he went about the task of slicing the carcass open, separating good meat from body waste. He thought back on how the three had crossed the Sea of Aerona under moon light upon a rickety old raft, of how they had stolen horses and fled across the Aslawn Plains and after many months had come to settle within the Northlawns.

The Kheltish Captain had planned to escape into Ledoria, to seek protection under King Blar, a good, kind and just man and dear friend of the late King Nathair, however as often as not, the great mother of nature had plans of her own design. Conaway knew that his party could never make it across the High Dorian Mountain range that laid between the boarder of Kheltica and Ledoria before the winter season arrived. Wisdom spoke to the Khelt, telling him that holding up within the Northlawn forest for the winter season was folly enough; that attempting to cross the High Dorian in the midst of winter was in fact nothing more than sheer suicide. 

Conaway and Padraig had constructed a cozy two room cottage using what materials they could scavenge from nearby. Padraig teased his commander, stating that the tiny shelter would cave in at the winter’s first bellow. Conaway feared that his companion might very well be correct. Laria smiled as she often did when she found herself worried or scared. “I am sure this old place will be fine.” She assured both men. As difficult as it were Laria and Conaway had taken great care in the past several months, to keep their love affair concealed from Padraig, though Laria could no longer see the reasoning why.

Conaway continued cutting away at the hart as his mind drifted. “You’re in love with her aren’t you?” Padraig’s direct question caught Conaway off guard as he busied himself field cleaning the stag. His hazel eyes glanced up then away. The Captain’s voice was low. “And if’en I am?” He paused, sitting back upon his heels, his hands coated in blood, as he crouched over the hart. Padraig’s kind blue eyes took in Conaway, noting the concern within his commander’s tone. “If’en you are….than I am very happy for the both of you, old friend.” Without any further words the two men continued to dress the night’s meal.

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Laria gently laid a delicate hand across her abdomen, she could see no swelling and she felt no movement within but she knew as all women somehow know. A tear escaped her emerald eyes, slowly trailing down her soft cheeks. She worried what Conaway would say when he found out, what he would do; she worried also that Sinnoch’s soldiers would discover them at any moment, and she worried deeply about her son Donnchadh; it had been nearly a year now since she had seen him; She had heard the news from travelers as the three made their way across the Aslawn Plains that Kheltica was now a Vassal state of Ussia, under the command of King Sinnoch, and that the legendary commander of the Kheltish army, the great Aghamore of Sylon’Or had turned rouge and outlaw, an enemy of the state and had kidnapped the young prince Donnchadh and had disappeared.

She busied herself around the tiny cottage making beds and clearing away dust or adding tender to the hearth’s fire, trying desperately to stop the worry that gnawed away within her heart. She busied herself with menial tasks in an attempt to banish the thought of her beloved son captured or worse, dead. Her hand continued to find its way to her stomach as she went about her day, in an attempt to cradle and caress the unborn within. 

Laria could easily see by the falling foliage and the frosted mornings that winter would soon be upon the forest. She worried even more; winters in the Northlawns were terrible, with harsh ice storms, unrelenting snow falls and scarce food supplies; very difficult for one person as it were, near impossible when with child. She began to openly sob, no longer able to restrain her emotions or her fears. Her tears now streamed down her soft beautiful face, falling upon her pearl white dress leaving wet ringlets just below the collar of sky blue embroidered with tiny yellow and white flowers. Her long golden hair caught up in a bun atop her head, began to allow a wisp or two of honey colored locks to trace around her ear or along her rosy cheeks. Laria dropped down onto a wooden chair placed at the dining table, her head laid into her hands as she cried. She felt so very lost, so hopeless and alone. She lifted her head as she caught sound of the Khelts returning, she forced away her tears when she heard Conaway’s strong, deep voice. She wasn’t alone, she reminded herself, not like before when she carried Donnchadh within her womb. Now she had Conaway.  The commander of the Kheltic Royal Elite Knights kicked open the thin shake-wood door of the small cottage, nearly causing the door to pop off its makeshift hinges of entwined rope and vine. He carried upon his massive broad shoulders the carcass of a huge hart. A cold bone chilling wind followed Conaway as he moved deeper into the two room home with Padraig not far behind. 

 

Laria moved quickly away from the table as she grabbed for a stray wooden plate and a mug from upon it. Padraig shut the thin door and latched it together to keep it from flying open in the event of another sudden wind blast. Conaway tossed the hart carcass up over his head and upon the table, resulting in a loud thump, causing some of the dinner ware to shake and shutter. Padraig smiled wide. “Dinner is served, my Lady.” He teased as he stood before the warm fireplace quickly rubbing both hands together. He looked up at Laria standing beside Conaway. “Feels like winter may come early this year.” He stated.

