Chapter 137: Get used to disappointment

What followed was a couple of days of the hardest physical work of my life.

I will hold my hand up now and admit something. I have talked about this before so I'm sorry if I'm going over old ground. When I was growing up, indeed until I met Kerrass, I was not very.... I was not physically conditioned. I had spent time in the practice yards training with sword, horse and lance but I was never talented enough with those things for the conditioning to take with me. I fell off, injured myself, got tired and otherwise struggled with everything that I was asked or told to do.

Many of you know this.

This was largely because I was uninterested in these pass-times. All I wanted to do was to get back to my books, to read, to study and find things out. To get better at something you have to want to get better at it and I didn't want to get better at it so I remained thin, stoop shouldered and gangly which was a body pattern that I kept until I met Kerrass.

Kerrass took me in hand and although, at first, he didn't care enough about me to worry about my physical well-being, he did want to make sure that I wasn't going to get him killed, so he started training me. At first I put up with these drills because it was the only way that I could stay with my subject, the only way that I could continue my research. But then I met the Nekkers and something in my mind shifted. I was no longer training just to become better at something. I was training for my very survival. It had been made clear to me that I needed to know how to fight and how to kill so that I could survive life on the road.

And I wanted to survive, therefore I trained hard.

I developed muscle mass and my posture and stature changed. Although I didn't feel any different in and of myself, the differences became known in the way that people treated me. Suddenly discovering that girls were looking at me with considering expressions or that regular people would move out of my way when I was walking down the street. I hadn't noticed either of those things until someone pointed them out to me though.

I also remember the day at the family castle when I returned home for the first time in years to be with my family as my father died. I remember climbing the towers and not being out of breath when I got to the top. Not something that I had been able to do before.

So I had come to enjoy my new-found physical capabilities. I had strength, stamina, skill and speed that I was unused to. That I had never had before and I liked it.

But I found, in the village that day, as I had learned before but I had forgotten until that point, that there is a difference between being fit enough to ride a horse, to train with your weapons and fight for your life and then being able to put in the hard physical labour that is involved working on the farm or in the villages.

I had learned this lesson before but I had forgotten it.

The other lesson that I found that I had to remember was that there is a technique to everything. Not just spear work. But also the proper use of a wood axe and a shovel.

My hands are well callused now. Toughened skin covers the ball of my thumbs and across my fingers where Kerrass has me fighting day in and day out.

But I had blisters on blisters on blisters at the end of those few days work and one of the village women had to make me a cream that I was forced, on pain of feminine disapproval, to rub into the injuries on a daily basis.

Humiliation is not the word for it.

So here's a little story, a parable if you prefer the term and it will possibly illustrate my attitude a little better.

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All of this is by way of my learning a lesson that my father had tried to teach me many years before. Back before the distance had grown too vast between mother and him and when he still took something of an interest in my schooling and activities. We were riding somewhere, I can't remember where now, but we were on our way. I must have been seven or eight or so, around that time and for whatever reason I was riding with my father. As I say, I can't remember the circumstances of this particular journey so bear with me.

We were riding along and I was trying to impress my father with some kind of insight. I had no idea whether what I was thinking was correct. I think I was more trying to say something that he would agree with.

We were riding along a track with some fields on one side and with a wooded area on the other. There were a team of lumberjacks in the area and I remember looking forward to seeing the heavily muscled men in action, swinging their axes and moving their saws backwards and forwards. I was still full of the romantic stories that my nanny had been telling me about “heroic woodcutters” and how they would come to the rescue of young princesses and general folk that need rescuing in those kinds of stories.

We were riding along and we came to the open area and I remember a crushing disappointment to discover that the men were sat down having a rest, smoking some tobacco, having something to eat and passing a large skin of some kind of drink backwards and forwards amongst each other. I remember craning my neck to look at my father's face, fully expecting him to apoplectic with rage and rather looking forward to an opportunity to seeing someone else be the recipient of my father's ire.

Instead father looked over towards the men, shouted a greeting of some kind and made a joke. The woodsmen waved and raised their wineskin in some kind of a salute before we rode on and out of sight.

