Esker and Guillaume had finished boiling water to refill the water-skins and were waiting for the others to return. When Liadan came running towards the campfire. Both he and Esker stood in alarm.
“Quickly. We. Need. To. Move,” Liadan panted in an out of breath staccato.
“What happened?! Where is Eógan?” Guillaume asked, concerned.
Liadan put her hands on her knees and bent forward to recover. “A battle is being fought nearby,” she said between another deep breath. “Leave the supplies and gather our weapons, we need to rendezvous with Eógan right away.”
Esker took on a grim expression and picked up the harvestman’s limb, testing her recently injured arm. She swung her weapon so fast it whistled through the air. Liadan grabbed Ronan’s spear.
Guillaume quickly looked for a place to hide his satchel. Some bushes near the base of a tree were wildly overgrown, so he carefully slid his bag underneath the brambles and retrieved the lodestone from it. When he looked up, Liadan and Esker had already started jogging to the northwest. He scrambled to catch up with them.
The blood was pounding in Guillaume’s temples, he had still not gotten over the trauma of the fight with the Gaídel mercenaries. He had occasionally sparred as part of the training to be a squire, but nothing compared to the frantic nature of true combat. After running through the forest for what felt like an eternity, the woods opened up into a meadow.
Liadan put a finger to her lips and began to creep out into the open, crouched down and staying low to the ground. Esker followed and moved with surprising agility for such a large being. Perhaps moving through narrow cave systems was not unlike trying to keep a low profile in exposed terrain. As the three of them reached the center of the field, an owl hooted to the north, where the ground gently rose and crested in a hill. Liadan snapped her head in that direction and squinted her eyes.
Esker raised her long nose into the air and sniffed several times. “I smell Eógan, yet I cannot see him,” she said quietly. She wrinkled her face in exaggerated disgust and Guillaume stifled a laugh.
Guillaume looked towards the edge of the field and saw some of the tall grass waving back and forth, it might have only been the breeze. Slightly to the left of where he was looking, Eógan popped up briefly and impatiently waved for them to approach. As they crept towards his position, as silently as possible, metallic clashes and the screams of battle became discernible. Guillaume heard voices roaring out orders in Gaulish and grew pallid. He was uncertain if he was ready to face his own people, let alone in pitched combat.
When Esker, Guillaume, and Liadan neared the crest of the hill, Eógan emerged quietly and held his finger to his lips, before flattening to the ground and crawling through the tall grass to the summit. Liadan followed, holding the spear awkwardly as she moved on her belly like a lizard. Esker folded the harvestman’s limb at the joint, which tucked the barbed hooks in towards the carapace, reducing the thrashing noises she made through the tall grass. Guillaume dreaded what he might see on the other side of the hill, he held the lodestone in one hand and reluctantly crept behind Esker.
The four of them lay prostrate on their bellies, side by side, looking down at a gentle valley and the carnage below.
Bodies were strewn along a dirt road that ran roughly east to west from the base of the hill that the party hid atop. Wagons and carts laden with lumber, heading towards the east, were haphazardly scattered in a broken supply train. The ropes and restraints holding the lumber securely to the wagons had been severed, causing the logs to tumble in chaotic directions.
A low growl rose from Eógan’s throat as he watched naked, vividly painted warriors skirmishing with a Jotman force several hundred strong. Guillaume was captivated by the spectral animals projecting from the Pechts, they appeared in prismatic colors as they lashed out at those who threatened their hosts. Fanged teeth tore at flesh and steel weapons sent arcs of blood spraying through the air.
Jotman men-at-arms marched in a tight formation down the road, their shields interlocked, fending off the javelins and projectiles of Pechtish assailants. Meanwhile mounted knights in two separate detachments, harried and formed a perimeter around the wild warriors, attempting to corral the Pecht’s dispersed formations.
Gaídel laborers had largely scattered towards the west, but nearly a dozen were angrily hefting logging axes and shouting challenges at any Pechtish warriors who drew too close. Other Gaídel were desperately trying to move logs that had fallen from the wagons and pinned some of their companions. Horses ran about freely, untethered by their reins, which like the restraints on the lumber, also appeared to have been cut.
Near a formation of archers, a Jotman lord in ornate armor surveyed the battlefield atop a horse, gesticulating to a squire attendant. Guillaume’s heart sunk for a moment until he realized that it was not Osmond. The lord pointed eastward down the road and his squire took off sprinting.