Even though Laria tried to keep her swollen puffy red eyes turned away from her lover, Conaway knew immediately that she had been crying. His hazel eyes looked to Padraig and silently begged his friend for a moment alone with her. “I should go and make certain that….” He paused trying to think of a task that required him to step back out into the cold wind. “…that, the horses are well tended too.” He nodded his head toward his captain, his companion and friend, and bowed slightly to Laria as he stepped for the door. “If’en you will excuse me, my’ lady.” Laria managed a tender smile and nodded her head. She had grown very fond of the rogue Kheltish knight in the past months; she had soon discovered that for all his bragging and swagger that Padraig held hidden deep within him the heart of a tender romantic.

Laria turned her back to the men and quickly began to gather up dishware, busing herself. Conaway closed the door behind Padraig and paused to watch his lover’s actions. He knew she had nothing pressing to do, these tasks were meant only to keep her from looking at him. His voice was low and soothing. “Laria…look at me.”

She continued to hurry about; she chewed upon her bottom lip as she scooped several plates and mugs into her arms, her voice sounding nervous and haggard.  “Not now Conaway, I really do have so much to do around this place…” Conaway stepped closer to her. She continued about her tasks, attempting to place distance between him and her. “Winter is coming and we are no where near ready.” She placed the dishes into a wooden bucket sat near the dining table and tossed her hands out as she exclaimed. “Just look at this mess.” Conaway’s hazel eyes scanned their tiny living area, the cottage was near immaculate. “Life with the two of you scoundrels is proving to be a hardship of its own.”

Conaway stepped into Laria’s path, his hands tender yet firmly placed upon her shoulders. “Laria…” His hazel eyes looked into her emerald pools. “Stop.” His voice was commanding yet gentle. As much as she desired to resist, as hard as she attempted to look away, she found herself forever more captured in the intense gaze of this man, the only man that she had loved. She opened her mouth in an attempt to utter one last protest but fell silent.

 

She gave up, she gave in, she surrendered. Laria surrendered herself, her heart and her soul. No words were spoken, none needed to be. She laid her head upon Conaway’s powerful chest and cried. He tenderly wrapped his strong arms around her slender frame and simply held her. He would remain silent and hold her, comfort her, love her. He knew that she would reveal to him in time what weighed so heavy upon her heart. He placed a comforting kiss atop her head, a simple gesture that he often did, that she had grown to cherish. For what seemed like a lifetime the two lovers stood within the center of the tiny cottage, holding one another, one seeking strength and rescue, the other providing that and more.

Laria’s voice was soft and low, almost a whisper, when she did finally speak. “I am scared.”   The Khelt nodded his head. “I know…” He paused, his voice held a tone of concern. “I have been so per occupied with constructing this shelter and ensuring that we have adequate food stores for the coming winter season that I have ignored you, I have neglected you.” He held her closer to him, feeling her soft warm body press against his firm solid frame.  “Forgive me my’ lady.” Laria kept her head resting upon his stony chest, she remained within his arms. She whispered. “You have done nothing in need of forgiveness.”  Conaway caressed the back of her long slender neck as he held her.“Then tell me my love, what brings tears to those magnificent emerald eyes?”                          

She debated within her heart on whether to tell him or not that he would soon become a father. She decided that now was not the time. She realized that he would soon discover this on his own, but for now he did not need yet another concern laid upon his beautiful head, upon his wonderful, giving heart. “I was thinking of Donnchadh.” She replied. “I miss him dearly.”

Conaway had also found himself, several times in the months past, thinking of the would-be-king of Khelts. He worried because he could no longer feel the lad’s presences. The Thaith seemed to shift and sway in an unusual manner, one that he had never known. He had talked this over with Padraig, who could no longer sense Donnchadh either. The two had decided to keep this from Laria as long as they could, at least until they arrived in Ledoria. Padraig pointed out that the boy must still live, that he had too, he reasoned that if Donnchadh had been slain then the Thaith would have shifted to another and thanks be to the gods that neither could sense Sinnoch.

“I am positive that the lad is safe.” He lied. “While there remains breath within the Lord General’s lungs, no harm will come to Donnchadh, this I know.” This made Conaway worry even more, not just for his future and rightful king, but also for his teacher, mentor and beloved commander. The two stood in silence holding one another, both lost in their fears and sheltering the other with their deceptions. Finally Conaway stated. “Padraig knows about us.”