I began to find the tension unbearable as the waited for and expected explosion failed to materialise.

“Aren't you going to yell at them Father?” I asked.

“What for?” I remember that he didn't look at me. I don't know if he was scanning the road ahead or checking the horse or watching the farmers as we rode but I remember that he didn't look at me and I remember feeling as though that was off-putting somehow.

“For not getting on with the work.” I said. “For lazing around.”

“Those men weren't lazing around.” He told me. There was no anger in his voice, nor disappointment which is why I remember this moment so clearly. Either of those things would have sent me off into tears at that point in my life although I wonder if he kept himself calm precisely so that he could avoid a, to use his words, “an emotional and childish outburst.” Thanks for reading on ManaNovel!

“What do you mean?” Looking back I am surprised that I had the temerity to ask such a question.

I remember that he sighed and rubbed his head, a gesture that would later become a sign that he was becoming exasperated. “They were resting. Cutting down trees is hard work. Hard physical labour and you should be grateful that that kind of labour is not something that you have ever had to do, or will ever have to do if I can manage it.”

He reached for his own water bottle and took a long drink.

“Never mistake laziness for an honest need to take a moment's rest. One is a decision whereas the other is a necessity for a person's health.”

He said no more on the subject although I will mention that when I tried the same line on my weapon-master the next time I wanted to take a break from all the sword play I was thrashed for my trouble.

That's the long way round of telling you that Sir Rickard's bastards threw themselves into a frenzy of work that I would not have been able to keep up with.

They chopped down trees before using smaller hatchets to chop the wood into smaller chunks of varying length. I later saw that they automatically cut the wood into similar lengths so that the lengths of the posts were almost uniform. I asked how that was managed and Rickard told me that the lengths of wood were bow length.

They dug trenches as well. Moving an astonishing amount of Earth in a relatively small amount of time with the equally as small entrenching tools that the men had strapped to their travelling gear. All the while they had their personal arms on, their knives and swords still strapped to their waists, quivers on their backs and their bows close to hand.

I ached just watching them after I had been told that I needed to calm my shit down.

I remember thinking that it was almost rehearsed. That no-one had given any orders but that everyone had just kind of gotten on with it without needing instruction.

I have no intentions of taking up another subject when Kerrass and I part ways as I strongly suspect that marriage to an elder vampire along with the responsibilities that come with that, will take up a significant amount of my time, but I imagine that a man could write a considerable amount regarding the mindsets and the training of soldiers rather than the knights that lead them which is what the majority of texts cover.

While that industry was going on under the direction of the Sergeant of the bastards, Kerrass and Sir Rickard were walking around the village with a piece of paper, a bit of charcoal and Edward the headman who had been found under the village equivalent of house arrest. It seemed that he had argued against the group of men that had tried to keep us from entering the village and doing what needed to be done and although the majority of people were on his side, they were the kind of people that were primarily after a quiet life. It was the loud, belligerent and vocal minority that had met us at the entrance to the village with pitchforks and rakes.

Edward had taken his temporary confinement in good grace and had reminded everyone that he had been chosen as the Alderman for a good reason which was that his instincts were good and that he could normally be depended upon to make the right decisions.

It was soon decided and with the support of the village women, that the vast majority of the non-combatants would take shelter in what they called “The cave of the God”. That place that Edward had described as being a sacred site of Crom Cruarch. The term non-combatant was being defined as women, children and old-folk although I had seen more than one woman protesting at the prospect of being described as a “non-combatant”.

The three men were planning the defences, drawing where the houses were and where the defensive lines were going to be drawn. Where the water barrels going to be located as well as the barrels of the liquid that Kerrass had ordered mixed for us all to dip our scarves into in an effort to keep the Hounds poison out of our lungs. The first time a couple of my blisters had burst, which was uncomfortably early in the process of starting work, I remember looking at their little diagram and being mystified at what I saw there.

What I had expected was some kind of defensive circle. Walls of wood and earth inter connecting the houses with stakes and things to keep the Hounds out but instead what I saw was a kind of maze, a tangled web of lines that I didn't understand or recognise.

