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CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS

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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #165 on: March 14, 2010, 12:54:13 am »

    "He is busy elsewhere," she replied. "No, my dear, our papa cannot come."
   Sylvia gazed at her with the huge responsibility of tender years called on for a decision. Presently it came abruptly: "Aurelia, send for Prince Cian."
   At that name the queen sister put her involuntarily away; then, seeing in the little counsellor those lip-quiverings which precede the tears of pain, Aurelia folded the ringlets very close to her, exclaiming: "I did not mean to be unkind."
   "But why?" began the pretty wondering mouth and eyes together, uptilted from their nest.
   "Oh, never mind, never mind!" and a soft hand pressed the sunny head down again. A low laugh followed, with an echo of self-impatience in it. Presently Aurelia said, with complimentary gravity, "I think so highly of your advice, my dear, that I am going to do just as you have said. And that is more than I always do for our wisest old men. Even our good bishop," she added meditatively.
   "He isn't a 'good bishop,"' declared the child, with emphasis.
   "Why do you say so?"
   "He talks against Prince Cian."
   "Ah!" Aurelia found herself admitting this in evidence. But she answered very justly, "They don't agree, you know. And when people don't agree they misjudge."

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« Reply #166 on: March 14, 2010, 12:54:37 am »

 "I don't like him," persisted Sylvia. "Besides, he hates our Holy One, the sacred Head. He hates Vran!"
   "Why child; what do you know of Him?"--smiling at this echoed earnestness.
   "Just what so many people say. What you have told me, sister."
   "I--oh, I have told you many things. As an old tale, not for certain truth."
   Sylvia pondered dubiously. "Anyway," said she, "I think it's very good of him to keep watch for us. And such a long, long time! Just think! And only a head to him! It must be very lonesome, Aurelia."
   "Would you like to see it and talk to it, then?" Aurelia blamed herself for the question before she had done asking it.
   Sylvia sprang up and off with a gasp, looking about her and trembling. "No!" she cried, with a stamp of her foot, half-petulant, half-terrified.
   "There, there," said Aurelia soothingly. "I see the most fervent partisans of the great Vran are even more so at a distance. I must own I think him rather a frightful defender. But you wouldn't be afraid to talk with--Prince Cian?"
   "No," demurely; "I love Cian."
   "Oh, you do!" said Aurelia. "Why?"
   "Because he is good--and kind. And he kills the wolves and the Saxons."

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« Reply #167 on: March 14, 2010, 12:58:24 am »

    "So does Oisin. Didn't you hear how he made the people knock Eschwine into the lake?"
   "Yes," judicially, "I love Oisin too."
   "What, that little croaking rook of a man!"
   "Yes, I do."
   "But he doesn't like Vran."
   "I don't care," with another glance around. "Don't you love Oisin?"
   "I like him, and trust him, and prize him."
   "Don't you love Cian, Aurelia?"
   "I like him, and trust him, and prize him, too. Sylvia, don't you love Osburn and Vortimer and the great Emperor?"
   Sylvia reflected. All items but one were passed by in her slow answer. "The great Emperor Arthur was like the sun, when he rode in his armor up the northern road," she said. "I was very glad to look at him. But he is too far away."
   This lingered in Aurelia's mind with something, perhaps, of that comfort which we find in a spokesman raised up for us unexpectedly. Both of these notably strong and picturesque men had been in her thought and her fancy, and the child had spoken.
   Yet, when Cian came hurrying to her presence, he was received only with an elaborate presentation of affairs. For the moment he would gladly have been back at Colchester.
   He took himself to task after the manner of the

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« Reply #168 on: March 14, 2010, 12:58:47 am »

 disconcerted. Beyond question, the queen had good right to send for him when needed; nor would he loiter by the way if thus summoned again. Ay, Cian--yet hardly would that coming be with the same stir and thrill of expectancy, a star-gleam going on before.
   But soon she passed to matters of more intimate disquiet--those eyes of fire that verily burned through black night out of the blacker hillside; the frenzied processions winding upward in the moonlight, imploring an answer.
   "Did they really hear anything?" he inquired.
   "A thunder of words in tongues unknown. The sound came to me even here. It makes the votaries more assured, more darkling, more uplifted."
   Cian looked grave. He could not feel so sure of the redoubtable obstructive dead, as of wonders which belonged to the common faith of all elder Britain. Yet, true or false, it was a very disturbing feature of local lore and pride.
   "I will see and hear to-night," he answered at last.
   "Oh!" and she put her hand forward dissuasively; then added, with quiet self-command, "If it seems best to you."
   That let the sunshine through. Surely he was, at least, a little more to her than a mere engine of war and pillar of the state. His look, going beyond his

