Lord Eaunnah more than suspected he along with the other remaining black and red clad soldiery had been abandoned. Although considered slow witted and the least favorite grandson of Crotalus, he was no fool. Once Eaunnah saw that Crotalus had gathered his inner circle of kin, he knew they were quitting the northern Shenandoah Valley. Crotalus and others had slunk away at night to save their own skins. Having doffed his silver gilt spire helm and changed into civilian attire, he would be joining the others fleeing southwards from Martinsbrug to Front Royal with claims of being refugees displaced by war. He and his officers had secured the city's treasury, but fearing booby traps or even bestial guardians, dared not set foot in Crotalus' tower. At least showing a bit of nobility, he waited until all the former fighting men and their families vacated Martinsburg before quitting the city himself. Cursing Crotalus, his fled kin and choice soldiery as cowards, he followed the long column of refugees out of Martinsburg's gates into the cool misty night.
"What was left of the army and their families pulled out of here last night." A tavern owner informed the Ranger Captains shortly after they entered Martinsburg. There among business owners, their employees and perhaps several hundred other civilians, she with her hands upon wide apron drapped hips added: "I for one am glad Crotalus and those other freaks of nature have left. Now we can get on with our lives as before he and his freakish bastards showed up here." With that said she spat upon a coiled rattlesnake flag that had been stomped into the mud. "So you were not content under the rule of Crotalus?"
"Fuck no!" growled a silversmith. "Before Crotalus, his kin and all those armed thugs rode in from the southwest, I traded far and wide, but after he and Light managed to piss off other surrounding towns, nobody wanted to do business with the northern valley. Other silver and goldsmiths and I had to contend with adorning armor and weapons at a great loss. We were melting down and reworking much of our profits in keeping the army glimmering."
"The black and reds always came first!" shouted a wheelwright. "I suppose you are going to oppress us now."
"No we only want to see the former lord's palace and barracks." Captain O'Neal assured them. The tavern owner shook her head and warned: "You best stay out of that freak's cursed tower! Men have already went in to loot it and have been seen no more!"
"Ahhh, they probably went in loaded up on loot and left town." Vanwerden dryly stated.
"Say what you will, but heed my advice or suffer the consequences." There was something in the woman's tone that bespoke not of gossip or bias imaginative prattle. As they rode off towards the great tower, she shouted: "Mark my words, you fools!"
Having requested Ranger North along with the rest of their men to secure the city, Captains Harlow and O'Neal at the head of two hundred coalition fighters rode into Martinsburg's military barracks which aside from a few barking dogs and cawing crows was devoid of life. Rising some two hundred feet in the middle of the barracks was Crotalus' tower of dark granite and blood red marble. Sending most of their men to investigate the barracks, Harlow, O'Neal along with twenty others entered through the tower's already pried open iron bound doors. "Others have been here before us." Vanwerden stated the obvious. The huge bottom chamber which from the loop holes looked to be a guard station as there was some powder and shot stored there. Ascending upon a granite spiral stairway, they entered the second floor which appeared to be a massive pantry. Continuing upwards they passed by lavishly furnished apartments, studies, drinking halls and game rooms. There were even baths and toilets with running water. Passing by a dark windowless chamber whose thick door was partially open, Vanwerden whispered: "I wonder what's in there? It smells like a latrine."
"We'll find out while working our way back down from the top." Harlow replied.
Now they were in the upper chambers which from the rich decor and black marble throne inlaid with a fortune of silver had to be Crotalus' living quarters. Upon the walls hung portraits of him and other people whose painted features were most definitely Knutesian. O'Neal swore under his breath as he recognized one as being the woman he encountered on Northwestern Pike. "Well I'll be damned." Harlow chuckled while pointing at an extremely old painting. It was of President Kyle Knuteson wearing a black suit, red necktie and sporting an old American flag pin on his lapel. "Hey look at this!" Harlow said. Walking over to Knuteson's portrait, O'Neal saw a splatter of dried blood. Taking a closer look they saw other such gory splatters throughout this sitting room. Pulling open window blinds, they saw darker smears on the red marble floor. "What was that?" Vanwerden whisperd.
"What was what?" Harlow asked, then he heard it as well. Heavy footfalls and breathing coming up the stairs. Raising rifles and drawing pistols, the men ready themselves for whatever was about to confront them. Then it came up into view. Towering some eight feet in height it's massive body was protected by thick, but rusty plate and mail armor. Because of the hood like coif of chain mail underneath a great black spire helm, all they could see was a pale monstrous visage and blazing yellow eyes. It carried a huge wicked looking two handed steel headed mace. As the monster faced them, it extended a massive chest and attempted to growl, but only expelled loud breath. As Harlow shouted: "Aim for it's face boys!" the creature was already upon them. It's reach was further than what they anticipated and with a lighting swift swing of that mace, shattered the skulls of three men like eggshells. One Ranger managed to shoot the tip of it's nose off, but was struck down into a bloody ruin by the creature's mace. Rifle and pistol balls barely dented it's helm and plated cuirass. Issuing a terrible hiss, it knocked off another fighter's head with a savage blow. Carefully aiming his pistol Harlow hit the monster's face below it's left eye, but that did little to stop it. A Volunteer was struck and dashed against the stone wall like a rag doll. Now it had O'Neal backed up to a bookshelf. Vanwerden leaped up and slashed at the creature's neck, but it's sturdy mail coif, turned his heavy hunting sword. Dropping an empty pistol, O'Neal whipped out his spadroon then thrust it's narrow blade deep into the creature's right eye and beyond. Quickly withdrawing his sword, O'Neal dodged it's wildly swung mace stroke and lunged upwards again thrusting deep into the creature's left eye. Now blind and no doubt badly wounded, the monster swung it's mace even more wildly, but it struck no one else. Snatching up a fallen Ranger's rifle, Vanwerden put a lead ball between the creature's blinded eyes. Taking a few staggering steps backward, the monster fell heavily on the blood and brain smeared marble floor.
"What the fuck was that thing?" Vanwerden panted while cautiously advancing towards it. Harlow walked over to the fallen monster as well. Leaning down and grasping the spire, yanked it's helm off. Pulling back the mail coif, he and the others saw the short cropped carrot orange hair on it's misshaped head. The creature's mouth open, they could see it's tongue had been cut out. "One of Conrad's severely inbred Knutesian descendants. Remember Captain Kirby's tale?"
"A fucking ogre!" Another surviving Ranger swore.
"Six good men dead." O'Neal grimly stated. "Get them downstairs so we can bury them with full honors."
"And bring some more men up as there could be other horrors lurking about."
Rifling through Crotalus' living quarters, they found gold tableware, plates and drinking goblets along with some jewelry.Lighting lanterns, They went down to examine the dark foul smelling chamber. There were no furnishings in this large room aside from several sturdy oaken tables. Upon them were over a dozen large wooden chests. Some were secured with heavy brass locks while the lids of others lay open revealing a vast fortune of gold and silver coins. A few of these chests were empty which reminded O'Neal the loot taken from Crotalus and his fleeing column. "Take two of these chests and give them to the people of Martinsburg and we'll split up the rest." Harlow said. Walking into a huge closet, Vanwerden swiftly emerged dry heaving. "What's in there?" O'Neal asked brushing past the green faced Ranger with a lantern. On the floor mixed with feces were the gnawed, cracked open bones and broken skulls of the previous would be looters.
After a few failed attempts to demolish the massive stone tower by blowing it up, they left it looming over the city. The ogre's great mace was taken as a trophy. Leaving Martinsburg to it's remaining residents, the coalition force rode southeastward towards Charles Town.
Just outside Rippon winter wheat and young corn vacillated in the evening breeze. Upon that same breeze a red tail hawk issued shrill cries as it soared into the sunset. Beneath a violet tinged sky an armed encampment of over seven thousand strong were settled in for the night. Rangers, Volunteers, Cacapon and Iron Mountain warriors mingled with the men under Colonel Glanville Fitzpatrick's command. He along with five thousand militiamen and Marylanders had been chasing fifteen hundred mercenaries who had looted then burned Charles Town to the ground. Charles Town had been their base, but with the defeat of Crotalus and General Light's armies, they did not receive full pay. Taking what they could, these hired killers torched the town out of anger. Catching up with the mercenaries at Opequon Creek, Fitzpatrick disarmed and relieved them of their spoils. After a stern warning to never return, these men rode off back into the west.
"So tomorrow we cross the river into Shannondale, can we expect these folks to put up any defense?" Captain Guenette asked Colonel Fitzpatrick. The two had met years before while battling invading lowlanders. Kestrel knew the Colonel as well and had offered him refuge in Cacapon country when General Light usurped power over the northern valley. Not wanting Crotalus and Light dominating the entire northern Shenandoah or be in possession of Bolivar's weaponry, especially those big cannon, Fitzpatrick defied them by holding off their siege. "I seriously doubt they will offer any resistance. These Shannondale residents are probably planning a grand welcoming for us like they did when that jackass Light proclaimed himself lord and protector of those living along the eastern bank. It is said they welcomed Kyle Knuteson and his sons as well. These are well off peace loving hedonistic folk who have long depended upon others to defend them against the lowland warlords. After Light's rise to power, the many lowland captives taken in raids have ended up in Shannondale as purchased slaves. This practice has stirred up much animosity among the lowland kings and princes. Fearing Crotalus as the monster he is and his massive force, these lowlanders take out their wrath upon other less guarded parts of the Blue Ridge boundary."
"I've been to Shannondale once," Captain Guenette stated, "Those people are extremely well off and were even before Light came into the picture."
"They have been even before the great cataclysm. I strongly advise against any looting and acts of brutality, but we should emancipate all lowland slaves and suggest that the folks of Shannondale send them east with pay and gifts."
"Why?" Guenette was still thinking of loot.
"Because it's alright to loot the ill got gains of Knutesians, but peaceful long time valley residents who were subjugated by those devils should not be punished."
"Ha! they were too cowardly to resist and became Crotalus and Light's vassals." Guenette said while stoking the fire.
"At least most of their young men did not join Light's army like the many who came here from other parts of the Shenandoah Valley. Thousands of duped kids who thought to escape the boredom of farm life. At first it troubled me greatly having to blast them into bits outside of Bolivar, but knew what would become of my men and I if these boy soldiers had breached the walls."
"A terrible tragedy." Guenette returned. "We killed thousands of them around Great North Mountain. Those boys were not particularly good fighters. They should of stuck to farming. Now those black and reds were a different sort. Them and the mercenaries caused us most of our causalities."
Fitzpatrick drained a cup of whisky and said: "Those black and reds for the most part are from deep in West Virginia as are the mercenaries. These are fighting men who have long been in service of Knutesia and if we continue this war there will be many more of them to fight."
"Just how long do you think this war is going to last, Colonel?" Guenette inquired. At that Kestrel exhaled a stream of smoke and replied in Fitzpatrick's place: "Until Knutesia is no more. You best believe that Crotalus has other irons in the fire. Beckley, Hinton, War, Welchland, Tazewell, Bluefield, Princeton and Wytheville are some of the more populated places under Knutesian influence. They are by far more proficient fighters than Light's boys. Our main concern should be if Crotalus sways Roanoke to go against us. If that happens expect Harrisonburg and Staunton to do the same."
"Riders approaching!" Reported a scout who suddenly galloped in.
"Who?" Guenette demanded.
"It looks to be the fighting men with Captains Harlow and O'Neal, Captain."
Rising from around the fire, Guenette, Kestrel, Raccoon Dreaming and Fitzpatrick would ride out and meet their comrades.
Having moved the spoils back to their main encampment, Harlow and O'Neal's force had traveled pass Charles Town's charred remains. At first Harlow and O'Neal were a bit bothered over Fitzpatrick's leniency to the mercenaries, but after a few drinks and pipe fulls of Cacapon smoke, They agreed that major fighting here in the northern valley was over and at such a time, the slaughter of unarmed men who had surrendered would of been improper.
"There should be no killing of captive lowlander slaves either." Captain Guenette informed Harlow and O'Neal. "We are to emancipate then send them home with lost wages and gifts."
"They should feel fucking fortunate to escape with their lives." Harlow grunted while attempting to hold in a lungful of reefer smoke and passing the pipe to O'Neal. Fitzpatrick poured himself another cup of whisky and stated: "After your army pulls out of this region what's left of the Northern Shenandoah Militia will have to contend with the lowlanders. They will know soon enough that Light has been defeated
and quite possibly want revenge even though it was Crotalus who ordered those raids into the lowlands. Hopefully the money, gifts and explanation given to those we free will ease their princes' minds."
"Shit man, they'll take the money and gifts then come back over the Blue Ridge looking for more at gunpoint. Best free those swarthy bastards and beat them down into the lowlands with the flats of our blades. That's what they understand and respect, but from here on out this is your watch, Colonel and we Rangers will assist you in every way we can even if it means remaining here in the northern valley until things are safely up and running." Captain Harlow said then lifted his cup in salute. "That will probably take a year or so." Fitzpatrick returned with a raised cup salute. "Then who knows, I may just assist you in the destruction of Knutesia as those devils have caused me much unforgivable grief."
As night wore on those who were not standing watch were extremely caught up in their revelry. Scores of Guitars, mandolins, dulcimers and banjos and fiddles bestowed just as many different tunes from fire to fire. Tinged with the Cacapon drums and flutes it all drifted up to the captains camp in a pleasant manner. As far as the Rangers were concerned, this festive fellowship around their fires on a peaceful night, under a clear star filled sky was more preferable than fighting. By the music, songs, story telling, jesting, gambling, smiles and laughter, all in this encampment shared similar sentiments. Black Anne Guenette one of the Appalachia's fierce female fighters was softly swaying and humming along with the music. Occasionally she would bat her eyes at O'Neal who was a bit more deep in his cups than usual. Hardly ever thinking about Murlina and when O'Neal did, those thoughts were little more than any other woman he was intimate with in his travels, but tonight Black Anne had most of his substance addled attention. Bucksnort and Wood Thrush Woman had noticed this as well. The antlered shaman nudged Kestrel's shoulder and whispered: "See how the medicine has made him forget about Crotalus' daughter."
"How can you be sure that young woman down in Lost River is a Knutesian?"
Bucksnort laughed and whispered: "I interviewed that young Ranger Benton who saw that woman and her half sister in Gary Tate's inn. Benton proudly described in great detail an extremely beautiful flame haired golden eyed woman calling herself Kitty, who can be no other than Princess Kitten and his romp with her. Kitten's sister, Murlina who just happens to be Irving's former mistress is probably partially responsible for the old captain's odd behavior before he was moved to Lost River Valley. Having been in close contact with a Knutesian witch, this Ranger Benton should be treated as well." Sitting beside Kestrel, Ranger Vanwerden said: " I couldn't help but hear what you said.Benton went mad and tried to kill Captains Harlow and O'Neal back in Winchester after spending time with this Princess Kitten."
"We had to bind Benton hand and foot then transport him back to the Great North Mountain encampment." Harlow added having heard Vanwerden make mention of the young Ranger. Whispering something into Wood Thrush Woman's ear, Bucksnort then advised Captain Harlow to send messengers to Lost River Valley with words of warning regarding the Knutesian witches there.
O'Neal who was paying little mind to the conversation watched Black Anne Guenette rise from her blanket by the fire. Taking a big swig of brandy, she began swaying her hips to some loud fiddling coming from the next camp over. Extending her hand to O'Neal, he stood up and grasped it in his. Their dance took them to a shadowy strand of pines some distance away. Although never much at dancing, on this night O'Neal's feet kept in step with Black Anne's shuffling over fallen pine needles. Even in Ranger attire she was lovely. In spite of her fighting prowess and strength, she was a passionate woman, especially after having several drinks, just as many puffs of weed, a beautiful starry night and with someone of interest.
"Hold on a minute." Anne said as she gently pushed O'Neal away. "These have got to come off." Removing her sash, belt, pistol and hanger, she laid them on the ground. Following suit, O'Neal removed his pistol and knife then stepped forward to continue this close slow dance. "Wait." She laughed then sat down to pull off her boots. Next Ann slipped out of her buckskin trousers and hunting shirt. Even in the limited starlight filtering down through pine boughs he could see she was both strongly knit and rather shapely as well. Rising to her bare feet Anne laughed and said: "I know you're not going to dance with me like that."
"Like what?" O'Neal grunted while he ogled the naked woman in front of him. "When's the last time you bathed, O'Neal?"
"Bathed? Why this morning in Opequan Creek. Do I smell bad or something?"
"You smell like a rutting buck." She purred then asked him: "Do you like the way I smell?" O'Neal had noticed she was somewhat sweet smelling tonight. Stepping in, she gently grabbed O'Neal's head and pulled him in as to allow a nuzzling whiff.
"You smell like wildflowers in the spring." He replied with a lusty sigh.
Sniffing her own wrist, Anne smiled and informed him: "Some of the scented soaps and perfume I looted from Berryville."
"Oh."
Caressing his cheek she again said: "I know you're not going to dance with me like that." Catching her drift this time, O'Neal came out of his buckskins, took Black Anne in his arms and slowly danced to the distant music.
"What's that?" She laughed. "I thought you laid down that big horse pistol of yours." Reaching down, Black Anne whispered in O'Neal's ear. "Oh that's not a pistol, is it?" Backing away a couple of steps, she looked down and stated: "You've been entertaining fond thoughts of me."
"Whatever gave you that idea?" He grunted then sat down on a bed of pine needles. Gazing up at Anne's smiling face between her full bosom he invited: "Come sit with me wildflower."
Meanwhile back up at the captain's camp, Bucksnort was telling Harlow: "We'll provide you with several of our warriors to go with your messengers to Lost River Valley. It would be best if these Knutesian witches are dispatched from this world as soon as possible. Perhaps if we're lucky they've already fled southwest to Knutesia without causing any more trouble. On their way out have your messengers see Wood Thrush Woman so as to receive and later administer medicine to your bewitched Ranger Benton."
"I'll see to that in the morning." Harlow returned.
"I would suggest this messenger party departs tonight. The sooner, the better. Remember, Irving is still down there and we don't want to see or hear of him in any harm. I would imagine that Princess Kitten is now extremely vengeful of her children being slain."
"Children. What children?" Vanwerden asked.
"Why the Lady Karen of Berryville and General David Light, not to mention Kitten's other kin we've recently taken out of this world. She is a powerful sorceress and quite deadly in her were-form. Our warriors know how to deal with both of them."
"Murlina too?" Harlow grimly inquired.
"She is Knutesian and daughter of the mage Crotalus. Best make it a close range head shot, or a decapitating stroke. If not these two will be causing us problems in the future."
"But I spent time with Murlina." Vanwerden stated, "She has no flame hair or yellow eyes and knew hardly nothing about Knutesians."
Bucksnort shook his antlered adorned head and said: "There are not all that many full blooded Knutesian men, but the ones there are have produced many half breed bastards and some do not even know who fathered them, that is until they happen to be reminded by their kin. Then tragically enough, comes a change over them."
Down in that shadowy strand of pines, Guenette and O'Neal did not see or hear the fifty riders gallop off to the west...
The Mage of Knutesia
Re: The Mage of Knutesia
Not at all certain they would be able to keep their high standing in Shannondale society Mayor Anthony Fielding and his wife Denise prepared the town center for when the victors come riding in. hundreds of tables and benches were either brought in or swiftly built. Over a good many cooking fires beef, mutton, pork, goat, geese and chicken sizzled on spits. Wheels of cheese and loafs of bread were spread out. Casks of ale, beer, wine, brandy, mead and whisky were carted out and tapped. Bright blue and red ribbons hung from tree branches. Lowlander servants and cheaply paid lackeys from the Loudoun Valley frontier labored hard in getting everything ready for an army that hopefully would not kill residents, loot Shannondale and possibly raze it to the ground. Both being an eighth Knutesian, the Mayor, his wife and their two young adult offspring feared being imprisoned or even executed by these victorious invaders. They had received some news regarding the fate of some of their kin. Messengers had already brought word that these fighters were coming across the Shenandoah River upon the Fox Gate Bridge and heading north. A tall portly man with curly strawberry blonde hair and short reddish beard, Fielding was clad in green silver button dress coat, white cotton shirt, grey breeches and boots. By far not his finest suit of clothes, but an attempt to appear humble while wearing Ranger colors. His wife's attire was not so modest. Garbed in a long slit up the side, plunging neckline emerald green gown and topped off with an extremely wide brimmed charcoal gray hat. From it's silver band hung a spray of green heron feathers.
Still a rather comely woman in her late forties, the Lady Denise was quite the socialite and always up for a celebration. Those big hazel eyes were complemented by exotically applied glittering green shadow and dark liner and her long auburn hair was in a single back braid like the Rangers wore theirs. By the way she directed the preparation of this event, it wasn't hard to tell who really was in charge of Shannondale. Rumored to be somewhat promiscuous, it was said she sometimes intimately entertained Lord Crotalus and Agkistrodon. Having a half dozen mistresses, Denise's infidelity mattered little to Mayor Fielding who was now ogling a troupe of scantly clad dancing girls rehearsing their moves as the band warmed up.
"I smell vittles." Ranger North said while rubbing his belly as he rode at the column's head with Guenette, Harlow, O'Neal, Jerome, Kestrel Raccoon Dreaming and Fitzpatrick. Already they had passed by sprawling villas, gardens, orchards, vineyards and pastures. These folk appeared to be more well off than the residents of Lost River Valley. If the Ranger army was out for an excellent looting opportunity, Shannondale would be it. Captain Guenette wondered why so many women and children were visible, some lining the Ranger's procession. Noncombatants perhaps as a moral shield to play upon conscious and hopefully prevent any brutality. To Black Anne, their greetings, waving hands and cheerful demeanor seemed feigned. Having gotten a good look at the savage Cacapon, Iron and Bolar Mountain warriors, one older woman fainted. Entering the town accompanied by droves of children, a good many curious young women and several barking dogs, Captain Harlow, who had never visited Shannondale was amazed by this extremely well kept exquisite community. Then he spotted throngs of poorly clad lowlander slaves, their eyes wide and rolling in fear. They were aware how the Rangers regarded them, but at least knew these men and their friends did not raid for or owned slaves.
Now the column's head approached the colorfully decorated festival and parade grounds. Seeing the grand spread laid out before them, Ranger Vanwerden asked Captain O'Neal: "Do you think they've laced the food and drink with anything?"
"We'll get the leaders and their families to taste it first." O'Neal laughed. "Relax you doughty foot hiller, these folk may not be wholly sincere in their enthusiasm of us tramping through their little paradise, but I don't think none of them are foolish enough to risk a blood bath by poisoning any in our company. Let us indulge in what these seemingly appreciative people have to freely bestow." Catching the bold eyed stare of a beautiful tawny haired woman, Vanwerden chuckled: "Sound advice, my captain." O'Neal however was marveling at the four foot high wall of well cut greenstone wall surrounding these grounds and open gilded gates adorned with two large blued iron crows. Gathered beyond that low wall were the leading families and their servants. Dismounting just outside the gate on a large grassy green, the coalition fighters began setting up camp.
"Oh come now friends, our boys can pitch your tents." Lady Denise suggested as her and Mayor Fielding approached the Ranger Captains as they rolled out their canvas headquarters upon the ground. Harlow looked up and was quite taken by the shapely, seductively clad mayor's wife. "And whom would you be, lady?" He inquired, his bright green eyes running over her every curve.
After Denise nudged her husband, he cleared his throat and replied in a stately manner: "I am Mayor Anthony Fielding and this is my wife the Lady Denise. We welcome you all to Shannondale. Do let our servants put up your lodgings while you join us at the festivities."
"Thanks anyway, your mayorship, but we can set up our own camp."
O'Neal returned as he sorted out marquees posts. "You can lend us a hand if you like, Mayor Fielding." He added with a grin.
"Oh I don't know the first thing involved with such a task."
"Oh this is a good time to start learning, Tony." Fitzpatrick laughed as he strolled up.
"Ahhh Glanville, I haven't seen you for sometime." Fielding dryly stated. Colonel Fitzpatrick's eyes narrowed and his fingers tapped upon a sabre hilt. "Oh I've been stuck up in Bolivar for awhile, but you could of waved to me from across the Shenandoah where Light's snipers were attempting to shoot my men off the southern wall."
"Honestly Glanville, I had no idea General Light's men were doing that. They were only suppose to be here protecting us from lowlanders."
"The ones held captive in your little kingdom, or those east of the Blue Ridge,Tony?"
"Glanville darling, so good to see you again. I for one am glad that the northern valley has been restored to sanity. We here at Shannondale are ready to move forward in getting things around here back to normal." Lady Denise's words dripped off her tongue like honey. "That's good you feel that way, Denise as we shall discuss getting things here back to normal when council is held on the morrow, but tonight, let us celebrated any future plans of moving forward." The Colonel finished with a sweeping bow. O'Neal however told Fielding: "Alright your mayorship come on and lend us a hand in getting this up."
The marquees finally up, Lady Denise had servants bring in basins of water for the coalition leaders to wash. Then Guenette, Harlow, O'Neal, North, Vanwerden, Kestrel, Raccoon Dreaming, Jerome, Fitzpatrick along with other leading fighters accompanied the mayor and his wife through the Crow Gates.
Although there were sights and sounds of merriment within the walls of the festival grounds as well as out, it was not wholly sincere. Many of the residents appeared nervous having an army in their midst, especially the lowland slaves and mixed Knutesians. Daubed with swirls of paint and to some degree or another, tattooed, Kestrel's Cacapon warriors reveled in the residents' fear tinged awestruck faces. Shannondale's residents had long thought their riverside realm to be the epitome of Appalachian high culture. Perfectly paved streets, grandiose architecture, exquisite gardens and greens, water was even piped down from mountain springs. There were many shops, eateries, inns, taverns, markets and public baths heated by burning coal. Somewhat spiritual people, there were places of worship, but someone like Ranger North and perhaps others would deem it moon bug. Their spirituality often modified with changing trend and fashion, or else economical reasons. In the past couple of years there had been a bit of Knutesian influence in their otherwise fickle faith. At least Lady Denise had sense enough to have the red marble statues of Crotalus and his Morning Star Sisterhood daughters removed from Shannondale's festival grounds.
Vanwerden's fears of poisoned food and especially drink had subsided as he guzzled ale and feasted upon roast pork. Now happily chatting with the comely tawny haired woman whom followed him into this grand celebration, his evening seemed pleasantly eventful. Although usually a gentleman, Captain Harlow appeared quite the cad in Denise and her lady friends' company. One a shapely wavy haired brunette, provocatively clad in a thin white cotton gown seemed rather attracted to O'Neal. Sitting down beside him and directly across from Captain Guenette, she introduced herself as Fawn.
"I remember you! You came to Shannondale not so long ago with General Light."
"He saw General Light out of this world as well." Black Anne interjected then with icy blue fires burning in her eyes inquired: "Why Fawn, that's a lovely gown, where did you get it?" Somewhat taken aback by Guenette's fierce eyes and savage grin, Fawn stammered: "This old thing?"
"Well I wasn't referring to anyone else's, Fawny. Yes your gown, it's beautiful."
"Why I bought it at Junnie's right over on Birdsong Street."
"Is this shop open now?"
"Ah, no it is closed for the celebration."
"I was hoping to get out of my work clothes and into something more suitable for this special occasion. Evening is not far off and I know my date would appreciate me in something a bit more fashionable." Guenette said then smiled at O'Neal. "By the way sweety, my name is Anne and this is Captain John O'Neal."
Wisely ceasing to pursue O'Neal's close company, Fawn decided her best course was to be friendly and helpful. "What if we ask Junnie to open his shop long enough to get you into something nice for this evening? He's right over by the lily pond."
"You sure he won't mind?"
"Him and his staff are wonderful and extremely passionate about their art. If you don't mind me saying so, Anne, you have a fine figure and I'm sure one or more of Junnie's creations will meet your evening wear needs."
"Well Fawny, let us go see this artist."
"You have the classical beauty and figure of a goddess!" Junnie exclaimed as his dark eyes took in Black Anne Gunnette. "Like Athena or even Macha of old!" A lean man of middle height with a shaved head and pencil thin mustache, Junnie was one of the best known mantua makers in the Shenandoah Valley. He was quite a dresser himself attired in a gold trimmed forest green tunic, gray breeches and fine silver adorned black leather boots. "Of course we can stroll over to my boutique and begin the transformation process. From a gem in the rough, my staff and I shall bring forth a phenomenal glimmer."
"Sure you won't mind, I can pay well?"
"Your money is no good to me, only the natural beauty I can enhance, milady." Glancing over at O'Neal and the others at their long table, Captain Guenette smiled and said: "Then lead on good sir."
"So Captain O'Neal, you are from the wild hills south of our little corner of the world?" Another Shannondale socialite asked. A petite blonde with ample bosom and hips, she sat down beside O'Neal only minutes after after Captain Guenette, Fawn, Junnie and a couple of his staff left the grounds. There was no shortage of provocatively clad comely women milling about his table. Rangers North and Vanwerden along with Jerome were already up dancing with three lovely ladies as the band rehearsed. With Mayor Fielding off flirting with the dancing girls, Lady Denise was matching everyone of Harlow's caddish remarks in a particularly playful manner. "From any place I wake up at on any given morning." O'Neal replied.
"Oh I see an adventurer. I'm Shandra Buttercup, an actress up at the Blue Ridge Theatre. Perhaps you've heard of our long running hit play, High Watermark or Starlight Seduction?"
"Sorry, no." O'Neal replied with a smile, well noticing Miss Buttercup's tight saffron blouse half unbuttoned. Excusing himself, O'Neal ambled off to a boxwood concealed latrine. Relieving himself, he started back only to be met by Harlow. As his fellow captain pissed in a freshly dug hole in the ground, he slurred: "What a place, eh Johnny? Ahhh the sweetest spoils of war. We should retire here and become gentlemen of leisure, hell or even become petty rulers with our own harems."
"I think the liquor, reefer and Lady Denise's jiggling tits has softened your head, Harlow."
"Well we need to stay here at least a few days for some recreation and rest. Hell with these moon bugs kissing up to us, I would say even a week before they get sick of us and we have to knock some heads in."
"Good to see you having a good old time, Fox." O'Neal chuckled.
"That Lady Denise, some dish, eh Johnny?"
"Some dish indeed, Harlow. I suggest if you impale her, then soak your pecker in whisky afterwards."
"She wants to show me the bath." Harlow giddily stated.
Sniffing hard and then scrunching up his nose, O'Neal said: "Small wonder."
"Like something out of one of Irving's tales." Vanwerden laughed as O'Neal and Harlow seated themselves. "Garden nymphs and an ever flowing stream of good drink." O'Neal himself laughed as it wasn't that hard getting all caught up with this charade. What else could these people do with an occupying army of thousands who could very well loot their realm and brutalize residents. While Lady Denise flirted with Harlow, she also attempted to pick him for information regarding his and the other coalition leaders' intentions for Shannondale. Even drunk,Captain Harlow the Grey Fox was much too sly. He merely kept his conversation limited to the longings for fair company a fighting man experiences when coming off a long campaign and kept insisting Lady Denise to drink up which she did all the while getting more attached to this smallish man seemingly made of iron. As some news had previously made it to Shannondale regarding the fighting prowess of these Rangers, their Captains were much mentioned. Even though she sat near the one captain who reportedly executed General David Light, the liquor and reefer buffered her fear as well as swept away inhibitions. Rising, she extended a hand to Harlow and slightly slurred: "Let's get you that bath and see if I can find you some clean clothes to wear." Accepting Denise's invitation, Harlow rose, excused himself, bowed and walked off with her. O'Neal, a bit inebriated himself shook his head then happen to glance at a chuckling Bucksnort. Shaking his antlered head as well, the old shaman drew in a tremendous amount of Cacapon reefer smoke into his lungs, exhaled a drifting cloud and said: "No sign of malice, might as well go with the flow." Then Bucksnort's eyes darted away from O'Neal and widened as he caught sight of a wonderment.