Eógan started to rise, trembling with fury. Liadan stilled him by putting a hand on his shoulder before he could dash off into battle. “We need to form a plan Eógan, we cannot help anyone if we rush in without thought.”
Eógan’s eyes flashed with anger and through gritted teeth he said, “What do you propose? I will not watch my people die.”
Guillaume was tracking the squire as he ran off towards the east and based on a map he had seen in Lord Osmond’s quarters, he knew that there was a nearby encampment of Jotman only a mile or two away. “We need to stop that messenger from getting reinforcements,” he said quietly, resigned to the fact that he may have signed a death warrant for a fellow squire.
Liadan looked at Guillaume compassionately before turning back to Eógan, “You are the fastest among us. Stop that Jotman messenger from contacting any one else and rejoin us so we can help your people.”
Eógan quickly processed his options and seemed to be a bit torn about the decision. “What will you do?”
“I think we should try to help the Gaídel trapped by the fallen lumber and see if we can convince them to fight with us against the Jotman,” Liadan responded. Eógan held her gaze for a brief moment, grabbed Ronan’s spear from her hands, and after disrobing, raced down the slope with blazing quickness. Only Esker seemed to be unperturbed by his lack of modesty. Guillaume blushed and Liadan looked away.
Eógan took an angled interception course towards the Jotman squire and was quickly closing on his prey.
Guillaume was impressed by the Pecht’s speed and fascinated by the ghostly deer that flashed in and out of reality around Eógan’s legs. “You have a strategic mind Liadan,” he said. “How can Esker and I help you compel the Gaídel to fight against the Jotman?”
“I… I do not know,” Liadan responded earnestly.
“We will help them first, then speak to them,” Esker said in her typically direct manner of speech.”
Off in the distance, the Jotman runner had noticed Eógan chasing him and was now frantically looking over his shoulder. As Esker, Guillaume, and Liadan made their way down the hill towards the Gaídel woodcutters, the Jotman runner lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. The boy did not manage to regain his footing before Eógan was upon him. Guillaume looked away.
———
So much attention was fixated on the Pechtish raiding party on the other side of the road that none of the Gaídel noticed Liadan until she was nearly upon them. Several axes were raised into the air in alarm. Guillaume could feel Esker tense at his side, since they were several paces behind Liadan. As Liadan spoke in a soothing tone in Gaídel, arms and blades were lowered. She beckoned to Esker and Guillaume to approach. Guillaume could not tell who the Gaídel scrutinized more: him for being a Jotman or the towering, one-armed figure in a makeshift hat, that was wrapped in linens.
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As they drew closer, he could see that some of the logs had crushed horses and laborers alike. One Gaídel was pinned and screaming horribly, his legs were crushed by a heavy piece of timber. The Gaídel were unable to free their injured companion and several were slowly sawing at a portion of the log a few handspans away from the trapped man.
Esker handed the harvestman’s limb to Guillaume and approached the massive log. She flexed her neck and shoulders before grasping the bottom of the log with her large hand. Straining, she lifted with all of her force. The Gaídel laborers had initially watched Esker with skepticism, but quickly joined her efforts to lift the log. Liadan’s eyes flared seraphically as she knelt down besides the injured woodcutter and tried to sooth him.
With a coordinated heave, Esker and the Gaídel woodcutters managed to slightly lift the log. Esker grunted with exertion, but despite their best efforts, they were unable to lift it high enough to free the trapped man.
Esker sank to her knees, panting heavily. And as her palm spread into the muddy earth, Guillaume could see her eyes open in surprise, then close in deep focus. Guillaume felt a brief tremor and the Gaídel laborers near Esker began to back away. A massive spike of stone emerged from the ground, its point cradling the log and leveraging it up into the air several feet. While the Gaídel woodcutters carefully pulled their injured companion away from beneath the log, Esker teetered and collapsed, already unconscious before she hit the ground.
EóGAN VII
The Jotman runner panicked at the sight of Eógan chasing him and fell of his own accord. Eógan eagerly pounced on the Jotman before he could recover. As Eógan thrust the spear point towards the boy’s throat, he noticed that the runner was unarmed.