Kerrass noticed my confusion. “You alright?” he asked, nodding at the bandages that were wrapped around my hands.

“Flame no.” I told him. “The next time I say that I should pick up a shovel or a wood axe then you have my permission to remind me of this moment and slap me across the face. I should have left this to the professionals, as with so much in life.”

My declaration was met with a smirk from Sir Rickard and Edward.

Kerrass' expression didn't change before abruptly he shook himself as though suddenly being startled. “Sorry what was that? You lost me after saying that I could slap you across the face.”

“Very funny.”

“I thought so.” His hand lashed forward and I had to duck out the way.

“You said I could slap you across the face.” Kerrass protested.

“Why do I hang around with you again?”

“I have often asked myself the same question. Feel free to leave at any time.” He looked down at the paper before his voice turned serious for a moment. “Although, if you could leave off for a day or two please. I have the burning desire to insert my sword in some monsters.”

A confused look came over Edward's face. “I thought you said that the Hounds were human.”

“Probably human,” Kerrass told him, “But that wouldn't stop them from being monsters though.”

“What's the plan?” I asked, gesturing at the map.

“It's about firing lines.” Kerrass told me, beckoning Sir Rickard over who had been drinking from a heavy water skin that one of the villagers had brought over. Sir Rickard passed the skin over to Kerrass who also drank deeply.

“I still don't understand it.” Edward told me. “To me, it looks like we're leaving a hole in the defences for the Hounds to ride into and burn the village down.”

“The village might lose a few houses.” Edward told us. “That's not in dispute here. But you don't build an unbreakable wall around the village as that will negate the one significant advantage that we have.”

“Which is?” I asked.

“That my men are among the best shots in the Kingdom.” He said simply. “I train them hard every day so that they become so. Look....”

He turned the paper over so that he could show me another picture that he had drawn. From the sight of it, he had drawn it, precisely to illustrate this point again to someone else.

“If we just build a barricade around the village.” He pointed to a circle, “Then the Horsemen will use their advantage which is mobility. They will ride around the village at speed, possibly shooting their own bows at our much more stable and unmoving targets and throwing lit brands into the village until either a building collapses and they can come into the enclosure, or, if this was a military installation that we were defending, we try to sally out to attack them. They know that we're made up of civilians and that our food and water is limited, therefore time is on their side.”

“They would leave though, when the fog lifts.” I pointed out.

“That's if they stick with the established pattern.” Kerrass pointed out. “Non-sapient monsters are creatures of habit and can be expected to stick to the pattern. People can change, try something new. It is a mistake to assume that just because something always has been the case, that it always will be the case.”

“Ah.” I said happily, “You're talking about assuming things aren't you.” I nodded sagely. “A valid point.”

Kerrass glared at me.

“For us to use our bows properly against the highly mobile targets we need to confine them into as tight a space as possible and get them to move in a straight line directly towards or away from us.” Rickard went on, ignoring the pair of us. “So that's what we're going to do. We're leaving two openings in the perimeter. Here and here.” he pointed. “That will give them targets to home in on. We're actually going to start some stuff there so that it looks like we ran out of time to properly build walls or ditches there so that they will be even more tempted. Then they will be forced to ride down these gullies.”

Again he pointed.

“During that time Kerrass and yourself will be holding the smaller of the two openings and the Sergeant and myself will be holding the others. Those villagers that are willing to fight will be on the rooftops above those gullies throwing rocks, dirt, human waste, children's underclothes, offal and whatever other unpleasant things that we can think of down onto them. Some of the villagers have hunting bows as well and although they won't bother anyone with armour, that's if the man with armour knows that it's only a village hunting bow rather than a proper war-bow or recurved killing bow.”

“What about the other men?” I asked.

“They will be divided between these killing steps. A couple on the roof-tops to shoot at them while they do surround the village, you never know but Dan might be able to hit something if they move round at pace or something.”

