Restricted by this low and dark tunnel, Meyrug
flashed the sword around himself, getting a measure of the space he had to work
in, his mind furious with clamouring detail and fatal consequence. Calming himself
with another great breath, he was comforted that only two men at a time could
attack him in this narrow space. Grimacing now at the slowly approaching group,
his war-face finally emerged along with his bared teeth and Meyrug made a
daunting prospect for any attacker. The big man began to growl ominously, as
the first two of these men approached side by side but his grimace suddenly broke
into a savage smile.
“Welcome to Arglwydd Lug Ddu’s black portal
gentlemen and be assured, none of you will ever see daylight again!” He snarled
at them, his terrifying smile widening as he took a step toward them. They
faltered, as this black-mantled warrior was clearly a champion of the sword and
posed a far greater threat than the huge crazy dog had ever done. But his words
of superstition dripped gravitas and carried grave portent, causing them to eye
him and each other fearfully now, neither man out-front prepared to commit his
soul to the dark Lord and His fearsome
looking swordsman.
“Come-come my friends don’t be shy!” Meyrug
invited them with that terrifying smile. “You have already met Arglwydd Lug
Ddu’s deadly hound and two of you fell to his sacred teeth. The rest were badly
injured, but he was merely an introduction. Know this you doomed vermin, that
anyone even scratched by his fangs will die screaming before dawn tomorrow from
the curse of the Black Lord!” He told them with a growl, pleased at the fear in
their eyes, one or two of them even checking themselves for dog bites from his
glib lies, making Meyrug smile terribly. “As hospitality is all, I can assure
you that my black Lord has a fine reception awaiting you and the long dog-irons
are already glowing in his sacred fire!” He added this in a friendly tone, but
this was undermined by the steel shining in his eyes and in his fist. “I should
know of course, for I am His man and
guard this ancient gateway to the Underworld in His name, as do a whole deathly host of his Gwyllion y
Tywyll Hoer!” Meyrug finished
ominously, turning and pointing to the fearful black maw of the tunnel which
stretched out behind him, but with gravel in his voice now and with a dangerous
light gleaming in the unreadable depths of his dark eyes.
In response, their eyes were like frightened Owls’ in the dark as they looked at
each other in terror, feet glued to the wet and stinking gravel beneath them. None
of them knew if the ‘Cold Wraiths of
Darkness’ actually existed but the Dark Lord’s hound surely had, and he had
been terrible indeed. They craned their necks to look around this fearful black
champion’s bulk with apprehension, convinced a horde of malevolent black
spirits was about to erupt from the impenetrable depths of the tunnel to attack
them, looming stark and petrifying behind this huge guardian and it unnerved
them to a man.
Meyrug proceeded to use every trick he’d ever
learned in storytelling on the bony knees of his Taid. With facial expression
and his sibilant terrifying words alone, he held these men off for many minutes
in an ephemeral suspension of belief and Meyrug’s true artistry was revealed in
this dank tunnel of certain death. Even the roaring of their furious leader at
the gate seemed to fade into silence and apart from this warrior’s lilting and
musical words of ancient magic, the only sound in the flickering darkness was
the dripping from the sagging roof timbers. The spell seemed to suspend every
soul in this tunnel for long seconds and Eirwen stood entranced behind her guardian,
tears coursing down her wet face, as she had never loved the man more than she
did in those fleeting, heart-stopping moments of pure verbal grace.
The charm was broken in a flash however almost
stopping her heart, as these men who were so spellbound by their own fear and
the ancient words of a true storyteller were rudely pushed aside by three big
men. These newly arrived leaders had no fear of the superstitious or the
irrational, as they were clearly warriors of note and Meyrug took a step
backwards in the cold and cynical silence, which had so rudely intruded on his captivating
imagery. Meyrug reset his stance and defensive posture on the slimy mud beneath
his boots and put away his art, staying silent now but watchful and poised,
just two short strides from his nearest opponent. The leader of these men stood to one side,
behind the two big and capable-looking Gŵyr he’d brought with him. He had the
calm attitude and self-possessed ease of a seasoned warrior and he worried
Meyrug, as he looked vaguely familiar.