The fear in the boy’s eyes reminded Eógan of Guillaume and that made him hesitate. At the last moment Eógan whirled the spear and bludgeoned the runner with the butt of it, rending the Jotman unconscious. He considered hamstringing the messenger as a precaution, cursed to himself for his compassion, and quickly removed the Jotman’s boots. The invader’s hatred of the natural world had left them with the soft feet of babes and Eógan figured without the protection of his footwear, the runner would not make it far.
When Eógan put a hand to the ground to climb to his feet, he felt a tremor run through the earth. His attention snapped to where Esker, Guillaume, and Liadan had gone to aid the Gaídel and was shocked to see a wedge of stone propping up a massive log. Esker was trembling with effort and once the tree trunk was raised several feet off of the ground, the Tengu tumbled to the ground. Eógan’s did not know what to make of the sight. He glanced quickly at the outnumbered Pechtish raiding party that was surrounded by Jotman forces, before deciding to head back towards his new companions.
The mounted Jotman noble who had instructed the runner had noticed Eógan intercept his messenger and rumbled furiously within his armor. Several dozen archers arrayed in front of the knight, pivoted to face Eógan, nocking arrows on their longbows. The Jotman lord canted past them on his horse with his arm raised and when he brought it swiftly to his side, a volley of arrows was loosed.
Eógan vaulted himself to his feet, the pair of deer spirits imbuing him with nimbleness. He rolled and quickly moved laterally as the arrows hissed down from the sky. Eógan’s evaded injury, but the Jotman runner was not so fortunate, he was feathered by arrows. As the archers reached into their quivers in unison to draw and nock another volley, Eógan saw movement behind them. Gaídel woodcutters wielding hatchets charged the group of thirty Jotman archers from behind. The Gaídel marauded into the right flank and the Jotman quickly broke, fleeing towards the knight to their left. The archers who remained were quickly overwhelmed and those who fought back were cut down. The few who had surrendered and thrown their hands above their heads, were brutalized but not slain.
While the larger battle between the Pechtish war party and the Jotman raged on, the Jotman lord sat astride a burly warhorse. He was holding a teardrop shaped shield and drew a broadsword from his scabbard, roaring about the Gaídel’s betrayal.
As half a dozen Gaídel axemen charged towards the knight and the archers retreating past him, one Gaídel screamed at the Jotman lord, “You left us to die you monster!” The Gaídel’s defiance rallied the men in his company and emboldened their actions. They raised their hatchets high above their heads. The knight spurred his horse and charged through them. The lord laughed as he cut into the neck of the most outspoken Gaídel, blood spurted from the wound as the blade was wrenched free. The sword arced through the air once more, severing an arm that still clutched an axe. The Jotman lord parried several blows with his shield and his mount trampled another Gaídel beneath its hooves. Once their lord had cleared the press of axemen, the remaining archers loosed a volley and took down five more of the Gaídel.
Eógan started running along the road towards the archers and could see more of the Gaídel gathering to clash with the Jotman. The swift violence eagerly administered by the Jotman lord and the rain of arrows had left the Gaídel irresolute. This gave the archers time to form a disciplined line and ready another withering volley. Eógan ran at a full sprint.
When Liadan and Guillaume stepped to the front of the Gaídel axemen, Eógan’s heart sank with dread. While Liadan rallied the axemen’s courage, the foolish boy began to lead a charge, armed only with the strange rock that Esker had found in Lady Galdr’s home. The Gaídel roared as they bravely rushed towards the Jotman archers. Arrows darkened the sky.
Eógan winced, expecting to see his new companions end up like the members of his former war party. His legs churned, picking up even more speed. While a few of the Gaídel fell, brilliant white light flared in front of Liadan’s extended palm and a strange glyph appeared in the air, the separated V’s that represented her faith. Much like how the walls and foundation of the cathedral had taken shape out of narrow beams of light, a shield of luminance extended outwardly from Liadan’s hand and protected the majority of the Gaídel. The arrow heads shattered into fragments upon impact and sizzled, red-hot. Just as quickly as the glyph appeared, it flickered out of existence.
The shield’s protection allowed the Gaídel to reach the archers and the majority of the Jotman ran, throwing their bows down as they fled. However, the archer nearest the Jotman lord stepped forward, nocked an arrow and fired. The arrow flew directly towards Guillaume’s face.