“You're creating a killing ground,” I commented. “I see, but what about what Edward told us about the riders appearing on the ridge top and then “flying” down amongst the village.” I saw a sense of relief in Edward's face and guessed that he had been wanting to bring this up himself but had lacked the nerve to do so. “I'm not saying that we need to guard against flying horses as I don't believe in those either but these folks see something when that happens.”

“A good point.” Rickard commented and turned and bellowed for Taylor who drove his shovel into the pile of earth that he was working with and came running over where Rickard told him about the “flying horses”.

To Taylor's credit, he didn't even blink.

“You're amongst the best horsemen that we have. Presumably due to all that training that you were getting when you were being trained as a dandy. How would you do that?”

Taylor nodded and stood, looking up at the small cliff-face. He nodded to himself again and went to collect his horse.

“This might be good.” Rickard told the rest of us.

As I've described before, but it bears repeating. The small cliff wall that the village was nestled against was not very big. If you jumped off it, I suspect it would not even manage to kill you but would be much more likely to break a limb. I would put it at twenty five to thirty feet high at most, maybe a little higher. The cliff wall was part of the local rock formations as the foothills started to climb up into the mountains that they would eventually become and this was one of the first breaks in the ground where the rock started to show through.

Why a village was here is beyond my understanding. My guess is that it was founded around the holy site that is there. At the base of the cliff is the door that, once opened, leads down a flight of steps and into an underground cavern wherein lies a lake which had been identified by the villagers forebears as a holy site of Crom Cruarch. The village also had a well which sunk down into this same cavern and underground water reservoir.

Taylor rode his horse out of the village and around so that he was sat on the horse on top of the cliff looking down at the village. He rode this way and that for a few moments craning over the side of the cliff, oblivious to the height or the danger, utterly assured in his safety on the back of his horse.

Then he stopped, reaching into the bags that were still tied onto the horse he produced a large blanket which he proceeded to tie around the horses head and covered the animals eyes. Then he steered the horse back from the cliff face for a moment so that we couldn't see him.

I didn't know why he wanted any kind of a run up but I felt sick just watching him.

Then he appeared and rode his horse over the edge of the cliff.

One of the possible reasons for the village to be built there was that the cliff provided a certain amount of shelter from the ferocious winds, as well as the mist that came from the mountain top. I imagined that in the countryside, snow, wind and frozen air currents off the mountain could be sheltered from against the cliff and indeed, many of the older buildings in the settlement were nestled against it. This included the small building that disguised the entrance down to the lake and the holy area but it also protected the communal gathering building where the cooking, and village business was conducted but it was also where the blacksmith worked and where the village goods were stored, not just the food that was set aside for the winter and whatever other circumstances that you might keep things back for but also blankets, firewood, grain and other such things. Some of those buildings were large enough to house livestock against particularly dangerous mountain storms or blizzards.

Some of these buildings were quite tall and towered almost as high, but not quite as high as the cliff-face.

I'm sure that you can guess what he was doing having read it from the safety of your own home. But for me, watching Taylor as his horse leapt out into open air, my heart was in my mouth.

For a perfect moment, it seemed as though the horse hung in the air, perfectly still before it began to fall, front feet first.... Directly onto the roof of the largest of the barns and warehouses.

Taylor brought the horse to a halt before turning it and steering it down the slope of the roof, presumably across some of the cross framing must have been visible through the thatch. Then the horse jumped again and landed on the village gathering building. Then again onto the blacksmiths shop, then again onto a pile of wood before touching down on the ground. Taylor rode the horse to stand in front of us and dismounted.

He wasn't even breathing that hard.

“Flying horses.” He said evenly.

“Who are you?” I asked him.

“No-one of consequence,” he told me with a slight smile.

“I must know who you are.”

“Get used to disappointment.”

“Yes, well.” Rickard was grinning at my discomfort. “Deal with the problem would you. Otherwise we could be having Hounds crashing down around us.”

“Or on our heads.” Taylor was already moving off calling for a couple of wood saws.

“Who is that man?” I asked.

