Starve.Org White Noise Usenet Archive: "Resend [Crone]

[Deidh/Others]

As Smith spoke Deidh had been weighing the situation, and recognized the
fact that even the element of surprise wasn't a enough to even the odds.
But she was loath to admit that Smith's paramilitaries might be
necessary.

Another option she considered would be to go back to the Hillrover Keep
for more warriors - Fionghan's presence might be enough to change The
Hillrover's mind.

But she knew there was one untried option, and she said, "Brion, break
the chain. See whet help might have been given' ye."

Brion's brow was furrowed in thought, and it took a second for him to
register Deidh's words. But when he did he said, "I'll not be drawin'
Geiren away from his family."

"Neither he, nor the Politi, gave thet te ye lightly," she argued back,
"Geiren is the Hunter's Own, and the Hunter is as old as the Crone. Or
they may have arranged for other aid - ye won't be knowin' if ye don't
try."

"It can do no harm," Robaidh said, "And might be bringing us an
alternative to strangers fighin' in our mountains." What the bard didn't
say was that he doubted that once those strangers were upon mountain
soil that they'd ever leave again.

After pulling the simple silver chain and amulet free of his tunic Brion
ran his calloused finger over the small, etched ball. He knew that Deidh
spoke true - Politi did not give help or Oaths lightly.

With a hard yank he snapped the chain.

____________________

On a summer-warmed world - a world that existed in the fluid realm of
possibilities ....of dreams.....a whip snap reverberated
across the land.

Below his black winged flight Corvin could see that the sound had startled the
Horse's herd, and he "cawed" reassuringly to the equines. For the sound was a
not of threat but signal.

And he banked his flight and followed the echos of the sound from a
world of warm summer to the biting mountain wind.

The winds did not slow him, but he circled the Grierson Keep few times to study
the layout and terrain; then flew to where a group of small beings huddled on
the snowy trail.

Morrighu had sought him in the realm of spirit to ask a boon - for the
help that Brion might need promised to be even beyond what Geiren could
currently summon. While she liked Smith, and he had willingly given aid
when it had been needed, she had spoken of his preference
for destruction, and that dark power, and anguished souls, clung to the
man. That when that aspect was to the fore she feared that he would not
be easily dissuaded from his path, and there would be more conflict than
cooperation if Geiren was to stand with Brion.

Corvin was more than pleased to give the good lady aid - for it had been her's
and Yal's lessons that had brought him familiarity with the current Ifreann.
And from what the Bean Nighe had said of Brion's fears - the Maker suspected
that he, amongst other ancient powers, wished to keep this Smith from gaining a
true foothold in the mountains.

After a brief debate he chose the form of a man, and landed further down
the path; blending from crow to human in a thought.

The stranger who walked up the path was a man of slightly taller than
average height, with wild black hair and dusky skin; garbed only in
black cotton tunic and trousers, and plain black boots.

[Smith]

He wondered what sort of aid might come to Brion. Undefined
spells, from any source - even a highly trusted one - could be
dangerous.

[Fionghan]

He looked toward Corvin. What could one man do? But Fionghan
sensed there was much more to this one than the eyes might see.

[Smith]

Deidhe had made mention of Geiren and the Hunter...of Geiren's
origin, he knew a great deal. But time in Delgado's torture chamber,
along with other things, had ended with the transformation of the
man into something more than a broken victim. Geiren would be
hard to manage...

As for the Hunter, the files were sketchy at best. Then again,
this would be an opportunity to gather intelligence.

But this individual didn't match any description of the Hunter...

[Taog]

He looked over at Brion, a puzzled look on his face. Could
one man make a difference? But then, the Hag had appeared
as a lone woman. He shivered as he thought of the changes
she had brought about.

Around them, the wind swirled. Light flakes of snow
drifted gently.

[Deidh/Others]

~The attention of immortals indeed,~ the Seulla Muintirr decided as she
watched the Maker.....one of which the Seulla Muintirr called the
Dancers.....close the distance.

"Who be this?" Parlan asked.

"Help," Brion answered, with a small, secretive, smile. He had met Corvin once,
and if it hadn't been for the knowledge Yals had offered the bailiff would not
have marked the man as anything unusual. But this was power from the dreaming
of the world...

"Corvin," he said, "King of the Crows, we welcome your aid."

The Maker tilted his head slightly, and smiled, "Morrighu said you might
need a little help, and I had wished to see something of the mountains."

His smile broadened and he asked, "So, tell me, what game is afoot?"