The leader of these senior men seemed familiar
to Eirwen too and she paled when she finally recognised this big warrior who
faced them and when their eyes finally met.
“My Lady,
pregnant I see!” Elgan ap Bram growled with a sneer and bowed to Eirwen
with a mocking expression on his rugged and bearded face.
Despite his rough appearance there was no
mistaking this man, as he had been Prince Wrad ap Cerwyn’s champion. The
swarthy, bearded and fatally ambitious Prince of the Epidians was to have been
her husband in an arranged marriage last year, but events had not entirely gone
to plan. She had already met Cadwy and knew that he was the man she wanted to
spend the rest of her life with, long before her intended handfasting to Prince
Wrad had been revealed to her. It had only been a matter of weeks in reality
but that short period in her life had been the most influential and intensely
formative, witnessing her passage from a girl to the woman and it had seemed
like a lifetime to her at the time.
She and Cadwy had unearthed an ancient
Brythonic law, which had enabled them to intercede in all pre-arrangements and to
wed each other. A sarhaed of gold coin had been sent to the spurned Epidian
Prince but it had been refused and returned with disdain. Prince Wrad ap Cerwyn
of DunOlwen had demanded what was entirely in his right to demand and demand it
he did, before the assembled aristocracy of all Prydein. He had claimed the
right of Sarhaed by mortal combat at
Caswallawn’s enormous fortress of CaerGwlyb, following the great pre-war council
of last year and had called Cadwy out on the lush grass of Casufelawny, to
defend his honour and his false claim
to Eirwen’s hand. She would never forget that momentous day as long as she
lived, as Cadwy had humiliated Wrad and had removed his arrogant head in the
swordfight. The rest as they say is history but Wrad’s champion now stood
before her, and his vengeful intentions were clear in an instant.
“You will not find us as gullible as these….”
Elgan ap Bram said to Meyrug, biting-off his criticism and glancing at the
cringing mercenaries behind him with obvious disdain.
Eirwen’s champion didn’t utter one word in
response, as unknown to these bold invaders Meyrug was done talking for today.
In-fact the comparatively inexperienced champion had become convinced, that due
to the identity of this infamous swordsman facing him and the inescapable
circumstances in which they now found themselves in, his oratory skills were
done for good. His lips were now sealed forever but Meyrug had other, deadlier
skills to call upon. The Epidian turned from Meyrug with a careless shrug at
his reticence and surveyed Eirwen again with a cool poise, a wry smile playing
on his lips.
“I don’t suppose you remember Rhŷd and Meilyr my Lady?” Elgan arched
his bushy eyebrows and glanced at his two comrades before him. Eirwen followed the
example of her champion and remained silent, but her knees were beginning to
tremble again now.
“No of course not, why would you?”
Elgan chuckled. “They were below you, as it seems my brave but late Warlord
was!” He sneered again but the light of that long-held hatred glowed briefly in
those hard eyes, betraying perhaps his inner emotions. Eirwen got a sudden measure
of the vulnerability of her own mortality at that sinking moment, sure now she
was to be killed in this fetid sewer for nothing but base revenge.
“They remember you well-enough my Lady and have been looking forward to this day
as long as I have!” Elgan spat, the control of his anger fading. “We all swore
a blood-oath on our knees to Prince Wrad ap Cerwyn of the honourable House of
the black-horse Epidiau and before our Gods, that if he fell to the blade of
your cursed false-husband, we would avenge him or die in the attempt!” He
crowed, exultation flushing his wild looking face at that unnerving moment, revealing
a stark measure of his obsession to Eirwen and it did nothing for her trembling
legs, or her shrivelling hopes for survival. She stubbornly remained silent at
these life-threatening words however and never took her eyes from her accuser,
blazing her unspoken outrage at him, her outward courage nothing short of desperate
performance.