 

Laria pulled slightly away from Conaway, as she looked up into his eyes. “You would prefer that I remain your dirty little secret my ‘lord?” Her voice carried more venom than she meant for it too. The Khelts eyes widened in surprise. “No, of course not.” He defended himself. “Please do not think that I am ashamed of you Laria that is so very far from the truth.” He released his hold on her and began to pace. “We have gone over this before; we should never have given into our desires from the beginning.”

His words stung deep into Laria’s heart, he knew this, and this was not his intentions at all. “I am so very proud of you Laria, so very grateful and feel so blessed to be loved by a woman such as you…trust my words woman, you are far far more than I had ever hoped for or dreamed of, you are so much more than a man such as I deserve.” He stopped pacing, looking into her soft green eyes. “I love you Laria, may the gods help me, bless me or curse me for it, but I do, I love you so much that it burns within my very heart and my soul.” The proud brave Kheltish warrior’s face held the look of a frightened child as he finally revealed to her his inner most guarded feelings and emotions.

Before he could speak another word, he was pounced upon. Laria thrust herself into his arms, as she pressed her soft pink lips against his, overwhelmed by his pure honestly and passion. This was the first time in the two years that the two had began their affair that he had ever actually said the words ‘I love you’ .

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Lord General Aghamore rested his hands upon his knees as he bent over catching his breath. His famed Kheltish blade rested easily beside him, where he stood. His steel grey eyes glared up at his opponent. “You’ll have to work harder then that to overcome me.” He growled. No sooner had those words left his lips did his opponent charge. The old General quickly and gracefully gathered up his sword and spun with surprising agility for a man of his age and bulk.               

The morning air carried the ring of steel clashing against steel as the two swords met. Both warriors now stood face to face, both flexing as they attempted to subdue the other. Aghamore soon grew tired of this stalemate and feigned a left thrust. With a massive meaty fist he instead swung right, connecting with the middle of his aggressor’s back. The blow knocking his opponent several feet away, and causing the aggressor to slumped to the ground in pain. Aghamore himself fell to a knee, with pain coursing through his own body, his eyes now burned as sweat trailed from his forehead. His voice was strained as he fought to regain control of his breathing. His rapture like stare seemed to bore deep into his opponents being. He slowly rose to his full height blocking out of his mind the pain that surged through his body as he grunted. “That the best you’ve got?”

The attacker spun with lightening like intensity, his blade slamming hard against the General’s raised sword. The two weapons hit with such speed and force that a spark flew overhead. Aghamore gritted his teeth in determination, as he shoved hard, using his opponents own momentum to force him back and away. The once Lord Commander of the entire Kheltic Army now turned outlaw, stood towering over his opponent, who now laid upon the ground. Aghamore lifted his Kheltish blade and slammed it down with as much force as he had left within himself as he slowly took in a breath of calming cleansing air. “You have to want it, want it so bad you can taste it.” He stated.” In your mind there is only victory, nothing else.” He extended his gloved hand down to help the prince to his feet. “There are no other options when in battle…kill or be killed.” He dusted away a sun dried leaf from Donnchadh’s long tawny hair. “Yet at the same time, my prince, remain ever more merciful and refined…savagery or berserker rage can kill a warrior faster then the enemies own blade.” He thumped softly atop the preteen’s head with his hand. “Remember to never allow emotion to overrule logic.”

 

Donnchadh and Aghamore had ventured into the Northlawns, skirting along the Ledorian boarder of Kheltica, keeping close to the thick Northern forest. The Monk had remained true to his word; the Order of Light did indeed hold many secret way stations and hideouts, and for the first few months of their exile Darach had managed to find a gracious host to provide his royal companion a warm dry bed and a well cooked meal. The wayward Prince and outlaw General had made themselves comfortable with their life in exile, living on the run. Aghamore made sure, however that they did not stay for too long at any one place. He had received the news that King Sinnoch had arrived and taken up residence within Sylon’Or, the experienced General knew that Sinnoch would not hesitate to force by means of torture, an unfortunate Kheltic soldier to use their bond of the Thaith and track down the Prince.

