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CIAN OF THE CHARIOTS

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Victoria Liss
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« Reply #30 on: December 20, 2009, 02:11:30 am »

 the gates, also, of the White Town of the Wrekon, the Shining City. But this--I call it the sulking den, the cave of unreason, the hive that quarrels inwardly, unappeasably."
   "Don't snarl at the paymaster, lad. Never do that," announced a strong voice, nearing them. A hand was laid familiarly on Dynan's shoulder--a hand with a strong tendency to grip, and showing the knuckles over plainly; for this Osburn the Frank was a very oak of a man, everything about him giving the impression of rooted strength. He had a large forehead over keen blue eyes, and a way of thrusting out his long chin, as he uttered his curt sentences. His broad, bony face was bearded all over with stubble, in contrast to the mustachioed Britons.
   "I am centurion of the gate," he explained." That is all just now. Where I am put, I stay. Where I am sent, I go. And I don't growl about it. I don't, if the money comes. What, then, have you brought us?"
   "A letter-imperial from Arthur, our emperor," answered Llywarch formally. "It is addressed to the ruler or rulers of London, by his or their proper style or title, whosoever and whatsoever he or they--and it--may be."
   Osburn's face twitched with grim enjoyment.
   "The council is trying to find out," he replied dryly." They will scarce hear you to-night."

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« Reply #31 on: December 20, 2009, 02:12:31 am »


   "I pray you arrange for audience to-morrow then," said Cian. "The emperor will bear no trifling."
   "Amen!" responded Osburn. "A strong hand is needed. Dynan, see who is uppermost at the basilica. If Constantine, all will be well. Tell him. If not--the best you can. Shout, if beset. Any one of the three shouts,--your inheritance."
   Dynan laughed. "About all of it, except a fund of tolerance for bad jokes."
   Forthwith he was gone for his armor.
   Following Osburn, who followed Dynan, the envoys entered, through a narrow side passage, a lighted guard-room in a bastion-like thickening of the wall. Here all seemed in practicable order and readiness. Armor, chiefly bronze, hung on the walls with a reddening gleam. Weapons were shining where they leaned together in corners or from racks that held them. Large men of divers aspects, though sufficiently alike in attire, sat about or lounged or stood. One pair of them looked up from a board of draughts, or some such game. A soldierly set, but gathered from everywhere, for a few seemed Britons.
   Osburn turned to Llywarch: "Better leave your shell, it needs brightening;" and, at the word, one came forward, grimacing, to render aid. It was not possible to look at the mud-caked paladin very solemnly. He took their mirth cheerily, as usual.
   Presently they were ushered into what had been

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« Reply #32 on: December 20, 2009, 02:12:51 am »

 a series of cells, where, on the smallest possible scale, the Roman officers had persisted of old in their elaborate bathing system. The ornaments were mostly plastered over now, and the partitions knocked down for greater elbow room; but water was to be had very amply.
   Passing thence to the dining-hall, they found it absurdly narrow for its length, as the conditions compelled. The mural paintings were preserved, though fading; two long processionals, which could never have been very good. On the board sundry Roman pieces of varying merit still held their ground amid spoils of raid or purchase, mementos brought from over sea, and chance findings of every kind, a very strange medley. A vase of coralline Samian ware, with hunting scenes winding over it, beside a green-ribbed Saxon goblet, translucent and tapering slenderly; a silver platen alive with racing nymphs under an acorn-shaped cup, older than the Celts, of polished Kimmeridge coal.
   Two other officers awaited them at supper; and soon the soldiers off guard came in, taking the lower seats.
   The talk began, wandered, then came to an end. All saw that Osburn was listening uneasily. At last he held up Dynan's elfin horn--transparent as the summer heaven, yet threaded with wild scrollwork of fire.