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« Reply #169 on: March 14, 2010, 12:59:18 am »

 will, told her of what he saw and felt, and her face warmed again.
   But before either spoke, word was brought of the presence of the Saxon whom they had freed.
   "Let him enter," said Aurelia, surmising urgent tidings; but Cian fancied a touch of resigned vexation in her tone.
   When Wulfhelm appeared, the marks of wild unresting haste were apparent all over his new and brave attire. He had indeed come fast and far, and sighed with relief, as one who could not hold his course much longer.
   "I thought never to be here again," he said. "But since my word was `Peace,' your destruction unarmed would weigh on me more than death."
   Cian took his hand and pressed it. "So they are coming," said he.
   "From everywhere--the town of the Cantwara, the wet Merscwara country, the walled isles of the sea, and the valleys of the Darent and the Medway. Both Kents and all Essex. They will strike at the heart, hoping to catch you asleep. And that very soon. They look for rain and mire to clog your wheeling scythe-devils."
   Cian bowed to the compliment. "So they hope to see my chariots mud-locked at Colchester?"
   "That is their hope. I brought word there, found you gone, and followed."

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« Reply #170 on: March 14, 2010, 12:59:34 am »

    Cian looked him over. "Will not Eschwine carve the blood eagle on you for this?"
   A shiver passed through the young man's frame. He made no answer.
   "Oh, stay with us! you shall have what you will," cried Aurelia.
   He glanced at her haughtily, softening to indulgence, but answered nothing.
   "We will neither tempt you nor hold you," said Cian. "But Cerdic is as good a Saxon as Eschwine, with a greater name, and hates him no less than I."
   The face of Wulfhelm brightened. "Will you send me to Cerdic?" inquired he.
   "Surely. That is over little for all your peril and kindness. My letter to him may aid you. He knows of Cian Gwenclan. Sooner or later, with him, you will be made happy in fighting against us. And now I pray you to await me below, for we must see Osburn."
   At the door Wulfhelm turned again, and came back with extended hand.
   "It is not only for the life that you have given me," said he. "But you have not asked me to change my soul,--to become a Briton."
   "A fine compliment!" quoth Cian; but he seized on the hand with kind eyes.
   But what he saw in those of Aurelia drove the Frank and the Saxon together out of his mind.

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« Reply #171 on: March 14, 2010, 12:59:56 am »

CHAPTER XVI.

AN INTERVIEW WITH THE DEAD.

"An astrologer then he may be . . .
He would make the dead alive."

BOTH elation and trouble were in Cian's heart as he walked towards the White Tower between Wulfhelm and Tigernach, the three together nearly filling the narrow ways. The two enemies by race at first eyed each other across him with looks of reserve, then kept on, saying little.
   As they ascended the hill, although not on the haunted side, the face of the Andred man grew reverent, his very feet moving as if in deprecating good will; whereas the Saxon glowered and grinned sardonically at the hostile holy ground, as though very willing to disbelieve, but hating and fearing. This contrasted witness of the two men to the intensified power of the legend impressed Cian very deeply.
   They found Osburn disturbed about the matter, and in no amiable mood. He bent devouring eyes on the outwardly indifferent Wulfhelm, until Cian explained how much they owed this young man.