[Fionghan]

He bowed slightly; a clear gesture of respect by a lord to a
lord of greater rank.

"Highness, Clan Grierson is sore beset by trouble. A vile
pup took the Chieftenship; took it wrongly, and naught but
evil has come of it."

"Taog, well ye tell the King of Crows the tale?"

[Taog]

As was appropriate to one of lesser rank, he bowed low.

He began by saying "May it please your Majesty..." and
continued through the sordid tale of murder, and of Eonan's
cunning crimes.

Ending, the poet bowed low, his gaze upon the ground.

[Fionghan]

Smith, here, tells us that the rabid pup is no longer
inside; but there are still many inside, and they'll not
be leavin' quietly. Nor have we the numbers to
remove them.

[Corvin]

"If the will is focused all is possible," Corvin said, and when his dark
gaze met Fionghan's, "And there is no doubt you have a strong will that
is has been tempered. Now for the last fire of forging...."

[Smith]

He had no information about Corvin. The general
behavior and phraseology used by the man suggested
considerable power.

Smith smiled pleasantly, and provided accurate information
about the numbers, morale, and capability of the
opposing troops. It was a considerable force.

Hopefully, this Corvin would reveal information.
If he didn't, Fionghan might well be forced to
depend on Smith's aid. Smith's smile grew
by a small increment.

[Corvin/Others]

Corvin had listened with stillness and patience to both Toag and Smith.
"There are ways to even those numbers," he said, "But not by a direct
attack......"

He studied both Toag and Robaidh, and said, "This eve I ask a favor - one that
won't be wasted - tell me a few of your poems and epics." He looked about the
frozen path that they stood upon, and murmured in a tongue whose words slipped
by like a dream on first waking. A fire pit formed, with a blaze that warmed
more than its vicinity, and hanging over the fire was a pot of bubbling venison
stew, with loaves of oat bread laying near the heat.

"My tales are your's, Your Highness," Robaidh started.

Corvin smiled and said, "Corvin is a name that has served me well, and
so it will now."

Brion knew well that when spirit kind decided to do something there was
little nudging them; so he offered his thanks for the meal, and settled
near the fire - finding no need for his cloak.

While bowls were passed around, and jugs of light ale and of water,
Robaidh prepared himself and considered what epics he would offer. A
hard challenge since he knew not what would please this spirit man.

But after the meal was eaten, and the others had settled to the choice
of drink he stood and offered such elder tales as the "Deidre's Nine
Sorrows," "Finan's Winning of the Sword of Luegh," and ended with the
"Enchantment of Math."

As the last tale ended, with King Math restoring his mousy court to human form,
Corvin sipped his ale and quietly said, "Unfortunately that ending has yet to
happen. Math's own trickery and pride nearly got him hung, and his own spell
still holds both he and his court as field mice."

Robaidh said nothing for a minute - then commented, "Mayhap it would be
better to offer a new ending..?"

"No." Corvin said, "It flows much better as is, and it may one day
happen."

Brion considered how old the tale was, and then gave up.

After Toag had offered his own performance the spirit offered no
explanation for his fascination with the clan poetry, but wished them
all a good night. And settled by the fire to sleep.

When morning came they found that the fire still burned and they were
still comfortably warm.

Plumb strawberries and blueberries were offered for the pot of thick
porridge, plus cream and pots of dark, steaming, tea.

As Corvin crouched by the fire, stirring the porridge, he said, "I thank you
again for last night's tales....for I now have a better understanding of what
rhythms move your souls." He met each of their gazes, lingering on none, as he
said, "The next step will prove hardest....for the road is long, and it will
require all of your patience. For we will be weaving a tale of our own....."

He stood from the fire and looked over at Deidh, and asked, "Good lady,
will you be willing to walk softly, but be my eyes and strength?"

"Aye," she answered. More than willing to trust a Maker.

"Then.....let it be so....."

His tall, dark-clothed body began to waver, and seemingly collapse forward and
down; till at last a middle-aged man stooped before them. His hair was graying,
long, and tangled about ragged clothes - and over the small harp case tied to
his back.

He held a tall walking stick, and when he looked up it could be seen
that his eyes were covered with the milkiness of blindness.

Corvin gestured towards Deidh, and as she came forward she changed from
the black-haired selkie woman to a pre-adolescent child, with short
brown hair and shapeless rags. Leaving all to guess whether it was a boy
or a
girl.

"Child," the blind man said, "Undo my harp...."