It was like Fawn's evening gown, but of a violet hue instead. O'Neal's mouth dropped open upon laying eyes on Anne Guenette. Her icy blue eyes were now accented by makeup and her lips were painted rose red. Anne's Ranger braid had been taken out and her hair shampooed and now falling past her shoulders. A blue blossom adorned the left side of her raven tresses. As she sashayed towards the table, O'Neal could see through the thin fabric between her legs in the sitting sunlight. The fierce warrior and taker of heads was now an absolute vision of highland beauty. O'Neal's upper lip and legs as well as his heart began to involuntarily quiver. He had already been intimate with her once back at Rippon, but that was a drunken tension relieving roll upon pine needles. Tonight he wanted to show Anne a good time and show her off as well.
"Well how do I look, darling?"
"Like a patch of beautiful wild flowers a man would spend all night swimming a river and climbing high upon a mountain just to see blossom in the sunrise." O'Neal replied then wildly wondered where he found such words.
"Is she not the image of a goddess?" Junnie asked.
Shooting to his feet, Captain O'Neal noticed all eyes were upon Anne Guenette. Inviting her to sit beside him, Shandra Buttercup swiftly scooted down the bench. Captain Guenette kissed O'Neal on his cheek and gracefully seated herself.
He awoke with a blinding pain in his head and the stench of rotting flesh. Opening his eyes he saw nothing but Stygian darkness. He couldn't make out the shapes above him in this shadowy gloom. Attempting to stand, a wave of dizziness overtook him and he fell into a crumpled heap. Consciousness slipped away.
Awakening again, this time he could see. All was blurry at first, but within a minute or so his vision became clearer. Rising to a sitting position, the blinding pain had subsided to a throbbing headache. 'What am I sitting on?' Irving wondered and looking down, he shuddered and rolled off the body of a dead woman wearing a dress that had been ripped to shreds and was half covered in dried gore. Lying face down as she was, Irving lifted the woman's head and saw that her face had been more or less torn off and what was left of it hung by a bloody shred of tissue. The marred rotting flesh was already being consumed by maggots. Nearby lay another body. "Oh poor fellow, I knew you Ranger Tye Jackson." The man's throat had been ripped out and his clothing along with the flesh beneath it had been slashed by what looked to be claws. Seeing the maggots inside Jackson's swollen open mouth, Irving crawled away as quickly as he could. Still a bit wobbly, Irving rose to his feet and looked around. He stood in a deeply wooded ravine and from where the setting sun was, it would be dusk soon. Gingerly rubbing the back of his head, Irving felt hair matted with dried blood, a painful bump and deep gash. His memory slowly returning, he remembered an altercation in the Lost River Inn's gardens with Nathaniel Stevenson and hearing Murlina's voice before a flash of blinding pain and everything going black as death. They had to of thought him as dead and hid his body with others who were. He wondered why Ranger Jackson was clad in civilian attire and who was the woman laying mutilated beside him. He had to get back to Lost River Inn and find Ranger Goodman and the others. Not quite sure where he was, Irving staggered eastward down the slopes. Still somewhat dizzy, he took a few tumbles along the way. Upon more level ground he found a cool spring flowing from the ground and drank deeply. Drinking his fill, Irving felt a great weariness come over him and rather swiftly his memory faded to the point of not even knowing who he was. Laying down on the leaf littered ground, he fell into a deep dark slumber.
"Doesn't she look gorgeous?" Fawn asked the others at the table. Miss Buttercup blinked as she mutely stared while Rangers North and Vanwerden mouths hung open as they gawked at Captain Guenette.
"Behold the Goddess!" Junnie proclaimed.
"Junnie, you have something for Captain O'Neal?" Anne reminded. Snapping his fingers, Junnie summoned one of his assistants forward. The young lady held a white cloth bundle. As she opened it, O'Neal saw it was a knee length forest green formal coat trimmed in a rich brown. Adorned with a row of silver acorn shaped buttons it looked more befitting some local constable or some town's captain of the guard. "Come out of that grimy buckskin shirt, Captain and put this on first." Another one of Junnie's assistants came forward with a fine ruffled collared white cotton shirt. "Do what?" O'Neal grunted.
"I look nice for you so you can at least look halfway nice for me." Anne stated with a lovely smile. Slowly standing O'Neal unfastened his belt, laid it and assorted sheathed and holstered weapons upon the table. Pulling off the buckskin hunting shirt, everyone got a good look at his broad shoulders, back and deep chest which aside from the scars looked to be cast from bronze. Anne giggled a bit after he slipped on the white shirt which fell just short of his knees. As if by instinct O'Neal put back on his wide belt which held his pistol, knife and spadroon. Donning the light formal coat over that and he was the second best dressed Ranger Captain present. A little embarrassed, he quaffed down a cup of whisky and felt a bit more at ease in his new duds. Rubbing his hands together Junnie apologized for not providing breeches as he could take no initial waist and leg measurements. O'Neal's buckskin trousers and rawhide boots would have to do.
"Cheers for Lord O'Neal and Lady Anne!" North loudly slurred holding his tankard aloft.
"I ain't no damned lord!" O'Neal growled, but then he smiled, raised his own cup and said: "Here's to the most beautiful spring blossom yet,, Lady Anne of Seven Fountains in Fort Valley!" All at the table raised their cups, mugs, tankards and glasses.
"Cheers!"
Kestrel, Bucksnort and the other Cacapon warriors present seemed rather amused by this. Wood Thrush Woman was a vision of primitive beauty herself bedecked in strings of colorful stone and bone beads and daubed in pale blue paint. O'Neal suspected her and the antlered shaman Bucksnort shared fond feelings with each other. Ranger Vanwerden was getting along rather well with the tawny haired woman who had followed him into this grand celebration. Much to Vanwerden's delight she introduced herself as 'Always'. The huge Galaxian Ranger North had taken a fancy to the short but shapely Shandra Buttercup. In one quick motion lifted her off the bench and onto his knee. O'Neal couldn't tell if her odd smile was out of fear or something else. Then he felt a hand caressing his thigh. Apparently Anne was reminding him that it was she who should be the center of his attention. Putting his arm around Captain Guenette, O'Neal's hand dropped down and fondled her derrière. The fighting woman who once lopped off a lowland prince's head just for leering, objected not to the Ranger's hand pushing it's way betwixt her rear end and wooden bench as if seeking a warmer friendlier place. He succeeded in finding just that and for several seconds had Anne wiggling on her seat. Figuring enough for now, O'Neal withdrew his hand and placed it around her hip. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he proceeded to pour Anne and himself another drink.
At dusk great fires were lit and the musicians began to play. The fiddle music, slow and soft, already had people rising to their feet choosing dance partners. Anne turning to O'Neal, batted her dark lashes. Taking the hint, he rose, bowed and asked: "Lady would you care to dance with me?" Gracefully rising, she extended her hand and replied: "I would be honored, Captain." Locating an open patch of green, they joined in a tight embrace while their feet slowly moved back and forth.
"This isn't going to work?" Anne whispered.
"What isn't going to work?"
"You got to slip off all that hardware, John."
Slipping out of Anne's arms, O'Neal removed his weapons belt and embraced her once again, this time with a kiss. Without all those hilts and grips, he could hold her closer. Thoughts of fighting, victories, captured riches and even the young woman he left at Lost River Inn seemed unimportant here upon this fire lit green. For now this woman rubbing against him in her thin evening gown held every bit of his attention. Pushing him away, Anne softly said: "As resplendent as we are this festive evening, I hate the thought of waking up tomorrow on a pile of hides and blankets or bed of pine needles."
"What do you propose?"
"Surely this upscale community has a luxury inn or quaint cottage we can spend the best part of the night."
"I'm sure your friend Junnie can recommend something to us."
"He's a little weird, but from talking with him at his botique, the man is totally anti-Crotalus and Light. Once Junnie heard that we were up here fighting, he poisoned one of General Light's tax collectors."
"Don't let me get on the wrong side of him." O'Neal chuckled.
It was the biggest bed O'Neal ever saw. It could probably sleep five Rangers. The suite itself was bigger than a lot of people's homes. Large white candles illuminated their exquisite lodgings. Upon a cherry table a large platter of cheeses, bread, dried fruit and cold smoked meats. There were also a bottles of liquor and hand blown crystal goblets. On the walls hung paintings of courting birds and other mating animals. O'Neal already had a blaze going in the stone fireplace and was ready to sample these amenity extras. Outside of one side door was a railed deck overlooking a stream fed pond. Junnie had directed them to the Twilight Inn, one of the finest in Shannondale. Opening a bottle of brandy, he first poured one for Anne then himself. "My, my, my, this will surely spoil me." He happily stated after emptying the full goblet down his gullet. "This is indeed some top shelf sipping sauce." Also drinking like a Ranger, Anne emptied her goblet as well. "Superb." She agreed and added: "Might as well take advantage of all this while we have it as soon enough we'll be back in our regular garb running, jumping and getting shot at." Head tilting down while her eyes looked up into O'Neal's, she said: "Well here we are."
Pouring them both another drink, he took a long quaff and felt the liquor's warmth spread through his body. It tinged well with the visual of raven haired Anne Guenette in that violet hued gown, her bosom straining against the thin cotton fabric.
"You are the bravest fighting man I've ever known. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you." At that point O'Neal thought it was the liquor talking, but she went on. "We were meant to be. Wood Thrush Woman said it was in the stars."
A little tipsy she rose from the table, and in a slow seductive manner, peeled off her violet gown. Passionate fires played in her eyes as O'Neal came out of his shirt, trousers and boots. Sashaying towards the bed chamber, Anne said: "Bring the bottle."
Doing just that, Captain O'Neal followed her inside...
Still a rather comely woman in her late forties, the Lady Denise was quite the socialite and always up for a celebration. Those big hazel eyes were complemented by exotically applied glittering green shadow and dark liner and her long auburn hair was in a single back braid like the Rangers wore theirs. By the way she directed the preparation of this event, it wasn't hard to tell who really was in charge of Shannondale. Rumored to be somewhat promiscuous, it was said she sometimes intimately entertained Lord Crotalus and Agkistrodon. Having a half dozen mistresses, Denise's infidelity mattered little to Mayor Fielding who was now ogling a troupe of scantly clad dancing girls rehearsing their moves as the band warmed up.
"I smell vittles." Ranger North said while rubbing his belly as he rode at the column's head with Guenette, Harlow, O'Neal, Jerome, Kestrel Raccoon Dreaming and Fitzpatrick. Already they had passed by sprawling villas, gardens, orchards, vineyards and pastures. These folk appeared to be more well off than the residents of Lost River Valley. If the Ranger army was out for an excellent looting opportunity, Shannondale would be it. Captain Guenette wondered why so many women and children were visible, some lining the Ranger's procession. Noncombatants perhaps as a moral shield to play upon conscious and hopefully prevent any brutality. To Black Anne, their greetings, waving hands and cheerful demeanor seemed feigned. Having gotten a good look at the savage Cacapon, Iron and Bolar Mountain warriors, one older woman fainted. Entering the town accompanied by droves of children, a good many curious young women and several barking dogs, Captain Harlow, who had never visited Shannondale was amazed by this extremely well kept exquisite community. Then he spotted throngs of poorly clad lowlander slaves, their eyes wide and rolling in fear. They were aware how the Rangers regarded them, but at least knew these men and their friends did not raid for or owned slaves.
Now the column's head approached the colorfully decorated festival and parade grounds. Seeing the grand spread laid out before them, Ranger Vanwerden asked Captain O'Neal: "Do you think they've laced the food and drink with anything?"
"We'll get the leaders and their families to taste it first." O'Neal laughed. "Relax you doughty foot hiller, these folk may not be wholly sincere in their enthusiasm of us tramping through their little paradise, but I don't think none of them are foolish enough to risk a blood bath by poisoning any in our company. Let us indulge in what these seemingly appreciative people have to freely bestow." Catching the bold eyed stare of a beautiful tawny haired woman, Vanwerden chuckled: "Sound advice, my captain." O'Neal however was marveling at the four foot high wall of well cut greenstone wall surrounding these grounds and open gilded gates adorned with two large blued iron crows. Gathered beyond that low wall were the leading families and their servants. Dismounting just outside the gate on a large grassy green, the coalition fighters began setting up camp.
"Oh come now friends, our boys can pitch your tents." Lady Denise suggested as her and Mayor Fielding approached the Ranger Captains as they rolled out their canvas headquarters upon the ground. Harlow looked up and was quite taken by the shapely, seductively clad mayor's wife. "And whom would you be, lady?" He inquired, his bright green eyes running over her every curve.
After Denise nudged her husband, he cleared his throat and replied in a stately manner: "I am Mayor Anthony Fielding and this is my wife the Lady Denise. We welcome you all to Shannondale. Do let our servants put up your lodgings while you join us at the festivities."
"Thanks anyway, your mayorship, but we can set up our own camp."
O'Neal returned as he sorted out marquees posts. "You can lend us a hand if you like, Mayor Fielding." He added with a grin.
"Oh I don't know the first thing involved with such a task."
"Oh this is a good time to start learning, Tony." Fitzpatrick laughed as he strolled up.
"Ahhh Glanville, I haven't seen you for sometime." Fielding dryly stated. Colonel Fitzpatrick's eyes narrowed and his fingers tapped upon a sabre hilt. "Oh I've been stuck up in Bolivar for awhile, but you could of waved to me from across the Shenandoah where Light's snipers were attempting to shoot my men off the southern wall."
"Honestly Glanville, I had no idea General Light's men were doing that. They were only suppose to be here protecting us from lowlanders."
"The ones held captive in your little kingdom, or those east of the Blue Ridge,Tony?"
"Glanville darling, so good to see you again. I for one am glad that the northern valley has been restored to sanity. We here at Shannondale are ready to move forward in getting things around here back to normal." Lady Denise's words dripped off her tongue like honey. "That's good you feel that way, Denise as we shall discuss getting things here back to normal when council is held on the morrow, but tonight, let us celebrated any future plans of moving forward." The Colonel finished with a sweeping bow. O'Neal however told Fielding: "Alright your mayorship come on and lend us a hand in getting this up."
The marquees finally up, Lady Denise had servants bring in basins of water for the coalition leaders to wash. Then Guenette, Harlow, O'Neal, North, Vanwerden, Kestrel, Raccoon Dreaming, Jerome, Fitzpatrick along with other leading fighters accompanied the mayor and his wife through the Crow Gates.
Although there were sights and sounds of merriment within the walls of the festival grounds as well as out, it was not wholly sincere. Many of the residents appeared nervous having an army in their midst, especially the lowland slaves and mixed Knutesians. Daubed with swirls of paint and to some degree or another, tattooed, Kestrel's Cacapon warriors reveled in the residents' fear tinged awestruck faces. Shannondale's residents had long thought their riverside realm to be the epitome of Appalachian high culture. Perfectly paved streets, grandiose architecture, exquisite gardens and greens, water was even piped down from mountain springs. There were many shops, eateries, inns, taverns, markets and public baths heated by burning coal. Somewhat spiritual people, there were places of worship, but someone like Ranger North and perhaps others would deem it moon bug. Their spirituality often modified with changing trend and fashion, or else economical reasons. In the past couple of years there had been a bit of Knutesian influence in their otherwise fickle faith. At least Lady Denise had sense enough to have the red marble statues of Crotalus and his Morning Star Sisterhood daughters removed from Shannondale's festival grounds.
Vanwerden's fears of poisoned food and especially drink had subsided as he guzzled ale and feasted upon roast pork. Now happily chatting with the comely tawny haired woman whom followed him into this grand celebration, his evening seemed pleasantly eventful. Although usually a gentleman, Captain Harlow appeared quite the cad in Denise and her lady friends' company. One a shapely wavy haired brunette, provocatively clad in a thin white cotton gown seemed rather attracted to O'Neal. Sitting down beside him and directly across from Captain Guenette, she introduced herself as Fawn.
"I remember you! You came to Shannondale not so long ago with General Light."
"He saw General Light out of this world as well." Black Anne interjected then with icy blue fires burning in her eyes inquired: "Why Fawn, that's a lovely gown, where did you get it?" Somewhat taken aback by Guenette's fierce eyes and savage grin, Fawn stammered: "This old thing?"
"Well I wasn't referring to anyone else's, Fawny. Yes your gown, it's beautiful."
"Why I bought it at Junnie's right over on Birdsong Street."
"Is this shop open now?"
"Ah, no it is closed for the celebration."
"I was hoping to get out of my work clothes and into something more suitable for this special occasion. Evening is not far off and I know my date would appreciate me in something a bit more fashionable." Guenette said then smiled at O'Neal. "By the way sweety, my name is Anne and this is Captain John O'Neal."
Wisely ceasing to pursue O'Neal's close company, Fawn decided her best course was to be friendly and helpful. "What if we ask Junnie to open his shop long enough to get you into something nice for this evening? He's right over by the lily pond."
"You sure he won't mind?"
"Him and his staff are wonderful and extremely passionate about their art. If you don't mind me saying so, Anne, you have a fine figure and I'm sure one or more of Junnie's creations will meet your evening wear needs."
"Well Fawny, let us go see this artist."
"You have the classical beauty and figure of a goddess!" Junnie exclaimed as his dark eyes took in Black Anne Gunnette. "Like Athena or even Macha of old!" A lean man of middle height with a shaved head and pencil thin mustache, Junnie was one of the best known mantua makers in the Shenandoah Valley. He was quite a dresser himself attired in a gold trimmed forest green tunic, gray breeches and fine silver adorned black leather boots. "Of course we can stroll over to my boutique and begin the transformation process. From a gem in the rough, my staff and I shall bring forth a phenomenal glimmer."
"Sure you won't mind, I can pay well?"
"Your money is no good to me, only the natural beauty I can enhance, milady." Glancing over at O'Neal and the others at their long table, Captain Guenette smiled and said: "Then lead on good sir."
"So Captain O'Neal, you are from the wild hills south of our little corner of the world?" Another Shannondale socialite asked. A petite blonde with ample bosom and hips, she sat down beside O'Neal only minutes after after Captain Guenette, Fawn, Junnie and a couple of his staff left the grounds. There was no shortage of provocatively clad comely women milling about his table. Rangers North and Vanwerden along with Jerome were already up dancing with three lovely ladies as the band rehearsed. With Mayor Fielding off flirting with the dancing girls, Lady Denise was matching everyone of Harlow's caddish remarks in a particularly playful manner. "From any place I wake up at on any given morning." O'Neal replied.
"Oh I see an adventurer. I'm Shandra Buttercup, an actress up at the Blue Ridge Theatre. Perhaps you've heard of our long running hit play, High Watermark or Starlight Seduction?"
"Sorry, no." O'Neal replied with a smile, well noticing Miss Buttercup's tight saffron blouse half unbuttoned. Excusing himself, O'Neal ambled off to a boxwood concealed latrine. Relieving himself, he started back only to be met by Harlow. As his fellow captain pissed in a freshly dug hole in the ground, he slurred: "What a place, eh Johnny? Ahhh the sweetest spoils of war. We should retire here and become gentlemen of leisure, hell or even become petty rulers with our own harems."
"I think the liquor, reefer and Lady Denise's jiggling tits has softened your head, Harlow."
"Well we need to stay here at least a few days for some recreation and rest. Hell with these moon bugs kissing up to us, I would say even a week before they get sick of us and we have to knock some heads in."
"Good to see you having a good old time, Fox." O'Neal chuckled.
"That Lady Denise, some dish, eh Johnny?"
"Some dish indeed, Harlow. I suggest if you impale her, then soak your pecker in whisky afterwards."
"She wants to show me the bath." Harlow giddily stated.
Sniffing hard and then scrunching up his nose, O'Neal said: "Small wonder."
"Like something out of one of Irving's tales." Vanwerden laughed as O'Neal and Harlow seated themselves. "Garden nymphs and an ever flowing stream of good drink." O'Neal himself laughed as it wasn't that hard getting all caught up with this charade. What else could these people do with an occupying army of thousands who could very well loot their realm and brutalize residents. While Lady Denise flirted with Harlow, she also attempted to pick him for information regarding his and the other coalition leaders' intentions for Shannondale. Even drunk,Captain Harlow the Grey Fox was much too sly. He merely kept his conversation limited to the longings for fair company a fighting man experiences when coming off a long campaign and kept insisting Lady Denise to drink up which she did all the while getting more attached to this smallish man seemingly made of iron. As some news had previously made it to Shannondale regarding the fighting prowess of these Rangers, their Captains were much mentioned. Even though she sat near the one captain who reportedly executed General David Light, the liquor and reefer buffered her fear as well as swept away inhibitions. Rising, she extended a hand to Harlow and slightly slurred: "Let's get you that bath and see if I can find you some clean clothes to wear." Accepting Denise's invitation, Harlow rose, excused himself, bowed and walked off with her. O'Neal, a bit inebriated himself shook his head then happen to glance at a chuckling Bucksnort. Shaking his antlered head as well, the old shaman drew in a tremendous amount of Cacapon reefer smoke into his lungs, exhaled a drifting cloud and said: "No sign of malice, might as well go with the flow." Then Bucksnort's eyes darted away from O'Neal and widened as he caught sight of a wonderment.
It was like Fawn's evening gown, but of a violet hue instead. O'Neal's mouth dropped open upon laying eyes on Anne Guenette. Her icy blue eyes were now accented by makeup and her lips were painted rose red. Anne's Ranger braid had been taken out and her hair shampooed and now falling past her shoulders. A blue blossom adorned the left side of her raven tresses. As she sashayed towards the table, O'Neal could see through the thin fabric between her legs in the sitting sunlight. The fierce warrior and taker of heads was now an absolute vision of highland beauty. O'Neal's upper lip and legs as well as his heart began to involuntarily quiver. He had already been intimate with her once back at Rippon, but that was a drunken tension relieving roll upon pine needles. Tonight he wanted to show Anne a good time and show her off as well.
"Well how do I look, darling?"
"Like a patch of beautiful wild flowers a man would spend all night swimming a river and climbing high upon a mountain just to see blossom in the sunrise." O'Neal replied then wildly wondered where he found such words.
"Is she not the image of a goddess?" Junnie asked.
Shooting to his feet, Captain O'Neal noticed all eyes were upon Anne Guenette. Inviting her to sit beside him, Shandra Buttercup swiftly scooted down the bench. Captain Guenette kissed O'Neal on his cheek and gracefully seated herself.
He awoke with a blinding pain in his head and the stench of rotting flesh. Opening his eyes he saw nothing but Stygian darkness. He couldn't make out the shapes above him in this shadowy gloom. Attempting to stand, a wave of dizziness overtook him and he fell into a crumpled heap. Consciousness slipped away.
Awakening again, this time he could see. All was blurry at first, but within a minute or so his vision became clearer. Rising to a sitting position, the blinding pain had subsided to a throbbing headache. 'What am I sitting on?' Irving wondered and looking down, he shuddered and rolled off the body of a dead woman wearing a dress that had been ripped to shreds and was half covered in dried gore. Lying face down as she was, Irving lifted the woman's head and saw that her face had been more or less torn off and what was left of it hung by a bloody shred of tissue. The marred rotting flesh was already being consumed by maggots. Nearby lay another body. "Oh poor fellow, I knew you Ranger Tye Jackson." The man's throat had been ripped out and his clothing along with the flesh beneath it had been slashed by what looked to be claws. Seeing the maggots inside Jackson's swollen open mouth, Irving crawled away as quickly as he could. Still a bit wobbly, Irving rose to his feet and looked around. He stood in a deeply wooded ravine and from where the setting sun was, it would be dusk soon. Gingerly rubbing the back of his head, Irving felt hair matted with dried blood, a painful bump and deep gash. His memory slowly returning, he remembered an altercation in the Lost River Inn's gardens with Nathaniel Stevenson and hearing Murlina's voice before a flash of blinding pain and everything going black as death. They had to of thought him as dead and hid his body with others who were. He wondered why Ranger Jackson was clad in civilian attire and who was the woman laying mutilated beside him. He had to get back to Lost River Inn and find Ranger Goodman and the others. Not quite sure where he was, Irving staggered eastward down the slopes. Still somewhat dizzy, he took a few tumbles along the way. Upon more level ground he found a cool spring flowing from the ground and drank deeply. Drinking his fill, Irving felt a great weariness come over him and rather swiftly his memory faded to the point of not even knowing who he was. Laying down on the leaf littered ground, he fell into a deep dark slumber.
"Doesn't she look gorgeous?" Fawn asked the others at the table. Miss Buttercup blinked as she mutely stared while Rangers North and Vanwerden mouths hung open as they gawked at Captain Guenette.
"Behold the Goddess!" Junnie proclaimed.
"Junnie, you have something for Captain O'Neal?" Anne reminded. Snapping his fingers, Junnie summoned one of his assistants forward. The young lady held a white cloth bundle. As she opened it, O'Neal saw it was a knee length forest green formal coat trimmed in a rich brown. Adorned with a row of silver acorn shaped buttons it looked more befitting some local constable or some town's captain of the guard. "Come out of that grimy buckskin shirt, Captain and put this on first." Another one of Junnie's assistants came forward with a fine ruffled collared white cotton shirt. "Do what?" O'Neal grunted.
"I look nice for you so you can at least look halfway nice for me." Anne stated with a lovely smile. Slowly standing O'Neal unfastened his belt, laid it and assorted sheathed and holstered weapons upon the table. Pulling off the buckskin hunting shirt, everyone got a good look at his broad shoulders, back and deep chest which aside from the scars looked to be cast from bronze. Anne giggled a bit after he slipped on the white shirt which fell just short of his knees. As if by instinct O'Neal put back on his wide belt which held his pistol, knife and spadroon. Donning the light formal coat over that and he was the second best dressed Ranger Captain present. A little embarrassed, he quaffed down a cup of whisky and felt a bit more at ease in his new duds. Rubbing his hands together Junnie apologized for not providing breeches as he could take no initial waist and leg measurements. O'Neal's buckskin trousers and rawhide boots would have to do.
"Cheers for Lord O'Neal and Lady Anne!" North loudly slurred holding his tankard aloft.
"I ain't no damned lord!" O'Neal growled, but then he smiled, raised his own cup and said: "Here's to the most beautiful spring blossom yet,, Lady Anne of Seven Fountains in Fort Valley!" All at the table raised their cups, mugs, tankards and glasses.
"Cheers!"
Kestrel, Bucksnort and the other Cacapon warriors present seemed rather amused by this. Wood Thrush Woman was a vision of primitive beauty herself bedecked in strings of colorful stone and bone beads and daubed in pale blue paint. O'Neal suspected her and the antlered shaman Bucksnort shared fond feelings with each other. Ranger Vanwerden was getting along rather well with the tawny haired woman who had followed him into this grand celebration. Much to Vanwerden's delight she introduced herself as 'Always'. The huge Galaxian Ranger North had taken a fancy to the short but shapely Shandra Buttercup. In one quick motion lifted her off the bench and onto his knee. O'Neal couldn't tell if her odd smile was out of fear or something else. Then he felt a hand caressing his thigh. Apparently Anne was reminding him that it was she who should be the center of his attention. Putting his arm around Captain Guenette, O'Neal's hand dropped down and fondled her derrière. The fighting woman who once lopped off a lowland prince's head just for leering, objected not to the Ranger's hand pushing it's way betwixt her rear end and wooden bench as if seeking a warmer friendlier place. He succeeded in finding just that and for several seconds had Anne wiggling on her seat. Figuring enough for now, O'Neal withdrew his hand and placed it around her hip. Giving it a gentle squeeze, he proceeded to pour Anne and himself another drink.
At dusk great fires were lit and the musicians began to play. The fiddle music, slow and soft, already had people rising to their feet choosing dance partners. Anne turning to O'Neal, batted her dark lashes. Taking the hint, he rose, bowed and asked: "Lady would you care to dance with me?" Gracefully rising, she extended her hand and replied: "I would be honored, Captain." Locating an open patch of green, they joined in a tight embrace while their feet slowly moved back and forth.
"This isn't going to work?" Anne whispered.
"What isn't going to work?"
"You got to slip off all that hardware, John."
Slipping out of Anne's arms, O'Neal removed his weapons belt and embraced her once again, this time with a kiss. Without all those hilts and grips, he could hold her closer. Thoughts of fighting, victories, captured riches and even the young woman he left at Lost River Inn seemed unimportant here upon this fire lit green. For now this woman rubbing against him in her thin evening gown held every bit of his attention. Pushing him away, Anne softly said: "As resplendent as we are this festive evening, I hate the thought of waking up tomorrow on a pile of hides and blankets or bed of pine needles."
"What do you propose?"
"Surely this upscale community has a luxury inn or quaint cottage we can spend the best part of the night."
"I'm sure your friend Junnie can recommend something to us."
"He's a little weird, but from talking with him at his botique, the man is totally anti-Crotalus and Light. Once Junnie heard that we were up here fighting, he poisoned one of General Light's tax collectors."
"Don't let me get on the wrong side of him." O'Neal chuckled.
It was the biggest bed O'Neal ever saw. It could probably sleep five Rangers. The suite itself was bigger than a lot of people's homes. Large white candles illuminated their exquisite lodgings. Upon a cherry table a large platter of cheeses, bread, dried fruit and cold smoked meats. There were also a bottles of liquor and hand blown crystal goblets. On the walls hung paintings of courting birds and other mating animals. O'Neal already had a blaze going in the stone fireplace and was ready to sample these amenity extras. Outside of one side door was a railed deck overlooking a stream fed pond. Junnie had directed them to the Twilight Inn, one of the finest in Shannondale. Opening a bottle of brandy, he first poured one for Anne then himself. "My, my, my, this will surely spoil me." He happily stated after emptying the full goblet down his gullet. "This is indeed some top shelf sipping sauce." Also drinking like a Ranger, Anne emptied her goblet as well. "Superb." She agreed and added: "Might as well take advantage of all this while we have it as soon enough we'll be back in our regular garb running, jumping and getting shot at." Head tilting down while her eyes looked up into O'Neal's, she said: "Well here we are."
Pouring them both another drink, he took a long quaff and felt the liquor's warmth spread through his body. It tinged well with the visual of raven haired Anne Guenette in that violet hued gown, her bosom straining against the thin cotton fabric.
"You are the bravest fighting man I've ever known. I wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you." At that point O'Neal thought it was the liquor talking, but she went on. "We were meant to be. Wood Thrush Woman said it was in the stars."
A little tipsy she rose from the table, and in a slow seductive manner, peeled off her violet gown. Passionate fires played in her eyes as O'Neal came out of his shirt, trousers and boots. Sashaying towards the bed chamber, Anne said: "Bring the bottle."
Doing just that, Captain O'Neal followed her inside...
Re: The Mage of Knutesia
Slowly sinking, the late afternoon early summer sunset. Passing clouds were set aglow as they caressed Massanutten Mountain's long ridge line. A fantastic scene that John O'Neal would rather be riding into instead of away from. Heading east, he saw the Blue Ridge and began to long for days past patrolling the Skyline Drive. Clad in a cotton walnut dyed hunting shirt and black trousers of the same material, O'Neal still missed his buckskins, but had grown rather fond of the brown wide brimmed hat he wore. It wasn't often these days he could go about attired even in this manner. Halting upon Poor House Bridge, O'Neal turned turned to glance westward then looked down into the Shenandoah River. Cursing under his breath, he rode on. Turning southwards on Brown Town Road, he would be home soon. Of course his old comrades would be disappointed, but perhaps by not joining them for a few days of reveling would finally settle O'Neal down and allow him a long happy life with a beautiful wife to be instead of slain and having his scattered bones bleach on some remote mountainside. Halting again upon a wooded rise, O'Neal gazed down the gloomy road. Dusk was now settling in.