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« Reply #33 on: December 20, 2009, 02:13:30 am »

 "He has left what some call his luck," said Osburn gravely, neither denying nor affirming, as became a man who had served respectfully under many gods, and knew that strange influences were astir among men.
   "But we have it, and he goes on our errand," answered Llywarch.
   "Do you thus read the omen?"
   "God forbid that we should waste time in construing what a few minutes will reveal. But ask Cian, if you will. He has been to the Druids."
   One of the lesser officers looked at Cian with heightened interest. The other made the sign of the cross.
   Cian's lip twitched. "Oh, this horn is not of the devil," said he. "You know the tale."
   "Not certainly," said Osburn.
   "Then my prophecy is that Llywarch, being glib of tongue and smooth of humor, will surely tell you."
   Llywarch bowed low, but fell in with their wish. "Before our time," he said, "there were dwarfs and elves and powers of enchantment in the land, as all men know; and some have lingered on in hidden places, now and then showing themselves, for good or ill, to one of our race. In deep glens and forest shadows you meet them, it is said, and chiefly by the fountains that come bubbling up with the life of the under-world.

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« Reply #34 on: March 13, 2010, 05:35:45 pm »


   "In such a country as this dwelt Dynan's mother's mother's mother, I know not how remote in ancestry. One day, passing through the meadows to bathe, as was her custom, in a secret pool fed by undying springs under curtaining boughs, she heard a faint cavern-muffled call from before her, and was minded to return. But coming a little nearer, she found the place quite vacant, save for dipping ouzels and water-rats that went gliding away. Having waited a while, she laid aside her garments, and stepped in through the shallows. Then again out swelled the cry, but now deep-throated, vehement, exultant, and very near, seeming to heave up the water before some bodily presence. It thrilled and wrapped and all but overcame her; yet she sprang away, snatching her clothing, and wrapping it around her as she ran. And, running thus, she heard yet a third time that voice of the under-world, but now sent after her in accents of more than human despair. Yet she had seen no form at all; and the Three Shouts was the only name she could ever give, or which might be given."
   "But what is this to Dynan?" demanded Osburn.
   "Why, if the story be told truly, she must have sought that pool again--overcoming her fear, or because of it, for there are strange things in enchantment. It is thought, also, she made tryst with him otherwhere. A dimness, not human nor heavenly, was seen beside her in lonely rambles; and one starlit

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« Reply #35 on: March 13, 2010, 05:36:28 pm »

 eve she had vanished quite away. Long afterward she returned, and bore a son among her own people, with a tale of wedlock in wild, lonely places, by rites unknown; and this magical token, wrought by no earthly hand, she showed as her voucher. When the right lips blow it, the voice of the Three Shouts will be sent abroad, and hosts of terrible power will come to the rescue. But they exact their price, and claim their own."
   Cian took the horn from Osburn's hand, poising it carefully. "Shall I blow it, for trial?" said he.
   "Forbear!" cried his host uneasily.
   Even while he yet held it, yielding, there came a far cry to them. All looked through the wall windows toward the house-lights, which glimmered across a broad open belt.
    "No distress in that!" exclaimed Osburn. "He is on the way."
   "Good," said Llywarch. "Now make Cian tell you how he saved a pack of wolves this evening from a terrible lady."
   "What!"
   "Aurelia, daughter of Constantine," explained Cian gravely.
    "So she fought the wolves?" queried Osburn.
    "Protecting her little sister."
   "And she hewed down well?"

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« Reply #36 on: March 13, 2010, 05:37:09 pm »

    "You should have seen. But the axe wearied her."
   "Of course, of course!" and Osburn looked from one of his officers to another with eager appeal. "There's a woman, grand and lovely! Emperor's blood, they say. A king's daughter, at any rate! To-night will show."
   Some of his men looked uncertain or indifferent, but the most were evidently with him. Cian and Llywarch turned to each other in congratulation.
   "For how long?" suggested Cian.
   "There you have it. That is the worst. How long?--I don't know. I don't know my own title in this place. One day I am centurion--when the Romans, as they call themselves, are uppermost. The next, I am commander of a hundred--then the Britons, so called, rule. Once Constantine has been consul; once, tribune. Now he is to be king. And there have been chiefs and princes and governors, and what not. And the factions wrangle, and the city goes to ruin, and the Saxons draw nearer, and the wolves howl about the gates. Whatever else we need, we need--Arthur."
   Seeing that he longed for it, they told him then fully of Arthur the Guledig,--Arthur the Emperor, as men would say. They told what manner of man this was in camp and court and daily converse, who had risen steadily, a star of hope for all the land;