The King of Ussia served to prove Aghamore correct. Darach learned from a fellow Monk that a troop of Ussian soldiers lead by Lord General Morvran, an old enemy of Aghamore’s, had raided a farm home that he and Donnchadh had rested in just a few weeks before. The Ussians burnt the homestead to the ground and some reports told of how the farmer was murdered as his wife and daughters were taken into ‘service’ of Morvran. Aghamore knew the Ussian General well enough, they had once, in peaceful times, enjoyed many adventures together, in both of their younger years; He knew that Morvran’s weakness was maidens. He cared not to know the details of what the man had done to the innocent farm girls. Aghamore, along with the Monk and boy, pushed deeper into the Northern forest as the autumn season overtook the world around them. Leaving most of civilization behind would ensure that Morvran could not prey upon innocent locals, at lest this was General Aghamore’s hope anyway.

Several moments in the months that followed were trying times. Aghamore had gone to sleep on a few nights with an empty stomach, ensuring that Donnchadh had had enough food rations to eat. No matter how hard the lad tried to protest the Lord General would always win out. The preteen had grown sullen as the months wore on however; He missed his mother deeply. Darach would often venture into a nearby Shire or Village for supplies; he would always bring back the gossip from bored or lonely shop keepers to the General and Prince. The Monk had not, as of yet received any news at all regarding Lady Laria or her Knightly escorts, her well being or location or anything at all.

The three pressed onward and deeper into the thick evergreen pines, making their way toward Ledoria, in hopes of receiving an alliance with the Ledorian monarch, King Blar.

 

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Donnchadh sat upon a fallen tree trunk placed before the camps fire. He idly poked at the glowing embers with a shaved tree branch lost in thought. Darach busied himself with the task of cooking the one skinny hare that the trio had managed to ensnare, ensuring that the tiny morsel did not fall from its spit into the fire pit. Aghamore tended to their mounts, ensuring that the three steeds were fed, that the tack was removed and cleaned and that their backs were brushed and freed of any trail dust or debris. He ran the palm of his meaty hand down the length of his silver gelding’s nose, feeling the creature’s soft velveteen texture. “That’s the last of the grain old friend.” He commented. “From here on out you’ll have to forage from what the great mother of nature has to offer you.”  He firmly patted the animal’s side as he moved away toward the warmth of the camp fire. He noted the solemn expression upon the preteen’s face. The Lord General sat down beside the boy and stated. “A gold piece for your thoughts, lad.”

Donnchadh looked away from the dancing orange yellow flames, to Aghamore. He did not even attempt to conceal his sorrow. “Missing my mother, I guess.” He replied with a boyish smile. Aghamore felt sorry for the lad, he had had his youth stolen in a sense, when Nathair was slain by Sinnoch. The Thaith had shifted and blessed him, naming him as the next King of Khelts at the very young age of five. The boy had not yet begun to explore the wonderful, glorious world of childhood when he had been thrust into the midst of kingship and political betrayal.  Aghamore nodded his head as if in agreement and understanding. Donnchadh’s face turned a slight crimson as his eyes turned away from the General. “You probably think me a baby, no doubt.” The Lord General ran his fingers through his thick reddish grey beard as if in thought. “Never my’ lord.” He stretched out his powerful legs, muscles sore and aching from the day’s long ride up the steep foothills of the High Dorian mountain range. His silver eyes gave Donnchadh a side long glance, as he arched one bushy red brow. “In fact, if’en you would believe it, I too often find myself longing for and missing dear family members.” The aging General turned his own eyes toward the dancing flames now. Donnchadh looked upon the man’s rugged face, it had never occurred to him until this moment that Aghamore had once been a boy himself, Donnchadh had only ever seen him or thought of him as always being the legendary Lord General Aghamore of Sylon’Or. It had never dawned on the preteen that the General may have a mother or father, perhaps a brother or sister or two left back in Sylon’Or. He looked closely at his teacher. For all he knew the General may even have a wife and children.

Donnchadh continued to look upon the General’s face searching for some clue, for an answer to one of the many questions that now began to form within his head. “You know, General.” He stated. “I have spent nearly every waking moment with you now for the past six years.” Donnchadh’s voice was calm and deliberate.

Darach pretended not to over hear the exchange, too busy with their night’s dinner, he suppressed a slight smile noting how king like the young lad was growing to be. Donnchadh continued. “And I have never known of you to speak of family members at all.” His steel blue eyes stared at his teacher, protector and mentor.

The question was never voiced, but both knew that Donnchadh had expected an answer to Aghamore’s family situation. The General continued gazing into the flames, with a far away expression upon his hardened face, as though he were looking back through the ages, through the foggy mist of the past. He was silent for a long time. Donnchadh had began to grow uncomfortable now wishing that he had not of probed, he realized that perhaps there was a painful reason as to why the General never spoke of family. Darach carefully removed the scorched hare and began to dole out equal portions of what meat there was to be had.