Just as he started riding down, the faint sounds of voices and hooves drifted up to his ears. Perhaps it was instinct, or else years of being a Ranger which prompted O'Neal to dismount and lead his horse into the darkening roadside woods. Well hidden from view, O'Neal waited as the clippity clop of hooves and sound of voices grew louder. One voice he knew all too well. Now the riders came into view and a savage snarl played upon O'Neal's lips and his eyes blazed like a wounded wolf. They too halted where he had on this road. For an instant he thought about shooting both of them as he had both rifle and pistol at hand, but instead stood motionless while glaring through the tangled underbrush. One, a rather foppish looking fellow, his face shadowed and long wavy light hair confined by an extremely wide black wide brimmed hat adorned with white plumes. O'Neal could see he was armed with a smallsword and pistol. Astride the buckskin mare, which O'Neal had bought for her, was his wife to be. Seeing this beautiful woman clad in her riding attire brought back memories that soon fanned the fires of black rage. Her lovely face and pale hazel eyes were framed by a foamy mass of auburn hair. This was the woman who had kissed O'Neal earlier and told him to have a good time with his old friends. Both of the riders leaned in for a passionate kiss and began talking again. "Even if he does return early, he'll think I'm staying with my aunt up in Front Royal." She laughed. Wanting very much to leap on them from out of the woods, O'Neal restrained himself. "You should just let me shoot him off his horse as he returns from Fort Valley. What if he comes back early and finds us elsewhere? What about if someone sees us and tells him which way we're going?" The fop asked seeming rather concerned by being in the company of Lady Murlina of Bryce. "That's why we're traveling at night and besides John has never been to Dungadin Heights. Kill him? Easier said than done and for now I need him alive as there is more treasure he had hidden than he has revealed to me. Some of it looted from my father's old home. As far as these local yokels are concerned, you are my cousin from Front Royal." Leaning in for another kiss, the pair trotted off northwards.
The darkness of night that fell paled in comparison to John O'Neal's current mood. For over a year o'Neal had gave up his life as an Appalachian Ranger just to be with a woman he just watched passionately kiss another fellow. O'Neal cursed his foolishness and now knew why she took all those trips supposedly up to Front Royal alone. Even worse he had seen this fellow riding by their home in Glen Echo a few times, but figured him to be another Shenandoah Valley dandy come to court some local farm lass. Leading his horse out of the woods O'Neal mounted and followed them at a dark distance like some stalking beast. If not for the bridges burned along with love given and time as well as money invested, this would allow O'Neal a return to his old free ranging lifestyle. Then there was another woman he parted from and no doubt hurt by his foolish decision to get back with Murlina. Like the long weekend with old friends he decided not to spend while halfway to their location earlier this day, O'Neal still visited Captains Guenette and Harlow's Ranger encampment in Massanutten's Fort Valley. Always received as a friend, he was no longer looked upon as a Ranger. Although these Rangers still kept a close watch on the Shenandoah Valley, their plans of attacking Knutesia had fell apart with the disappearance or possible demise of Vice Mayor Irving and O'Neal's departure from the Rangers. Volunteers started drifting back to their homes and many Rangers transferred to distant companies. Murlina's spell broken, O'Neal now felt largely responsible for the failure to destroy Knutesia when they had means to do so. "That fucking witch." He muttered, "I should lop off that pretty head and present it to Anne Guenette as an apology."
From a strand of young cedars under the full moon, O'Neal watched as a stable boy led their horses away as they entered the Whip-Poor-Will Inn just outside of Dungadin. Waiting in a dark clump of cedars, his grey eyes scanned the many windows. Through some light shown, but his eyes were upon those of dark vacant rooms. After several minutes lights were struck in one and he knew where they were lodging. Leaving his mount in the cedars, O'Neal approached the bottom floor window with a stealthy stride. Unseen, from the outer darkness he looked through the open window at the room's new occupants. Murlina was in the process of unpacking a travel bag while her dandy was poring them brandy. From several feet away in the outer darkness, O'Neal watched and listened. "I can't believe you actually got him to reveal where a treasure is hidden." The fellow now sounded much more bolder than he did back on Brown Town Road. "It was simple." Murlina replied. "At my request that bumpkin revealed it's whereabouts in case he died. Something for me to fall back on as a widow. But he has more stashed away and knows the locations of hidden Ranger loot. So why be so hasty to kill the goose after it lays only a single golden egg. Give me another year and I'll softly squeeze every golden egg out of that silly goose then we'll have it as a holiday meal."
"So where is this treasure we're going after tomorrow?"
"A little west of Stokesville near the southern Shenandoah Valley." Murlina returned as she seated herself upon the bed.
"Where exactly?" The fop softly inquired failing to see a fiery flicker in Murlina's eyes. She laughed and informed him: "You ask too many questions."
Hearing and seeing quite enough, O'Neal strode back to the cedars and mounted up. Galloping southwards he felt his face heat up by the black fires of rage. Halting on the dark road, O'Neal thought about stealthily climbing through that window later while they fucked and impaling them both with his spadroon. Then a thought came which brought a sinister smile upon his face and he continued southwards to Glen Echo.
Upon entering his home O'Neal lit a couple of candle lanterns from coals still burning red in the fireplace. "I warned her never to leave anything burning when she leaves the house for a considerable amount of time. Oh well she'll learn her lesson this time." He muttered. Looking about the large sitting room of an old manor house he purchased with spoils of war around a year ago a great melancholy swept over him.
Although he didn't want to settle in this area, O'Neal noticed how Murlina looked at this old half stone, half oak house standing vacant with a for sale sign tacked to one of the several pines shading an overgrown front lawn. Finding the seller's name and address on that sign, he bought this house outright with gold coin not two weeks after reuniting with Murlina by accident in Front Royal. How surprised he was seeing Murlina in a Front Royal tavern while thinking her to still be at Lost River Inn. He, Ranger Vanwerden and Colonel Fitzpatrick along with twenty coalition fighters left Captains Guenette and Harlow as well as the others to keep order in Northern Shenandoah while they rode to Front Royal to reestablish friendly relations. After a long day in the mayor's hall, He, Vanwerden and the others got what rooms were left at Stargazer's Inn a somewhat run down establishment in Front Royal's more seedier quarter. After consuming a bottle of whisky in their shared room, O'Neal and Vanwerden still very much elated within victory's golden glow began bar hopping. Although their city leaders offered scant assistance to the coalition fighters, drunken residents were glad General Light and Lord Crotalus had been defeated before they could besiege Front Royal. Tavern owners and patrons bought these Rangers drinks where ever they went. A madame even offered up some of her best pleasure girls to these Rangers with no charge. Vanwerden made arrangements with one for later on that night. O'Neal however was more interested drinking in taverns he had never been before. It was in Becky's Bluebird Tavern O'Neal's drunken meditations were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder from behind. Thinking it was one of the five Ranger's who accompanied this diplomatic party, he said while turning about: "Good way to get yourself gut shot. You should be more,," O'Neal's jaw dropped in mid sentence as it was Murlina standing behind him, her hand now rubbing his shoulder. "You!" He barked.
"You too." She laughed.
"But you were suppose to be waiting at Lost River Inn until this conflict was resolved."
"The way I heard it, the conflict has been resolved for awhile. General David Light has been defeated and killed. Lord Crotalus and his house have retreated from the northern valley. Was I to wait much longer while you celebrated without me? I knew no one at the Lost River Inn and even after hearing Irving was in Lost River Valley, was disappointed he never came to visit me. After that young Ranger delivered your letter, I heard no more of you." Casting O'Neal an odd glance, Vanwerden said: "Seems you have some things to talk about." He rose, bowed and made his way over to a buxom older women who had been giving him the eye. Following the almost deadly incident with a bewitched Ranger Benton and talk of an acquaintance of Murlina's at Lost River Inn being involved, O'Neal had became somewhat removed from the idea of continuing an intimate relationship with this alluring young woman. The amount of liquor and reefer O'Neal had consumed however somehow allowed him to be quite taken with this beautiful young lady clad in a forest green low neck gown slit up the side revealing a well turned leg and thigh. In her lovely hazel eyes were minute streaks of gold lit by a lantern flame. "Aren't you going to offer me a seat?" She purred while leaning down and looking into his grey eyes. As O'Neal rose, she caught him in her arms and planted a passionate kiss upon his lips. Feeling her soft body pressed against his, O'Neal's inhibitions began to depart. As Murlina gracefully seated herself, O'Neal caught a worried glance from Vanwerden across the room, but swiftly his eyes returned to her. Almost immediately she attempted to make up for lost time and had him talking about his days since leaving her that early morning at Lost River Inn. Murlina even ordered them a bottle of raspberry brandy. After about twenty minutes of touching upon adventures, misfortunes and fierce battles, nature called and O'Neal excused himself and strolled through the doors to an outhouse. While urinating in a trough, he somewhat came to his senses and decided to tell Murlina it was over between them as thoughts of Anne Guenette entered his mind. As he approached Murlina in the tavern ready to say his peace and depart back to Shannondale, she stood up, two full glasses in her hands. "A toast to the bravery of fighting men like you who bravely defeated a dreadful enemy for now!" Murlina proclaimed while handing O'Neal a glass of brandy. Noticing other patrons lifting their glasses and mugs, O'Neal took the glass and gulped it's contents down. Very swiftly there was a sense of passionate euphoria and soon afterwards, O'Neal's lust for Murlina dominated his emotions. His eyes roved from Murlina's beautiful auburn hair framed face to the ample amount of her bosom visible down that low neck line gown. Everything he had experienced from their last intimate meeting up until now seemed to be fading in the back of his mind. Finishing the bottle of brandy and ordering another unopened, they walked out to her waiting coach and were whisked away to an upscale Inn across town.
"That's when she slipped me a mickey." O'Neal muttered and snarled. Looking across the dimly lit sitting room he caught sight of his reflection in one of Murlina's many mirrors. There were one or two in every room of the house. He hardly recognized himself. The long Ranger braid, she talked him into cutting and his dark hair now fell just short of his broad shoulders. Although he had picked out the walnut dyed hunting frock, it was made from fine Georgia cotton and cost a pretty penny as did the beaver felt broad brimmed hat he wore as part of his usual attire. Of course in Murlina's company he was expected to dress up considerably more. She even had his captured spadroon's hilt inlaid with silver and boar's tusk ivory to be worn as a dress sword at dances and other such social events. He remembered kidding with Murlina by claiming she was turning him into a younger version of Irving which greatly upset her. Seeing that he was willing to make some changes, she began to suggest and expect more. Still the first few months seemed like a lost love fable, they traveled to Luray, Waynesboro and even to Charlottesville while skilled craftsmen refurbished their new home at Glen Echo. After moving in together his life really began to change. Although Murlina did not attempt to stop him from visiting his old comrades now encamped in Fort Valley, she seemed less than happy about such outings. During these visits, Harlow attempted to sway O'Neal back into the Rangers while Captain Guenette barely spoke to him at all. It was probably better that Murlina did not accompany him to these reunions. Now he knew why she seemed so understanding of him going off this time. "I've been entirely too selfish." Murlina said. "Go and have a good time with your old friends, John. I would come with you, but anymore long rides give me tremendous headaches." Remembering Murlina's words and recalling the fact that recent long trips to shop down in the southern valley troubled her none at all, O'Neal grabbed a small silver cat with topaz eyes and hurled it at the cherry wood framed mirror. Glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards and O'Neal knew her spell which held him was broken forever. Grabbing a full jug of whisky and lantern O'Neal mounted the stairs up to their bedchamber. Upon entering he sat upon their bed and uncorked the jug, but sat it down on a nightstand beside his lantern. "I'll not drink where I'm not welcomed and this is no longer my home." Rising to his feet, he walked to a closet and withdrew a large cedar chest. Fumbling with a key, O'Neal unlocked the chest and swung open it's lid. Pulling out a buckskin bag filled with gold and silver coins, he no longer had guilt about hiding money from a woman who was constantly spending. Glancing back at the bed then at the whisky and lantern, he reached down and plucked out an ornate silver gunpowder flask Murlina had bought for him when they went fowl hunting with other Front Royal elite. Uncorking the jug again, he poured a good amount of whisky on their expensive bed and then splashed a bit on her saffron hued velvet bedroom window curtains as well as all over the richly carpeted hardwood floor. Taking up the buckskin money bag, lantern and now uncapped silver flask, he poured a line of black powder from bedchamber, down the hall and to the stairs. Going down several steps, O'Neal removed a burning candle from his lantern and ignited the thin line of black powder. Taking his time and one last look at all the lavish furnishings and other such gaudy trappings, he muttered: "I warned her about leaving a fire burning at home." and then he stepped out of that life forever.
Galloping away, he did not look back at his home that never was while the whole upstairs burst into flames. Now O'Neal would visit his old comrades, but first he must attend to a bit of business in the mountains just west of Stokesville.
Riding south, O'Neal made for New Market Gap which cut through Massanutten Mountain. After that crossing he took back roads to bypass Harrisonburg. Arriving at Stokesville at sunrise, O'Neal ate a hardy breakfast then rode west eventually coming to a trail leading up through the North River gorge. Glad to be in a more wilder setting than the valley's towns and farming communities, O'Neal pondered his future. He could rejoin the Rangers, but having just up and quit them not long over a year ago, it would be better to wait awhile. Across mountains and rivers there were new lands to see. Places far from where one made a complete fool out of him with his assistance. In his saddlebag there was already enough coin to see him comfortably as a traveler for some time and when that ran out, he could come back to several other loot caches. One of the largest he revealed to Murlina and even drew her a map to find it in case of emergencies or his demise.
Halting upon a somewhat level piece of ground, O'Neal dismounted and picked his way through a large clump of laurel. Coming to a wooded slope, he ascended some twenty feet to a large outcropping of rock. Gently moving aside thickly tangled briers, he reached inside
a natural cavity and pulled out a wooden chest. Opening it up he pulled out two buckskin bags containing gold and silver coins along with some jewelry. Reaching into the pocket of his hunting frock, he pulled out a folded piece of paper, a thin piece of charcoal and a large gold coin. Paper upon the chest's lid, he wrote -
Lady Murlina of Bryce and present company,
This has been left to you in case something happens to me. As you said, something for you to fall back on. Now both of us can go our own ways as if we never met.
The great unknown.
Opening the lid, O'Neal partially loaded his chest with rocks and on top of them placed the letter and a single large gold coin bearing Crotalus' image. Placing his chest back in the hole and covering it with briers, he grinned then muttered: "It would be my pleasure to wait in that thicket and see her face upon opening the chest, but I'll not." Making his way down the slope and to his horse, O'Neal mounted up. Riding back into Stokesville he found a small tavern and celebrated by having several cups of whisky and found a shop which sold him another sturdy wooden chest. Riding up the gorge trail once again, he found another suitable hiding place for his loot a bit higher than the last. This bit of business concluded, he could now visit his old friends.
At Seven Fountains in Fort Valley, he found the Ranger encampment of Captains Guenette and Harlow. As Captain Kirby was dead and O'Neal retired, their fighters had merged with those of the other Captains. As life slowly returned to normal in the northern Shenandoah Valley, these Rangers concerned themselves with sending patrols along the Blue Ridge and thwarting lowland raiders. Swiftly wearing out their welcome in the northern Shenandoah Valley, they now based themselves here within Massanutten's Fort Valley. Apprehended at sunset by new Ranger recruits out on picket who knew not his face or believed it was him, O'Neal not pressing the issue requested to see their captains and was led disarmed into the large encampment.
"Why who is that country squire?" Vanwerden laughed upon seeing O'Neal being led into the captain's camp by two young Rangers. O'Neal snarled at him and demanded to be announced.
"It's alright lads, this is our old friend John O'Neal come to visit." Harlow stated. "Captain John O'Neal?" one of the young Rangers asked in awe.
"Not anymore." Her words slashed the air like a horsewhip. "What brings you here, the little woman up in Front Royal again comforting her ever ailing aunt?" Her icy eyes burned into his. "Were you all lonely at home and decided to come seeking our company, like last spring?"
"If I'm not welcomed here then I'll be sooner on my way?" He growled.
"You're always welcomed here, Johnny." Captain Harlow assured O'Neal and passed him a jug. "How's life been treating you, Johnny?"
"I suppose the way it tends to treat any other man without a home and bound for no particular destination."
"Until it's time to head home and back into the little woman's arms, eh O'Neal?" Captain Guenette mocked.
"I have no woman." O'Neal grunted and took a swig off the jug.
"What about Murlina?" Vanwerden inquired.
"Who?" returned O'Neal while noticing a spark of interest in Black Anne's eyes.
"You know that pretty lass who stole your heart and settled you down." Harlow prodded. "Don't tell me she left you?"
"I left before she could prematurely cash in on me."
"Cash in on you? What about your villa?"
O'Neal took another swig of whisky, looked into the campfire and muttered: "An unattended fire in the heart and in the hearth." Harlow having picked up on O'Neal's play on words, swore and asked: "Damn, Johnny, you torched your home, huh?"
"Well I couldn't see that individual and her secret beau taking up residence there while I live the free life of a rover."
"Ahhh but the fire in one's heart burns brighter and hotter than in one's hearth." Captain Guenette stated. "So another man was stealing her away?"
"Probably more like stolen away before I got up with her again. They were in cahoots together to separate me from my earnings. I suspect it was my money which kept her fellow both comfortable and fashionable."
"Another corn fed sucker." Captain Guenette laughed.
"You find that humorous?" O'Neal growled.
"No I find that as just."
"And why so?"
Black Anne narrowed her eyes at O'Neal and asked: "Now do I really have to give you a detailed explanation?"
Realizing what she was getting at, O'Neal lowered his eyes and somewhat humbled himself. He also knew Anne Guenette could be quite a dangerous adversary if provoked. It was enough having one woman to toss his heart in a shit hole without now having to worry about another lopping his head off. "I guess we all get duped at least a few times in life, O'Neal." She said and then asked: "So what about her man on the side, anyone you know?" O'Neal glanced at the two young Rangers and then at Harlow who sent them back to their post.
"Never met this fellow, but had seen him ride by our home a few times, the first being shortly after we moved in. He is quite a fancy dresser and
was armed. I figured him to be either buying reefer from farmers or else making time with their daughters, sisters or wives while the menfolk toil in the fields. There's a good many of these young lustfully adventurous prancing cavaliers from Front Royal who ride forth during the day and sweep comely farm gals off their feet while risking getting a bullet hole courtesy of some father, brother or sweetheart. For sometime now these scented game roosters have took to arming themselves. One not long ago was caught violating a fourteen year old farm girl by her older brother who managed to get himself ran through and later died. Her father and another brother caught up with this dandy at Karo, put a bullet through both his arms and hung him from the bridge. The one in cahoots with that Brycian strumpet who was taking me for a ride could of been from anywhere, but his blade and shot yearned for my heart. I imagine we will informally meet one day or another. Anyway enough talk of my misfortunes and injustices, it is good to be among Rangers whether you welcome me or not. Just to be free of that particular brand of domestic servitude is good enough even if it means sleeping on pine needles and going without."
"Going without what?" Black Anne mockingly asked.
"A lie to live in for starts." O'Neal returned. "A soft bed to sleep in and a chair on the front porch to watch morning come in the same way every day. Then there's going without the close company of a loving woman."
"A few shiny silver coins in a tavern wench's hand could remedy that." Captain Guenette dryly stated.
"But that is not out of love for a woman, just a man's lust and a whore's vocation. Some of these arrangements last a few minutes behind some tavern while others go on for much longer in more comfortable settings. Just ask Irving, that is if he's still alive."
"That's doubtful and I've wondered if your's and Irving's former courtesan had something to do with his disappearance. Gary Tate told us that Murlina had indeed taken up with a woman whom by description was a Knutesian and together in Lost River Valley they became quite the socialites. They went to a lot of parties and entertained others at the Lost River Inn. When that suspected Knutesian woman and Ranger Goodman were found dead, Murlina was on hand claiming that a visiting villian had killed the pair then rode off into the west." Harlow reminded.
O'Neal scratched his chin and said: "I asked her about what you told me about Goodman and that woman's death along with Irving's disappearance, but she became flustered and didn't want to talk about it." Captain Guenette cast Harlow, North and Vanwerden an odd glance then stated: "Kestrel and Bucksnort both suspected Murlina to be of Knutesian blood. They had a spy watch Murlina and her lady friend carry on at the Lost River Inn lounge. We even sent two Rangers to spy on them after Ranger Benton returned from there, but both of them were found dead and mutilated on a hillside. Quite a coincidence that Murlina was on hand when this stable fight took place and now she is in the company of a dandy bravo who may just be Goodman's killer and behind Irving's disappearance."
"Skulduggery indeed." Vanwerden interjected. "And you burned her house and belongings?"
"And left her without means. As far as the house and belongings were concerned, I paid a fortune for them."
"Burnt y'all's love nest down and left her without a pot to piss in. I think it's safe to assume that means it's over for you two."
"You don't reckon do you?" O'Neal grunted.
"So what's your plans now, Johnny?" Harlow inquired. "There's always a place here with us where ever we may be."
"Not yet." O'Neal said, "There's places I'd like to see."
"Me too." Vanwerden added. "That is if you need a little company and someone watching your back."
"Suit yourself." O'Neal grunted, adding: "I'm thinking about heading southwestward into Tennessee or Kentucky. Hell, I may even go see the Mississippian Sea."
"Kentucky?" Harlow chuckled, "Why Kentucky is overran with brigands and crazy ass Pentecostals."
"I'll probably be gone until early next summer." O'Neal stated while noticing Captain Guenette's sneer. "Oh just go off on vacation for damn near a year while those Knutesian bastards build up another army. There's word that your friend Donald of Craig has been talking about extending Roanoke's holdings to Buena Vista, Lexington, Clifton Forge and Covington."
"Then there will be war, but I doubt if he is foolish enough to attempt such. If he is, then send someone to my mother's people just east of the Cumberland Gap as I'll probably winter with or near them."
"Another thing, Johnny,," Harlow grimly stated: "Donald and his bride who was elevated to Vice Mayor have been heard saying that we Rangers are little more than murderous brigands and we are not welcomed around Roanoke or any communities under his watch. He has accused us of being war criminals."
"Well let Roanoke and Lynchburg patrol the James River and Blue Ridge. Let them contend with the lowlanders." O'Neal growled.
"Ahhh, Lynchburg." Harlow said, "They have all but cut communications with Donald. Their last Falwellian Minister has died and with him that old cult. The people of Lynchburg are ready for a change and their new leaders have established friendly relations with Buena Vista, Lexington, Clifton Forge and even Covington. However, Staunton, Waynesboro and Harrisonburg is in cahoots with Star City. I'd say by next spring things near about are going to get rather interesting."
"All under the direction of Crotalus and his kin. That's why you just can't up and go sightseeing in Kentucky or Tennessee. We need your help, O'Neal." Captain Guenette stated.
Having taken all this in, O'Neal lowered his head and pondered upon options. He loathed the Knutesians as much as the other captains, but did not desire to brook anymore truck with these devils. Then here were his friends here and now they needed him.
"There's one way to defeat those Knutesians and their vassals. Vanwerden and I will raise an army and pick at Knutesia from the south and west. I'll start with my mother's kin near the Cumberland Gap and do some recruiting in the Black Mountain country of eastern Kentucky. There's other Ranger Captains southwest of here who would probably join in with us. From all directions we'll come at them." O'Neal finished with a yawn as he had not slept in awhile.
Excusing himself, O'Neal grabbed his gear and ambled off. Unrolling his blankets under the spreading boughs of an ancient oak, he lay down and looked up through leafy branches at patches of starry sky...
Just as he started riding down, the faint sounds of voices and hooves drifted up to his ears. Perhaps it was instinct, or else years of being a Ranger which prompted O'Neal to dismount and lead his horse into the darkening roadside woods. Well hidden from view, O'Neal waited as the clippity clop of hooves and sound of voices grew louder. One voice he knew all too well. Now the riders came into view and a savage snarl played upon O'Neal's lips and his eyes blazed like a wounded wolf. They too halted where he had on this road. For an instant he thought about shooting both of them as he had both rifle and pistol at hand, but instead stood motionless while glaring through the tangled underbrush. One, a rather foppish looking fellow, his face shadowed and long wavy light hair confined by an extremely wide black wide brimmed hat adorned with white plumes. O'Neal could see he was armed with a smallsword and pistol. Astride the buckskin mare, which O'Neal had bought for her, was his wife to be. Seeing this beautiful woman clad in her riding attire brought back memories that soon fanned the fires of black rage. Her lovely face and pale hazel eyes were framed by a foamy mass of auburn hair. This was the woman who had kissed O'Neal earlier and told him to have a good time with his old friends. Both of the riders leaned in for a passionate kiss and began talking again. "Even if he does return early, he'll think I'm staying with my aunt up in Front Royal." She laughed. Wanting very much to leap on them from out of the woods, O'Neal restrained himself. "You should just let me shoot him off his horse as he returns from Fort Valley. What if he comes back early and finds us elsewhere? What about if someone sees us and tells him which way we're going?" The fop asked seeming rather concerned by being in the company of Lady Murlina of Bryce. "That's why we're traveling at night and besides John has never been to Dungadin Heights. Kill him? Easier said than done and for now I need him alive as there is more treasure he had hidden than he has revealed to me. Some of it looted from my father's old home. As far as these local yokels are concerned, you are my cousin from Front Royal." Leaning in for another kiss, the pair trotted off northwards.
The darkness of night that fell paled in comparison to John O'Neal's current mood. For over a year o'Neal had gave up his life as an Appalachian Ranger just to be with a woman he just watched passionately kiss another fellow. O'Neal cursed his foolishness and now knew why she took all those trips supposedly up to Front Royal alone. Even worse he had seen this fellow riding by their home in Glen Echo a few times, but figured him to be another Shenandoah Valley dandy come to court some local farm lass. Leading his horse out of the woods O'Neal mounted and followed them at a dark distance like some stalking beast. If not for the bridges burned along with love given and time as well as money invested, this would allow O'Neal a return to his old free ranging lifestyle. Then there was another woman he parted from and no doubt hurt by his foolish decision to get back with Murlina. Like the long weekend with old friends he decided not to spend while halfway to their location earlier this day, O'Neal still visited Captains Guenette and Harlow's Ranger encampment in Massanutten's Fort Valley. Always received as a friend, he was no longer looked upon as a Ranger. Although these Rangers still kept a close watch on the Shenandoah Valley, their plans of attacking Knutesia had fell apart with the disappearance or possible demise of Vice Mayor Irving and O'Neal's departure from the Rangers. Volunteers started drifting back to their homes and many Rangers transferred to distant companies. Murlina's spell broken, O'Neal now felt largely responsible for the failure to destroy Knutesia when they had means to do so. "That fucking witch." He muttered, "I should lop off that pretty head and present it to Anne Guenette as an apology."
From a strand of young cedars under the full moon, O'Neal watched as a stable boy led their horses away as they entered the Whip-Poor-Will Inn just outside of Dungadin. Waiting in a dark clump of cedars, his grey eyes scanned the many windows. Through some light shown, but his eyes were upon those of dark vacant rooms. After several minutes lights were struck in one and he knew where they were lodging. Leaving his mount in the cedars, O'Neal approached the bottom floor window with a stealthy stride. Unseen, from the outer darkness he looked through the open window at the room's new occupants. Murlina was in the process of unpacking a travel bag while her dandy was poring them brandy. From several feet away in the outer darkness, O'Neal watched and listened. "I can't believe you actually got him to reveal where a treasure is hidden." The fellow now sounded much more bolder than he did back on Brown Town Road. "It was simple." Murlina replied. "At my request that bumpkin revealed it's whereabouts in case he died. Something for me to fall back on as a widow. But he has more stashed away and knows the locations of hidden Ranger loot. So why be so hasty to kill the goose after it lays only a single golden egg. Give me another year and I'll softly squeeze every golden egg out of that silly goose then we'll have it as a holiday meal."
"So where is this treasure we're going after tomorrow?"
"A little west of Stokesville near the southern Shenandoah Valley." Murlina returned as she seated herself upon the bed.
"Where exactly?" The fop softly inquired failing to see a fiery flicker in Murlina's eyes. She laughed and informed him: "You ask too many questions."
Hearing and seeing quite enough, O'Neal strode back to the cedars and mounted up. Galloping southwards he felt his face heat up by the black fires of rage. Halting on the dark road, O'Neal thought about stealthily climbing through that window later while they fucked and impaling them both with his spadroon. Then a thought came which brought a sinister smile upon his face and he continued southwards to Glen Echo.
Upon entering his home O'Neal lit a couple of candle lanterns from coals still burning red in the fireplace. "I warned her never to leave anything burning when she leaves the house for a considerable amount of time. Oh well she'll learn her lesson this time." He muttered. Looking about the large sitting room of an old manor house he purchased with spoils of war around a year ago a great melancholy swept over him.
Although he didn't want to settle in this area, O'Neal noticed how Murlina looked at this old half stone, half oak house standing vacant with a for sale sign tacked to one of the several pines shading an overgrown front lawn. Finding the seller's name and address on that sign, he bought this house outright with gold coin not two weeks after reuniting with Murlina by accident in Front Royal. How surprised he was seeing Murlina in a Front Royal tavern while thinking her to still be at Lost River Inn. He, Ranger Vanwerden and Colonel Fitzpatrick along with twenty coalition fighters left Captains Guenette and Harlow as well as the others to keep order in Northern Shenandoah while they rode to Front Royal to reestablish friendly relations. After a long day in the mayor's hall, He, Vanwerden and the others got what rooms were left at Stargazer's Inn a somewhat run down establishment in Front Royal's more seedier quarter. After consuming a bottle of whisky in their shared room, O'Neal and Vanwerden still very much elated within victory's golden glow began bar hopping. Although their city leaders offered scant assistance to the coalition fighters, drunken residents were glad General Light and Lord Crotalus had been defeated before they could besiege Front Royal. Tavern owners and patrons bought these Rangers drinks where ever they went. A madame even offered up some of her best pleasure girls to these Rangers with no charge. Vanwerden made arrangements with one for later on that night. O'Neal however was more interested drinking in taverns he had never been before. It was in Becky's Bluebird Tavern O'Neal's drunken meditations were interrupted by a tap on his shoulder from behind. Thinking it was one of the five Ranger's who accompanied this diplomatic party, he said while turning about: "Good way to get yourself gut shot. You should be more,," O'Neal's jaw dropped in mid sentence as it was Murlina standing behind him, her hand now rubbing his shoulder. "You!" He barked.
"You too." She laughed.
"But you were suppose to be waiting at Lost River Inn until this conflict was resolved."
"The way I heard it, the conflict has been resolved for awhile. General David Light has been defeated and killed. Lord Crotalus and his house have retreated from the northern valley. Was I to wait much longer while you celebrated without me? I knew no one at the Lost River Inn and even after hearing Irving was in Lost River Valley, was disappointed he never came to visit me. After that young Ranger delivered your letter, I heard no more of you." Casting O'Neal an odd glance, Vanwerden said: "Seems you have some things to talk about." He rose, bowed and made his way over to a buxom older women who had been giving him the eye. Following the almost deadly incident with a bewitched Ranger Benton and talk of an acquaintance of Murlina's at Lost River Inn being involved, O'Neal had became somewhat removed from the idea of continuing an intimate relationship with this alluring young woman. The amount of liquor and reefer O'Neal had consumed however somehow allowed him to be quite taken with this beautiful young lady clad in a forest green low neck gown slit up the side revealing a well turned leg and thigh. In her lovely hazel eyes were minute streaks of gold lit by a lantern flame. "Aren't you going to offer me a seat?" She purred while leaning down and looking into his grey eyes. As O'Neal rose, she caught him in her arms and planted a passionate kiss upon his lips. Feeling her soft body pressed against his, O'Neal's inhibitions began to depart. As Murlina gracefully seated herself, O'Neal caught a worried glance from Vanwerden across the room, but swiftly his eyes returned to her. Almost immediately she attempted to make up for lost time and had him talking about his days since leaving her that early morning at Lost River Inn. Murlina even ordered them a bottle of raspberry brandy. After about twenty minutes of touching upon adventures, misfortunes and fierce battles, nature called and O'Neal excused himself and strolled through the doors to an outhouse. While urinating in a trough, he somewhat came to his senses and decided to tell Murlina it was over between them as thoughts of Anne Guenette entered his mind. As he approached Murlina in the tavern ready to say his peace and depart back to Shannondale, she stood up, two full glasses in her hands. "A toast to the bravery of fighting men like you who bravely defeated a dreadful enemy for now!" Murlina proclaimed while handing O'Neal a glass of brandy. Noticing other patrons lifting their glasses and mugs, O'Neal took the glass and gulped it's contents down. Very swiftly there was a sense of passionate euphoria and soon afterwards, O'Neal's lust for Murlina dominated his emotions. His eyes roved from Murlina's beautiful auburn hair framed face to the ample amount of her bosom visible down that low neck line gown. Everything he had experienced from their last intimate meeting up until now seemed to be fading in the back of his mind. Finishing the bottle of brandy and ordering another unopened, they walked out to her waiting coach and were whisked away to an upscale Inn across town.