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« Reply #37 on: March 13, 2010, 05:37:31 pm »

 his campaigns, how fought, and whither tending; his every hope and plan so far as made known among his following, while yet he stood there by the northern border, watchful. "Stanch men, like you," said Llywarch, "are men after his own heart."
   Osburn kept silence a minute. Much of this did not come newly to him; but it was a tale well told again, and they rounded hints and fragments with fuller and surer knowledge. At last he said,--
   "I like the wise brain; I like the strong hand--the man who can learn from Rome, live for Britain, and yet value any soldier. That leader is mine who has never yet been beaten. If they choose Constantine, and he chooses me, London is for Arthur."
   They looked at him with widened interest, for he spoke assuredly. His men followed with sounds and signs of applause, but their eyes opened as at something new.
   "May it indeed be so!" Cian answered. "What force have you here?"
   "A legion--which is a half-legion--in fair shape, at the gates and the White Tower. And the citizens turn out--sometimes. And there are always spears--a few--about Caer Collin, our worst border. And the foresters will fight, but as readily against us, for Vortimer of the Andred-wood. The city is full of them now. That is Dynan's danger. What keeps him?"

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« Reply #38 on: March 13, 2010, 05:37:56 pm »

    "You can't go fast through the fog."
   "True. But it's too long. By St. John!--too long."
   For Osburn was confusedly Christian in his swearing. He clenched his hand as he spoke; when another cry from Dynan brought them all to their feet together. It came from far to the right, and this time there could be no doubt at all of its exceeding urgency. In a breath each man snatched his armor, and then all went tumbling out--one on the heels of another--except the very few that Osburn's hasty word in passing bade remain on guard. He restored some part of order as they ran.

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« Reply #39 on: March 13, 2010, 05:38:39 pm »

CHAPTER III.

THE FIGHT BEFORE THE SHRINE.

He that was the shelter in battle.
                          --LLYWARCH.

OSBURN'S precautions, rapid though they were, held him a little behind his anxious guests. Presently these also parted company in the fog; and Cian, being the nimbler, found himself racing on alone, with merely sound for a guide.
   There had been enough of it all that evening about London; but it was easy to single one commotion with the din of real combat in it. He made this his aim, shouting ahead to hearten Dynan and the two or three soldiers who were with him.
   The moon was up now, though pale and slender, and the veil began slowly thinning away. They were in that forsaken belt left by Roman custom between houses and city wall; in this instance broader than usual by reason of the dying of the outskirts, and also much more desolate. Now they were stumbling over ruinous brickwork; now routing dim sneaking beast forms out of their lairs, and sending them scurrying onward; now splashing through pools and mire which

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« Reply #40 on: March 13, 2010, 05:39:08 pm »

 proved that the northern marsh was beginning to spread within the wall.
   Suddenly Osburn and Llywarch, now together, were aware of figures dimly flitting backward from them; and at a turning by an old corner of masonry a fury of weapons, curses, limbs, and faces came at them all together, holding them for a moment. Then it vanished as suddenly.
   Cian heard the clash and uproar obliquely behind him, but kept on. A light and agile figure leaped in front of him, with the voice of the elf-son Dynan. "So near? I came for aid; come now!" Forthwith he was flying back, while Cian followed as best he could. It was not their first race into danger, but no wholly mortal man could equal that speed.
   For a moment the elf-son was lost to sight, then discovered in violent action, while a form flew from him, moaning. He sprang, his sword fell again, and he sped on. As Cian passed the spot, a form, dead or living, at full length, nearly tripped him. Glancing back, he could see fighting, or fancy that he saw it, where tumult had broken out afresh around the voice of Llywarch. At the crossing of a little rill, two men faced him; but he sprang by, dealing one of them a backward blow. Twenty yards farther he saw Dynan spring on the skirts of a throng with nimble execration, while men scattered right and left. Before they closed again Cian also was cutting vehe-