With a solemn movement of his head, Aghamore declined any of the food, motioning for the monk to give his share to Donnchadh instead. The General held up a hand when he saw the lad begin to protest. Aghamore’s voice was deep; it held a tone as if he were in a trance. His silver eyes remained locked upon the camps fire pit. “Odran of Ag’Mount...” He began. “Was my Grandsire, he was a great clan leader and war chieftain.” His eyes turned to Donnchadh. “This was back in the days before the Arvish rule to the east. Before the Arvish raiders, the peoples of Ag’Mount were free…” he paused for a moment re positioning himself upon the tree trunk. “Odran was slain upon the battlefield of the Averhone Plains. After which the peoples of Ag’Mount were taken captive and made into slaves, except for the handful that retreated across the Averhone Grasslands into Kheltica.” Donnchadh picked at the rabbit meat listening to the General’s tale. Darach settle in on the other side of the fire pit opposite of Aghamore, he too listened on as the legendary warlord told of his lineage.

“Odran’s son Modrag…my father, made his home in Sylon’Or where he soon entered into the service of King Albion…” He paused for a moment and looked at Donnchadh. “King Albion was the Grandsire of your father King Nathair.” Aghamore permitted himself a smile as he continued. “Modrag soon met and fell in love with my mother, Christel, who bore him two sons.”  The General’s tone turned grim. “Christel died giving birth to her youngest son, my brother; I was ten years of age at the time”

Darach finished with his meager meal and tossed the tiny leg bone into the fire pit. He had known Aghamore for a long time, most of his adult life, yet tonight was the first time that he had ever heard of Aghamore’s family. Donnchadh drank from his water skin and placed the remaining scrape of meat beside the General in the hopes that the man would eat. He looked up at Aghamore as the commander finished his tale. “My father was always away defending King Albion’s realm, and I was left to raise my little brother.” He looked over at Donnchadh. “You and he were a lot alike, you remind me of him from time to time.”

 “Modrag was slain in battle shortly after my twenty-second birthday; he led the Kheltish Royal Army with King Nerth against Sinnoch’s father, Nerth’s own brother-in-law King Taber of Ussia.” Aghamore looked away for a moment, off into the gathering darkness of the night. “I should have been there that day; I was one of King Nerth’s soldiers, granted I was young, yet I have always been well apt with a blade.” Donnchadh heard the remorse within Aghamore’s voice.”Perhaps if’en I were, who knows, perhaps I could have saved my father.” His voice trailed as the emotions swelled “You know that is my greatest fear, my prince, not being there when needed the most.” The General forced a smile. “I was told, however that my father did indeed meet with a glorious death, a warrior’s end, with honor in defense of his king.” Aghamore could see the question upon the Kheltic Prince’s face. “I wasn’t at that battle because my younger brother had fallen deathly sick with a high fever and our father had ordered me to tend to him, the lad was about your age then…” He pointed to Donnchadh.

The preteen asked in whisper. “Did your brother survive?” Aghamore squinted his silver eyes. “Aye, he healed well enough, though I do think that the fever forever left its mark upon his brain.” Aghamore remained upon the fallen log gazing into the fire for a long time lost within his past, within his own memories. The prince and monk both waited for the General to continue his story. “So yes…to answer your question my young Prince, I do at times miss my family as well.”

The Lord General stood, he stretched and walked slowly and thoughtfully over to where he had placed their gear and removed a brown wool blanket from his saddle bag. He smiled as he tossed it to Donnchadh. “And now I have a new family to care for.” His eyes seemed to smile and shine with love and care for the lad. “Perhaps you should be getting some sleep my ‘lord, sun up will arrive before you know it and we have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow if’en we are to cross the High Dorian before first snow fall.” Donnchadh laid his blankets next to the fire as he watched Aghamore walk away. “I’ll take first watch, Darach, you should rest as well.” The General called out over his shoulder.

 “Lord General…” Donnchadh called after him. Aghamore paused without looking back. “Whatever became of your brother?” The preteen asked. The commander resumed walking off into the surrounding trees, into the darkness. “He now serves the King of Ussia, I am sure you have heard of Lord General Morvran.”

Reviews

[Lizanne]

Just dropped by to see how the book is going. So there is to be a baby born to Laria and Conway. Should make things interesting. Enjoyed this chapter.