"That's when she slipped me a mickey." O'Neal muttered and snarled. Looking across the dimly lit sitting room he caught sight of his reflection in one of Murlina's many mirrors. There were one or two in every room of the house. He hardly recognized himself. The long Ranger braid, she talked him into cutting and his dark hair now fell just short of his broad shoulders. Although he had picked out the walnut dyed hunting frock, it was made from fine Georgia cotton and cost a pretty penny as did the beaver felt broad brimmed hat he wore as part of his usual attire. Of course in Murlina's company he was expected to dress up considerably more. She even had his captured spadroon's hilt inlaid with silver and boar's tusk ivory to be worn as a dress sword at dances and other such social events. He remembered kidding with Murlina by claiming she was turning him into a younger version of Irving which greatly upset her. Seeing that he was willing to make some changes, she began to suggest and expect more. Still the first few months seemed like a lost love fable, they traveled to Luray, Waynesboro and even to Charlottesville while skilled craftsmen refurbished their new home at Glen Echo. After moving in together his life really began to change. Although Murlina did not attempt to stop him from visiting his old comrades now encamped in Fort Valley, she seemed less than happy about such outings. During these visits, Harlow attempted to sway O'Neal back into the Rangers while Captain Guenette barely spoke to him at all. It was probably better that Murlina did not accompany him to these reunions. Now he knew why she seemed so understanding of him going off this time. "I've been entirely too selfish." Murlina said. "Go and have a good time with your old friends, John. I would come with you, but anymore long rides give me tremendous headaches." Remembering Murlina's words and recalling the fact that recent long trips to shop down in the southern valley troubled her none at all, O'Neal grabbed a small silver cat with topaz eyes and hurled it at the cherry wood framed mirror. Glass shattered into a thousand glittering shards and O'Neal knew her spell which held him was broken forever. Grabbing a full jug of whisky and lantern O'Neal mounted the stairs up to their bedchamber. Upon entering he sat upon their bed and uncorked the jug, but sat it down on a nightstand beside his lantern. "I'll not drink where I'm not welcomed and this is no longer my home." Rising to his feet, he walked to a closet and withdrew a large cedar chest. Fumbling with a key, O'Neal unlocked the chest and swung open it's lid. Pulling out a buckskin bag filled with gold and silver coins, he no longer had guilt about hiding money from a woman who was constantly spending. Glancing back at the bed then at the whisky and lantern, he reached down and plucked out an ornate silver gunpowder flask Murlina had bought for him when they went fowl hunting with other Front Royal elite. Uncorking the jug again, he poured a good amount of whisky on their expensive bed and then splashed a bit on her saffron hued velvet bedroom window curtains as well as all over the richly carpeted hardwood floor. Taking up the buckskin money bag, lantern and now uncapped silver flask, he poured a line of black powder from bedchamber, down the hall and to the stairs. Going down several steps, O'Neal removed a burning candle from his lantern and ignited the thin line of black powder. Taking his time and one last look at all the lavish furnishings and other such gaudy trappings, he muttered: "I warned her about leaving a fire burning at home." and then he stepped out of that life forever.
Galloping away, he did not look back at his home that never was while the whole upstairs burst into flames. Now O'Neal would visit his old comrades, but first he must attend to a bit of business in the mountains just west of Stokesville.
Riding south, O'Neal made for New Market Gap which cut through Massanutten Mountain. After that crossing he took back roads to bypass Harrisonburg. Arriving at Stokesville at sunrise, O'Neal ate a hardy breakfast then rode west eventually coming to a trail leading up through the North River gorge. Glad to be in a more wilder setting than the valley's towns and farming communities, O'Neal pondered his future. He could rejoin the Rangers, but having just up and quit them not long over a year ago, it would be better to wait awhile. Across mountains and rivers there were new lands to see. Places far from where one made a complete fool out of him with his assistance. In his saddlebag there was already enough coin to see him comfortably as a traveler for some time and when that ran out, he could come back to several other loot caches. One of the largest he revealed to Murlina and even drew her a map to find it in case of emergencies or his demise.
Halting upon a somewhat level piece of ground, O'Neal dismounted and picked his way through a large clump of laurel. Coming to a wooded slope, he ascended some twenty feet to a large outcropping of rock. Gently moving aside thickly tangled briers, he reached inside
a natural cavity and pulled out a wooden chest. Opening it up he pulled out two buckskin bags containing gold and silver coins along with some jewelry. Reaching into the pocket of his hunting frock, he pulled out a folded piece of paper, a thin piece of charcoal and a large gold coin. Paper upon the chest's lid, he wrote -
Lady Murlina of Bryce and present company,
This has been left to you in case something happens to me. As you said, something for you to fall back on. Now both of us can go our own ways as if we never met.
The great unknown.
Opening the lid, O'Neal partially loaded his chest with rocks and on top of them placed the letter and a single large gold coin bearing Crotalus' image. Placing his chest back in the hole and covering it with briers, he grinned then muttered: "It would be my pleasure to wait in that thicket and see her face upon opening the chest, but I'll not." Making his way down the slope and to his horse, O'Neal mounted up. Riding back into Stokesville he found a small tavern and celebrated by having several cups of whisky and found a shop which sold him another sturdy wooden chest. Riding up the gorge trail once again, he found another suitable hiding place for his loot a bit higher than the last. This bit of business concluded, he could now visit his old friends.
At Seven Fountains in Fort Valley, he found the Ranger encampment of Captains Guenette and Harlow. As Captain Kirby was dead and O'Neal retired, their fighters had merged with those of the other Captains. As life slowly returned to normal in the northern Shenandoah Valley, these Rangers concerned themselves with sending patrols along the Blue Ridge and thwarting lowland raiders. Swiftly wearing out their welcome in the northern Shenandoah Valley, they now based themselves here within Massanutten's Fort Valley. Apprehended at sunset by new Ranger recruits out on picket who knew not his face or believed it was him, O'Neal not pressing the issue requested to see their captains and was led disarmed into the large encampment.
"Why who is that country squire?" Vanwerden laughed upon seeing O'Neal being led into the captain's camp by two young Rangers. O'Neal snarled at him and demanded to be announced.
"It's alright lads, this is our old friend John O'Neal come to visit." Harlow stated. "Captain John O'Neal?" one of the young Rangers asked in awe.
"Not anymore." Her words slashed the air like a horsewhip. "What brings you here, the little woman up in Front Royal again comforting her ever ailing aunt?" Her icy eyes burned into his. "Were you all lonely at home and decided to come seeking our company, like last spring?"
"If I'm not welcomed here then I'll be sooner on my way?" He growled.
"You're always welcomed here, Johnny." Captain Harlow assured O'Neal and passed him a jug. "How's life been treating you, Johnny?"
"I suppose the way it tends to treat any other man without a home and bound for no particular destination."
"Until it's time to head home and back into the little woman's arms, eh O'Neal?" Captain Guenette mocked.
"I have no woman." O'Neal grunted and took a swig off the jug.
"What about Murlina?" Vanwerden inquired.
"Who?" returned O'Neal while noticing a spark of interest in Black Anne's eyes.
"You know that pretty lass who stole your heart and settled you down." Harlow prodded. "Don't tell me she left you?"
"I left before she could prematurely cash in on me."
"Cash in on you? What about your villa?"
O'Neal took another swig of whisky, looked into the campfire and muttered: "An unattended fire in the heart and in the hearth." Harlow having picked up on O'Neal's play on words, swore and asked: "Damn, Johnny, you torched your home, huh?"
"Well I couldn't see that individual and her secret beau taking up residence there while I live the free life of a rover."
"Ahhh but the fire in one's heart burns brighter and hotter than in one's hearth." Captain Guenette stated. "So another man was stealing her away?"
"Probably more like stolen away before I got up with her again. They were in cahoots together to separate me from my earnings. I suspect it was my money which kept her fellow both comfortable and fashionable."
"Another corn fed sucker." Captain Guenette laughed.
"You find that humorous?" O'Neal growled.
"No I find that as just."
"And why so?"
Black Anne narrowed her eyes at O'Neal and asked: "Now do I really have to give you a detailed explanation?"
Realizing what she was getting at, O'Neal lowered his eyes and somewhat humbled himself. He also knew Anne Guenette could be quite a dangerous adversary if provoked. It was enough having one woman to toss his heart in a shit hole without now having to worry about another lopping his head off. "I guess we all get duped at least a few times in life, O'Neal." She said and then asked: "So what about her man on the side, anyone you know?" O'Neal glanced at the two young Rangers and then at Harlow who sent them back to their post.
"Never met this fellow, but had seen him ride by our home a few times, the first being shortly after we moved in. He is quite a fancy dresser and
was armed. I figured him to be either buying reefer from farmers or else making time with their daughters, sisters or wives while the menfolk toil in the fields. There's a good many of these young lustfully adventurous prancing cavaliers from Front Royal who ride forth during the day and sweep comely farm gals off their feet while risking getting a bullet hole courtesy of some father, brother or sweetheart. For sometime now these scented game roosters have took to arming themselves. One not long ago was caught violating a fourteen year old farm girl by her older brother who managed to get himself ran through and later died. Her father and another brother caught up with this dandy at Karo, put a bullet through both his arms and hung him from the bridge. The one in cahoots with that Brycian strumpet who was taking me for a ride could of been from anywhere, but his blade and shot yearned for my heart. I imagine we will informally meet one day or another. Anyway enough talk of my misfortunes and injustices, it is good to be among Rangers whether you welcome me or not. Just to be free of that particular brand of domestic servitude is good enough even if it means sleeping on pine needles and going without."
"Going without what?" Black Anne mockingly asked.
"A lie to live in for starts." O'Neal returned. "A soft bed to sleep in and a chair on the front porch to watch morning come in the same way every day. Then there's going without the close company of a loving woman."
"A few shiny silver coins in a tavern wench's hand could remedy that." Captain Guenette dryly stated.
"But that is not out of love for a woman, just a man's lust and a whore's vocation. Some of these arrangements last a few minutes behind some tavern while others go on for much longer in more comfortable settings. Just ask Irving, that is if he's still alive."
"That's doubtful and I've wondered if your's and Irving's former courtesan had something to do with his disappearance. Gary Tate told us that Murlina had indeed taken up with a woman whom by description was a Knutesian and together in Lost River Valley they became quite the socialites. They went to a lot of parties and entertained others at the Lost River Inn. When that suspected Knutesian woman and Ranger Goodman were found dead, Murlina was on hand claiming that a visiting villian had killed the pair then rode off into the west." Harlow reminded.
O'Neal scratched his chin and said: "I asked her about what you told me about Goodman and that woman's death along with Irving's disappearance, but she became flustered and didn't want to talk about it." Captain Guenette cast Harlow, North and Vanwerden an odd glance then stated: "Kestrel and Bucksnort both suspected Murlina to be of Knutesian blood. They had a spy watch Murlina and her lady friend carry on at the Lost River Inn lounge. We even sent two Rangers to spy on them after Ranger Benton returned from there, but both of them were found dead and mutilated on a hillside. Quite a coincidence that Murlina was on hand when this stable fight took place and now she is in the company of a dandy bravo who may just be Goodman's killer and behind Irving's disappearance."
"Skulduggery indeed." Vanwerden interjected. "And you burned her house and belongings?"
"And left her without means. As far as the house and belongings were concerned, I paid a fortune for them."
"Burnt y'all's love nest down and left her without a pot to piss in. I think it's safe to assume that means it's over for you two."
"You don't reckon do you?" O'Neal grunted.
"So what's your plans now, Johnny?" Harlow inquired. "There's always a place here with us where ever we may be."
"Not yet." O'Neal said, "There's places I'd like to see."
"Me too." Vanwerden added. "That is if you need a little company and someone watching your back."
"Suit yourself." O'Neal grunted, adding: "I'm thinking about heading southwestward into Tennessee or Kentucky. Hell, I may even go see the Mississippian Sea."
"Kentucky?" Harlow chuckled, "Why Kentucky is overran with brigands and crazy ass Pentecostals."
"I'll probably be gone until early next summer." O'Neal stated while noticing Captain Guenette's sneer. "Oh just go off on vacation for damn near a year while those Knutesian bastards build up another army. There's word that your friend Donald of Craig has been talking about extending Roanoke's holdings to Buena Vista, Lexington, Clifton Forge and Covington."
"Then there will be war, but I doubt if he is foolish enough to attempt such. If he is, then send someone to my mother's people just east of the Cumberland Gap as I'll probably winter with or near them."
"Another thing, Johnny,," Harlow grimly stated: "Donald and his bride who was elevated to Vice Mayor have been heard saying that we Rangers are little more than murderous brigands and we are not welcomed around Roanoke or any communities under his watch. He has accused us of being war criminals."
"Well let Roanoke and Lynchburg patrol the James River and Blue Ridge. Let them contend with the lowlanders." O'Neal growled.
"Ahhh, Lynchburg." Harlow said, "They have all but cut communications with Donald. Their last Falwellian Minister has died and with him that old cult. The people of Lynchburg are ready for a change and their new leaders have established friendly relations with Buena Vista, Lexington, Clifton Forge and even Covington. However, Staunton, Waynesboro and Harrisonburg is in cahoots with Star City. I'd say by next spring things near about are going to get rather interesting."
"All under the direction of Crotalus and his kin. That's why you just can't up and go sightseeing in Kentucky or Tennessee. We need your help, O'Neal." Captain Guenette stated.
Having taken all this in, O'Neal lowered his head and pondered upon options. He loathed the Knutesians as much as the other captains, but did not desire to brook anymore truck with these devils. Then here were his friends here and now they needed him.
"There's one way to defeat those Knutesians and their vassals. Vanwerden and I will raise an army and pick at Knutesia from the south and west. I'll start with my mother's kin near the Cumberland Gap and do some recruiting in the Black Mountain country of eastern Kentucky. There's other Ranger Captains southwest of here who would probably join in with us. From all directions we'll come at them." O'Neal finished with a yawn as he had not slept in awhile.
Excusing himself, O'Neal grabbed his gear and ambled off. Unrolling his blankets under the spreading boughs of an ancient oak, he lay down and looked up through leafy branches at patches of starry sky...
Re: The Mage of Knutesia
Be it at work or during his off time, Donald Craig, Mayor of Roanoke drank. Staff were always on hand to keep his large ornate silver goblet filled with either ale, wine, brandy or whisky. While he blathered away with other drunken courtiers, Lady Katrina saw to regional affairs. Attired in a gold trimmed royal robe and topped off with a glittering jeweled tiara, the new vice mayor rolled her eyes at the drunken buffoonery of her husband and his friends. Raising her wine glass she shouted: "Northward to the James and onward to Lexington!"
"Oh not this shit again." Donald slurred.
"Excuse me! What did you say?" A golden fire played in her amber eyes.
"Look honey, I agreed to place a garrison at Springwood and patrol the James down to Glasgow, but will not make any aggressive moves against our long time friend and ally Lexington. Such an act would,,"
"Start a war?" Katrina interrupted. "Is the mighty Donald afraid of hillbillies? Oh you brag about your days as a Ranger when being such was an honorable profession, but now you're scared to take action against those who have tarnished the Appalachian Ranger's good image by thievery and murder."
"I've given orders that both Captains Harlow and O'Neal be brought in for questioning." Donald returned somewhat annoyed that Katrina was making an issue of this matter again especially at his birthday celebration. He also didn't care for Katrina's cousin Micrurus from Wytheville whom she had elevated to the rank of general which prompted his friend General Steven Morgan, most of his officers and over three thousand Star City Dragoons to resign. They along with their families packed up and migrated northwards. Other dissidents left as well, sometimes from the living. When two chief counselors vanished a month ago, leaving families and belongings behind, Katrina accused them of being lowlifes who abandoned their mayor as well as loved ones to join other traitors swayed by lies. Lady Katrina did not deny accusations of being Kyle and Kathryn's descendant, but would defend her line by saying that history is sometimes written by roguish victors. She would agree with a smile that Conrad Knuteson was a monster, but would claim Crotalus and her family to be noble beings who should not be held at fault because of a distant ancestor's actions.
Half a head taller than Donald, Micrurus was ever at his side seemingly as a counselor and new best friend. Although it was rather warm in Star Hall atop Mill Mountain, Micrurus was attired in a gold embroidered and buttoned black justacorps, well fitting riding breeches and boots. Falling to his broad shoulders was a mane of wavy flame red hair framing a rather strange face. Below two slightly slanted pumpkin orange eyes an upturned broad nostril nose and thin cruel mouth. On his side hung a long broad bladed sword and it was said he could cleave a bull in half with this weapon. The Star City Dragoons both loved and feared their new general. Already he had successfully annexed Bedford and by show of numbers kept agents of Lynchburg interfering with regional affairs not far west beyond their city on the James River. Not only did Micrurus station a large garrison at Springwood, but turned the town into walled fortress. Residents were pressed into civil service and taxes from other towns along that stretch of the James River were extracted to support the garrison. Even the prostitutes of Natural Bridge were expected to provide services for Star City Dragoons at a reduced rate. A good number of these ladies of the evening were leaving Natural Bridge Station and plying their trade up in Buena Vista. Two taverns had also closed down. When Katrina heard of this, she set up her own people in these two establishments and ran a brisk business collecting the pay of off duty dragoons. Of course her liquor and imported pleasure girls were more expensive, but these two commandeered taverns seemingly provided for dragoon comradery and boosted morale. Their haughty sense of revelry spilled over into other establishments and it sometimes turned violent. Micrurus made sure these transgressors were never held responsible for their actions. Such ill news hardly ever reached Donald as he was usually engaged in drinking with sodden courtiers or entertained by Katrina's always handy hand maidens. Although a lecherous drunkard, Donald was content with only being in charge of Roanoke and a peacefully yet privileged lewd life buggering his wife's imported servants with her permission of course. She informed him a noble lord was deserving of such and the usually inebriated Donald had no qualms about it. Already some behind the mayor's back referred to him as King Donald the Drunk. Still he was wise enough not to invade Lexington no matter how much Katrina attempted to persuaded him, but that didn't quell her efforts. He knew such a aggressive move could very well result in a long bloody conflict as Buena Vista, Clifton Forge, Covington and even Lynchburg would become involved. Then there were the Ranger Captains who raised sizable armies and settled scores as they did over a year ago in the northern Shenandoah Valley.
Looking up at the big single white star upon a huge midnight blue banner hanging from the stone wall, Donald felt guilt, but that swiftly subsided with another goblet of brandy and his eyes shifting over to two comely young handmaidens from Wytheville.
Riding away from Massanutten, O'Neal recalled how Anne Gunette's scorn had subsided as he and Vanwerden were departing Seven Fountains that morning. She kissed his cheek and told him to -"Stay safe and stay alive as we shall surely meet again in a good way if you do."
By early afternoon they rode into Luray. For hundreds of years this town had been a popular tourist destination as people from all over came to visit Luray Caverns and the many shops. Riding past these establishments had O'Neal thinking of all the coin he dropped on various gifts and necessities that Murlina desired. Clothing, furnishings, art and jewelry that had either been burnt to ashes or cinders. O'Neal muttered a curse under his breath while passing an extremely expensive restaurant where he spent more money on two dinners than what an average farmer takes in after several harvest seasons. Moose steaks from the extreme northern Appalachians along with shellfish from the northern Mississippian Sea both packed in ice and swiftly shipped southwards. Squinting his grey eyes he recalled the small fortune he spent on wine alone which to him pretty much tasted worse than anything he ever drank. What troubled him the most about that night over six months ago, Murlina wanted them to bed down inside a subterranean suite located in the depths of Luray Caverns. After engaging in lovemaking which O'Neal with a bottle of brandy did his best to hide fears of such a place, Murlina, drunk and blissfully experiencing an afterglow went on about tales she had heard regarding the subterranean wonders of mysterious Knutesia. "Perhaps soon there will be peace with these misunderstood people and one day we can visit their marvelous underground city." At the time he took this to be drunken pillow talk, but in stranger days to come her words had him grimly pondering possibilities. Recalling all of what troubled him about Murlina, O'Neal included Luray.
Stocking up on provisions, he and Vanwerden rode out of town.
A dozen or so candles provided just enough dim light within the spacious barroom of the Cozy Inn for both patrons and staff to carry on as usual. From the kitchen came the aroma of sizzling beef tinging with the smell of liquor and revelers. Unlike upscale taverns in cities like Roanoke, Charlottesville and Front Royal, the Cozy Inn welcomed all with coin to spend be they rogues or royalty. Like other such establishments located at Natural Bridge Station, this was a rather bawdy place. On any given evening one could find either acquire friends or foes among the crowd. Of course there were also prostitutes in their tawdry colorful attire who frequented the Cozy Inn. They were like night flowers blossoming. To John O'Neal it seemed like ages since he sat and drank in such a place, but without Irving or Harlow it did not seem the same. What struck O'Neal odd was the lack of customers and pleasure wenches inside an establishment that to his memory stayed packed with revelers from noon to morning. On this night over half the tables were vacant. Gazing across the barroom, O'Neal watched Vanwerden arranging for the company of two ladies of the evening, one a rather buxom brunette and the other a slender blonde both clad in low cut kirtles with their bosoms pushed up by tightly laced bodices. Vanwerden pointed over at O'Neal who really did not desire the company of a prostitute, but none the less smiled as the three seated themselves at his table. Both women swiftly took to quaffing liquor and jabbering away mostly regarding daily events. They none too happily touched upon Roanoke's possible future annexation of Buchanan, Natural Bridge and Glasgow along with other communities from Purgatory Mountain to Otter Creek. Already Star City Dragoons were commandeering businesses and extracting taxes from others in a manner that smacked of extortion. "There's been a lot of dragoons riding in and out of Natural Bridge Station these days."
No sooner than those words escaped the brunette prostitute's painted lips, tavern doors swung open and in strolled Major Jones and four Star City Dragoons.
"Captain John O'Neal!" Jones shouted over the tavern noise. Approaching the table with his men, Jones said: "Now that I know who you are, I'm here with orders to escort you to Roanoke."
"What the hell for?" O'Neal growled.
"So you can answer some questions."
"Answer to who?"
"Why Mayor Craig of course."
"What kind of questions?"
"That's between you, Mayor Craig and his high council, but as a suspected war criminal, you are to surrender your weapons to me."
"And if I don't care to?" O'Neal inquired while swiftly drawing his pistol and sticking it's muzzle into the Major's torso. "If you leave this place alive, Jones, go back and tell that traitor Donald of Craig I've nothing for him but a hard way to go." With those words, both of Vanwerden's pistols came out as well and were leveled at the for other dragoons. O'Neal added: "Since we've got the drop on your party, there's some questions I would ask you." Jones now with his hands in the air informed him: "There's over a hundred dragoons in Natural Bridge Station."
"That may be, but there's one bullet that's going to tear through your heart, Major Jones. Now speak up! How did you know to find us here on this particular evening?" O'Neal growled while jabbing his pistol muzzle a bit harder into the man's ribs.
"You were spotted in town earlier." Jones nervously replied.
"Well Major, you can go back to Donald and tell him I'll settle any differences we have on a field of honor."
Seeing they were in a precarious spot, both prostitutes slowly rose and made for the doors. With this bit of distraction Jones attempted to back away and draw his pistol, but the one in O'Neal's hand fired first. The major fell back dead onto another table. One dragoon drew his pistol and shot Vanwerden, but before the Ranger slumped over, both of his pistols thundered. One dragoon doubled over in agony, shot in the groin while the other dropped with a bloody hole between his eyes. Whipping out his spadroon, O'Neal growled "Who's next?" As the other two dragoons fumbled with the hilts of their sabres, like two lightning strikes, O'Neal's blade passed through both men's vitals.
Seeing that Vanwerden was dead, O'Neal cursed Donald's name and swore a blood oath to one day contend with Roanoke's mayor personally.Grabbing one of Vanwerden's pistols, he told his old friend goodbye. Snatching up his rifle from where it leaned on the wall, O'Neal quick stepped it out of the tavern. Upon exiting the Cozy Inn, O'Neal spotted a dozen or more mounted dragoons thundering towards him.
"There's been shooting in there and men have been killed." He stated. As all of them dismounted and dashed into the tavern, O'Neal casually climbed into his saddle and trotted off. It wasn't until after O'Neal crossed the bridge did he nudged his mount into a full gallop southwards towards the Blue Ridge. He knew there would be dragoons fanning out in all directions and currycombing all avenues of escape. As he ascended the slopes, O'Neal heard dragoons crossing a shallow rocky stream below and heading up after him. Well familiar with the Blue Ridge, O'Neal felt confident he could give his pursuers the slip and in short time did just in this darkened thickly wooded mountainous terrain. Halting just beyond a sloping meadow's upper edge, O'Neal hid in a thicket as twenty or so dragoons rode into the clearing and halted as well. One of them grunted: "We're bound to ride off a ledge while trying to run down this fucker in the dark. We'll rest here until first light and take up the chase anew." O'Neal with the patience of a wilderness creature silently watched these men dismount, break smaller branches off a dead fallen tree. Soon they had a smoky fire blazing. From his shadowy hiding place, O'Neal watched the dragoons pass around flasks while cursing their luck along with the incident down in Natural Bridge and the man who was now their quarry. One by one, the dragoons fell into slumber and with even their sentry who was sitting on the dead tree now dozed off, O'Neal stealthily led his mount away. If he wanted, O'Neal probably could of cut these men's throats while they slept.
By dawn's first dim light, O'Neal had carefully picked his way up a narrow winding trail and now trotted southwards on the old Blue Ridge Parkway. As a thick fog drifted in and shrouded this ridge top road, John O'Neal raised his eyes and said: "My continued thanks for all such natural conditions bestowed." Now he would travel southwest and muster a force to strike Knutesia along with it's allies. With Guenette and Harlow striking from the east they would tear down their enemies to naught, or die in the attempt. Thinking about Ranger Vanwerden slumped over that table in a spreading pool of blood, O'Neal's eyes welled up with tears. With a low rumbling growl, he repeated his sworn blood oath.
It wasn't even noon yet and already four strangers had visited Still Waters Tavern at Jackson Crossing beside the New River. Upon entering and ordering breakfast, the first two seemed to be a young traveling couple, perhaps down from Radford, Pulaski or even Wytheville. The young dark auburn haired woman clad in quality riding attire was rather comely and well mannered, but her husband or beau came off as a bit of a snob. His ornately worked leather boots, tight black breeches, fine dark blue ruffled shirt and extremely wide brimmed black hat adorned with egret plumes betokened a dandy. On his side hung an ornate small sword and tucked into his sash was a long dragoon pistol. Hawk Engstrom, tavern proprietor and his good friend Gust Hinz caught the scent of perfume from the young man's long wavy strawberry blonde hair. Around midways through their breakfast, the young woman began asking some rather peculiar questions regarding any recent travelers passing through Jackson Crossing. Engstrom informed her that she and her companion were the only travelers he had seen recently. Paying for their breakfast with a scorched silver coin, the two mounted up and rode back over the bridge from which they came.
An hour and a half later another stranger entered Hawk Engstrom's establishment. Over six feet tall and stocky, this fellow had the look of a professional fighting man. With his long sleeve, mid thigh length mail shirt, brace of three pistols, silver inlaid bone handled shashka and poniard all holstered or sheathed on a broad leather belt, he appeared rather intimidating. The long dark scalp lock and gold septum ring hanging down upon the fellow's upper lip added to his fierce appearance. Oddly enough he carried on somewhat cordially and also inquired about any strangers passing through. "I'm attempting to catch up with my good friend John. He's a dark haired fellow, slightly above middle height with grey eyes."
"Ain't seen hide or hair of such a fellow." Engstrom informed him. Wolfing down a huge breakfast of half a dozen eggs, fried potatoes along with smoked ham, the man drained another tankard of ale and left heading back across the bridge as well.
Then the forth stranger ambled in Still Waters Tavern. Giving this fellow the once over, Hawk Engstrom asked: "Is your name John?"
"Who wants to know?" the stranger returned. Having noticed this fellow was also heavily armed, he replied: "Howdy, I'm Hawk Engstrom owner of this tavern. A fellow was in here less than an hour ago asking us if we had seen a man fitting your description whom he called John."
"What did this fellow look like?"
Engstrom described in detail the fighting man in question. The stranger however shook his head and stated: " He ain't looking for me. My name is River, Jim River and I don't know anyone who looks like that."
John O'Neal was going to order breakfast, but instead ordered a cup of whisky, poured it down his gullet and walked out. Although he was now over the border in Galaxia, with such news of armored fighting men asking about him, O'Neal thought it best to be on his way. Stepping outside, he saw the man that Engstrom spoke of.
"I kind of figured you would be heading this way." The large fellow said.
"Do what?" O'Neal grunted, hands resting upon pistol handles.
"The others rode northwards looking for you, but I had an inclination you would show up somewhere in the New River Valley. That's a hundred gold pieces I won't have to share with those fools."
"What in the fuck are you yammering about?" O'Neal growled. "Maybe you need to sober up and go home."
"Oh I know who you are Captain John O'Neal."
"And who the hell are you?"
"The name's Tyler. Tyler the Terrible from War. Perhaps you've heard of me?
"Nope. Damn sure haven't." O'Neal chuckled.
"Oh but I know you Captain. I saw you at the Battle of Mine Spring."
O'Neal chuckled again and said" I don't recollect seeing anyone like you fighting on our side."
"I wasn't." Tyler returned with a smile.
"Then you must of shagged ass away early in the fight."
"What else could I do? I couldn't see dying because that idiotic General Light's blundering."
"Ahhh, a mercenary." O'Neal said. "And now a man hunter."
"We could shoot it out and probably both catch a bullet or handle this business in a more honorable fashion."
"So what do you propose, Tyler the Terrible."
"Blades will suffice." With that Tyler removed his pistols and laid them on the grass. As the warrior raised up he saw that O'Neal had both pistols aimed at his head. "What's to keep me from blowing your brains out, oh terrible one?"
Tyler merely shrugged his mailed shoulders and replied: "Honor."
Placing his pistols, powder horn and shot pouch on a tree stump. Both drawing their blades, the two men stared at each at each other across the ten or so feet betwixt them. Although the large warrior wore a sturdy shirt of mail and carried a heavier blade, O'Neal had been trained in swordplay by Irving, a renown master.
"Let us decide outcomes." he said. At that Tyler laughed and exploded into a savage attack. Barely dodging a murderous swipe of Tyler's shashka, O'Neal did however receive a glancing blow from the warrior's left fist which knock his hat off. Parrying three more terrific strokes, O'Neal got in a lighting quick thrust, but Tyler's swift sidestep kept the narrow blade from passing through his throat. Instead the man hunter caught a cut on his unprotected neck. O'Neal knew this was no novice he fought. His only option was to keep this large warrior on the offensive and wear him down. Tyler slashed and jabbed, but O'Neal either parried or avoided that large curved blade in this dance of death. Occasionally the sharp point of O'Neal's spadroon bit as far as it could through mail links and nicked flesh resulting in several superficial wounds. All Tyler could do was to keep O'Neal's narrow blade from thrusting into his unprotected face, neck and legs.
Now people were gathering around to watch from a safe distance as dueling was somewhat common in the 24th century. What made this particular fight more interesting was these were two strangers going at it. Wagers were placed and some would be regretted. To a few townsfolk, the big armored warrior wielding that large blade seemed a good bet in the beginning. They neither cheered or jeered and the only sounds to be heard were shuffling feet, clangor of steel and hard breaths. Tyler's smirk had turned into a tight lipped grimace and his nostrils flared as he took in air. O'Neal buzzed around him like a deer fly, his spadroon inflicting occasional bites. If this continued, Tyler would be bled dry upon his feet. Falling back, the warrior took in air through his clinched teeth. It was O'Neal's mocking laughter and words -"Perhaps your fellow man hunters were not fools for heading north." that launched Tyler into a fierce attack. Putting everything into a blinding whirlwind assault, he seemed to be pushing O'Neal back. Ducking a decapitating stroke and parrying several more, O'Neal sidestepped then spun around and delivered a rather nasty gash to his opponent's forehead.