The faster Eógan ran, the slower time appeared to pass. He was only several strides from the Jotman lord and as if wading through water, all movements seemed weighted with resistance.
The arrow whistled through the air as Guillaume began to stumble and back pedal, but his momentum continued to carry him forward. He threw up his hand protectively and closed his eyes. With a metallic ping, like a hammer striking an anvil, the arrow diverted from its lethal course and curved into the lodestone. The rock flew out of Guillaume’s hand with the arrowhead pinned to its side and the wooden shaft shattered. His mouth gaped open in shock as he stared at his hand in disbelief. As the Gaídel pursued the fleeing archers, a few stood near Guillaume, keeping their distance from the mounted knight.
Time remained in a dilated state, Eógan widened his stride.
The Jotman lord kicked into the flanks of his horse, riding towards Guillaume and several of the Gaídel axemen. Guillaume was stupefied and lost in thought as the axemen rushed out of the way of the knight.
Eógan had set a perpendicular interception course with the Jotman lord, whose attentions were focused elsewhere. The last remaining archer hurriedly shot an arrow at Eógan and it ripped past his cheek as he leapt in the air to tackle the Jotman lord. While hurtling towards the knight, Eógan brought back his right arm and launched the spear at the archer. Eógan did not bother to see if his aim was true, focusing solely on contorting his body to generate enough force to unhorse the knight. Since he approached from the Jotman lord’s left-side, Eógan was nearest the shield-arm.
A blood curdling scream from the archer caused the Jotman lord to turn towards Eógan in slow motion. As the knight raised his shield, Eógan danced along its surface, carrying his momentum and kicking the Jotman viciously in the helm. The blow was jarring, Eógan could feel the force travel from the heel of his foot and through his entire body. The snap of the impact allowed Eógan to reverse his velocity and he flipped backwards through the air in a wide arc. He must have looked majestic for a moment, before he tumbled into a heap and rolled through the churned mud to a stop. A riderless horse galloped past him, frothing at the mouth and terrified.
Eógan stood, shaking with adrenaline. The Jotman lord was crumpled on the ground, wildly swinging his sword to keep a handful of Gaídel axemen from getting too close. The axemen circled him and occasionally lashed out with their hatchets, denting and rending the Jotman’s ornate armor. A hatchet caught the knight in his sword hand, which sent the broadsword tumbling into the mud.
The archer who had shot at Eógan was keeled over and impaled through his gut by Ronan’s spear. Blood trickled out of his mouth as he reached weakly for an arrow that had spilled out of his quiver. The other archers had either been hacked apart by the vengeful Gaídel axemen, or were being rounded up as prisoners.
Eógan freed the spear from the Jotman archer’s midsection, with a spill of entrails, and put the suffering man out of his misery with his knife.
While Guillaume and Liadan approached the Jotman lord, a frenzy of activity had erupted where the Pechtish forces engaged with the Jotman. This clash made the battle between the Gaídel axemen and the Jotman look like a childhood scuffle. At least two Pechtish war-parties had united and were facing disciplined formations of Jotman warriors. Once again, Eógan was able to see the clear distinction in battle tactics. As the Jotman tried to hammer the Pechts into the anvil of a shield wall, the mobility and power granted by their animal spirits allowed the Pechts to flow past their armored opponents like waves breaking against rocks.
Eógan’s instincts told him to rush to his peoples’ aid, which made him surprised when instead he trotted towards Guillaume and Liadan. They stood near several Gaídel with hatchets who were menacing the now weaponless Jotman lord. As Eógan approached, he called out in Gaídel to Liadan, “Quickly, we must aid my kin!”
In the mood for something cozy, spicy, and otherworldly? Join Dr. Ryst Nova in the Andromeda Galaxy, 700 years from now. Ryst survives an attempt on her life, but now she's hearing voices she can't explain and dreaming of a man she's never met. When she goes looking for him, what does she uncover, and could she set in motion a string of events that will break reality itself? Find out in .
What to Expect:
- Female & male leads.
- LGBT leads & cast.
- Neurodifferent and nonverbal characters.
- Slow burn romance that turns NSFW spicy.
- Telepathy, Tantra, & psychic phenomenon.
- Seven book series. For the stand-alone Comedy Space Operas, start in .
- For the stand-alone Psychological Thriller, go to Discordant .