“Buggered if I know,” Sir Rickard told me, not for the first time, “and so long as he does his job, right now, I don't much care. Edward can you set a group of men to spear to death any Hound that falls through the roof?”

“I think that that can be managed.”

Edward said that, but the villagers were very slow to commit towards helping us. It wasn't until well into the second day before a large man came out with a shovel and a pick slung easily over his shoulder strode over to where a group of the bastards were toiling hard and offered to help.

Shortly after that, another group of men went over with wood cutting materials to help build the walls then a couple of the women shyly came round to offer us food and water.

This caused me a little hilarity as I heard the Sergeant delivering a little speech to a couple of the men about “keeping their base desires firmly buttoned up or Sir Rickard would likely be extremely cross.” to much groaning and complaining from the other men.

I remember grinning and thinking that there wouldn't be much trouble. The bastards were kept too busy for those kinds of shenanigans despite the best efforts of one or two of the eligible females. Apparently it nearly became a whole thing as the women wanted to use that as an excuse to escape the local area, marriage to a soldier is attractive towards that kind of woman. The chance to see new lands, to travel with her man and such as well as, or so I'm told, the aphrodisiac of being married to a warrior man.

But as I say, the boys were a little too busy to be able to spend too much time to devote towards pursuing some of the members of the fairer sex.

So gradually, as the hours and days wore on, the villagers began to warm up to the idea of fighting for their future. I found myself in charge of a group of men who needed to be taught how to hold a spear properly and had just enough of a clue to be teaching them basic spear drills. Don't get too excited. It didn't go much beyond the stereotypical instructions of “hold the spear here and here and stick the pointy bit in the bad guy.”

Such sentences are often said in jest in an effort to make fun of a persons capabilities and talents when it comes to using their weapons but when it comes down to it. When you've only got a limited amount of time to be able to teach people these things, then you take what you can get.

We did have one problem though which was that we still didn't know how the Hounds were getting their information. They had to be getting that intelligence from somewhere and so we had assumed that there were agents that were working for the hounds amongst the villagers and the people that we were staying with. For this reason it had been decided that anyone that was in the village, stayed in the village unless they were supervised by one, or preferably more, of the soldiers.

When we arrived in the village we were very careful to point out to Edward that this was a necessary evil and that it was unavoidable. That we didn't want to start some kind of massive witch-hunt and nor did we want to turn villagers against other villages or their fellows. Edward agreed and when it was put to the gathering, we pointed out that these agents could be anybody so the important thing was that we intercept anyone and anything that might be carrying messages off to other parts.

Most, if not all of the people that lived inside the village itself were agreeable to this and were supportive and those people that were not were quickly shouted down under the threat of being perceived to be the agents that we were trying to protect against.

I thought that this was a bit harsh myself but there you go.

We also stationed Dan on the highest building to shoot down any birds that might be messenger pigeons. We can't speak for whether or not he was successful in curtailing the spread of intelligence but we certainly got enough birds for a pie.

The problem with all of this was that we weren't just here to protect the people in the village itself. We were also there to protect the people from the surrounding farms. Many of whom were reluctant to drop what they were doing and run off at a moments notice to a central village. They, not incorrectly, argued that they had things to do. Chores to fulfil and a home to protect. They asked how we intended to protect their homes, not unreasonably, and were understandably upset and angry when we told them that we had no intention of trying to protect their little farms in out of the way places. That our priorities were to protect the people that lived inside the buildings as the buildings themselves could be rebuilt.

Some saw the sense and loaded as much as they could onto carts and carried it into town, prioritising food and other goods that could not be replaced.

Many did not which was where the entire thing clashed of course. You see, how could we tell which farmers were just genuinely angry and upset at the prospect of losing everything that they owned against those people that might actually be pretending to be angry and upset in an effort to remain behind and send messages off to their masters?

We never found an answer to this riddle.

Nor could we, upon giving them the news that we intended to protect the village and the people living in it, leave them behind if they refused which led to several occasions where the occupants of the farms had to be restrained and carried away from their homes with the very real possibility of never returning there again.

The growing good feeling between the village folk and ourselves began to fall off a little from that point.