Blinded by blood, Tyler backed off and wiped it from his eyes. As O'Neal advanced to finish him off, the warrior swiftly leaped upon his horse and sped off towards the bridge shouting: "Another time, O'Neal!"
"You forgot your pistols, Tyler the terrible!" O'Neal roared rather angered by the man hunter's sudden flight. Stooping down, he picked his hat off the ground.
"Excuse me, did I hear that fellow call you Captain O'Neal?" An elderly man with frizzy white hair and beard asked.
"I don't know, did you?" O'Neal returned as he retrieved his pistols, powder horn and shot bag. The old man held up his hand in a gesture of peace. "I'm Gust Hinz, older brother of Harrier Hinz who is father of Wind Hinz."
"Ahhh, Wind's uncle Gust." O'Neal said, adding: "Wind spoke of you and his late father when we were in the northern Shenandoah Valley last year."
"And he has mentioned you to me Captain O'Neal, always in a good way. Yet there are others who have not."
O'Neal shook the man's hand and chuckled. "Now who on earth would be speaking ill of me?"
"Mostly merchants, agents and diplomats out of Roanoke. They say you executed unarmed officers without a hearing and murdered civilians. Donald of Craig and his court are angered by you and the Ranger's disobedience for attacking the northern Shenandoah."
"Fuck Donald and his court!" O'Neal growled, "I did shoot down General David Light in cold blood after he personally saw to the deaths of four of my best Rangers during a peaceful diplomatic visit. As far as civilians go, we slew Knutesian devils for who they are."
"Knutesians." Gust grunted and spat on the ground. "Well Captain O'Neal I would say you are safe here in Galaxia, but if people are sending bounty hunters after you, then no place is completely safe."
"Any idea who that large fellow I nicked is?"
"He was in my tavern earlier and ate enough breakfast for three men." Hawk Engstrom replied.
"I saw him across the river just after dawn." said a teenage boy.
O'Neal looking down at the ruby like drops of blood upon the ground stated: "He called himself Tyler the Terrible from War."
"That's up in the Brutlands north of Tazewell." Gust informed him. Full of brigands and hired killers. These Brutlanders are extremely warlike. When not feuding against each other, they raid in all directions or else sell their services to the highest bidder. We with the assistance of Captain Irving killed a good many of these Brutlanders and Tazewellians along Hungry Mother Creek above Marion almost thirty years ago."
"You knew Irving?" O'Neal asked.
"Knew?" Gust laughed. "He came from Cove Creek Vale with two hundred Rangers to assist seven hundred of us as we in turn were assisting our Iron Mountain allies who were assisting Marion and surrounding areas where these brigands had targeted. They had been looting and burning farms in the Rich Valley, but one bold bandit leader by the name of Vespa set his sights on Marion. We ambushed them as they came down through the woods along Hungry Mother Creek. We killed several hundred of them and Irving even lopped off that half Knutesian Vespa's left forearm, but still he managed to escape."
"I've heard of this Vespa the Hornet and his murderous son called the Stinger." O'Neal informed them.
"Oh he is a murderous little backstabber." Engstrom said.
"Has anyone ever seen him?" O'Neal inquired to which someone from the throng of onlookers spoke up. "I have and more than likely so have you, Johnny."
A gray wide brimmed hat tipped over the upper half of his face, a tall rangy man clad in a black hunting shirt and buckskin trousers limped forward with walking stick in hand. "He's usually attired in the finery of a dandy and wears a big black hat sporting long white plumes. His wavy light strawberry blonde hair is even more pretty than Jerome of Marlinton's and has shared something in common with you and I."
"I know that voice!" O'Neal growled. The fellow lifted his head revealing an all too familiar face. O'Neal's jaw dropped as if he looked at a ghost.
"I was going to tell you he was here." Gust laughed. O'Neal stood dumbfounded as he had given up on Irving as being dead...
"Oh not this shit again." Donald slurred.
"Excuse me! What did you say?" A golden fire played in her amber eyes.
"Look honey, I agreed to place a garrison at Springwood and patrol the James down to Glasgow, but will not make any aggressive moves against our long time friend and ally Lexington. Such an act would,,"
"Start a war?" Katrina interrupted. "Is the mighty Donald afraid of hillbillies? Oh you brag about your days as a Ranger when being such was an honorable profession, but now you're scared to take action against those who have tarnished the Appalachian Ranger's good image by thievery and murder."
"I've given orders that both Captains Harlow and O'Neal be brought in for questioning." Donald returned somewhat annoyed that Katrina was making an issue of this matter again especially at his birthday celebration. He also didn't care for Katrina's cousin Micrurus from Wytheville whom she had elevated to the rank of general which prompted his friend General Steven Morgan, most of his officers and over three thousand Star City Dragoons to resign. They along with their families packed up and migrated northwards. Other dissidents left as well, sometimes from the living. When two chief counselors vanished a month ago, leaving families and belongings behind, Katrina accused them of being lowlifes who abandoned their mayor as well as loved ones to join other traitors swayed by lies. Lady Katrina did not deny accusations of being Kyle and Kathryn's descendant, but would defend her line by saying that history is sometimes written by roguish victors. She would agree with a smile that Conrad Knuteson was a monster, but would claim Crotalus and her family to be noble beings who should not be held at fault because of a distant ancestor's actions.
Half a head taller than Donald, Micrurus was ever at his side seemingly as a counselor and new best friend. Although it was rather warm in Star Hall atop Mill Mountain, Micrurus was attired in a gold embroidered and buttoned black justacorps, well fitting riding breeches and boots. Falling to his broad shoulders was a mane of wavy flame red hair framing a rather strange face. Below two slightly slanted pumpkin orange eyes an upturned broad nostril nose and thin cruel mouth. On his side hung a long broad bladed sword and it was said he could cleave a bull in half with this weapon. The Star City Dragoons both loved and feared their new general. Already he had successfully annexed Bedford and by show of numbers kept agents of Lynchburg interfering with regional affairs not far west beyond their city on the James River. Not only did Micrurus station a large garrison at Springwood, but turned the town into walled fortress. Residents were pressed into civil service and taxes from other towns along that stretch of the James River were extracted to support the garrison. Even the prostitutes of Natural Bridge were expected to provide services for Star City Dragoons at a reduced rate. A good number of these ladies of the evening were leaving Natural Bridge Station and plying their trade up in Buena Vista. Two taverns had also closed down. When Katrina heard of this, she set up her own people in these two establishments and ran a brisk business collecting the pay of off duty dragoons. Of course her liquor and imported pleasure girls were more expensive, but these two commandeered taverns seemingly provided for dragoon comradery and boosted morale. Their haughty sense of revelry spilled over into other establishments and it sometimes turned violent. Micrurus made sure these transgressors were never held responsible for their actions. Such ill news hardly ever reached Donald as he was usually engaged in drinking with sodden courtiers or entertained by Katrina's always handy hand maidens. Although a lecherous drunkard, Donald was content with only being in charge of Roanoke and a peacefully yet privileged lewd life buggering his wife's imported servants with her permission of course. She informed him a noble lord was deserving of such and the usually inebriated Donald had no qualms about it. Already some behind the mayor's back referred to him as King Donald the Drunk. Still he was wise enough not to invade Lexington no matter how much Katrina attempted to persuaded him, but that didn't quell her efforts. He knew such a aggressive move could very well result in a long bloody conflict as Buena Vista, Clifton Forge, Covington and even Lynchburg would become involved. Then there were the Ranger Captains who raised sizable armies and settled scores as they did over a year ago in the northern Shenandoah Valley.
Looking up at the big single white star upon a huge midnight blue banner hanging from the stone wall, Donald felt guilt, but that swiftly subsided with another goblet of brandy and his eyes shifting over to two comely young handmaidens from Wytheville.
Riding away from Massanutten, O'Neal recalled how Anne Gunette's scorn had subsided as he and Vanwerden were departing Seven Fountains that morning. She kissed his cheek and told him to -"Stay safe and stay alive as we shall surely meet again in a good way if you do."
By early afternoon they rode into Luray. For hundreds of years this town had been a popular tourist destination as people from all over came to visit Luray Caverns and the many shops. Riding past these establishments had O'Neal thinking of all the coin he dropped on various gifts and necessities that Murlina desired. Clothing, furnishings, art and jewelry that had either been burnt to ashes or cinders. O'Neal muttered a curse under his breath while passing an extremely expensive restaurant where he spent more money on two dinners than what an average farmer takes in after several harvest seasons. Moose steaks from the extreme northern Appalachians along with shellfish from the northern Mississippian Sea both packed in ice and swiftly shipped southwards. Squinting his grey eyes he recalled the small fortune he spent on wine alone which to him pretty much tasted worse than anything he ever drank. What troubled him the most about that night over six months ago, Murlina wanted them to bed down inside a subterranean suite located in the depths of Luray Caverns. After engaging in lovemaking which O'Neal with a bottle of brandy did his best to hide fears of such a place, Murlina, drunk and blissfully experiencing an afterglow went on about tales she had heard regarding the subterranean wonders of mysterious Knutesia. "Perhaps soon there will be peace with these misunderstood people and one day we can visit their marvelous underground city." At the time he took this to be drunken pillow talk, but in stranger days to come her words had him grimly pondering possibilities. Recalling all of what troubled him about Murlina, O'Neal included Luray.
Stocking up on provisions, he and Vanwerden rode out of town.
A dozen or so candles provided just enough dim light within the spacious barroom of the Cozy Inn for both patrons and staff to carry on as usual. From the kitchen came the aroma of sizzling beef tinging with the smell of liquor and revelers. Unlike upscale taverns in cities like Roanoke, Charlottesville and Front Royal, the Cozy Inn welcomed all with coin to spend be they rogues or royalty. Like other such establishments located at Natural Bridge Station, this was a rather bawdy place. On any given evening one could find either acquire friends or foes among the crowd. Of course there were also prostitutes in their tawdry colorful attire who frequented the Cozy Inn. They were like night flowers blossoming. To John O'Neal it seemed like ages since he sat and drank in such a place, but without Irving or Harlow it did not seem the same. What struck O'Neal odd was the lack of customers and pleasure wenches inside an establishment that to his memory stayed packed with revelers from noon to morning. On this night over half the tables were vacant. Gazing across the barroom, O'Neal watched Vanwerden arranging for the company of two ladies of the evening, one a rather buxom brunette and the other a slender blonde both clad in low cut kirtles with their bosoms pushed up by tightly laced bodices. Vanwerden pointed over at O'Neal who really did not desire the company of a prostitute, but none the less smiled as the three seated themselves at his table. Both women swiftly took to quaffing liquor and jabbering away mostly regarding daily events. They none too happily touched upon Roanoke's possible future annexation of Buchanan, Natural Bridge and Glasgow along with other communities from Purgatory Mountain to Otter Creek. Already Star City Dragoons were commandeering businesses and extracting taxes from others in a manner that smacked of extortion. "There's been a lot of dragoons riding in and out of Natural Bridge Station these days."
No sooner than those words escaped the brunette prostitute's painted lips, tavern doors swung open and in strolled Major Jones and four Star City Dragoons.
"Captain John O'Neal!" Jones shouted over the tavern noise. Approaching the table with his men, Jones said: "Now that I know who you are, I'm here with orders to escort you to Roanoke."
"What the hell for?" O'Neal growled.
"So you can answer some questions."
"Answer to who?"
"Why Mayor Craig of course."
"What kind of questions?"
"That's between you, Mayor Craig and his high council, but as a suspected war criminal, you are to surrender your weapons to me."
"And if I don't care to?" O'Neal inquired while swiftly drawing his pistol and sticking it's muzzle into the Major's torso. "If you leave this place alive, Jones, go back and tell that traitor Donald of Craig I've nothing for him but a hard way to go." With those words, both of Vanwerden's pistols came out as well and were leveled at the for other dragoons. O'Neal added: "Since we've got the drop on your party, there's some questions I would ask you." Jones now with his hands in the air informed him: "There's over a hundred dragoons in Natural Bridge Station."
"That may be, but there's one bullet that's going to tear through your heart, Major Jones. Now speak up! How did you know to find us here on this particular evening?" O'Neal growled while jabbing his pistol muzzle a bit harder into the man's ribs.
"You were spotted in town earlier." Jones nervously replied.
"Well Major, you can go back to Donald and tell him I'll settle any differences we have on a field of honor."
Seeing they were in a precarious spot, both prostitutes slowly rose and made for the doors. With this bit of distraction Jones attempted to back away and draw his pistol, but the one in O'Neal's hand fired first. The major fell back dead onto another table. One dragoon drew his pistol and shot Vanwerden, but before the Ranger slumped over, both of his pistols thundered. One dragoon doubled over in agony, shot in the groin while the other dropped with a bloody hole between his eyes. Whipping out his spadroon, O'Neal growled "Who's next?" As the other two dragoons fumbled with the hilts of their sabres, like two lightning strikes, O'Neal's blade passed through both men's vitals.
Seeing that Vanwerden was dead, O'Neal cursed Donald's name and swore a blood oath to one day contend with Roanoke's mayor personally.Grabbing one of Vanwerden's pistols, he told his old friend goodbye. Snatching up his rifle from where it leaned on the wall, O'Neal quick stepped it out of the tavern. Upon exiting the Cozy Inn, O'Neal spotted a dozen or more mounted dragoons thundering towards him.
"There's been shooting in there and men have been killed." He stated. As all of them dismounted and dashed into the tavern, O'Neal casually climbed into his saddle and trotted off. It wasn't until after O'Neal crossed the bridge did he nudged his mount into a full gallop southwards towards the Blue Ridge. He knew there would be dragoons fanning out in all directions and currycombing all avenues of escape. As he ascended the slopes, O'Neal heard dragoons crossing a shallow rocky stream below and heading up after him. Well familiar with the Blue Ridge, O'Neal felt confident he could give his pursuers the slip and in short time did just in this darkened thickly wooded mountainous terrain. Halting just beyond a sloping meadow's upper edge, O'Neal hid in a thicket as twenty or so dragoons rode into the clearing and halted as well. One of them grunted: "We're bound to ride off a ledge while trying to run down this fucker in the dark. We'll rest here until first light and take up the chase anew." O'Neal with the patience of a wilderness creature silently watched these men dismount, break smaller branches off a dead fallen tree. Soon they had a smoky fire blazing. From his shadowy hiding place, O'Neal watched the dragoons pass around flasks while cursing their luck along with the incident down in Natural Bridge and the man who was now their quarry. One by one, the dragoons fell into slumber and with even their sentry who was sitting on the dead tree now dozed off, O'Neal stealthily led his mount away. If he wanted, O'Neal probably could of cut these men's throats while they slept.
By dawn's first dim light, O'Neal had carefully picked his way up a narrow winding trail and now trotted southwards on the old Blue Ridge Parkway. As a thick fog drifted in and shrouded this ridge top road, John O'Neal raised his eyes and said: "My continued thanks for all such natural conditions bestowed." Now he would travel southwest and muster a force to strike Knutesia along with it's allies. With Guenette and Harlow striking from the east they would tear down their enemies to naught, or die in the attempt. Thinking about Ranger Vanwerden slumped over that table in a spreading pool of blood, O'Neal's eyes welled up with tears. With a low rumbling growl, he repeated his sworn blood oath.
It wasn't even noon yet and already four strangers had visited Still Waters Tavern at Jackson Crossing beside the New River. Upon entering and ordering breakfast, the first two seemed to be a young traveling couple, perhaps down from Radford, Pulaski or even Wytheville. The young dark auburn haired woman clad in quality riding attire was rather comely and well mannered, but her husband or beau came off as a bit of a snob. His ornately worked leather boots, tight black breeches, fine dark blue ruffled shirt and extremely wide brimmed black hat adorned with egret plumes betokened a dandy. On his side hung an ornate small sword and tucked into his sash was a long dragoon pistol. Hawk Engstrom, tavern proprietor and his good friend Gust Hinz caught the scent of perfume from the young man's long wavy strawberry blonde hair. Around midways through their breakfast, the young woman began asking some rather peculiar questions regarding any recent travelers passing through Jackson Crossing. Engstrom informed her that she and her companion were the only travelers he had seen recently. Paying for their breakfast with a scorched silver coin, the two mounted up and rode back over the bridge from which they came.
An hour and a half later another stranger entered Hawk Engstrom's establishment. Over six feet tall and stocky, this fellow had the look of a professional fighting man. With his long sleeve, mid thigh length mail shirt, brace of three pistols, silver inlaid bone handled shashka and poniard all holstered or sheathed on a broad leather belt, he appeared rather intimidating. The long dark scalp lock and gold septum ring hanging down upon the fellow's upper lip added to his fierce appearance. Oddly enough he carried on somewhat cordially and also inquired about any strangers passing through. "I'm attempting to catch up with my good friend John. He's a dark haired fellow, slightly above middle height with grey eyes."
"Ain't seen hide or hair of such a fellow." Engstrom informed him. Wolfing down a huge breakfast of half a dozen eggs, fried potatoes along with smoked ham, the man drained another tankard of ale and left heading back across the bridge as well.
Then the forth stranger ambled in Still Waters Tavern. Giving this fellow the once over, Hawk Engstrom asked: "Is your name John?"
"Who wants to know?" the stranger returned. Having noticed this fellow was also heavily armed, he replied: "Howdy, I'm Hawk Engstrom owner of this tavern. A fellow was in here less than an hour ago asking us if we had seen a man fitting your description whom he called John."
"What did this fellow look like?"
Engstrom described in detail the fighting man in question. The stranger however shook his head and stated: " He ain't looking for me. My name is River, Jim River and I don't know anyone who looks like that."
John O'Neal was going to order breakfast, but instead ordered a cup of whisky, poured it down his gullet and walked out. Although he was now over the border in Galaxia, with such news of armored fighting men asking about him, O'Neal thought it best to be on his way. Stepping outside, he saw the man that Engstrom spoke of.
"I kind of figured you would be heading this way." The large fellow said.
"Do what?" O'Neal grunted, hands resting upon pistol handles.
"The others rode northwards looking for you, but I had an inclination you would show up somewhere in the New River Valley. That's a hundred gold pieces I won't have to share with those fools."
"What in the fuck are you yammering about?" O'Neal growled. "Maybe you need to sober up and go home."
"Oh I know who you are Captain John O'Neal."
"And who the hell are you?"
"The name's Tyler. Tyler the Terrible from War. Perhaps you've heard of me?
"Nope. Damn sure haven't." O'Neal chuckled.
"Oh but I know you Captain. I saw you at the Battle of Mine Spring."
O'Neal chuckled again and said" I don't recollect seeing anyone like you fighting on our side."
"I wasn't." Tyler returned with a smile.
"Then you must of shagged ass away early in the fight."
"What else could I do? I couldn't see dying because that idiotic General Light's blundering."
"Ahhh, a mercenary." O'Neal said. "And now a man hunter."
"We could shoot it out and probably both catch a bullet or handle this business in a more honorable fashion."
"So what do you propose, Tyler the Terrible."
"Blades will suffice." With that Tyler removed his pistols and laid them on the grass. As the warrior raised up he saw that O'Neal had both pistols aimed at his head. "What's to keep me from blowing your brains out, oh terrible one?"
Tyler merely shrugged his mailed shoulders and replied: "Honor."
Placing his pistols, powder horn and shot pouch on a tree stump. Both drawing their blades, the two men stared at each at each other across the ten or so feet betwixt them. Although the large warrior wore a sturdy shirt of mail and carried a heavier blade, O'Neal had been trained in swordplay by Irving, a renown master.
"Let us decide outcomes." he said. At that Tyler laughed and exploded into a savage attack. Barely dodging a murderous swipe of Tyler's shashka, O'Neal did however receive a glancing blow from the warrior's left fist which knock his hat off. Parrying three more terrific strokes, O'Neal got in a lighting quick thrust, but Tyler's swift sidestep kept the narrow blade from passing through his throat. Instead the man hunter caught a cut on his unprotected neck. O'Neal knew this was no novice he fought. His only option was to keep this large warrior on the offensive and wear him down. Tyler slashed and jabbed, but O'Neal either parried or avoided that large curved blade in this dance of death. Occasionally the sharp point of O'Neal's spadroon bit as far as it could through mail links and nicked flesh resulting in several superficial wounds. All Tyler could do was to keep O'Neal's narrow blade from thrusting into his unprotected face, neck and legs.
Now people were gathering around to watch from a safe distance as dueling was somewhat common in the 24th century. What made this particular fight more interesting was these were two strangers going at it. Wagers were placed and some would be regretted. To a few townsfolk, the big armored warrior wielding that large blade seemed a good bet in the beginning. They neither cheered or jeered and the only sounds to be heard were shuffling feet, clangor of steel and hard breaths. Tyler's smirk had turned into a tight lipped grimace and his nostrils flared as he took in air. O'Neal buzzed around him like a deer fly, his spadroon inflicting occasional bites. If this continued, Tyler would be bled dry upon his feet. Falling back, the warrior took in air through his clinched teeth. It was O'Neal's mocking laughter and words -"Perhaps your fellow man hunters were not fools for heading north." that launched Tyler into a fierce attack. Putting everything into a blinding whirlwind assault, he seemed to be pushing O'Neal back. Ducking a decapitating stroke and parrying several more, O'Neal sidestepped then spun around and delivered a rather nasty gash to his opponent's forehead.
Blinded by blood, Tyler backed off and wiped it from his eyes. As O'Neal advanced to finish him off, the warrior swiftly leaped upon his horse and sped off towards the bridge shouting: "Another time, O'Neal!"
"You forgot your pistols, Tyler the terrible!" O'Neal roared rather angered by the man hunter's sudden flight. Stooping down, he picked his hat off the ground.
"Excuse me, did I hear that fellow call you Captain O'Neal?" An elderly man with frizzy white hair and beard asked.
"I don't know, did you?" O'Neal returned as he retrieved his pistols, powder horn and shot bag. The old man held up his hand in a gesture of peace. "I'm Gust Hinz, older brother of Harrier Hinz who is father of Wind Hinz."
"Ahhh, Wind's uncle Gust." O'Neal said, adding: "Wind spoke of you and his late father when we were in the northern Shenandoah Valley last year."
"And he has mentioned you to me Captain O'Neal, always in a good way. Yet there are others who have not."
O'Neal shook the man's hand and chuckled. "Now who on earth would be speaking ill of me?"
"Mostly merchants, agents and diplomats out of Roanoke. They say you executed unarmed officers without a hearing and murdered civilians. Donald of Craig and his court are angered by you and the Ranger's disobedience for attacking the northern Shenandoah."
"Fuck Donald and his court!" O'Neal growled, "I did shoot down General David Light in cold blood after he personally saw to the deaths of four of my best Rangers during a peaceful diplomatic visit. As far as civilians go, we slew Knutesian devils for who they are."
"Knutesians." Gust grunted and spat on the ground. "Well Captain O'Neal I would say you are safe here in Galaxia, but if people are sending bounty hunters after you, then no place is completely safe."
"Any idea who that large fellow I nicked is?"
"He was in my tavern earlier and ate enough breakfast for three men." Hawk Engstrom replied.
"I saw him across the river just after dawn." said a teenage boy.
O'Neal looking down at the ruby like drops of blood upon the ground stated: "He called himself Tyler the Terrible from War."
"That's up in the Brutlands north of Tazewell." Gust informed him. Full of brigands and hired killers. These Brutlanders are extremely warlike. When not feuding against each other, they raid in all directions or else sell their services to the highest bidder. We with the assistance of Captain Irving killed a good many of these Brutlanders and Tazewellians along Hungry Mother Creek above Marion almost thirty years ago."
"You knew Irving?" O'Neal asked.
"Knew?" Gust laughed. "He came from Cove Creek Vale with two hundred Rangers to assist seven hundred of us as we in turn were assisting our Iron Mountain allies who were assisting Marion and surrounding areas where these brigands had targeted. They had been looting and burning farms in the Rich Valley, but one bold bandit leader by the name of Vespa set his sights on Marion. We ambushed them as they came down through the woods along Hungry Mother Creek. We killed several hundred of them and Irving even lopped off that half Knutesian Vespa's left forearm, but still he managed to escape."
"I've heard of this Vespa the Hornet and his murderous son called the Stinger." O'Neal informed them.
"Oh he is a murderous little backstabber." Engstrom said.
"Has anyone ever seen him?" O'Neal inquired to which someone from the throng of onlookers spoke up. "I have and more than likely so have you, Johnny."
A gray wide brimmed hat tipped over the upper half of his face, a tall rangy man clad in a black hunting shirt and buckskin trousers limped forward with walking stick in hand. "He's usually attired in the finery of a dandy and wears a big black hat sporting long white plumes. His wavy light strawberry blonde hair is even more pretty than Jerome of Marlinton's and has shared something in common with you and I."
"I know that voice!" O'Neal growled. The fellow lifted his head revealing an all too familiar face. O'Neal's jaw dropped as if he looked at a ghost.
"I was going to tell you he was here." Gust laughed. O'Neal stood dumbfounded as he had given up on Irving as being dead...
Re: The Mage of Knutesia
"This is foolish. Let's turn around and ride to Wytheville." Nathaniel Stevenson suggested. The recent turn of events had been rather disappointing. If the box of dirt, rocks and one gold coin wasn't enough, returning to what was left of Murlina's home proved not to be as well. Digging through the ashes, Murlina located blackened shards of a ceramic jug and a pile of scorched coins. Mostly silver, there were also a good amount of gold. These were the coins she filched from O'Neal's pouch while he worked on the grounds, bathed or slept. Some of this money he had freely gave to her. Stashed away inside an old whisky jug, this was her emergency funds. They cleaned these coins as much as possible and Murlina put them in her saddle bag. Spending another night in Dungadin, with brandy and intimate pleasure she convinced him to not give up the chase as O'Neal had vast riches cached away in various locations. Enough money to keep both of them well off for a very long time. After covering miles of mountains, hollows and river valleys without finding hardly a trace of O'Neal, Stevenson's interest in what now seemed wild goose chase was fading. His hat and fine attire powdered with dust from the road, Stevenson stared hard at Murlina. If it hadn't been for what Stevenson now thought to be a lie on her part, he would of been long gone after having spent the night in Pearisburg three days ago. At the Sword and Kilt Inn while he slept, she claimed to of spoke with a man who saw and talked O'Neal not a day earlier. Murlina told Stevenson that from what she had gathered from this fellow, O'Neal was heading to his mother's people near the Cumberland Gap, but Jackson Crossing would be one of the stops.
Murlina was actually going on those stories of places O'Neal told her he would like to visit. Before leaving the Shenandoah Valley, she did however bribed a milkmaid to see if O'Neal was still with his Ranger friends, which he wasn't. The milkmaid did provide some valuable information, O'Neal and another Ranger had ridden south.Tracking him and later learning of what occurred in Natural Bridge Station, O'Neal's trail went cold just outside of the Cozy Inn. Still no matter how far she had to travel or however long it would take, Murlina would have O'Neal's riches before taking his life. Now at the riverside town of Fries, Nathaniel Stevenson suggest they turn back an wait at Wytheville for word of their quarry. "He'll pop up again somewhere along the New River, but in the mean time we can carry on in comfort among our own kind."
"Oh you mean carry on in comfort until my money runs out!" Murlina hissed. "Feel free to abandon me now as I will not give up until all is said and done. But in doing so you break your promise of unending love for me." Tears welled in her lovely eyes extinguishing earlier baleful fires. "Come Nat, let us have refreshment if any good drink can be found here and tonight we'll lodge in Galax where there just may be word of that bastard."
"Why not." Stevenson said, but his heart was not really with this decision. At least he could have his apparel cleaned, enjoy some fine dining, drinking and a good roll in a soft bed with this delusional woman before filching her scorched savings and departing to a more promising location.
Aside from breakfast at the border town of Jackson Crossing, formerly known as Jackson Ferry, Murlina or Stevenson had never been to Galaxia. An area of fields, pastures, meadows, open forest and a good many lofty dark wooded knobs that stretched from the New River northeastward almost to Roanoke's western doorstep. With Galax as it's capitol, Galaxia fared well in agriculture, shepherding, cattle ranching, goat keeping and horse breeding. Over the last two hundred years they bred sturdy mountains ponies that originally came from older stocks. They were widely sought after by people from all over the Appalachians as hunting and fighting mounts. Outside of Galaxia they were known as 'Shit Kickers' as they were often trained to deliver particularly crippling if not deadly kicks with their back hooves to any unwanted company approaching from behind. Pale grey with white spotted legs and head, the Galaxians called them Ghost Ponies for their agility, stealth and speed in wooded mountainous terrain. Murlina marveled at the vast herds of these beautiful animals after crossing the New River at Fries. Stevenson however knew to watch his step around these warlike people. Never had an invading enemy force entered Galaxia and survived. From early childhood both Galaxian men and women were taught to travel the hills, hunt and fight from horseback. Being proficient marksmen, highly skilled lancers and deadly with a sabre, they were fierce in battle. These Galaxians were ten times better at woodland dragooning than Donald's soldiery. Murlina greatly admired the well organized patrol column which passed them just outside Galax. Murlina had a brief fantasy of being married to some young dashing Galaxian commander and perhaps one day a wife of the Grand Marshal. 'What a wealthy realm.Why shouldn't another daughter of the great Crotalus marry well' she silently mused. Riding through the open but guarded gates of Galax, Murlina was joyfully overtaken by the grandeur of this town. Fiddle music filled the air as the town was fraught with taverns and gazebos all filled with revelers. Some sort of celebration was going on, but Murlina had no inkling of the occasion. One handsome officer doffed his hawk feather adorned wide brimmed hat and gave her a sweeping bow. He definitely caught her attention. Noticing this as well, Stevenson prodded Murlina on. "Come let us find suitable accommodations for the night, get cleaned up and have our own little celebration."
"Sounds lovely, Nat, but I'd also like to sample the nightlife especially with this big party going on." As Stevenson slightly sneered at that suggestion, Murlina cast a batting eye glance at the handsome officer.
Over choice cuts of prime beef, baby red potatoes in a cream sauce and particularly fine red wine the couple silently took in the sights and sounds of Greener Pastures Tavern. Seated out in the gazebo they were entertained by master fiddlers. Murlina and Stevenson couldn't help but pick up on some of the conversation and what they heard regarded an upcoming campaign. Stopping a server, she inquired: "Say my good woman, what is all the celebration about?"
Assuming they were eastern Galaxians from perhaps Floyd or else travelers up from the allied town of Mount Airy, the young serving wench laughed: "Why haven't you heard? We are joining with the Appalachian Rangers and other freedom loving hill folk to quash for good the Knutesian devils and their brigand friends."
"Rangers?" Murlina's interest was sparked. "I've heard of these fearless Rangers and their brave captains."
The serving wench poured them another glass of wine and said: "One of their captains is going west tomorrow morning to request help while another, one of the greatest Ranger Captains is here in town. Next Thursday a grand war council will be held here with our good allies in attendance."
"Do tell." Murlina feigned enthusiasm. "Say, who are these noble Ranger Captains?"
"Captain Irving sits with the Grand Marshal in his hall."
"And the brave Ranger riding west?" Murlina asked almost certain of the answer.
"Captain O'Neal. He's also at the Grand Marshal's hall."
"Oh." Murlina returned with a sinister grin."I raise my glass to these brave men."
As the serving wench gleefully skipped away, balefully glowing flames played in Murlina's eyes. "Let's get back to our suite, Nat and get a goodnight's sleep as tomorrow we overtake that swarthy fucker and have him reveal where his loot is hidden."
"And you expect him to just cordially tell you where that is?"
"I'm the daughter of Crotalus, you dolt and my dear sweet departed sister taught me much. In my bag there is a pouch of fine powder and whoever inhales it will be under my powers. All we have to do is present him with a good whiff. That will prove the most challenging."
"Did you hear what that wench said? Irving is here and alive. I could of sworn there was no life in that old buzzard when we dragged him away from Lost River Inn over a year ago." Stevenson stated.