Elgan shook his head at her silent
tenacity and took a deep breath, his eyes becoming shrewd suddenly.
“Oh I see!” He said with a smirk, as
realisation showed on his unshaven face. “No Lady Eirwen I am not here to kill
you, or you and your talkative friend here would already be dead. No, I don’t
want your life this day, I want your company.” He told her, his smile becoming
enigmatic, but the temporary reprieve of her life did nothing to still her
mounting fears. “Will you come out peaceably or do we have to drag you out,
like juvenile thieves from a bolt-hole?” He demanded of them with a steely look
in his eyes.
Meyrug still hadn’t moved a muscle
but Eirwen could feel his latent, pent-up power building beside her and it
strengthened her resolve, if not her hopes and so she ended her silence.
“I see Elgan ap Bram, that you have become
nothing but a base kidnapper for profit!” Eirwen sneered at him, her throat
flushing. “Cadwy will hunt you down, along with Rhoid and Mailor or whatever they’re called!” She laughed back
at him and his men, looking them up and down as if they were hanging carcasses
she was appraising on a butcher’s stall. “Of-course I don’t remember their
unprepossessing faces or their ludicrous names, I hardly recalled your rat-like
and eminently forgettable features, you lowborn blackguard, after all as you
pointed out – why would I?” She snarled at them now, her mocking laughter
fading as her anger surfaced fully, the screams of her beloved Bledri still ringing
painfully in her soul.
Elgan’s two burly bodyguards looked at each
other, as there were one or two words in Eirwen’s tirade which they hadn’t
heard before, but they knew she had insulted them nonetheless and they both
scowled at her, as Elgan chuckled behind them.
“I sincerely hope he does come after us, as after-all
that’s the whole point!” Elgan informed her with a smirk. “You are going to
make my fortune my Lady and by the time we are finished, the Cur of Cridas will
be all but bankrupt!” Elgan laughed the lie and his men joined him.
Eirwen understood in a flash that she was
being abducted for ransom and she was going to be sold as a piece of captive
chattel back to her husband. The instant upswell of her indignant anger could
not be deflected and she exploded. Incandescent with a barely-controlled rage, Eirwen
stood tall then and let fly with everything she had. Princess Eirwen of Galedon
derided them all and adopting the most-regal air she could muster in the
circumstances, the haughty condescension dripped from her words, chiming with
the cold drops of water falling from the roof.
It showed a measure of these men’s past
position and character perhaps, as although scowling at the words, they allowed
Eirwen these moments of desperate but passionate protest in stoic silence, as
she wasn’t going anywhere, and she was
a sight to behold in her blazing fury. They didn’t have a great deal of choice really
without dealing with Meyrug first, as this infamous, imperious lady was in full
and irresistible flow and her champion seemed to glow with pride in front of
her.
“When he catches up with you, he will
slaughter each and every one of you and you Elgan, you will become as nameless
and unremarkable as your two common, unintelligent lap-dogs!” Eirwen growled
her fury at Elgan, her anger flashing out through her beautiful emerald eyes
and the Epidian laughed at her spirit, as did his two impressive swordsmen but
Eirwen was remorseless. “Nobody remembers your arrogant fool of a warlord, who
was after-all vanquished by a teenager and on my sacred oath to Brigida and to all
our Gods, you will all perish for this outrage and nobody will ever remember
any of you base and worthless scum!” She cursed them soundly and the laughter died
in an instant, as she had crossed a line with the oath. The atmosphere too
changed in that same instant, to a palpable one of taught and grim expectation
and everyone held their breath, as the drip, drip, drip from the roof beams
racked up the tension.
Somebody flinched. Meyrug moved with such
deceptive and fluid speed, he caught the two frowning Epidians at the front napping.