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« Reply #41 on: March 13, 2010, 05:39:40 pm »

 mently among them, while a third figure broke outward to his aid. The three together made such clearance that they won swiftly to a little apse or shrine which had served already as a shelter.
   Here some pious legionary had reared, of old, a small temple, it may be to Juno or Proserpine, doubtless a lovely thing in its day. But the pillars had fallen long ago, and very little indeed remained beside that cave-like half-dome and its supporting walls, with two forward running wings of masonry, which left only a narrow entrance with a litter of fragments before it. Inside, three or four men could yet find room, though not with ample motion. A soldier crouched there, unable to dash out with his comrade, but holding his spear forward still.
   Cian took a step out of the portal, and his foot slipped on the rounded body of the deity cast down. His hand, coming on it to stay his fall, was wet with blood. A dead man lay half across the marble, face on breast.
   There had like to be another; for the enemy, very near, took advantage of his mishap, and one spear at least would surely have gone through him, but that Dynan turned it, and leaped in, thrusting thrice to a breath, until the point found an undefended spot and the man fell. In a moment the elf-son was out and beyond, flitting over obstacles and under blows, bounding, twisting, lunging and striking, everywhere

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« Reply #42 on: March 13, 2010, 05:40:04 pm »

 at once, like a figure driven by some prodigious spring-work.
   Cian, busy enough himself, kept an eye on this darting friend, for he felt that the ending of it all must be very near. Twice he dashed out to Dynan's aid, but each time that ally was elsewhere already. At last, with a great bound, the nimble-footed fellow came over one of the masonry wings, landing close behind Cian. Then he gave forth once, brokenly, his peculiar call for aid, and fell exhausted before the entrance and the altar.
   Cian stepped back, watching warily the rush that followed, and making the best use of edge and point that he could. The strait was so narrow and cumbered that there was rarely a chance for a full blow; but his enemies were hampered likewise, and they also jostled each other, while not one was nearly a match in fence for the best swordsman, save two, of Arthur's court. Had there been but fair light to see him, the tall dark prince of the northern hills, sword in hand, framed by the rough temple archway, had never appeared more grandly. From each side of him, too, a spear-point darted out, gashing one or another of his assailants in breast or limb, as they were driven over near.
   More than once they surged quite up to him, ebbing again after fierce stabbing at close quarters, almost like throbbing of steel. Rather by touch than

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« Reply #43 on: March 13, 2010, 05:40:22 pm »

 by sight, he knew that some of them were in armor, some skin-clad, some all but naked, and with weapons as various. "Who are they?" he asked, at a half-minute's breathing spell.
   The soldier first wounded was beyond answering. The other replied weakly, "Foresters, rabble, a few of our own men, townspeople who have bought armor, all sorts"--
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« Reply #44 on: March 13, 2010, 05:40:33 pm »

But again they were on him together, at the closest quarters and with the deadliest intent. One led them whom he had marked before as the most persistent of all, a shorter man than himself, yet of good height and very active, with sinewy arms and a passionately hostile face. "Tigernach, Tigernach!" he cried, as if his ominous name were a spell.
   "And I am Cian Gwenclan," was the proud answer. At the same time the moon shone out more plainly. However paled in that gleam, there could be no mistaking the golden lustre nor the silver spray.
   Now indeed it seemed that a spell was working very strangely. Tigernach drew back bodily, shouldering those behind him. "It is Cian of the Chariots," he cried, turning. "I will not fight him of the golden mail, the heirloom of the awful dead. I will not fight the mistletoe, nor yet Arthur the Guledig."
   "Why not," said one, "if he lays open my arm?"
   Nevertheless, they swayed about, with signs of melting; then vanished dispersedly, as hurrying calls

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