"We'll see to him later." Murlina replied. "For now we should get back to our lodgings before either of those two or both decides on a bit of
sightseeing here in town. Leaving their unfinished meals and wine, they paid their server and got up to leave, but blocking the gazebo gate was the handsome officer Murlina had cut her eyes at earlier.
Obviously a bit intoxicated he bowed again. "My goodness milady, I must confess to have never seen a more beautiful woman here in Galax. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wind Hinz at your service, ma'am."
Seemingly somewhat taken, she managed a blush and returned: "I am Kyla, a student from Blacksburg here doing a report about the magnificent fighting men of Galaxia." Murlina for the first time used the Knutesian name Kitty had given her back in Lost River Valley. Angered by the officer's affectionate greeting and Murlina's batting eyes, Stevenson chimed in. "And I am her fiance, Steven Nathaniel also of Blacksburg."
At that Wind Hinz laughed, drunkenly clasped Stevenson's shoulders and said: "Then you young sir are an extremely lucky man to be engaged to such a beautiful and engaging young lady. I wish you years of happiness together. Say why are you two rushing off?"
Murlina gracefully curtsied and informed Hinz: "We have to go back to Blacksburg early tomorrow, but will return soon to this fascinating land."
Bidding Wind Hinz a good evening, Murlina got herself and Stevenson out of sight just in time as she saw John O'Neal, Irving and another elderly man ambling up the street towards the Greener Pastures' outside dining area. Luckily they made it out unseen with a sizable group of departing revelers. Wind Hinz however took Kyla's batting eyes and long looks as a sign she was not entirely happy with the foppish young man in her company. Putting this lovely lady in the back of his mind for now, Wind raised his tankard and motioned for his uncle Gust, O'Neal and Irving to join him.
Even hours after being in his company, O'Neal was both amazed and overjoyed that his old friend Irving was not only alive, but in the process of planning a defensive strategy as Donald or whoever took charge of Roanoke had already placed troops along the James River from Purgatory Mountain to Otter Creek. Residents were now taxed, expected to provide both labor and fighting men for what the Galaxians had heard Donald's agents refer to as - 'the birth of a new nation'. Irving's own home town of Bedford had been annexed by Roanoke and his wife, the mayor exiled. She and many residents took refuge in Lynchburg, a city whose leaders were not in agreement with Roanoke's mayor whom they now deemed as a tyrant little different from their fanatical Falwellian Minister not long deposed. The new board of Lynchburg supervisors who once had high hopes for Donald, now loathed him. Disturbed by propagandists and wary of spies, all people of Roanoke were banned from Lynchburg be they diplomats, news criers, preachers, merchants, traders or casual visitors. Galaxia had adopted the same policy.
Having spent hours in council with the Galaxian Grand Marshal, Irving and O'Neal finally got out to unwind a bit. After over a year O'Neal was happy to meet up again with Wind Hinz, now a colonel in the Galaxian Cavalry. The four of them sat at the very same table where Lady Murlina of Bryce and her partner Nathaniel Stevenson had shared not ten minutes earlier. A serving wench quickly removed their unfinished plates from the table as soon after Gust, Wind, Irving and O'Neal plopped down. Colonel Hinz requested three more tankards and a large pitcher of strong Galaxian lager drawn from casks kept cool in a spring house. O'Neal found it refreshingly smooth yet heady on this warm late summer evening. He also noticed that although Irving still drank, his old friend did not swill vast quantities of alcoholic beverages in an daily and nightly attempt to pickle himself. The way Irving was now carrying himself reminded O'Neal of the days when he knew this man as a Ranger Captain and mentor.
"Some party, eh Johnny?" Irving asked while filling Gust's and his pipe with Iron Mountain reefer. "You know what they're celebrating?"
"What's that Irv?"
"Why don't you enlighten this Captain of Rangers, Gust?" Irving chuckled. The old Galaxian quaffed deeply, lit his pipe off a candle and said: "We celebrate an upcoming war and it's ensuing glories. We also revel in our appreciation of Donald's sense of humor."
"Sense of humor?" O'Neal grunted.
Colonel Wind Hinz guzzled down his tankard, had a puff off Gust's pipe and stated: "Donald of Craig has requested we provide him cavalry as well as thousands of ponies. In that same written request he insisted we think hard about an alliance with Star City rather than be on the outs. We replied by sending five thousand cavalry, nine hundred dragoons, two hundred Iron Mountain sharpshooters and ten field pieces some thirty miles away from Roanoke near our boundary at Cooper Hill, a fine bit of high ground over looking the road into Galaxia. Donald has yet to make a move. I guess the little holiday towns along the James like Natural Bridge Station and Glasgow provide easier game for one who lacks heart."
"That is because those little holiday towns, their neighbors and my town as well lack fighters. Many of our Rangers and Militiamen are tied up guarding the Blue Ridge against the perpetual threat of lowland raiders if not another massive lowland invasion. If you only knew how many good fighters have been lost up along the Blue Ridge and foothills or defending Charlottesville. True, at least for now, Donald will probably not send an invading force into Galaxia knowing the fighting prowess of your people, but I don't need to remind you, Wind that all of us are up against more than the mayor of Roanoke."
"We are up against what has both bewitched and enslaved him." Gust added. "It has troubled these highlands from Pennsylvania down into Tennessee for almost three hundred years. Now comes a time to begin it's ending and seeing it through."
"We've already begun by defeating Light and Crotalus up in the northern Shenandoah." O'Neal proclaimed.
"An over confident folly on Crotalus' part he will not allow himself again." Irving returned. "He was persuaded by his daughters and other female Knutesian kin to retake and restore Conrad's old homeland to it's former glory. They sweet talked him into being a bit of a sentimental fool. The Morning Star Sisterhood envisioned a new religion that would sweep like wildfire through the Shenandoah Valley and all directions beyond with Berryville as it's spiritual center. Who hasn't encountered the same type of moon bugs in Wytheville, or other towns? These sorceresses have the notion that through their spiritual message, converts would be lining up, and many did, but they had no stomach to shed enough blood to fuel the dark magic necessary to conquer an empire. This time Crotalus will carry in his own unique manner. I think it's safe to assume that Donald is his puppet, but it's Katrina calling the shots in Roanoke. For all we know, Donald of Craig could be doped up, imprisoned, or even dead by now, but one thing is for certain, he has been completely bewitched by the Knutesians. Just as O'Neal and I almost were."
"How could any strong willed fighting man's soul succumb to these devils?" Wind inquired. "Without their potions and powders these so called Knutesian enchantresses slip in some unsuspecting person's food or drink, they draw breath and can die like any other human."
"Not so." Irving returned, puffed on his pipe and added: "In the pre-cataclysmic world, there were evil scientists who tinkered with humanity. Thank goodness almost all of the terrible knowledge of that time has long been forgotten when man became the god he created and what can be seen of his seemingly marvelous inventions are all but buried in the soil, rusting, weed choked and covered with vines. A source of steel when someone wants to forge a plowshare or sword blade. What remains of his magnificent tall towered cities, most sunken in distant seas? Yet one of his most evil creations still exist, the descendants of Kathryn Knuteson's children. Only the ghosts know what those meddlers of humanity did to that woman. I've heard tale that her two daughters still live in the hole of Knutesia and there are enough full blooded offspring to cause good humans trouble for centuries to come unless they're eliminated. I'm thinking if they're still alive, Conrad's two sisters, Kaere and Kate are the real power in Knutesia while Crotalus carries out their wishes."
"I've never seen a full blooded Knutesian, let alone a half breed." Colonel Hinz said, adding: "But I hear their women are extremely beautiful."
"That they are." Irving grimly stated. "As I've said before these full blooded Knutesians begin to slowly stop aging in their early teens and all through maturity appear as if they are young people in their twenties. The males are usually powerful giants and mighty warriors. The women? Enchantingly beautiful and just as powerful. Upon looking at these full, half and quarter bloods there are other differences which sets them apart from the rest of humankind. I've never seen one with normal looking blue, brown, green or grey eyes. Their eyes even in the eighth bloods have at least weird streaks of gold or yellow. The more pure have eyes of fiery gold or yellow. The half breeds, especially the women have light hazel eyes that on occasion change into a fiery gold or amber. In most cases their hair ranges from carrot orange to all shades of auburn and chestnut. Their skin color ranges from almost snow white to golden brown." Wind almost choked on his gulp of lager. "Minutes before you three arrived here, I met a beautiful young woman with dark auburn hair and sort of golden hazel eyes."
"Did she tell you her name?" O'Neal growled.
"Kyla, a student from up in Blacksburg." Wind replied somewhat taken aback by the serious looks on both O'Neal's and Irving's faces.
"Hmmmmm, Kyla did you say now?" Irving asked.
"Said she was heading back to Blacksburg early tomorrow."
O'Neal ordered a mug of whisky from a passing serving wench and although he was almost sure of the answer asked Wind this question: "Was she alone?"
"Why no she wasn't."
"Let me guess." Irving said. "She was in the company of a foppish looking fellow wearing a big black hat with long white egret feathers."
"How in the hell did you know that?"
"Colonel Hinz, I strongly suggest you to have your men be on the lookout for those two." Irving advised him.
"But why?"
"Because you have looked upon the very daughter of Crotalus himself and her murderous part Knutesian lover, Nat the Stinger Stevenson. These are characters you do not want roaming freely through Galax." O'Neal replied.
"They are no doubt looking for you, Johnny." Irving said, adding "Or me as it bugs the shit out of Natty seeing some of his fell work unfinished." Regarding O'Neal with serious eyes Irving suggested: "You should be extremely careful after leaving Galaxia tomorrow morning. Disinheriting Murlina as you did has no doubt made her an extremely scornful creature after she thought to have marked you as her subservient."
Wind was surprised. "She is the Lady Murlina of Bryce I've heard about?"
Having another puff of his pipe and passing it to O'Neal, Irving then spoke. "Upon first meeting Murlina, I suspected she to be part Knutesian. There are many of them. Some, those bastards having been born, raised and living apart from their kin tend to carry on much like anyone else. It was at sometime during our march to the northern Shenandoah, or during her stay at Lost River Inn, another Knutesian made Murlina aware of her heritage. Come to think of it, that strange big cat you shot at on the Jackson over a year ago could have been another Knutesian witch. This were-cat potion they drink is a relatively new creation on their part. Of course a superstitious old codger like me can't rule out black magic and other such aspects of the supernatural. One old legend I've heard regards both Kyle and Kathryn Knuteson being of an ancient line that dates back tens of thousands of years. Other historians with even an inkling of what occurred before the great cataclysm will most likely tell you in a crude manner that things were pretty fucked up by the time that Kyle Knuteson was sworn in as the last president protector of the old United States of America. Like a pair of predatory beasts stalking a weak starving, sick or wounded prey, Kyle and Kathryn were on the scene. Truth be known, it was the great cataclysm that saved humanity from people like Kyle and Kathryn Knuteson, or others like them calling the shots at that time here on mother earth. As for Crotalus, Murlina and almost all of their ilk, they like their for bearers worship gold and the power it allows. We are somewhat beholden to it as well, but hopefully in humankind that will diminish with time. Yet for the Knutesians, gold and power is their driving force. Of course their priests, priestesses, preachers and other such charlatans dupe masses of moon bug followers into a false state of serenity with pretty stories and feigned kindness, others are lured in by Knutesians who play upon their greed for gold, power and glory. The Tazewellians and Brutlanders are perfect examples. Warriors who are beholding to a god of war and conquest, much like those worshiped by the Knutesians themselves." Irving, who was a bit elated from the Iron Mountain weed, chuckled, mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and got back on topic. "Oh yes, Lady Murlina of Bryce. Not yet fully acquainted with her father and family, but from what I've sensed she is an independent spirit out to carve her own realm out of the Appalachians. This is common for the half and quarter breeds being under the impression they can strike out on their own as rulers. By the prodding of their kin it finally sinks in they are like ants, bees or termites, subservient to an all powerful ruler thus becoming even more dangerous." Without a hint of emotion Irving added: "If this Kyla and her friend are spotted, they should be set upon, killed and beheaded. Some of these part Knutesians, especially the half breeds can heal up from wounds that would cripple or kill a normal person. To my knowledge they cannot mend a decapitated head."
"And then there is the possibility that Murlina is in possession of potions." O'Neal added. "I've seen them turn into monstrous cats."
Wind Hinz swore and said: "Well damn, maybe it's a good thing I didn't lay a bit more charm on this Kyla of Blacksburg."
"It caused me to lose over a year of my life." O'Neal stated. At that Colonel Hinz said: "I will send fifty seasoned Galaxian dragoons with you tomorrow morning as an escort. Keep them with you however long they are needed. Seeing another officer at a nearby table, Hinz issued an order to search out and kill these Knutesians who may still be in Galaxia.
With such a swift death sentence issued, Irving glanced at O'Neal who merely shrugged his broad shoulders and dryly said: "One less to be concerned about cutting our throats while we sleep." To him it would be better if someone else took this creature out of the world...
Murlina was actually going on those stories of places O'Neal told her he would like to visit. Before leaving the Shenandoah Valley, she did however bribed a milkmaid to see if O'Neal was still with his Ranger friends, which he wasn't. The milkmaid did provide some valuable information, O'Neal and another Ranger had ridden south.Tracking him and later learning of what occurred in Natural Bridge Station, O'Neal's trail went cold just outside of the Cozy Inn. Still no matter how far she had to travel or however long it would take, Murlina would have O'Neal's riches before taking his life. Now at the riverside town of Fries, Nathaniel Stevenson suggest they turn back an wait at Wytheville for word of their quarry. "He'll pop up again somewhere along the New River, but in the mean time we can carry on in comfort among our own kind."
"Oh you mean carry on in comfort until my money runs out!" Murlina hissed. "Feel free to abandon me now as I will not give up until all is said and done. But in doing so you break your promise of unending love for me." Tears welled in her lovely eyes extinguishing earlier baleful fires. "Come Nat, let us have refreshment if any good drink can be found here and tonight we'll lodge in Galax where there just may be word of that bastard."
"Why not." Stevenson said, but his heart was not really with this decision. At least he could have his apparel cleaned, enjoy some fine dining, drinking and a good roll in a soft bed with this delusional woman before filching her scorched savings and departing to a more promising location.
Aside from breakfast at the border town of Jackson Crossing, formerly known as Jackson Ferry, Murlina or Stevenson had never been to Galaxia. An area of fields, pastures, meadows, open forest and a good many lofty dark wooded knobs that stretched from the New River northeastward almost to Roanoke's western doorstep. With Galax as it's capitol, Galaxia fared well in agriculture, shepherding, cattle ranching, goat keeping and horse breeding. Over the last two hundred years they bred sturdy mountains ponies that originally came from older stocks. They were widely sought after by people from all over the Appalachians as hunting and fighting mounts. Outside of Galaxia they were known as 'Shit Kickers' as they were often trained to deliver particularly crippling if not deadly kicks with their back hooves to any unwanted company approaching from behind. Pale grey with white spotted legs and head, the Galaxians called them Ghost Ponies for their agility, stealth and speed in wooded mountainous terrain. Murlina marveled at the vast herds of these beautiful animals after crossing the New River at Fries. Stevenson however knew to watch his step around these warlike people. Never had an invading enemy force entered Galaxia and survived. From early childhood both Galaxian men and women were taught to travel the hills, hunt and fight from horseback. Being proficient marksmen, highly skilled lancers and deadly with a sabre, they were fierce in battle. These Galaxians were ten times better at woodland dragooning than Donald's soldiery. Murlina greatly admired the well organized patrol column which passed them just outside Galax. Murlina had a brief fantasy of being married to some young dashing Galaxian commander and perhaps one day a wife of the Grand Marshal. 'What a wealthy realm.Why shouldn't another daughter of the great Crotalus marry well' she silently mused. Riding through the open but guarded gates of Galax, Murlina was joyfully overtaken by the grandeur of this town. Fiddle music filled the air as the town was fraught with taverns and gazebos all filled with revelers. Some sort of celebration was going on, but Murlina had no inkling of the occasion. One handsome officer doffed his hawk feather adorned wide brimmed hat and gave her a sweeping bow. He definitely caught her attention. Noticing this as well, Stevenson prodded Murlina on. "Come let us find suitable accommodations for the night, get cleaned up and have our own little celebration."
"Sounds lovely, Nat, but I'd also like to sample the nightlife especially with this big party going on." As Stevenson slightly sneered at that suggestion, Murlina cast a batting eye glance at the handsome officer.
Over choice cuts of prime beef, baby red potatoes in a cream sauce and particularly fine red wine the couple silently took in the sights and sounds of Greener Pastures Tavern. Seated out in the gazebo they were entertained by master fiddlers. Murlina and Stevenson couldn't help but pick up on some of the conversation and what they heard regarded an upcoming campaign. Stopping a server, she inquired: "Say my good woman, what is all the celebration about?"
Assuming they were eastern Galaxians from perhaps Floyd or else travelers up from the allied town of Mount Airy, the young serving wench laughed: "Why haven't you heard? We are joining with the Appalachian Rangers and other freedom loving hill folk to quash for good the Knutesian devils and their brigand friends."
"Rangers?" Murlina's interest was sparked. "I've heard of these fearless Rangers and their brave captains."
The serving wench poured them another glass of wine and said: "One of their captains is going west tomorrow morning to request help while another, one of the greatest Ranger Captains is here in town. Next Thursday a grand war council will be held here with our good allies in attendance."
"Do tell." Murlina feigned enthusiasm. "Say, who are these noble Ranger Captains?"
"Captain Irving sits with the Grand Marshal in his hall."
"And the brave Ranger riding west?" Murlina asked almost certain of the answer.
"Captain O'Neal. He's also at the Grand Marshal's hall."
"Oh." Murlina returned with a sinister grin."I raise my glass to these brave men."
As the serving wench gleefully skipped away, balefully glowing flames played in Murlina's eyes. "Let's get back to our suite, Nat and get a goodnight's sleep as tomorrow we overtake that swarthy fucker and have him reveal where his loot is hidden."
"And you expect him to just cordially tell you where that is?"
"I'm the daughter of Crotalus, you dolt and my dear sweet departed sister taught me much. In my bag there is a pouch of fine powder and whoever inhales it will be under my powers. All we have to do is present him with a good whiff. That will prove the most challenging."
"Did you hear what that wench said? Irving is here and alive. I could of sworn there was no life in that old buzzard when we dragged him away from Lost River Inn over a year ago." Stevenson stated.
"We'll see to him later." Murlina replied. "For now we should get back to our lodgings before either of those two or both decides on a bit of
sightseeing here in town. Leaving their unfinished meals and wine, they paid their server and got up to leave, but blocking the gazebo gate was the handsome officer Murlina had cut her eyes at earlier.
Obviously a bit intoxicated he bowed again. "My goodness milady, I must confess to have never seen a more beautiful woman here in Galax. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Wind Hinz at your service, ma'am."
Seemingly somewhat taken, she managed a blush and returned: "I am Kyla, a student from Blacksburg here doing a report about the magnificent fighting men of Galaxia." Murlina for the first time used the Knutesian name Kitty had given her back in Lost River Valley. Angered by the officer's affectionate greeting and Murlina's batting eyes, Stevenson chimed in. "And I am her fiance, Steven Nathaniel also of Blacksburg."
At that Wind Hinz laughed, drunkenly clasped Stevenson's shoulders and said: "Then you young sir are an extremely lucky man to be engaged to such a beautiful and engaging young lady. I wish you years of happiness together. Say why are you two rushing off?"
Murlina gracefully curtsied and informed Hinz: "We have to go back to Blacksburg early tomorrow, but will return soon to this fascinating land."
Bidding Wind Hinz a good evening, Murlina got herself and Stevenson out of sight just in time as she saw John O'Neal, Irving and another elderly man ambling up the street towards the Greener Pastures' outside dining area. Luckily they made it out unseen with a sizable group of departing revelers. Wind Hinz however took Kyla's batting eyes and long looks as a sign she was not entirely happy with the foppish young man in her company. Putting this lovely lady in the back of his mind for now, Wind raised his tankard and motioned for his uncle Gust, O'Neal and Irving to join him.
Even hours after being in his company, O'Neal was both amazed and overjoyed that his old friend Irving was not only alive, but in the process of planning a defensive strategy as Donald or whoever took charge of Roanoke had already placed troops along the James River from Purgatory Mountain to Otter Creek. Residents were now taxed, expected to provide both labor and fighting men for what the Galaxians had heard Donald's agents refer to as - 'the birth of a new nation'. Irving's own home town of Bedford had been annexed by Roanoke and his wife, the mayor exiled. She and many residents took refuge in Lynchburg, a city whose leaders were not in agreement with Roanoke's mayor whom they now deemed as a tyrant little different from their fanatical Falwellian Minister not long deposed. The new board of Lynchburg supervisors who once had high hopes for Donald, now loathed him. Disturbed by propagandists and wary of spies, all people of Roanoke were banned from Lynchburg be they diplomats, news criers, preachers, merchants, traders or casual visitors. Galaxia had adopted the same policy.
Having spent hours in council with the Galaxian Grand Marshal, Irving and O'Neal finally got out to unwind a bit. After over a year O'Neal was happy to meet up again with Wind Hinz, now a colonel in the Galaxian Cavalry. The four of them sat at the very same table where Lady Murlina of Bryce and her partner Nathaniel Stevenson had shared not ten minutes earlier. A serving wench quickly removed their unfinished plates from the table as soon after Gust, Wind, Irving and O'Neal plopped down. Colonel Hinz requested three more tankards and a large pitcher of strong Galaxian lager drawn from casks kept cool in a spring house. O'Neal found it refreshingly smooth yet heady on this warm late summer evening. He also noticed that although Irving still drank, his old friend did not swill vast quantities of alcoholic beverages in an daily and nightly attempt to pickle himself. The way Irving was now carrying himself reminded O'Neal of the days when he knew this man as a Ranger Captain and mentor.
"Some party, eh Johnny?" Irving asked while filling Gust's and his pipe with Iron Mountain reefer. "You know what they're celebrating?"
"What's that Irv?"
"Why don't you enlighten this Captain of Rangers, Gust?" Irving chuckled. The old Galaxian quaffed deeply, lit his pipe off a candle and said: "We celebrate an upcoming war and it's ensuing glories. We also revel in our appreciation of Donald's sense of humor."
"Sense of humor?" O'Neal grunted.
Colonel Wind Hinz guzzled down his tankard, had a puff off Gust's pipe and stated: "Donald of Craig has requested we provide him cavalry as well as thousands of ponies. In that same written request he insisted we think hard about an alliance with Star City rather than be on the outs. We replied by sending five thousand cavalry, nine hundred dragoons, two hundred Iron Mountain sharpshooters and ten field pieces some thirty miles away from Roanoke near our boundary at Cooper Hill, a fine bit of high ground over looking the road into Galaxia. Donald has yet to make a move. I guess the little holiday towns along the James like Natural Bridge Station and Glasgow provide easier game for one who lacks heart."
"That is because those little holiday towns, their neighbors and my town as well lack fighters. Many of our Rangers and Militiamen are tied up guarding the Blue Ridge against the perpetual threat of lowland raiders if not another massive lowland invasion. If you only knew how many good fighters have been lost up along the Blue Ridge and foothills or defending Charlottesville. True, at least for now, Donald will probably not send an invading force into Galaxia knowing the fighting prowess of your people, but I don't need to remind you, Wind that all of us are up against more than the mayor of Roanoke."
"We are up against what has both bewitched and enslaved him." Gust added. "It has troubled these highlands from Pennsylvania down into Tennessee for almost three hundred years. Now comes a time to begin it's ending and seeing it through."
"We've already begun by defeating Light and Crotalus up in the northern Shenandoah." O'Neal proclaimed.
"An over confident folly on Crotalus' part he will not allow himself again." Irving returned. "He was persuaded by his daughters and other female Knutesian kin to retake and restore Conrad's old homeland to it's former glory. They sweet talked him into being a bit of a sentimental fool. The Morning Star Sisterhood envisioned a new religion that would sweep like wildfire through the Shenandoah Valley and all directions beyond with Berryville as it's spiritual center. Who hasn't encountered the same type of moon bugs in Wytheville, or other towns? These sorceresses have the notion that through their spiritual message, converts would be lining up, and many did, but they had no stomach to shed enough blood to fuel the dark magic necessary to conquer an empire. This time Crotalus will carry in his own unique manner. I think it's safe to assume that Donald is his puppet, but it's Katrina calling the shots in Roanoke. For all we know, Donald of Craig could be doped up, imprisoned, or even dead by now, but one thing is for certain, he has been completely bewitched by the Knutesians. Just as O'Neal and I almost were."
"How could any strong willed fighting man's soul succumb to these devils?" Wind inquired. "Without their potions and powders these so called Knutesian enchantresses slip in some unsuspecting person's food or drink, they draw breath and can die like any other human."
"Not so." Irving returned, puffed on his pipe and added: "In the pre-cataclysmic world, there were evil scientists who tinkered with humanity. Thank goodness almost all of the terrible knowledge of that time has long been forgotten when man became the god he created and what can be seen of his seemingly marvelous inventions are all but buried in the soil, rusting, weed choked and covered with vines. A source of steel when someone wants to forge a plowshare or sword blade. What remains of his magnificent tall towered cities, most sunken in distant seas? Yet one of his most evil creations still exist, the descendants of Kathryn Knuteson's children. Only the ghosts know what those meddlers of humanity did to that woman. I've heard tale that her two daughters still live in the hole of Knutesia and there are enough full blooded offspring to cause good humans trouble for centuries to come unless they're eliminated. I'm thinking if they're still alive, Conrad's two sisters, Kaere and Kate are the real power in Knutesia while Crotalus carries out their wishes."
"I've never seen a full blooded Knutesian, let alone a half breed." Colonel Hinz said, adding: "But I hear their women are extremely beautiful."
"That they are." Irving grimly stated. "As I've said before these full blooded Knutesians begin to slowly stop aging in their early teens and all through maturity appear as if they are young people in their twenties. The males are usually powerful giants and mighty warriors. The women? Enchantingly beautiful and just as powerful. Upon looking at these full, half and quarter bloods there are other differences which sets them apart from the rest of humankind. I've never seen one with normal looking blue, brown, green or grey eyes. Their eyes even in the eighth bloods have at least weird streaks of gold or yellow. The more pure have eyes of fiery gold or yellow. The half breeds, especially the women have light hazel eyes that on occasion change into a fiery gold or amber. In most cases their hair ranges from carrot orange to all shades of auburn and chestnut. Their skin color ranges from almost snow white to golden brown." Wind almost choked on his gulp of lager. "Minutes before you three arrived here, I met a beautiful young woman with dark auburn hair and sort of golden hazel eyes."
"Did she tell you her name?" O'Neal growled.
"Kyla, a student from up in Blacksburg." Wind replied somewhat taken aback by the serious looks on both O'Neal's and Irving's faces.
"Hmmmmm, Kyla did you say now?" Irving asked.
"Said she was heading back to Blacksburg early tomorrow."
O'Neal ordered a mug of whisky from a passing serving wench and although he was almost sure of the answer asked Wind this question: "Was she alone?"
"Why no she wasn't."
"Let me guess." Irving said. "She was in the company of a foppish looking fellow wearing a big black hat with long white egret feathers."
"How in the hell did you know that?"
"Colonel Hinz, I strongly suggest you to have your men be on the lookout for those two." Irving advised him.
"But why?"
"Because you have looked upon the very daughter of Crotalus himself and her murderous part Knutesian lover, Nat the Stinger Stevenson. These are characters you do not want roaming freely through Galax." O'Neal replied.
"They are no doubt looking for you, Johnny." Irving said, adding "Or me as it bugs the shit out of Natty seeing some of his fell work unfinished." Regarding O'Neal with serious eyes Irving suggested: "You should be extremely careful after leaving Galaxia tomorrow morning. Disinheriting Murlina as you did has no doubt made her an extremely scornful creature after she thought to have marked you as her subservient."
Wind was surprised. "She is the Lady Murlina of Bryce I've heard about?"
Having another puff of his pipe and passing it to O'Neal, Irving then spoke. "Upon first meeting Murlina, I suspected she to be part Knutesian. There are many of them. Some, those bastards having been born, raised and living apart from their kin tend to carry on much like anyone else. It was at sometime during our march to the northern Shenandoah, or during her stay at Lost River Inn, another Knutesian made Murlina aware of her heritage. Come to think of it, that strange big cat you shot at on the Jackson over a year ago could have been another Knutesian witch. This were-cat potion they drink is a relatively new creation on their part. Of course a superstitious old codger like me can't rule out black magic and other such aspects of the supernatural. One old legend I've heard regards both Kyle and Kathryn Knuteson being of an ancient line that dates back tens of thousands of years. Other historians with even an inkling of what occurred before the great cataclysm will most likely tell you in a crude manner that things were pretty fucked up by the time that Kyle Knuteson was sworn in as the last president protector of the old United States of America. Like a pair of predatory beasts stalking a weak starving, sick or wounded prey, Kyle and Kathryn were on the scene. Truth be known, it was the great cataclysm that saved humanity from people like Kyle and Kathryn Knuteson, or others like them calling the shots at that time here on mother earth. As for Crotalus, Murlina and almost all of their ilk, they like their for bearers worship gold and the power it allows. We are somewhat beholden to it as well, but hopefully in humankind that will diminish with time. Yet for the Knutesians, gold and power is their driving force. Of course their priests, priestesses, preachers and other such charlatans dupe masses of moon bug followers into a false state of serenity with pretty stories and feigned kindness, others are lured in by Knutesians who play upon their greed for gold, power and glory. The Tazewellians and Brutlanders are perfect examples. Warriors who are beholding to a god of war and conquest, much like those worshiped by the Knutesians themselves." Irving, who was a bit elated from the Iron Mountain weed, chuckled, mumbled something unintelligible under his breath and got back on topic. "Oh yes, Lady Murlina of Bryce. Not yet fully acquainted with her father and family, but from what I've sensed she is an independent spirit out to carve her own realm out of the Appalachians. This is common for the half and quarter breeds being under the impression they can strike out on their own as rulers. By the prodding of their kin it finally sinks in they are like ants, bees or termites, subservient to an all powerful ruler thus becoming even more dangerous." Without a hint of emotion Irving added: "If this Kyla and her friend are spotted, they should be set upon, killed and beheaded. Some of these part Knutesians, especially the half breeds can heal up from wounds that would cripple or kill a normal person. To my knowledge they cannot mend a decapitated head."
"And then there is the possibility that Murlina is in possession of potions." O'Neal added. "I've seen them turn into monstrous cats."
Wind Hinz swore and said: "Well damn, maybe it's a good thing I didn't lay a bit more charm on this Kyla of Blacksburg."
"It caused me to lose over a year of my life." O'Neal stated. At that Colonel Hinz said: "I will send fifty seasoned Galaxian dragoons with you tomorrow morning as an escort. Keep them with you however long they are needed. Seeing another officer at a nearby table, Hinz issued an order to search out and kill these Knutesians who may still be in Galaxia.
With such a swift death sentence issued, Irving glanced at O'Neal who merely shrugged his broad shoulders and dryly said: "One less to be concerned about cutting our throats while we sleep." To him it would be better if someone else took this creature out of the world...
Re: The Mage of Knutesia
"We had two riders trailing behind us, but they've fallen back or moved off out of sight ." Captain Fleet Futrell informed O'Neal after speaking with one of his rearguard. Around the same height as O'Neal, Futrell along with his fifty dragoons was clad much like him as well in a brown hunting frock, buckskin breeches and cowhide boots, but with a grey wide brim hat instead. Held by a copperhead snakeskin hatband were a few hawk feathers. Dark of hair and eyes, his beak-like nose gave him the appearance of a bird of prey. Although rather lean, O'Neal assumed this fellow to be a superb fighting man by the manner in which he carried himself. Like the other dragoons he carried two long barreled pistols, rifle, knife and sabre. The only thing that set him apart from these other Galaxians was the silver hawk captain's pin that held up the right side of his hat brim. Highly polished it's spread wings glittered in the noonday sun. "Two of the rearguard went back to check them out, but they were not to be found."
"Could be anyone." O'Neal grunted. "If if is them, I don't think they're stupid enough to try anything as long as you fellows ride with me."