Deidh did as she was bid, and when Corvin cradled the instrument in his
arms - the music from the little harp was sweeter than a first kiss, and
his song seemed to lay hold of one's very heart.

And when he stopped after a few notes it was a cruel as taking water
away from a dying man.

"The rest of you," he said, again in his own voice, "will travel through
Grierson lands - unseen and unheard - as long as it takes for word of my
playing to reach the keep...."

Brion could tell that his kin were uneasy at the spirit's power, and it
was also obvious to Corvin.

"Have no fear," he murmured, "It may not take _that long_ for I will
play well."

Once they had the horses ready their encampment simply disappeared, and
they found themselves on road coming out of the mountains - with the
"child" leading the blind harper ahead of them. Not only did Corvin play
a blind harper, but a mad one, and spoke to rocks, trees, and air.

What was disturbing to Parlan and his men was when they entered a nearby
village - none - peasant or mercenary - paid any heed to the warriors or
Smith. "We're ghosts," one of the Hillrovers muttered, which caused not
one soul to look their way.

The villagers were leery of madmen (for they were fey or god touched),
but when they saw the harp they were willing to offer a corner at the
inn.

That night they bedded down near town while the harper played, and the
next day it was with much pleading for him to stay that he let his "son"
lead him on.

And so it was for three nights - before one of the mercenary patrols
ordered the harper to accompany them to the Keep. After all the turmoil
(and power struggle) after Eonan had gone missing a little entertainment
was welcome.

The harper's private conversations caused many of the mercenaries to yell rude
words at him, but none dared harm him - since it might keep such fine music
from the hall. Nor did the harper pay any heed to them as he told the air
....or maybe it was the rock....that a bard's true gift was to sing kings to
sleep. And naught but silent breezes were welcome through the doors when heads
were lay down to slumber.

[Smith]

He was impressed. This Corvin had disguised himself and Deidhe, and
there was no obvious signature of magic. That could be dangerous;
how could one guard against such an attack? He'd need to file
another Interim Ops report.

And then there was the full stealth approach of the group. To bring
a group, unseen and unheard, across country to the target area was
worthwhile. Very worthwhile. This sort of method, used on a
paramilitary assault team, would make them all but invincible.

Each night, Smith checked and rechecked his weapons and equipment;
it was quite an involved process. But then, Smith carried quite an
array of weapons.

[Taog]

Taog had always loved the myths and tales of old; it was this that had
led him to become a poet, and that fanned the fire of ambition to learn
the harp, and so become a bard. And now, he was a part of legend
himself, though he could not guess the ending! The Hag had come
into the story, and had caused Fionghan to be pulled back from
a far distant Hell. Now, there was Corvin...

Taog walked a little taller, and a hint of a smile began to show
on his face. No matter what happened, if any of them survived,
he would have a small part in the legends. And that was
enough immortality for any man.

He watched Corvin's fingers on the harp, and studied carefully.
Too, he spoke with Robaidh about how he might find a master to
guide him.

[Robaidh]

Robaidh had spoken quietly with Toag on the possibility (if any survived) of
coming to the Hillrover Keep for training.

[Fionghan]

He saw the rough mercenaries, and seethed at the outlanders
that acted like lords when they had no right to do so. Eonan's
foul murder of his father was wicked; but the betrayal of the
land and people was worse. Righteous anger burned in
Fionghan's eyes, and his hand tightened into a fist as the
group encountered Eonan's paid supporters.

Yet inside, he despaired. Though the very Gods helped them,
how could so small a band hope to battle the many warriors
arrayed against them?

[Smith]

He spoke quietly, not quite trusting Corvin's magic to suppress
all sound. "Fionghan, as soon as we make it inside...I could
bring in an assault unit. They'd make short work of Eonan's
troops, clear the Keep of enemy, and restore the legal
government."

[Fionghan]

He hesitated. "Aye...but Smith, what of the innocents inside?
A battle within a keep is a bloody affair. I don't doubt yer
troops are good, but my people have suffered too much
already."

[Smith]

He shrugged. "Collateral damage happens. Think how much
your people will suffer if we lose."

[Fionghan]

He frowned. Smith was right. There might be no other choice.
But that didn't mean he liked it.

[Corvin/Others]

The chill and darkness of evening had already begun to cloak the yard of
the Keep, and torches illuminated the patrol as they handed over their
horses to frightened grooms.

A runner was sent to Eonan's second that a harper had been found to play
the hall that night.