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« Reply #172 on: March 14, 2010, 01:00:31 am »

 Osburn listened gravely, put a question or two, declared himself satisfied, and forthwith issued orders for an escort of honor befitting a noted chieftain. "My best way of thanking," he observed. "It may help you with the King of Wessex."
   Wulfhelm grew taller in his delight and pride. "This will pair with Prince Cian's letter," said he--"the best fighter and leader that our great enemy, Arthur, ever had."
   There was a deliberation in his praise, evidently intended to enhance its value. It cost effort.
   Cian laughed. "Over commending may make a bad ending," quoted he.
   "It wouldn't do to tell Maelgwn," suggested Osburn, quizzically and grimly, though kindly.
   "If my tongue makes an enemy for Prince Cian, my hand can unmake him," Wulfhelm replied stoutly.
   "No need to defend one who has commonly been able to defend himself," Cian declared. "Yet I thank you; farewell."
   He turned to Osburn, when the others had gone. "You have made the lad's fortune, yonder; and I am grateful."
   "I paid my own score," was the answer. "We're all in one crazy boat. I've been looking for such news. Now's the last chance to strike, but with what? Half our people crooning about that death's head of a Vran, who unluckily isn't where he ought to be."

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« Reply #173 on: March 14, 2010, 01:00:47 am »

There was a defiant uplift of the voice in the close of this denunciation, proving that the denouncer was not wholly fearless and at ease with regard to the power upbraided. The northern prince felt this, and therefore disliked the implied blasphemy all the more.
   "Whatever else may be said of Vran, he is ours," Cian replied gravely.
   "And we are likely to be his," retorted Osburn. "Much like an otter with one paw in a trap, and the hounds coming."
   Cian smiled again. "Not so bad, I hope," said he. "It is something to find such terror-breeding power in a dead Briton. But I mean to try persuasion and argument with him this very night, if you will have me duly awakened."
   Osburn stared and laughed oddly at the means suggested; then, on second thought, looked at him with mingled hope and disquiet. Prince Cian's repute for occult knowledge hung about him like a magic robe. Just what might be possible with such a man, it did not become a Frank soldier of fortune to say. But, after all, what need to shrink from a comrade who had done so well? If there were other weapons which he could turn to account, by all means have the good of them.
   "Bring 'old Vran' to terms in your own way," quoth he.

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« Reply #174 on: March 14, 2010, 01:01:10 am »

    Late that night Cian was duly awakened. "You may hear them at it now," said the Frank sombrely.
   They listened. A hum of voices, low and thrilled, but broken now and then by some sharp cry, came from the southern face of the hill--a murmur charged with dread and anxiously imploring worship. "The Saxon coming is bruited abroad already," said he. Osburn nodded.
   The two went out together, taking a half-circuit. It was dark everywhere, yet, as always, a little lighter up the height; so, from the hollow which they had reached, the mob of swaying, gesticulating forms might be discerned like living shadows. The voices of them were chanting an invocation monotonously, all together, except a passionate break or call now and then.
   While the two men strained eye and ear, a sudden outleap of light made Osburn throw up his hands, as though he feared blinding. There was a gasping cry among the worshippers, and then all were silent in dread and rapture. For the glare was dual, and came seemingly from within the hill, as though two great fiery eyes were seen, not quite nakedly, but through a film which hardly dimmed them.
   Every human figure had moved aside in fear, and was hidden by the great contrast.

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« Reply #175 on: March 14, 2010, 01:01:31 am »

    "There lies our task," said Cian, with resolute effort.
   Osburn forced himself to look. "I--will--go," said he.
   "No," answered Cian. "You cannot help here. To say truth, I doubt if any one can."
   "'To say truth'--come away!" urged Osburn, with sudden revulsion. "Anything for duty! But I would rather go at the Saxon army with ten men."
   Then he seemed to bethink himself. "After all," said he, "there should be nothing within one's command which one doesn't know." He braced himself for the ascent.
   Cian answered, "If--or rather since--Vran is in your command, how much greater must you be than the angels of Heaven, or the lords of the darker place!"
   Osburn said nothing, and they went upward together. For ten steps or more the glare was on them, with preterhuman life and will in it, long smouldering. Then--suddenly as it began--there was darkness. Not the mere obscurity in which one may discern outlines or shadows, but the smiting of blindness which follows a lightning flash when clouds are heavy, and there is neither moon nor star. They stood still, being helpless. Then they were aware of curses uttered in the black void, and that the curses were for them. That was never a pleas-