"We're with the whole way and back if need be." Futrell assured him, but O'Neal said: "Get me through Abingdon then north over Clinch Mountain and after that I can see myself the rest of the way. I'm going to be riding into an area where the residents take none too kindly of large numbers of armed outsiders in their territories."
"But I've been ordered to escort you all the way, Captain O'Neal."
"Have ye now? I tell you what Captain Futrell, carry out that order, but after we cross over Clinch Mountain, send all your men back to Glaxia and you stick with me from there on out. How does that sound to you?"
"I guess it makes sense."
"Damn right it does, especially when we get near the gap and up into the Black Mountains. There's a lot of banditry and feuding where I'm going. Wouldn't be good if we were mistaken as brigands or some feuding clan chief's hired help. At most three of us would draw less attention and appear less threatening, but as I said there are roving bands of brigands so we'll have to be careful. Some of my mother's kin may still live near the Cumberland Gap and hopefully I still have a friend up there in the Black Mountains. These are some extremely proud and clannish folk. It's not a good idea to become surly around them. Even approaching and asking them for armed assistance could put us in danger."
"As this company of fifty two men rode through Abingdon, not a wild dog could be seen as these beasts knew that sometimes large parties of men would come and shoot at them. This ruined town was a popular place for bandits to waylay travelers. A victim's body dragged off the Appalachian Highway onto some crumbling and overgrown town street would soon be fought over by feral dogs. Scary stories of what many people referred to as the town of the dead were sometimes told at night around campfires. It had been said that ghosts of the massacred wail late at night, the time they were all killed by a horde of reavers who long ago swept down from the north. Unless absolutely necessary, people chose not to travel through Abingdon alone or at night.
"Oh shit, look at that!" A young sharp eyed Galaxian shouted as he pointed to a tall half dead roadside oak just as two turkey vultures took flight. Gathering near this tree O'Neal, Futrell and the others saw a human head some ten feet up held fast to the bole by an iron spike. Seeing the discolored face and cloudy dead eyes then catching a good whiff of it on a gentle down draft, O'Neal grunted: "Maybe two days at the most." Although starting to decompose and bug chewed, they could plainly see it was the head of a young man in his twenties with copper colored hair. A distance away from that tree they saw what was left of his body. Scattered bones and shredded clothing. A broad belt, two pistols and sheathed rapier laid with these remains. Looking at the head again, Futrell inquired if this was some sort of warning sign. "Either that or someone showing off." O'Neal replied as he caught the glimmering of metallic green flies crawling upon and hovering around this unfortunate fellow's head. Riding way no one dared to take this dead man's weapons. All breathed a sigh of relief as they finally passed through Abingdon. That evening they made camp beside the Holston River's north fork. Clinch Mountain loomed ahead.
Instead of all of them crossing over Clinch Mountain that next morning, O'Neal suggested at it's southern slope that now would be a good time for the other dragoons to return home. Quite reluctantly they departed from their captain, the young sharp eyed dragoon named Thrust Palmer and John O'Neal. Watching the last of them disappear around a bend, the three men began their ascent upon a broad gravel road. Even though they were about to enter dangerous territory, these men were charged by their anticipation of an adventure. Without a word spoken they rode up a shadowy defile between mountain ridges. Once on the other side they halted for a rest. "Beautiful country." Futrell stated while looking at the rolling wooded hills ahead of them. "Appears not to be a place of danger, but looks can be deceiving. Still I'd feel lot safer having those men we sent back."
O'Neal thought about the short time passed since he torched his home and said: "Beautiful country where we come from, but no less dangerous. We'll make for the town of Dungannon and have better accommodations tonight. If anyone along the way or in Dungannon asks, we're heading west to the Mississippian Sea, that is if you care to respond at all.
After being briefly interviewed by two brawny guards at the gate, Futrell, Palmer and O'Neal were inside Dungannon, a small but lively town. Armed men watched from the twenty foot high stone walls as Tazewellian and Brutland raiders would sometimes trouble this part of the Clinch River Valley. Dungannon was not only a town, but a fort as well manned by a militia. If raiders were approaching people of the outlying farmsteads would seek safe refuge here. Fortified towns such as this proved less a temptation for these brigands than other communities. Here there were townhouses, storehouses, several shops, an open air market, barracks, a couple of taverns and an inn. Being strangers, the townspeople stared at Futrell, Palmer and O'Neal as they rode by. Checking into the Dungannon Inn, O'Neal paid in advance for a sizable suite with four bunk beds in one room and a larger bed in another. A fireplace, large wooden table and two long benches along with some cabinets were included comforts. Windows in the front and back overlooking the inn's two entrances made it even more appealing to O'Neal. "Home for tonight, boys." He chuckled and suggested they go out for dinner and drinks. Across the narrow street from Dungannon Inn was O'Hara's Pub and within minutes they were seated and served some particularly fine ale. "So word is from the gate that you fellows are Galaxians."The rather rotund barkeep stated as he refilled their mugs.
"That's right." O'Neal at least told part of the truth.
"So have y'all ever fought the Tazewellians?"
"A few times, but they no longer trouble Galaxia." Futrell replied.
"So what brings y'all out into these here parts?"
"We're heading west into Kentucky."
Oh adventurous types, eh?"
This time O'Neal replied: "We're going to see the Mississippian Sea."
"Well good luck as from what I've heard it's infested with pirates and slavers."
"Pirates did you say?" Palmer seemed rather interested.
"Hell yeah." the barkeep laughed. "They raid all the way down to Aztlan and beyond."
"Where's Aztlan?" the young dragoon asked.
"Across the sea and down the coast from what I've heard. My uncle visited the Mississippian sea, but the third time out there he never returned. I've heard that travelers are often kidnapped and pressed into service aboard pirate craft." Seeing that other patrons were in need of drink, the barkeep waddled off. "Wonder what this Aztlan is like?" Palmer wanted to know. O'Neal laughed and said: "From what Irving has told me it's an empire to the southwest. They speak a different language there and are not all that friendly to anyone who speaks ours. Do ye have the wanderlust, Thrust?"
"I've always wanted to see the big waters, but with lowlanders along the Atlantic Ocean and those pirates on the Mississippian, the only way to look at the sea it seems is in the company a great army."
"Well lad, we ain't going to the sea, but I guarantee you'll be seeing some sights on this little excursion." O'Neal informed the young dragoon. Just as Palmer's mouth opened to ask another question, the door swung open and in strolled a fellow even shorter in stature than Harlow or any Cacapon O'Neal ever saw. A little less than five feet tall the man was armed with a huge horse pistol and two foot long Appalachian knife."
"Well lookee here, Galaxian pony boys!" He rumbled with a deep voice that did not match his height.
"And who might you be, sirrah?" O'Neal asked while attempting to hold back a smile and perhaps even laughter.
"Why I am Big Joe O'Hara owner of this fine establishment and that quality inn across the street. I'm also militia commander of this valley from here to Clinchport at your service. I appreciate your business and am happy to know your people have fought against a common enemy, that scum out of Tazewell and Brutland." Plopping down beside O'Neal he called for the barkeep. "Hey Horace! Bring us a jug of that good imported New River whisky to make these boys feel right at home."
"I'm Fleet Futrell and these two are Thrust Palmer and,,"
"Thinking fast O'Neal said: "I'm Swoop Drummond."
"Well glad to meet you men. Roving souls are ye?"
"We serve in the Grand Marshal's dragoons, but are presently on a long leave of absence."
"Well it's good when distant allies come visiting. Horace! Where's our drink?" Waddling over to their table, the barkeep set a brown and tan jug down.
Big Joe poured everybody a drink, raised his mug and said: "To your health."
"And yours." Futrell returned.
After a few drinks and a half hour of small talk with Big Joe, he asked: "So is it true that east of here people prepare for war?"
"Where have you heard that, Joe?" O'Neal returned.
"More people pass through Dungannon than one would think. A trader up from Damascus told me the Iron Mountain men and Galaxians have been attending war councils. Word is a force is being mustered to attack dark Knutesia. We here in the Clinch Valley know those devils are in cahoots with our enemies in Tazewell and Brutland. The Rangers up in Big Stone Gap know something about this upcoming action as well, but they're a tight lipped bunch."
"Well all are probably glad to have you defending the Clinch River Valley, Big Joe." Captain Futrell said."
As they drank inside O'Hara's Pub, a young man and women claiming to be newlyweds out on a long honeymoon were allowed inside Dungannon's gates. Going into the inn they requested a master suite, but were told that was already taken so the two opted for a smaller room. They signed in as Mr. and Mrs. Charles Black. The two ordered fried chicken and a bottle of brandy from room service then hung a little DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outer door latch.
"We really should kill him tonight." Nat Stevenson suggested to Murlina who attempted drinking away her concerns about lodging within the walls of another she deemed to be a warlord and his new guest, John O'Neal along with the two Galaxian pony boys. What O'Neal was doing this far west, Murlina had some idea, but not long upon arriving in Dungannon, she felt her following the Ranger captain here was a mistake. "You damn fool!" She hissed, her strangely beautiful eyes now balefully burning. "I wanted to wait on the outskirts of this town of hovels, but no, you just had to have comfortable accommodations. And now you want to prance out into this shit hole and attempt killing John."
"Attempt?" Stevenson chuckled.
"What in the fuck do you think I said?" Murlina snapped off rather loudly. "That's not one of the drunken dueling dandies like the ones you dance with behind bars and brothels! O'Neal has killed many men and would probably make short work of you on your own. I've plans on how to take that asshole out, but not until he reveals his hidden caches of loot. He's going to pay me my due."
"Your due?" Stevenson laughed. "That is his loot." Hearing this Murlina was livid and with an upper backhand stroke, struck Stevenson's hat off his head. "John fucked it all up! We were to be wed next spring and I was going to have him bring all that loot home. With that kind of money he could of risen high in Front Royal society and as a former Ranger may of even became mayor after my uncle retired then move on to secure the whole Shenandoah Valley under our dominion. Somehow that nimrod found about you and went on to fuck me out of my due."
"Oh how booze and anger draws out the truth from you my dear." Stevenson returned with a sneer while retrieving his hat off the floor.
"So you were planning on staying with that beast and orchestrate his rise to power while keeping me on the side as your play pretty. You conniving creature. So what's your ill plans for me if you get his loot?"
Somewhat less interested with Stevenson as a lover, Murlina needed his marksmanship and sword hand. Yet since that short lived relationship with her half sister, Murlina had been steadily changing in both appearance and behavior. Once dark chestnut, her hair had lightened to auburn. Her once lovely hazel eyes were now a pale amber hue and like the rest of Murlina's features, well formed as well as strangely beautiful. The gate guards and inn clerk were very much taken by her unusual beauty. She also felt much more physically fit and was strong enough to back down Stevenson during their drunken lover's spats. "Only good intentions, my betrothed. Come let's drink and have an enjoyable evening in comfort. Why don't you get out of those clothes and have another glass of brandy with me?" Murlina purred as she slipped out of her blouse.
"You mean why don't I get slammed, fuck you and fall asleep so we can get an early start trailing your far wandering fiance until you can find a suitable setting so as to bewitch him into obedience again?"
Advancing towards Stevenson with open arms, she softly said:"Oh you're just stressed out from the road, darling. It's you and only you I,,,"
"Oh please, Murlina!" He hissed while brushing her aside. Turning the huge bottle of brandy up, Stevenson gulped down a fair amount. Now thinking of waylaying O'Neal, making off with the man's traveling money, but minus his former fiance. Although Stevenson found Murlina absolutely beautiful and quite enjoyable in bed, he neither trusted this woman or was fond of her manipulative ways. Tonight he would drink with Murlina and enjoy her intimate company one last time before going to relieve O'Neal of his funds himself. By making off with Murlina's money and pistol while she slept, he could light off after O'Neal in style without having to endure being nitpicked along the way or any ensuing mumbo jumbo she had in store for her former fiance. Stevenson's plan was simple. Either bushwhack these three men on a lonely stretch of road, or kill them as they slept. He figured those two Galaxians would be carrying a tidy sum of traveling funds themselves. Such a small fortune would finance a courtship with some lady of high standing and abundant means perhaps down in Tennessee or the western Carolinas. After he took a few more slugs of brandy, Nathaniel Stevenson had another plan formulated in his knavish mind. He gazed at Murlina who was now pulling off her boots and riding breeches. As she looked up and met his gaze with an obviously feigned, but otherwise titillating wink and batting of her strange eyes, Stevenson well aware of Murlina's Knutesian heritage, witchcraft and strength along with the fact she would be hunting him down for abandoning as well as fucking her over, entertained a malicious thought - 'I'll kill her as she sleeps, after a good hump of course. That will make things much easier for me.'
Doffing his hat, Stevenson had another swig of brandy and began to disrobe.
Having feasted upon lamb served up with corn pudding, O'Neal, Futrell, Palmer and O'Hara continued with their reveling. Although still saddened over his good friend Vanwerden's death, it was rather settling to be sitting at drink with brave fighting men. Somewhat inebriated, O'Hara had invited his night shift barmaid Sandra over to their table. A widow having lost her husband and teenage son during a raid on their farm while she was away visiting a sister, Sandra Wilcox found a good friend in Joe O'Hara who provided her a job as well as an apartment here within the walls of Dungannon. A tall, big boned and rather buxom woman in her forties with sandy blonde hair and freckles, it was evident she was O'Hara's love interest. At first seeing this little man sitting closely beside this large woman, O'Neal had to hold back his mirth as he thought of a deer mouse humping on a groundhog. Once he filled his pipe with excellent Iron Mountain reefer, passed it around and repeated the process three more times, everyone was pleasantly elated. Thrust Palmer, as higher than the rough cut ceiling beams no doubt humored as well by the size difference of these two love birds just came out and said: "I'll bet you two stand out at a dance."
"We don't have much dancing here in this part of the Clinch Valley, lad, but if there was, I'd very much want to stand out in Sandy's arms." O'Hara stated with a smile. Then regarding Palmer with a fierce glint in his eyes, he added: "Believe me, I'm very aware of my size without having anyone to remind me of it."
"My apologies." Palmer offered.
"Appreciated, but not necessary. Since leaving home as a lad younger than you, I've fought marauding brigands, killed to my knowledge fifty four of them and made a small fortune raiding into their territory. Now I'm chief of Dungannon, friend to all friendly folk, present or absent and know the sweet company of this good woman here."
Beaming, Sandy leaned down and planted a kiss on O'Hara's cheek.
O'Neal, rather interested in this man's experiences in an area so near to and long influenced by Knutesia. "Big Joe, how far up into enemy territory did you raid?"
"The first time was twelve years ago when I led one of the companies of volunteers under Ranger Captain Battling Bob McRae from Big Stone Gap. Some eight hundred of us rode up and sacked Richlands, a well off town in western Tazewellia. Then we went on to loot their moon bug communities of Raven and Doran. All in all a pretty nice haul.Aside from my other loot, I made enough coin to stay drunk up in Riverview for a few good months, but only stayed for a night as those Tazewellian devils were as mad as hornets and Lord Hoerniein mounted several large, but unsuccessful counter raids. Five years ago after a several farmsteads were looted and burned I requested Ranger assistance for another raid northwest, but old Battling Bob had since retired and the new captain thought any such offensive to be unwise. So I raised some four hundred men and one crisp Autumn morning during their week long harvest celebration fell upon the rich storehouses and many shops of the brigand stronghold of Claypool Hill. The bulk of Tazewellian fighting men were guarding their eastern boundaries, and the two hundred or so left at Claypool Hill were so besotted some slept through our raid. Taking no casualties, we filled their many wagons and coaches full of loot, then drove them home. A better haul than the first as we were loaded with chests of coin and jewelry, arms and ammunition, horses, livestock, foodstuffs along with a good many wagons filled with barrels of strong drink and hogsheads of fine smoking weed. We cached our loot and waited for reprisal, but it never came. Hoerniein however had every tenth man including the commander of his Claypool Hill garrison beheaded and then turned the town into a fortress placing that freak Lord Vespa in command. Aside from occasional small scale raids, Vespa hasn't dared any big forays down the Clinch River. Instead his is patiently awaiting Hoerniein's death approaching ever so near, brought forth by years of over indulgence. It is said that Hoerniein cannot even mount a horse and no longer leads raids Now he swills booze and sips Knutesian potions while being entertained by young captive girls in his harem. Bloated and diseased, his days are numbered. Hard to say what's going to happen if Vespa claims leadership."
"So you know Captain McRae?" O'Neal inquired with a smile.
"Know him? I fought beside him. It was he who gave me the name Big Joe after I killed a giant of a Brutlander chief outside of Lebanon. Battling Bob has now retired and has taken his place as chieftain of the Black Mountain McRae clan. Of late he and other chieftains have been busy attempting to drive Pentecostals out of the Black Mountains."
"Old Bob has a hatred for the Pentecostals, that's for sure. He called them insane babblers and floppers." O'Neal chuckled.
"So you also know Battling Bob?" O'Hara asked never recalling hearing anything about McRae carrying on with Galaxians.
"Big Joe, keep what I'm about to say at this table." O'Neal requested.
"Surely. Keep what?"
"Swear."
"Alright I'll swear! What?"
"I'm Ranger Captain John O'Neal."
"I've heard of you." Fresh interest widened O'Hara's eyes. "You commanded an army that defeated a Knutesian Mage."
"Co-commanded." O'Neal corrected, adding: "Fighters of many peoples converged on those Knutesian usurpers of the northern Shenandoah Valley, but Crotalus wasn't defeated, we just killed a few of his kin drove him away."
"But we got word that thousands of them were slain in the Shenandoah."
"Aye they were." O'Neal confirmed upon a exhaled stream of pipe smoke, "But I've come to know that members of the Knutesian hierarchy are not defeated until their heads get lopped off and for decorative reasons stuck on a pole, but back to why I'm this far west, me and these two brave Galaxians are requesting pledges of assistance from all who have been troubled by Knutesian prompted injustices or meddling in their affairs. For too long these devils, their offspring and allies have been a blight on all their good neighbors. Crotalus' loss of so many of his house troops and mercenaries in the northern Shenandoah has left him in a somewhat weakened state, but even as we speak that devil is steadily seducing Roanoke's people into becoming a vassals."
"Roanoke has a huge army." O'Hara grimly stated.
"That's true and they have alliances with Staunton, Harrisonburg and other cities, but I've heard that large numbers of Donald of Craig's Star City Dragoons have deserted and left the area. This and the Knutesian expulsion from the northern Shenandoah has caused reluctance in Roanoke's allies which has impeded Crotalus' plan to bring in more territory under his control. Now is the time for all of us to move against Knutesia. Tomorrow I ride for the Black Mountains and request Bob McRae's assistance as he owes me a favor, but will help him fight Pentecostals if need be to free up his fighting men."
"So were talking a big fight?" O'Hara asked in wonderment.
No sooner than that question left Big Joe's lips, an awful roaring and screaming came from the Dungannon Inn. Overturning chairs, men rushed to the door and gazed out. Suddenly the inn's double doors, broke away from their hinges and out charged a strange large cat-like creature that oddly enough carried a travel bag in it's jaws. O'Neal clearly caught the baleful glowing of the creature's eyes as it halted for an instant before bolting away at full speed down the street. As they stood in mute surprise, a bloody guardsman ran up to them reporting that a monster
had just ran over him and another at the gate they were just about to close until morning.
After swiftly questioning the front desk clerk regarding any guests, O'Neal knew full well what he had seen. Entering the room they first noticed large splatters of blood all over the walls and bed. Then O'Neal brought a candle over to a shadowy corner and said: "What's left of Nathaniel the Stinger Stevenson, former beau of my former fiance."
Looking down at the bloody shredded carcass that use to be a living, breathing man, O'Hara stated: "Bet you're glad to have broken off that engagement, eh?"
O'Neal swore under his breath as he noticed that Stevenson's hand still tightly grasped his small sword.
Lady Murlina of Bryce, or rather the creature she had became, moved through woods and across fields with relative ease. On all fours heading
northeastward, she knew it was time for her to give up this pursuit. Instead she would await O'Neal's return to eastern Appalachia. As a daughter of Crotalus, she could count upon her Knutesian kin's support at Wytheville.
From what Murlina and her former beau, Nathaniel Stevenson heard on their journey to Dungannon, an all out assault on Knutesia was in it's initial stages. She could pretty well expect that O'Neal would be back on the New River not far from Wytheville mustering fighters by next May. Murlina in her beast form also thought about sneaking into Galaxia and finishing off Irving once and for all. Half Knutesian, Murlina's lifespan would be much longer than an average human so there was no need to chase O'Neal across dangerous territory thus putting her long life at risk.
With other prospects in mind, she would put O'Neal on her things to do list. The effects of her Knutesian potion were wearing off and soon she would be a lone woman on foot in this hostile region.
Rather weary now in womanly form, she didn't have enough energy to dress herself. Instead Murlina fell into a deep sleep upon a soft mossy section of bank by the Clinch River. In twisted dreams she was Princess Kyla ruling over a huge swath of Appalachia where monuments would be made in her honor. Murlina dreamed that the town Lost River would be her capital and royal residence with John O'Neal by her side as king. Of course she had other dreams of ripping him into bloody ribbons. In a way she had loved Stevenson as well, but thought him a man of limited potential as all he wanted to do was spend her money, have sex and engage in dueling, or pick up a few gold coins for murdering people. Of course being half Knutesian, Murlinia enjoyed a good fight as well as plenty of sexual intimacy, but after Stevenson's treachery, he had to be dealt with in harshest manner. Last night she awoken to him looming over her with a dagger in his hand and instantly knew he was attempting to do. Stevenson told her he had heard a noise at the door and she feigned believing him. The rage boiling inside her was undetectable. Naked, she packed clothes along with other belongings into her travel bag. Murlina told Stevenson she wanted to get an early start and suggested he have a look outside in the hall. No sooner than he exited the room, Murlina reached into her travel bag and pulled out a small jug. Up until now Murlina experimented with small doses of Kitty's potion, but this time instead of little sips, she had herself a gulp. The effects, or rather transformation began as soon as she slipped the jug back into her travel bag. Although not fully transformed when Stevenson ambled back in, she made short work of him, taking not even a scratch from his swiftly drawn small sword. Fully transformed, she took the travel bag in her fanged jaws and fled.
"Ma'am are you alright?" She heard while feeling her shoulder tapped. Opening her eyes Murlina saw the face of a young brown haired man only inches away against a background of leafy tree boughs and shreds of late morning sky. A cane fishing rod was in his hand. Of quick wit, Murlina wrapped her arms around the young man and feigned fear relieved by rescue. A natural born actress she could shed tears at will. "Please don't let them get me."
"Let who get you?" The young man asked while gently peeling her off of him as his eyes feasted upon this extremely beautiful nude woman.
"Brigands." She sobbed. "They came upon us north of Dungannon and killed my cousin Nat. They were taking me to Tazewell, but I escaped and ran along the river all night."
"Brigands from Tazewell did you say? Odd that they would be raiding between Dungannon and Riverview these days, especially with Big Joe O'Hara patrolling that area. We should spread an alarm."
"Oh I'm sure they are long gone by now."
"How can you be sure?" He asked.
"Because they were already being pursued when they came upon us."
"Oh. Well we must go and find your cousin's remains."
"Let me get dressed and gather my wits first."
"Why are you naked in the woods, if you don't mind me asking?"
"The sick bastards had me disrobe and ride naked with them. Once they were in the clear I was to be violated." She replied while rising to her feet. Going into her bag, she pulled out a blouse, breeches, socks and boots. "I'm Ronny, Ronny King." He said. "I was hoping to snag into some smallmouth bass down here."
"Down here from where?" She asked feigning regaining her composure while slowly getting dressed.
"From Saint Paul upriver. Who and where where are you from?"
"How rude of me. In all this excitement, I've forgotten my manners. I'm Kyla Irving from Marion."
"I've been to Marion several times and never saw anyone as pretty as you ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so."
"I'm mostly in school up at Blacksburg." Taking a few steps towards King with naught on but breeches she batted her lovely eyes and asked: "So you really think I'm pretty? That mean cousin Nat of mine who was planning on selling me to some warlord he knows up in Kentucky, kept saying I wasn't worth three copper coins."
"He was planning on selling you?"
"Nat was a mean greedy man. I'm kind of glad he is dead."
"Well I guess there's no reason to retrieve his body then unless you want to." King returned while ogling her soft full bosom.
"I don't know about you Ronny, but I could use a drink. Still half dressed, Murlina pulled out a large flask and small horn cup. "Raspberry brandy. Those damned fools didn't think to take my travel bag. I guess they figured to get it once they were in the clear.
Ogling Murlina's bare breasts, King did not notice her pour a smoky hued liquid from another small flask into the little drinking horn before filling it with brandy."Here my rescuer, drink this down."
A half hour later she was astride King's mare and riding her south across a shallow ford.
Aside from an old crippled cousin and his wife, all of O'Neal's mother's kin had either moved away, or were dead. He thought about crossing through the Cumberland Gap an seeing if any of his kin were in Middlesboro, but turned back. Instead he and his party which now included Big Joe O'Hara rode east to the small farming community of Rose Hill where they would cross over Cumberland Mountain into the Black Mountains.
Between the Cumberland and Powell Rivers was the Black Mountain country, a large swath of lofty dark wooded ridges, knobs, spurs and isolated hollows. This area was well known as being dangerous and outsiders of good sense shunned it. Wild, lawless and fraught with feuding clans, the Black Mountains of Kentucky were sometimes mentioned in tales, song, or poetry. Reduced to abject poverty hundreds of years ago when the last two American presidents cut federal funds to these already impoverished mountain folk, like other hill people they reverted deeper into their ancient Irish and Scottish clannish roots. Once the United States of America ceased to be, like others in Appalachia, these Black Mountain people became more self sufficient. Indomitable, no outside force had ever attempted to raid into the Black Mountains and lived to tell of it. Not much news came out of the Black Mountains as rarely did these people travel outside of their territory and when they did it was to sell their excellent reefer, or to rob an occasional merchant's caravan on the Cumberland River Road. These days such robberies were limited to caravans from out of the Pentecostal town of Pineville further downriver. Here of late unbeknownst to O'Neal, Pineville had been sending supplies and fighting men to assist their Pentecostal friends who still held the town of Harlan. It was a bloody conflict in which men were often fighting their own kinfolk all brought on by a particular faith whose religious leaders had pushed people to the limits of humanity. Entire clans broke away from Christianity all together and as best they could reacquainted themselves with ancient pagan Gaelic deities. Other clans were divided and that brought about some of the most bloodiest, fierce fighting. Wooded mountain slopes, high pastures, small farms, creek bottoms, hollows and roads became battlegrounds. Many a war made widow mournfully wailed. Now only Harlan and two neighboring towns remained as Pentecostal strongholds in the Black Mountains.
As he, Futrell, Palmer and O'Hara rode north on a winding dirt road, O'Neal recalled his vow to assist his old friend Bob McRae defeat the fanatical Pentecostals, but time was short. Donald and his Knutesian princess would be sending armies against Roanoke's neighbors by next summer. O'Neal had the great task of mustering enough fighters to effectively assault Knutesia and it's allies thus drawing Crotalus' attention from Roanoke while Harlow along with others assisted towns like Buena Vista, Lexington, Clifton Forge and Covington as well as the surrounding rural areas. O'Neal also recalled both Irving and the Kestrel speak on how the ruling full blooded Knutesians along with some of their half breed offspring
become extremely sluggish during the hot months of summer, retiring into their cool subterranean city, or if living away set up residence in the nearest cavern. Some even had dwellings built over cold springs in order to beat the heat and shield themselves from bright summer sunlight. This had O'Neal thinking about the time Murlina had them spend a night in Luray Caverns.
With the Knutesian ruling class partially dormant and hiding in their holes, summer would be the perfect time to attack. If opportunity arose, O'Neal would personally crawl into that hole and behead Crotalus. Dark Knutesia, another place outsiders as well as even it's Tazewellian allies shunned.
Along a creek side road O'Neal's party now rode and although they passed several farmsteads, not a person was to be seen.
Kenneth Dean Shipley, other wise known as Minister Shipley or Dean cursed aloud when he saw the meager offerings his collection plates fetched this grey and misty Sunday. A tall portly man with closely cropped dark hair and long beard, he appeared better kept than the rest of his congregation. The only son of a ridge running Pineville preacher, Shipley had moved with his family to Harlan when the resident Pentecostal preacher died after getting bit by three timber rattlers at an evening church service. Five years ago, shortly following the old church outside of town being burned down, Shipley's father had built, a new structure for his flock to worship. Constructed of cut stone and topped with a slate roof, the Joyful Fountain Holiness Church appeared more of a citadel. than place of worship. There were high stone walls, a bell bell tower manned with riflemen and a good number of other well armed clergymen. This church would not be the target of pagan arsonists. Taking stock of his collections including, flour, cornmeal, dried beans, bins of potatoes, wool and whatever valuables or coin these poor people had given, Shipley cursed his lot. He once had dreams of taking his father's place as minister and town leader. Those dreams came true in a most violent manner when his father and some ten armed clergymen were shot off their horses three years ago at Grays Knob. This occurred shortly after a farmer near Cranks Ridge by the name of McKelway was pistol whipped to death for refusing to contribute. If people didn't come into Harlan for Sunday services, then the minister would pay them a weekday visit, preach a quick sermon and afterwards, his armed clergymen would collect money or goods, sometimes at gunpoint. Even as Ed McKelway died, his available fellow clansmen rallied and came at these Pentecostals who fled. On the road by Grays Knob, the McKelways overtook Shipley's father and avenged Ed's murder. Shipley blamed his father's death on Bob McRae who had returned from Big Stone Gap and began stirring up anger against the church. McRae's sister Mary had come across an almost four hundred year old book about Celtic beliefs and being one of the few Black Mountain people who could read, went on to turn people away from Joyful Fountain Church whom they saw as overbearing. Black Mountain people, especially the women whom the church had more or less deemed subservient baby producing domestic slaves, embraced these old Celtic beliefs. Needless to say Sunday service attendance at the elder Shipley's dropped considerably. As Mary McRae plainly put it - "We no longer attend that church and should no longer have to support it." Some clansmen as well as women took up arms and kept the elder Shipley along with his clergy off their off their lands,the McKelways however had not long quit going to church and seemed fair game. No sooner than Ed was buried an all out feud commenced. Shipley formed a his congregational army and fortified Harlan. While the Black Mountain country's rugged interior became a pagan land, from Harlan to Pineville, the narrow Cumberland River Valley remained in Pentecostal hands. Raids and counter raids were common place. Although having a larger fighting force,
Shipley's congregational fighters had given considerable ground and were finding themselves becoming more on the offensive. Embittered, as he once had aspirations of marching into Middlesboro and making it his holy capital, Shipley cursed McRae's name then set about formulating a new offensive strategy. Leaving his church's storehouse, he entered the spring house. Closing the door behind him, Shipley fell to his knees with hands clasped. "Oh Jesus my king, please forgive me for what I'm about to do, but oh lord it's the only way I can see you, oh lord." Rising to his feet, Shipley opened up then reached into a barrel and pulled out a large ceramic jug. Pulling the cork, he proceeded to swig moonshine.
Within an hour Minister Kenneth Dean Shipley was extremely intoxicated from the large amount of strong liquor he consumed in such a short time, but that wasn't enough. He continued drinking. While he swilled moonshine, his eyes focused upon a corner illuminated by the lantern light. Shipley gazed into wavering cobwebs and in that light they appeared as delicate glowing gold strands. In the shadows they cast he saw or imagined a face with slanted eyes and thin mouth.
"Lord is that you?" He slurred, his wide unblinking bloodshot eyes stilled fixed upon that corner.
"Dean, I'm your daddy speaking to you from the great beyond."
"Daddy!",
"Dean, god and I want you to defeat those satanist pagan heathens, but you can't. Surrender Harlan to them and return to Pineville."
Shipley's mouth flew open in disbelief. "No!" Rising to his feet, he glared at the corner. "You ain't my daddy and if you are, you're in hell serving Satan! God wants me to drive the heathens away and build a kingdom in honor of his glory. I will be his sword to smite heathens where ever they be. Away with you, messenger of the devil!" At that he hurled his candle lantern at the corner.