The darting tip of Teryll Gwawl y Gwyll took
the one to his right in the throat and he wrenched the sword free to the left,
using the momentum to strike the other across his broad and muscular neck with
both hands. The sharp edge of ‘Dusk’s Piercing Light’ hardly
paused, even as it slid fortuitously between two vertebrae and the man’s head
spun away in a welter of sprayed blood. As both bodies hit the wet and stinking
floor together, Meyrug stepped between them to strike-out at Elgan but he had
been a champion for a reason and easily deflected the thrust with his own
sword.
Fury twisted Elgan’s features now as he stepped
between the bodies of his fallen comrades, adopting the guard position as two
more of his big Epidian swordsmen came rushing up the tunnel behind him in a
crouch. Meyrug reset his stance in front of Eirwen, grimacing at Elgan and with
the blood of his men splashed across his broad face, he looked ferocious.
The onset of the fight seemed to come out of
the blue and happened in such a blink of time, it surprised Eirwen for some inane
reason. The clashing of honed and tempered steel was suddenly loud in the low passage
and she watched with a cold heart, as her loyal and beloved Noddwr took-on one of the most feared
and infamous swordsmen in northern Prydein. Brave and valiant as Meyrug was,
his success in slaying the two warriors had come entirely from surprise and
excellent timing but this brave and honest soldier with a poetic heart, had
been a mere sergeant a little more than six months previously and Eirwen feared
for him now. Her heart sank to her riding boots, as it was clear immediately
that Meyrug was completely outclassed and this was no tourney bout, it was a
savage battle to the death and Meyrug was losing.
The fight was furious and deadly from the
first instant, with no quarter asked and clearly none would be given by either
party. Elgan made it clear he was not playing with his adversary and
struck-home twice with his blade like a snake, obviously trying to end this
fight quickly. Meyrug had no answer to the lightning skill of this man and
grunted with each cut but fought on bravely, blocking and parrying for his life
with Teryll Gwawl y Gwyll; his cherished heirloom long-sword. The pain and the blood loss from the wounds
to his shoulder and left thigh eventually took their toll, beginning to slow
him down. Meyrug’s face was soon alabaster white and dripping with sweat in the
flickering gloom, and Eirwen’s heart was breaking for him. Fear for herself had
no space to bloom in her cold heart at this time, as it was constricted with
the pain of witnessing this valiant, heart-rending defence of her life by her
courageous but fading protector and champion, who had also become a dear and
valued friend.
It was inevitable in reality, yet her hand still
flew to her mouth as Meyrug was finally brought down by an accurate thrust from
Elgan’s long sword, which pierced her champion’s heaving chest and her
protector fell to his knees with a grunt. Eirwen couldn’t stop the agonised sob
which erupted from her, as Elgan pulled the blade free with a distinct sucking
sound and the dark blood gushed out behind it. She couldn’t tear her huge eyes
away, her hand still clamped over her mouth as clutching the fatal wound in his
chest, her protector turned toward her. With his last breath and with his eyes
full of his agony, Meyrug fell face-down into the sewage, his clawed left hand
reaching out for her and his right, fiercely clutching his family sword. A
savage final blow to the back of his neck from above, almost decapitated Meyrug
and Eirwen’s screams echoed harshly in this tunnel as her Noddwr still clutching his beloved sword died before her eyes, in eternally
honourable but heart-breaking; Isarno
Marwol.
As pale and bloodless as a fresh corpse,
Eirwen bravely flashed her dagger at the men approaching but with their
laughter rebounding off the low walls, she was grabbed and taken by rough hands,
the blade slapped from her fingers with contempt. Dazed and light-headed Eirwen
was thrown to the filth and the blood, alongside the body of her fallen
champion and then her feet were grabbed by two men, who hauled her away from
him.
She was dragged by her ankles on her backside,
out through the sewage and the mud of the tunnel like a captured piglet,
kicking, struggling and screaming the whole stinking way.
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