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« Reply #176 on: March 14, 2010, 01:02:04 am »

 ant sound to any man, least of all when a very little fancy-play might make the unfriendly sounds unearthly also.
   "I gather that they charge us with bringing them into disfavor," said Cian.
   By this time they could dimly see a medley of figures, the nearest almost touching them, all swayed by some eager feeling. The voices had changed again, and were swaying, too, in a low singsong of adjuration.
   Again, as in response, came the dual outglaring, so that every one before it stood vivid in vision,--marshmen, hill-folk, city rabble, villagers, even a few soldiers, nearly all the forms, it seemed, of London life within or without the city. Into the heart of the light Osburn could not look; and he felt, rather than saw, that it had two radiant points as before. Sounds came out of it also, addressing Cian, as it seemed to the Frank, in a tongue unknown; but he could only turn his eyes a little aside, and note what he might between darkness and dazzle.
   For Cian, that light soon softened into friendliness. He was aware of no cleft in the hillside through which it could come; but he seemed to follow it to a subterranean chamber, with walls like those he had known at the winning of the golden corselet; glassy as by fusion, dense and ponderous, yet illumined, by a dreamy light. He was dreamily

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« Reply #177 on: March 14, 2010, 01:02:21 am »

 aware also of a presence within it, but the form and aspect he could not certainly perceive.
   The voice which Osburn heard, and many more as well, came thence to him with meaning; for he well knew that ancient speech of the island, which was now forgotten by all save adepts among the priesthood and wonder-workers. The popular fancy ascribed it unto the squat necromancers of the north who dwelt in hollow terraced hills before ever the Druids came, and who were Celtic in nothing except as being the topic of Celtic song and tale.
   "He who cometh," it said, "bringeth my own."
   It was a mellow sound, though so deep and resonant. Cian understood the allusion to the golden mystery that he wore. After a pause, the voice resumed.
   "What he hath won he shall wear, and not yet hath ended the winning. Yet the victory lies not in wheels, nor shod hoofs, nor winged blades, nor the fleetness of men and beasts, nor in any manner of onset. The great waves shatter on the rock while it abides their coming. If it roll to meet them, it shall be lost in the depth of the sea. I, Vran, am the life of London. He who would go forth to battle, leaving his life behind, must needs take death in its stead."
   Cian was awed and shaken; yet he felt that he must make answer and inquiry. He spoke with

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« Reply #178 on: March 14, 2010, 01:02:41 am »

 reverence. "As one who has been admitted to the light, and has wrestled in the darkness, I would ask why it is your august will to lay a palsy on us."
   There was no reply. The light shone on. The crowd listened, recognizing no word.
   He inquired again: "Is it the part of men to nestle under the hovering wing while the Saxon hawk is sweeping the field?"
   There was stillness again, and he fancied an angry wavering. Those about him shared the fancy; for there were murmurs, blaming presumption. But he hardened himself and raised his voice. "London is without the walls no less than within. What aid had I of Vran when the queen was threatened in the marshes by the Lea? Withdraw, then, your prohibition, I adjure you! Let the life of London willingly go forth with its strength."
   At this there was an indescribable stir of light and sound within the crypt. The voice thundered forth amid many echoes. "Woe unto him who heeds not the words I have spoken! Woe unto him who idly breaks my holy peace and vigil!"
   Then, as by the shutting of a lid, all was blackness and silence.
   There breathed a great sigh among the people, as knowing that the awful communion was ended. A few struck lights, after a brief time, and began to talk, though suppressedly, as they moved away.

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« Reply #179 on: March 14, 2010, 01:03:01 am »

Cian knew that their attention was on him, but with little hostility.
   "Hardihood wins favor," said Osburn. "The more they think, the stronger you will be with them." He held himself erect and weightily while thus moralizing; but, when they were well around the curve of the hill, he drew a long breath and moved faster. "Better a terrible friend than a terrible enemy,"he said bravely; yet his eyes went back over his shoulder.
   "What do you call this Vran?" he demanded a little later, pausing squarely; "Ghost? God? Devil?"
   "Pray ask me an easier question,"responded Cian. "A highly patriotic and mysterious Londoner, with a sense of what is due to himself--so much, at least, one may say. What he was, you partly know, and there is not any man who knows wholly. What he is--may be a mere trick of priestcraft and false voices."
   For there was a soreness in Cian over that abrupt ending.
   Osburn looked at him, and shook his head. "A hard saying that for a brother wonder-worker!" he observed very dryly.
   "You do me wrong,"answered Cian, with smiling dignity. "If I have concerned myself about hidden things, it was not for deceiving."

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