The harper in question held tight to his young guide's arm, and to his own
walking stick. And muttered, "Patience.....Oh Patience....sweet night...soon I
will play songs for you....."

"Ghosts," Brion agreed with Parlan as the hidden warriors watched the
mercenaries eddy around them; oblivious to an enemy standing with waiting
sword. The bailiff had already tested the barrier between his men and
Grierson's mercs, but found his oh-so solid dagger ghosted like a breeze
through a man's arm - unfelt and unnoticed.

And for the first time he truly understood the helplessness that Lucc,
Serun, Elektra and Elenia had felt as ghosts. To see events, but to be
unable to influence them.

~He can shape us as he will,~ Brion told himself, with a twinge of fear; a fear
that would have grown had he not known what Corvin had done for Montfort. And
known the spirits' trust in the Maker.

They followed as the bard and child were shoved into a cramped little
room, and found that tiny room could hold all of the invisible warriors.

Fortunately for all of their nerves the harper and his guide were bullied into
the great hall, and half-thrown down on a ragged cloth. With the order to
play!!

And play the harper did.

He first offered several drinking and comical songs, and when the men were well
into their feasting and cups he subtly began to change his playing. The notes
began to drift soft and insidious around the men, and before long the song had
turned to one so beautiful and gentle that grown men were crying before they
slumped in their chairs - to snore as if they had been deep asleep for hours.

And all around the invisible warriors, who remained unaffected by the
spell, servants and hounds collapsed to the filthy floor; the same
happening as far the music could be heard.

At the last note the harper began to straighten and the child fill out; till
Corvin and Deidh in their true forms stepped over to where Brion and the others
stood.

For a moment the Maker studied his companions and looked at the sleepers, and
waved his hand - leaving the hall empty.

"A distraction you do not need," he said.

His black eyes were more than ancient as he returned his gaze to the
Fionghan, Smith, and the Hillrovers.

"I will not say that the battleground is completely evened," he said, "But it
is now within your power to win." His voice began to take on power, though his
tone never raised, "Two are tested this night.....one has already been proved a
leader, but this battle could well forge him into a Chief; the other has the
will and the fire, but now must prove that he is a leader worthy of serving his
kin - and of the Crone and my help."

Corvin's gaze locked with Fionghan's and he continued, "This night, Fionghan
Grierson, you can become a The Grierson and do so worthily - with legends and
songs worth remembering through the centuries....." His voice became grimmer as
he added as he continued to study Fionghan, "You have accepted my aid, and this
is my price ......You will fight this night with the men you have, and the wits
and skill you were given. You have a bard of great skill beside you and there
are many in this Keep willing to come to the side of the rightful heir. Do not
disdain even the help of a mere scullery maid or lad...."

"Nay, do not," Robaidh said, "For it was two such girls who helped save
us at the Dun of Br'on."

The bard looked at Corvin and said, "Is this the full geas ye will lay
upon us?"

The Maker smiled a little, but it was a cold, grim smile, "I also lay
upon you that only the magics of bard and selkie will aid you. Your
weapons are sword, axe, dagger, and shield. And your wits."

He looked over at Smith, and added, "An flame rod."

Robaidh nodded and entoned, "A geas of honor ye have lay upon us, which
only death or victory will free us from."

Brion was still struggling with what Corvin had said earlier, and finally
spoke, "Corvin, if what ye offer...."

"Have no fear, my friend," the Maker said, "I do not prophicize Acair's
death, but that you will stand Chief to a new branch of the Hillrovers."

Before Brion could say more Corvin rested his hand on Toag's shoulder, and
said, "Good poet, will you stay with a blind harper, and join him in creating
the songs of this battle?"

[Taog]

He gulped, for the honor offered by the Maker was great indeed. Then
he straightened, a measure of pride returning to his face and his
stance.

"Aye, 'twill be an honor."

[Smith]

Smith grinned. With a flame rod and a dagger, he could cut through
a group of men like a hot sword through soft butter. There was the
time years ago....he dismissed the thought, and focused on the present.

[Fionghan]

He unsheathed his sword, and the steel sang as it came out of its
scabbard. Through the long years as a nameless, hopeless prisoner,
he had held back, and nurtured his anger.

Now, his eyes flashed and a fey smile crossed his face.

He called out to the keep, filling it with the power of his voice,
"Fionghan has returned! The rule of Eonan, murderer, liar, and
coward, is ended! To me, true sons and daughters of Clan Grierson.
To me, and reclaim your honor.

[tbc]