Fortunately, help came from a surprising place as the head woman, Edward's wife who doubled as the chief Priestess of Crom Cruarch declared that it was time for an offering to the God. Supplies were gathered, more firewood was cut and we all were invited down into the cavern to leave our offerings.

A couple of the more superstitious soldiers complained a little but Sir Rickard glared at them until they subsided. We were told that we didn't need to make an offering if we didn't want to. That the God understood that we were there to help and to, possibly, lay down our lives in the protection of the village and the God's people and as such our “unbelieving ways” would be tolerated. For myself, I took a pragmatic view of the situation. We were guests here. I couldn't prove that the beliefs of the God's existence were false. I didn't know what he was although I will admit that at the time, I thought that he was little more than a local spirit. A more powerful version of those wood and farmland spirits that occasionally adopt patches of land and the people that live on them and give their power to help the people that live there.

So I determined that I wasn't that concerned for the health of my eternal soul and that I wouldn't bother the priests with it. I determined that I would mention it to Mark the next time I saw him and if he felt it was important then I would unburden myself at my next confession.

Kerrass agreed with my course of action and determined to take an offering of a selection of the herbs that he was using to mix up the potion that we would be using to mask the effects of the Hound's poison.

I've never entirely been sure as to what Kerrass' religious beliefs are. I have asked him and when he does answer on the matter, which is not often, he will say that he believes in his own capabilities. He believes in the swords on his back, the signs in his fingers, the skill in his hands and the knowledge in his brain. I can't speak for that. He certainly spends enough time working on all of these things that you might consider that a religion. But I also think that he might be putting me off the true answer.

I've never seen him leave an offering at a shrine, enter a temple or give much more than lip service to religious ritual. However when he swears he blasphemes in the name of a Goddess. Which one? I used to think it was Melitele when I first met him but more recently I have become less sure. When he spoke about the Princess Dorn while she was asleep, he did so with the reverence of a man talking about his Goddess and I have since come to wonder if that was a thing.

But I don't know. As I say, he avoids the subject wherever he can and flat out refuses to answer when he can't.

But regardless, we gathered our offerings. Each of the soldiers offered up a single arrow from the dozens of new ones that they had been making. It seemed that when they ran out of things to do, it was almost automatic that their hands would turn to the craft of fletching. Either straightening and fixing spent arrows or by constructing others.

As I say, Kerrass offered some herbs and berries, Sir Rickard joined his men in offering an arrow. I thought long and hard about what I should offer. It was supposed to be the first fruits of the harvest but as I didn't really harvest anything from my work other than wealth, most of which went to the university as it was with their permission that I was able to use their name, or to our families estate to be disposed of as my father, at first and later Emma, saw fit. I was given a stipend for life on the road but that meant that I had little actual money on me.

The other major things that I had received were a woman that I loved and a friendship that I had not believed possible, neither of whom would be agreeable to be sacrificed on the alter to a local God. Some might argue that I had gained fame and notoriety from this as well, but again, how do you make an offering of that?

In the end I decided that all of these things were the “results” of my harvest. My real crop was in the knowledge that I had gained over the course of my journeys and as such, that would be what I would offer, in the guise of some of my preliminary notes that I had jotted down. Everything that I gave I had already written up and handed off to people, I keep the notes to remind myself of past events and to what I was thinking at the time as well as my reasons for behaving in such a way.

Like reading a diary, it is sometimes interesting reading to go back and read through what had happened all that time ago.

So I was carrying a small folder full of loose leaf paper as we walked through the open building and down the trap door. The building that disguised the trap door was little more than a basic wooden framework that had only the loosest wooden planks nailed to it with a very light covering of thatch over the rooftop. The objective was to disguise the entrance into the cave from outside eyes and it was largely successful. From the outside, the small building looked like little more than a large outhouse for the use of relieving yourself.

It took us a while to get everyone down there. The doors over the cave were large and well made. Edward later told me that they were the third set of doors that had been constructed by the village to guard the place. As they gained more knowledge and experience in how to build larger and more sturdy doors, the old ones would be taken down and the new ones would be put up.

As I say, these ones were extremely large and very heavy to look at. I did struggle to understand how they might keep people out but there was a large cross-beam propped against the wall as you went through and examining the back of the door showed that there was an area where this could be fitted into place.

It took us a long time to climb down the stairs to get into the cavern, filing down the slick stone steps, presumably worn away by many years of people climbing down them and although I tried to be sturdy and steady on my feet, I found that I had to clutch onto the guiding rope with one hand as I moved down.

I remember being surprised by how far down into the ground we ended up going until the walls, almost abruptly, vanished on either side opening out into a wide cavern with a large bonfire in the middle where people were already dancing around and having fun.

Food was also being passed around along with many bottles of the fermented apple drink that they liked so much and it showed the promise of a heady gathering. Sir Rickard was telling the men that, although they were free to enjoy themselves that they should refrain from getting drunk as “The Hounds” could come at any time. He promised them that when victory was assured then they could get as drunk as they like but until then they were to remain sober. He also told them that providing the lady gave explicit consent then they should feel free to enjoy themselves providing that they were ready for duty later on that night.

Such a declaration was met by a somewhat half-hearted cheer but they were soon drawn off by various people into the dancing circle and I didn't see too many unhappy faces.

I found myself on the edges of the gathering, clutching my folder of notes and looking on, watching the people dancing and laughing until I found myself wondering how many of them would soon be dead when the Hounds themselves finally did attack.

I missed Ariadne deeply. I didn't know why but I felt sure that she would have been fascinated by this gathering.

After everyone was down in the cavern and had taken a bit of time to see everyone, shake everyone's hand and hug loved ones or close friends then the priestess stood up. I knew it was her from the red scarf that had not been taken off from round her head but her entire attitude and body language was different. She seemed to hobble into an open area with the aid of a long walking stick as she was bent over, almost bent double with the effects of extreme age and the signs of a long and physically taxing life. If I hadn't known who she was, I wouldn't have recognised her. I looked around for Edward who was standing nearby, watching his wife perform. He hid it well but his eyes were shining with pride as he watched her work.

She came forward and threw her arm up in the air and brought her staff crashing down onto the floor. The sound was deafening, a metallic crash that echoed throughout the cave. I wondered about that for a while until Kerrass pointed out a small group of women who had some crude cymbals in the darkness. I grinned to myself, enjoying the theatricalities of the entire thing.

“Welcome, my children.” She said, her voice disguised and sounding old and decrepit. “Welcome strangers from distant lands as we stand here at this time of offering. Where once again we offer the first fruits of our labours for the crooked man. The man of the mound. The ancient one. We offer these things and then we ask for his blessings upon us all so that we might better survive the struggles ahead.”

She scanned the assembly and there was real power flashing behind her eyes but I sensed that it was benevolent.

“Bring forth your offerings.”

With a sweep of her arm she gestured towards the wide flat table nearby. As Edward had first described to me it was dark wood, almost black in colour and it had a feeling of being old. Very old, to the point where I wondered how old it was.

I should explain a little bit of context here. The cave that we were in was wet from the lake that we were on the shore of. The cold and damp was banished by the large and open roaring fire that was there but it was inconceivable to me that that blaze was a constant fixture here. The amount of wood that would need to be consumed alone made it almost impossible to picture. Also, although the smoke was being taken off somewhere it was impossible to tell where, but if the fire was constantly burning we would run the risk of suffocating in all the smoke. But without that fire I could not help but think that the cave would be cold and clammy and anything made out of wood would be given to rot away in relatively short order. It was inconceivable to me that the table could have survived so long down here without rotting away but it was not a small thing and I also struggled to conceive how anyone could have got it through the relatively small entranceway.

One of life's little mysteries and another that I don't think I will ever have the opportunity to solve.

We all lined up and moved forward to lay our offerings on the table. I was surprised by how lively the gathering was. I am used to religious ceremonies being calm and staid affairs that take their time and are done in reverent silence with maybe a bit of light chanting or singing to accompany prayers. But here, people were laughing and joking, trading insults and compliments with cheer and relish.

When it was my turn I found a part of the table that hadn't been covered in goods. There was already a stack of arrows in one corner as well as numerous stacks of firewood, straw and several carcasses of meat. I found a place and tucked my small folder of paper somewhere out of sight next to a small bunch of flowers that looked to have been offered by a child. I took the moment to place my hand on the table itself. As Edward had warned me, it was indeed slightly warm to the touch and the feeling of age increased. The grain was deep and pitted by time and hardship. If the surface of the wood had been the skin of a human then that human would have been an aged warrior, tired and old now but still standing and prepared to weather the storm, standing upright before his enemies.

That might sound like a strange thing to say but it was the image that leapt into my mind as I lay my hand down on the surface.

I realised that I was holding up the line and moved on, going to stand with Sir Rickard who looked as though he was feeling just as out of place as I was.

Kerrass, on the other hand, was laughing and joking with the rest of them. The very life and soul of the party exchanging words and all kinds of comments with the other villagers, offering advice and analysis while accepting the same in return. Not that I suspected he would ever need to know exactly how to grow the perfect apple but then again, what do I know about such things.

When all had placed their offerings the Priestess came out again and with another expansive gesture of her arms we were ordered to form a circle. She stood in place as part of the circle with her husband on her right hand side. More women were bringing bottles forward, one of the older women who bore enough of a family resemblance to the Priestess that I guessed that she was either an elder daughter or a sister of some kind, emptied a bottle of some kind of amber liquid into a large drinking horn. I remember thinking that the symbology of this was a little odd as the “Crooked man of the mound,” Crom Cruarch was a god of the harvest whereas a horn is more often a symbol of the hunt.

Another little mystery that I didn't expect to get the answer to.

The priestess stood in the circle and lifted the horn aloft.

“Thank you Crom Cruarch for everything that you have given us and everything that you have helped us to bring forth from your lands. All I ask, at this time of offering is that you help us bring an end to this torment so that we can live our lives without suffering at the hands of our enemies.”

She took a drink from the horn which was then passed to her left away from her husband. The horn came around the circle and as it went each person would give thanks for something from their immediate past, most commonly for good food, the companionship or the love of a friend, the food and produce that had been grown and the signs of a better than average harvest. But they all asked for the same thing which was a happy resolution to the issue with the Hounds of Kreve.

I also noticed that they had all been carefully coached in what to say. They were very careful in precisely what to ask for in that, they all agreed that they wanted an ending to their torment but they also specified, carefully that they wished to survive the experience. A very prudent gesture in my mind. We've all grown up with stories about having to be careful of what you wish for and it would be all too easy for a wish for “an end to our troubles” to be answered with the flash of a blade or choking on a fish bone.

The horn was topped up occasionally by ever present attendants who followed it round with more bottles of the mysterious amber liquid under each arm. When the horn was getting towards empty one of the women would reach round and add some more until they themselves had run out of the stuff when they would leave to join the circle themselves a bit further round, standing with people that, again, I guessed to be their families.

Some made silent toasts, including Sir Rickard. I noticed that the bastards all wished for the same thing which was for “Good yew, a spare bowstring, a quiver full of arrows and a worthwhile target.” Sir Rickard later told me that this was, essentially, the harriers prayer. He also said that they were missing a couple of sentiments which included, “a belly full of rum and an enthusiastic woman”

The Skelligan Sergeant said something in his own tongue that I didn't follow, knowing only a few words of that strange and musical language but Kerrass was the one that I was waiting for.

He thanked the God for the return of something that he had lost without knowing it and asked for the strength to fulfil his promises.

Then he passed the horn to me. I hadn't planned on saying anything in particular, not thinking in advance that I might want anything special, I found that I wanted to live in the moment and say the first things that came into my head, but when I had the horn in my hand my mind went blank.

“Thank you.” I said, startling at my own words. “Thank you for a love that I didn't look for, friendship that I didn't know I needed and the knowledge that showed me a better way.”