Now standing in darkness he issued a scream of anger, turned, flung open the door and staggered out.
Coming around a bend, O'Neal, Futrell, Palmer and O'Hara found themselves looking at sizable fields of tall reefer growing on each side of the road. The air in this large level clearing was fraught with the pungent scent of extremely potent weed. Although not quite yet ready for harvest, O'Neal was tempted to clip off a few buds, but thought better of it. Taller than corn, thick and leafy this field of reefer would be a dangerous place for outsiders to be riding through as at anytime they could be bushwhacked. Reefer raiding was not unheard of in the Appalachians and thieves could be shot just like as if they were attempting to make away with horses, cattle or any other livestock. Quite mesmerized by all this reefer, Big Joe said: "Hopefully we are destine to become friends with whoever is growing this beautiful bounty."
It was then they heard the unmistakable sound of triggers being cocked behind them.
"Don't turn around and I sincerely suggest reaching for the sky, that is if y'all want to see another sunset!" It was a woman's voice. "Who are you and what's your business on McKelway land? I'll have no lies!"
With a gun at one's back, O'Neal knew that an exceptional lie or honest answer could quell hostilities. He chose the latter. "Howdy. I'm John O'Neal up here looking for an old friend."
"John O'Neal? There are no O'Neals here in the Black Mountains. Just who is this old friend you're looking for, stranger"
"Bob McRae of Kildav." O'Neal replied. Hearing footfalls coming up beside them, O'Neal's party turned in their saddles and saw a woman along with four young men, two of them in their teens all armed with long rifles as well as big cane knifes. The woman, probably in her forties was buxom and of good features. Two beautiful, yet serious grayish green eyes complemented a comely well tanned face framed by long thick tawny hair streaked with gold. Barefooted, she was clad in a thin vivid green waistcoat and knee length dark green breeches.
"You and your friends here are not associated with those O'Dells outside of Harlan, are you John O'Neal? She inquired, rifle at ready.
"I know no O'Dells and have never been anywhere near Harlan, ma'am."
"Where do you know Bob McRae from?"
"I knew him as a Ranger Captain and fought by his side east of here in the Clinch River Valley some eight years ago when the Mayor of Kingsport attempted to expand his domain."
Her eyes widened. "Wait! Don't tell me! You are Captain O'Neal?"
"I'm O'Neal."
Lowering her rifle the woman smiled and informed him: "Old Bob has spoken of you. Forgive me for not figuring that out sooner, but it's been right crazy up here at Black Mountain lately, plus too be honest, my sons and nephews here just got through sampling this year's crop when we heard y'all riding up."
"Can we put our hands down now, ma'am? O'Hara asked, adding: "I'm Joe O'Hara, a friend of Battling Bob McRae as well."
"Oh mercy me!" the woman gleefully exclaimed, "Two legends in one day! Big Joe O'Hara! Old Bob has spoken kindly of you too."
Sliding off his horse, O'Neal approached the woman. "Well welcome to McKelway farms, I'm Josephine McKelway, but you can call me Jo." Stepping in she wrapped her arms around O'Neal and embraced him tightly. Perhaps it was the blissful scenery or the fact O'Neal had not been with a woman for some time, but feeling her pressed tightly against him was quite arousing. Releasing O'Neal, Jo took a step back and smiled at him. Not really knowing why, O'Neal extended an arm and took a golden lock of her hair in his hand. Rubbing it in his fingers, he returned Jo's smile. The soft warmth of Jo's body as well as her presence brightened up this long journey. It seemed he looked into those lovely grayish green eyes for a happy eternity however this enchantment was interrupted.
"Speaking of sampling the crop, t'would be nice if some weary travelers were offered a pipe full or so." O'Hara hinted. At that O'Neal laughed and said: "Indeed." then introduced his party. "You've already met Big Joe. These two other fellows are fighting men out of Galaxia and good friends of mine. This here is Captain Fleet Futrell and Dragoon Thrust Palmer."
"Well howdy boys." She greeted then invited them to sit down and have a smoke.
"Rest for awhile, then I'll take y'all over the ridge and into Evarts where a big council is being held. That's where you'll find Old Bob." Getting a small fire going on the road, Josephine's eldest son filled up a rather large pipe and offered it to Big Joe. Drawing in the pungent smoke, O'Hara passed it to Jo who was sitting very close next to O'Neal. During the course of their conversation they learned that Josephine was the widow of Ed McKelway.
"I'm truly sorry for you and your boys' loss, Jo." O'Neal said offering belated condolences.
"Ed was a good hard working husband and father. I've accepted his death and know it sparked off better days to come now that we have those fanatics on the defensive. Tell me fellows, did you come up here to give Old Bob a hand and if so, why didn't y'all bring more men?" At that Futrell shot O'Neal a look. "We could of brought more and it need be could send for more, but know Roanoke is under Knutesian sway and could strike out at any of it's neighbors at any given time."
"Knutesia? I've heard Old Bob speak of the Knutesians and their wicked ways." Jo stated as they lounged in the shade of tall reefer plants...
"Could be anyone." O'Neal grunted. "If if is them, I don't think they're stupid enough to try anything as long as you fellows ride with me."
"We're with the whole way and back if need be." Futrell assured him, but O'Neal said: "Get me through Abingdon then north over Clinch Mountain and after that I can see myself the rest of the way. I'm going to be riding into an area where the residents take none too kindly of large numbers of armed outsiders in their territories."
"But I've been ordered to escort you all the way, Captain O'Neal."
"Have ye now? I tell you what Captain Futrell, carry out that order, but after we cross over Clinch Mountain, send all your men back to Glaxia and you stick with me from there on out. How does that sound to you?"
"I guess it makes sense."
"Damn right it does, especially when we get near the gap and up into the Black Mountains. There's a lot of banditry and feuding where I'm going. Wouldn't be good if we were mistaken as brigands or some feuding clan chief's hired help. At most three of us would draw less attention and appear less threatening, but as I said there are roving bands of brigands so we'll have to be careful. Some of my mother's kin may still live near the Cumberland Gap and hopefully I still have a friend up there in the Black Mountains. These are some extremely proud and clannish folk. It's not a good idea to become surly around them. Even approaching and asking them for armed assistance could put us in danger."
"As this company of fifty two men rode through Abingdon, not a wild dog could be seen as these beasts knew that sometimes large parties of men would come and shoot at them. This ruined town was a popular place for bandits to waylay travelers. A victim's body dragged off the Appalachian Highway onto some crumbling and overgrown town street would soon be fought over by feral dogs. Scary stories of what many people referred to as the town of the dead were sometimes told at night around campfires. It had been said that ghosts of the massacred wail late at night, the time they were all killed by a horde of reavers who long ago swept down from the north. Unless absolutely necessary, people chose not to travel through Abingdon alone or at night.
"Oh shit, look at that!" A young sharp eyed Galaxian shouted as he pointed to a tall half dead roadside oak just as two turkey vultures took flight. Gathering near this tree O'Neal, Futrell and the others saw a human head some ten feet up held fast to the bole by an iron spike. Seeing the discolored face and cloudy dead eyes then catching a good whiff of it on a gentle down draft, O'Neal grunted: "Maybe two days at the most." Although starting to decompose and bug chewed, they could plainly see it was the head of a young man in his twenties with copper colored hair. A distance away from that tree they saw what was left of his body. Scattered bones and shredded clothing. A broad belt, two pistols and sheathed rapier laid with these remains. Looking at the head again, Futrell inquired if this was some sort of warning sign. "Either that or someone showing off." O'Neal replied as he caught the glimmering of metallic green flies crawling upon and hovering around this unfortunate fellow's head. Riding way no one dared to take this dead man's weapons. All breathed a sigh of relief as they finally passed through Abingdon. That evening they made camp beside the Holston River's north fork. Clinch Mountain loomed ahead.
Instead of all of them crossing over Clinch Mountain that next morning, O'Neal suggested at it's southern slope that now would be a good time for the other dragoons to return home. Quite reluctantly they departed from their captain, the young sharp eyed dragoon named Thrust Palmer and John O'Neal. Watching the last of them disappear around a bend, the three men began their ascent upon a broad gravel road. Even though they were about to enter dangerous territory, these men were charged by their anticipation of an adventure. Without a word spoken they rode up a shadowy defile between mountain ridges. Once on the other side they halted for a rest. "Beautiful country." Futrell stated while looking at the rolling wooded hills ahead of them. "Appears not to be a place of danger, but looks can be deceiving. Still I'd feel lot safer having those men we sent back."
O'Neal thought about the short time passed since he torched his home and said: "Beautiful country where we come from, but no less dangerous. We'll make for the town of Dungannon and have better accommodations tonight. If anyone along the way or in Dungannon asks, we're heading west to the Mississippian Sea, that is if you care to respond at all.
After being briefly interviewed by two brawny guards at the gate, Futrell, Palmer and O'Neal were inside Dungannon, a small but lively town. Armed men watched from the twenty foot high stone walls as Tazewellian and Brutland raiders would sometimes trouble this part of the Clinch River Valley. Dungannon was not only a town, but a fort as well manned by a militia. If raiders were approaching people of the outlying farmsteads would seek safe refuge here. Fortified towns such as this proved less a temptation for these brigands than other communities. Here there were townhouses, storehouses, several shops, an open air market, barracks, a couple of taverns and an inn. Being strangers, the townspeople stared at Futrell, Palmer and O'Neal as they rode by. Checking into the Dungannon Inn, O'Neal paid in advance for a sizable suite with four bunk beds in one room and a larger bed in another. A fireplace, large wooden table and two long benches along with some cabinets were included comforts. Windows in the front and back overlooking the inn's two entrances made it even more appealing to O'Neal. "Home for tonight, boys." He chuckled and suggested they go out for dinner and drinks. Across the narrow street from Dungannon Inn was O'Hara's Pub and within minutes they were seated and served some particularly fine ale. "So word is from the gate that you fellows are Galaxians."The rather rotund barkeep stated as he refilled their mugs.
"That's right." O'Neal at least told part of the truth.
"So have y'all ever fought the Tazewellians?"
"A few times, but they no longer trouble Galaxia." Futrell replied.
"So what brings y'all out into these here parts?"
"We're heading west into Kentucky."
Oh adventurous types, eh?"
This time O'Neal replied: "We're going to see the Mississippian Sea."
"Well good luck as from what I've heard it's infested with pirates and slavers."
"Pirates did you say?" Palmer seemed rather interested.
"Hell yeah." the barkeep laughed. "They raid all the way down to Aztlan and beyond."
"Where's Aztlan?" the young dragoon asked.
"Across the sea and down the coast from what I've heard. My uncle visited the Mississippian sea, but the third time out there he never returned. I've heard that travelers are often kidnapped and pressed into service aboard pirate craft." Seeing that other patrons were in need of drink, the barkeep waddled off. "Wonder what this Aztlan is like?" Palmer wanted to know. O'Neal laughed and said: "From what Irving has told me it's an empire to the southwest. They speak a different language there and are not all that friendly to anyone who speaks ours. Do ye have the wanderlust, Thrust?"
"I've always wanted to see the big waters, but with lowlanders along the Atlantic Ocean and those pirates on the Mississippian, the only way to look at the sea it seems is in the company a great army."
"Well lad, we ain't going to the sea, but I guarantee you'll be seeing some sights on this little excursion." O'Neal informed the young dragoon. Just as Palmer's mouth opened to ask another question, the door swung open and in strolled a fellow even shorter in stature than Harlow or any Cacapon O'Neal ever saw. A little less than five feet tall the man was armed with a huge horse pistol and two foot long Appalachian knife."
"Well lookee here, Galaxian pony boys!" He rumbled with a deep voice that did not match his height.
"And who might you be, sirrah?" O'Neal asked while attempting to hold back a smile and perhaps even laughter.
"Why I am Big Joe O'Hara owner of this fine establishment and that quality inn across the street. I'm also militia commander of this valley from here to Clinchport at your service. I appreciate your business and am happy to know your people have fought against a common enemy, that scum out of Tazewell and Brutland." Plopping down beside O'Neal he called for the barkeep. "Hey Horace! Bring us a jug of that good imported New River whisky to make these boys feel right at home."
"I'm Fleet Futrell and these two are Thrust Palmer and,,"
"Thinking fast O'Neal said: "I'm Swoop Drummond."
"Well glad to meet you men. Roving souls are ye?"
"We serve in the Grand Marshal's dragoons, but are presently on a long leave of absence."
"Well it's good when distant allies come visiting. Horace! Where's our drink?" Waddling over to their table, the barkeep set a brown and tan jug down.
Big Joe poured everybody a drink, raised his mug and said: "To your health."
"And yours." Futrell returned.
After a few drinks and a half hour of small talk with Big Joe, he asked: "So is it true that east of here people prepare for war?"
"Where have you heard that, Joe?" O'Neal returned.
"More people pass through Dungannon than one would think. A trader up from Damascus told me the Iron Mountain men and Galaxians have been attending war councils. Word is a force is being mustered to attack dark Knutesia. We here in the Clinch Valley know those devils are in cahoots with our enemies in Tazewell and Brutland. The Rangers up in Big Stone Gap know something about this upcoming action as well, but they're a tight lipped bunch."
"Well all are probably glad to have you defending the Clinch River Valley, Big Joe." Captain Futrell said."
As they drank inside O'Hara's Pub, a young man and women claiming to be newlyweds out on a long honeymoon were allowed inside Dungannon's gates. Going into the inn they requested a master suite, but were told that was already taken so the two opted for a smaller room. They signed in as Mr. and Mrs. Charles Black. The two ordered fried chicken and a bottle of brandy from room service then hung a little DO NOT DISTURB sign on the outer door latch.
"We really should kill him tonight." Nat Stevenson suggested to Murlina who attempted drinking away her concerns about lodging within the walls of another she deemed to be a warlord and his new guest, John O'Neal along with the two Galaxian pony boys. What O'Neal was doing this far west, Murlina had some idea, but not long upon arriving in Dungannon, she felt her following the Ranger captain here was a mistake. "You damn fool!" She hissed, her strangely beautiful eyes now balefully burning. "I wanted to wait on the outskirts of this town of hovels, but no, you just had to have comfortable accommodations. And now you want to prance out into this shit hole and attempt killing John."
"Attempt?" Stevenson chuckled.
"What in the fuck do you think I said?" Murlina snapped off rather loudly. "That's not one of the drunken dueling dandies like the ones you dance with behind bars and brothels! O'Neal has killed many men and would probably make short work of you on your own. I've plans on how to take that asshole out, but not until he reveals his hidden caches of loot. He's going to pay me my due."
"Your due?" Stevenson laughed. "That is his loot." Hearing this Murlina was livid and with an upper backhand stroke, struck Stevenson's hat off his head. "John fucked it all up! We were to be wed next spring and I was going to have him bring all that loot home. With that kind of money he could of risen high in Front Royal society and as a former Ranger may of even became mayor after my uncle retired then move on to secure the whole Shenandoah Valley under our dominion. Somehow that nimrod found about you and went on to fuck me out of my due."
"Oh how booze and anger draws out the truth from you my dear." Stevenson returned with a sneer while retrieving his hat off the floor.
"So you were planning on staying with that beast and orchestrate his rise to power while keeping me on the side as your play pretty. You conniving creature. So what's your ill plans for me if you get his loot?"
Somewhat less interested with Stevenson as a lover, Murlina needed his marksmanship and sword hand. Yet since that short lived relationship with her half sister, Murlina had been steadily changing in both appearance and behavior. Once dark chestnut, her hair had lightened to auburn. Her once lovely hazel eyes were now a pale amber hue and like the rest of Murlina's features, well formed as well as strangely beautiful. The gate guards and inn clerk were very much taken by her unusual beauty. She also felt much more physically fit and was strong enough to back down Stevenson during their drunken lover's spats. "Only good intentions, my betrothed. Come let's drink and have an enjoyable evening in comfort. Why don't you get out of those clothes and have another glass of brandy with me?" Murlina purred as she slipped out of her blouse.
"You mean why don't I get slammed, fuck you and fall asleep so we can get an early start trailing your far wandering fiance until you can find a suitable setting so as to bewitch him into obedience again?"
Advancing towards Stevenson with open arms, she softly said:"Oh you're just stressed out from the road, darling. It's you and only you I,,,"
"Oh please, Murlina!" He hissed while brushing her aside. Turning the huge bottle of brandy up, Stevenson gulped down a fair amount. Now thinking of waylaying O'Neal, making off with the man's traveling money, but minus his former fiance. Although Stevenson found Murlina absolutely beautiful and quite enjoyable in bed, he neither trusted this woman or was fond of her manipulative ways. Tonight he would drink with Murlina and enjoy her intimate company one last time before going to relieve O'Neal of his funds himself. By making off with Murlina's money and pistol while she slept, he could light off after O'Neal in style without having to endure being nitpicked along the way or any ensuing mumbo jumbo she had in store for her former fiance. Stevenson's plan was simple. Either bushwhack these three men on a lonely stretch of road, or kill them as they slept. He figured those two Galaxians would be carrying a tidy sum of traveling funds themselves. Such a small fortune would finance a courtship with some lady of high standing and abundant means perhaps down in Tennessee or the western Carolinas. After he took a few more slugs of brandy, Nathaniel Stevenson had another plan formulated in his knavish mind. He gazed at Murlina who was now pulling off her boots and riding breeches. As she looked up and met his gaze with an obviously feigned, but otherwise titillating wink and batting of her strange eyes, Stevenson well aware of Murlina's Knutesian heritage, witchcraft and strength along with the fact she would be hunting him down for abandoning as well as fucking her over, entertained a malicious thought - 'I'll kill her as she sleeps, after a good hump of course. That will make things much easier for me.'
Doffing his hat, Stevenson had another swig of brandy and began to disrobe.
Having feasted upon lamb served up with corn pudding, O'Neal, Futrell, Palmer and O'Hara continued with their reveling. Although still saddened over his good friend Vanwerden's death, it was rather settling to be sitting at drink with brave fighting men. Somewhat inebriated, O'Hara had invited his night shift barmaid Sandra over to their table. A widow having lost her husband and teenage son during a raid on their farm while she was away visiting a sister, Sandra Wilcox found a good friend in Joe O'Hara who provided her a job as well as an apartment here within the walls of Dungannon. A tall, big boned and rather buxom woman in her forties with sandy blonde hair and freckles, it was evident she was O'Hara's love interest. At first seeing this little man sitting closely beside this large woman, O'Neal had to hold back his mirth as he thought of a deer mouse humping on a groundhog. Once he filled his pipe with excellent Iron Mountain reefer, passed it around and repeated the process three more times, everyone was pleasantly elated. Thrust Palmer, as higher than the rough cut ceiling beams no doubt humored as well by the size difference of these two love birds just came out and said: "I'll bet you two stand out at a dance."
"We don't have much dancing here in this part of the Clinch Valley, lad, but if there was, I'd very much want to stand out in Sandy's arms." O'Hara stated with a smile. Then regarding Palmer with a fierce glint in his eyes, he added: "Believe me, I'm very aware of my size without having anyone to remind me of it."
"My apologies." Palmer offered.
"Appreciated, but not necessary. Since leaving home as a lad younger than you, I've fought marauding brigands, killed to my knowledge fifty four of them and made a small fortune raiding into their territory. Now I'm chief of Dungannon, friend to all friendly folk, present or absent and know the sweet company of this good woman here."
Beaming, Sandy leaned down and planted a kiss on O'Hara's cheek.
O'Neal, rather interested in this man's experiences in an area so near to and long influenced by Knutesia. "Big Joe, how far up into enemy territory did you raid?"
"The first time was twelve years ago when I led one of the companies of volunteers under Ranger Captain Battling Bob McRae from Big Stone Gap. Some eight hundred of us rode up and sacked Richlands, a well off town in western Tazewellia. Then we went on to loot their moon bug communities of Raven and Doran. All in all a pretty nice haul.Aside from my other loot, I made enough coin to stay drunk up in Riverview for a few good months, but only stayed for a night as those Tazewellian devils were as mad as hornets and Lord Hoerniein mounted several large, but unsuccessful counter raids. Five years ago after a several farmsteads were looted and burned I requested Ranger assistance for another raid northwest, but old Battling Bob had since retired and the new captain thought any such offensive to be unwise. So I raised some four hundred men and one crisp Autumn morning during their week long harvest celebration fell upon the rich storehouses and many shops of the brigand stronghold of Claypool Hill. The bulk of Tazewellian fighting men were guarding their eastern boundaries, and the two hundred or so left at Claypool Hill were so besotted some slept through our raid. Taking no casualties, we filled their many wagons and coaches full of loot, then drove them home. A better haul than the first as we were loaded with chests of coin and jewelry, arms and ammunition, horses, livestock, foodstuffs along with a good many wagons filled with barrels of strong drink and hogsheads of fine smoking weed. We cached our loot and waited for reprisal, but it never came. Hoerniein however had every tenth man including the commander of his Claypool Hill garrison beheaded and then turned the town into a fortress placing that freak Lord Vespa in command. Aside from occasional small scale raids, Vespa hasn't dared any big forays down the Clinch River. Instead his is patiently awaiting Hoerniein's death approaching ever so near, brought forth by years of over indulgence. It is said that Hoerniein cannot even mount a horse and no longer leads raids Now he swills booze and sips Knutesian potions while being entertained by young captive girls in his harem. Bloated and diseased, his days are numbered. Hard to say what's going to happen if Vespa claims leadership."
"So you know Captain McRae?" O'Neal inquired with a smile.
"Know him? I fought beside him. It was he who gave me the name Big Joe after I killed a giant of a Brutlander chief outside of Lebanon. Battling Bob has now retired and has taken his place as chieftain of the Black Mountain McRae clan. Of late he and other chieftains have been busy attempting to drive Pentecostals out of the Black Mountains."
"Old Bob has a hatred for the Pentecostals, that's for sure. He called them insane babblers and floppers." O'Neal chuckled.
"So you also know Battling Bob?" O'Hara asked never recalling hearing anything about McRae carrying on with Galaxians.
"Big Joe, keep what I'm about to say at this table." O'Neal requested.
"Surely. Keep what?"
"Swear."
"Alright I'll swear! What?"
"I'm Ranger Captain John O'Neal."
"I've heard of you." Fresh interest widened O'Hara's eyes. "You commanded an army that defeated a Knutesian Mage."
"Co-commanded." O'Neal corrected, adding: "Fighters of many peoples converged on those Knutesian usurpers of the northern Shenandoah Valley, but Crotalus wasn't defeated, we just killed a few of his kin drove him away."
"But we got word that thousands of them were slain in the Shenandoah."
"Aye they were." O'Neal confirmed upon a exhaled stream of pipe smoke, "But I've come to know that members of the Knutesian hierarchy are not defeated until their heads get lopped off and for decorative reasons stuck on a pole, but back to why I'm this far west, me and these two brave Galaxians are requesting pledges of assistance from all who have been troubled by Knutesian prompted injustices or meddling in their affairs. For too long these devils, their offspring and allies have been a blight on all their good neighbors. Crotalus' loss of so many of his house troops and mercenaries in the northern Shenandoah has left him in a somewhat weakened state, but even as we speak that devil is steadily seducing Roanoke's people into becoming a vassals."
"Roanoke has a huge army." O'Hara grimly stated.
"That's true and they have alliances with Staunton, Harrisonburg and other cities, but I've heard that large numbers of Donald of Craig's Star City Dragoons have deserted and left the area. This and the Knutesian expulsion from the northern Shenandoah has caused reluctance in Roanoke's allies which has impeded Crotalus' plan to bring in more territory under his control. Now is the time for all of us to move against Knutesia. Tomorrow I ride for the Black Mountains and request Bob McRae's assistance as he owes me a favor, but will help him fight Pentecostals if need be to free up his fighting men."
"So were talking a big fight?" O'Hara asked in wonderment.
No sooner than that question left Big Joe's lips, an awful roaring and screaming came from the Dungannon Inn. Overturning chairs, men rushed to the door and gazed out. Suddenly the inn's double doors, broke away from their hinges and out charged a strange large cat-like creature that oddly enough carried a travel bag in it's jaws. O'Neal clearly caught the baleful glowing of the creature's eyes as it halted for an instant before bolting away at full speed down the street. As they stood in mute surprise, a bloody guardsman ran up to them reporting that a monster
had just ran over him and another at the gate they were just about to close until morning.
After swiftly questioning the front desk clerk regarding any guests, O'Neal knew full well what he had seen. Entering the room they first noticed large splatters of blood all over the walls and bed. Then O'Neal brought a candle over to a shadowy corner and said: "What's left of Nathaniel the Stinger Stevenson, former beau of my former fiance."
Looking down at the bloody shredded carcass that use to be a living, breathing man, O'Hara stated: "Bet you're glad to have broken off that engagement, eh?"
O'Neal swore under his breath as he noticed that Stevenson's hand still tightly grasped his small sword.
Lady Murlina of Bryce, or rather the creature she had became, moved through woods and across fields with relative ease. On all fours heading
northeastward, she knew it was time for her to give up this pursuit. Instead she would await O'Neal's return to eastern Appalachia. As a daughter of Crotalus, she could count upon her Knutesian kin's support at Wytheville.
From what Murlina and her former beau, Nathaniel Stevenson heard on their journey to Dungannon, an all out assault on Knutesia was in it's initial stages. She could pretty well expect that O'Neal would be back on the New River not far from Wytheville mustering fighters by next May. Murlina in her beast form also thought about sneaking into Galaxia and finishing off Irving once and for all. Half Knutesian, Murlina's lifespan would be much longer than an average human so there was no need to chase O'Neal across dangerous territory thus putting her long life at risk.
With other prospects in mind, she would put O'Neal on her things to do list. The effects of her Knutesian potion were wearing off and soon she would be a lone woman on foot in this hostile region.
Rather weary now in womanly form, she didn't have enough energy to dress herself. Instead Murlina fell into a deep sleep upon a soft mossy section of bank by the Clinch River. In twisted dreams she was Princess Kyla ruling over a huge swath of Appalachia where monuments would be made in her honor. Murlina dreamed that the town Lost River would be her capital and royal residence with John O'Neal by her side as king. Of course she had other dreams of ripping him into bloody ribbons. In a way she had loved Stevenson as well, but thought him a man of limited potential as all he wanted to do was spend her money, have sex and engage in dueling, or pick up a few gold coins for murdering people. Of course being half Knutesian, Murlinia enjoyed a good fight as well as plenty of sexual intimacy, but after Stevenson's treachery, he had to be dealt with in harshest manner. Last night she awoken to him looming over her with a dagger in his hand and instantly knew he was attempting to do. Stevenson told her he had heard a noise at the door and she feigned believing him. The rage boiling inside her was undetectable. Naked, she packed clothes along with other belongings into her travel bag. Murlina told Stevenson she wanted to get an early start and suggested he have a look outside in the hall. No sooner than he exited the room, Murlina reached into her travel bag and pulled out a small jug. Up until now Murlina experimented with small doses of Kitty's potion, but this time instead of little sips, she had herself a gulp. The effects, or rather transformation began as soon as she slipped the jug back into her travel bag. Although not fully transformed when Stevenson ambled back in, she made short work of him, taking not even a scratch from his swiftly drawn small sword. Fully transformed, she took the travel bag in her fanged jaws and fled.
"Ma'am are you alright?" She heard while feeling her shoulder tapped. Opening her eyes Murlina saw the face of a young brown haired man only inches away against a background of leafy tree boughs and shreds of late morning sky. A cane fishing rod was in his hand. Of quick wit, Murlina wrapped her arms around the young man and feigned fear relieved by rescue. A natural born actress she could shed tears at will. "Please don't let them get me."
"Let who get you?" The young man asked while gently peeling her off of him as his eyes feasted upon this extremely beautiful nude woman.
"Brigands." She sobbed. "They came upon us north of Dungannon and killed my cousin Nat. They were taking me to Tazewell, but I escaped and ran along the river all night."
"Brigands from Tazewell did you say? Odd that they would be raiding between Dungannon and Riverview these days, especially with Big Joe O'Hara patrolling that area. We should spread an alarm."
"Oh I'm sure they are long gone by now."
"How can you be sure?" He asked.
"Because they were already being pursued when they came upon us."
"Oh. Well we must go and find your cousin's remains."
"Let me get dressed and gather my wits first."
"Why are you naked in the woods, if you don't mind me asking?"
"The sick bastards had me disrobe and ride naked with them. Once they were in the clear I was to be violated." She replied while rising to her feet. Going into her bag, she pulled out a blouse, breeches, socks and boots. "I'm Ronny, Ronny King." He said. "I was hoping to snag into some smallmouth bass down here."
"Down here from where?" She asked feigning regaining her composure while slowly getting dressed.
"From Saint Paul upriver. Who and where where are you from?"
"How rude of me. In all this excitement, I've forgotten my manners. I'm Kyla Irving from Marion."
"I've been to Marion several times and never saw anyone as pretty as you ma'am, if you don't mind me saying so."
"I'm mostly in school up at Blacksburg." Taking a few steps towards King with naught on but breeches she batted her lovely eyes and asked: "So you really think I'm pretty? That mean cousin Nat of mine who was planning on selling me to some warlord he knows up in Kentucky, kept saying I wasn't worth three copper coins."
"He was planning on selling you?"
"Nat was a mean greedy man. I'm kind of glad he is dead."
"Well I guess there's no reason to retrieve his body then unless you want to." King returned while ogling her soft full bosom.
"I don't know about you Ronny, but I could use a drink. Still half dressed, Murlina pulled out a large flask and small horn cup. "Raspberry brandy. Those damned fools didn't think to take my travel bag. I guess they figured to get it once they were in the clear.
Ogling Murlina's bare breasts, King did not notice her pour a smoky hued liquid from another small flask into the little drinking horn before filling it with brandy."Here my rescuer, drink this down."
A half hour later she was astride King's mare and riding her south across a shallow ford.
Aside from an old crippled cousin and his wife, all of O'Neal's mother's kin had either moved away, or were dead. He thought about crossing through the Cumberland Gap an seeing if any of his kin were in Middlesboro, but turned back. Instead he and his party which now included Big Joe O'Hara rode east to the small farming community of Rose Hill where they would cross over Cumberland Mountain into the Black Mountains.
Between the Cumberland and Powell Rivers was the Black Mountain country, a large swath of lofty dark wooded ridges, knobs, spurs and isolated hollows. This area was well known as being dangerous and outsiders of good sense shunned it. Wild, lawless and fraught with feuding clans, the Black Mountains of Kentucky were sometimes mentioned in tales, song, or poetry. Reduced to abject poverty hundreds of years ago when the last two American presidents cut federal funds to these already impoverished mountain folk, like other hill people they reverted deeper into their ancient Irish and Scottish clannish roots. Once the United States of America ceased to be, like others in Appalachia, these Black Mountain people became more self sufficient. Indomitable, no outside force had ever attempted to raid into the Black Mountains and lived to tell of it. Not much news came out of the Black Mountains as rarely did these people travel outside of their territory and when they did it was to sell their excellent reefer, or to rob an occasional merchant's caravan on the Cumberland River Road. These days such robberies were limited to caravans from out of the Pentecostal town of Pineville further downriver. Here of late unbeknownst to O'Neal, Pineville had been sending supplies and fighting men to assist their Pentecostal friends who still held the town of Harlan. It was a bloody conflict in which men were often fighting their own kinfolk all brought on by a particular faith whose religious leaders had pushed people to the limits of humanity. Entire clans broke away from Christianity all together and as best they could reacquainted themselves with ancient pagan Gaelic deities. Other clans were divided and that brought about some of the most bloodiest, fierce fighting. Wooded mountain slopes, high pastures, small farms, creek bottoms, hollows and roads became battlegrounds. Many a war made widow mournfully wailed. Now only Harlan and two neighboring towns remained as Pentecostal strongholds in the Black Mountains.
As he, Futrell, Palmer and O'Hara rode north on a winding dirt road, O'Neal recalled his vow to assist his old friend Bob McRae defeat the fanatical Pentecostals, but time was short. Donald and his Knutesian princess would be sending armies against Roanoke's neighbors by next summer. O'Neal had the great task of mustering enough fighters to effectively assault Knutesia and it's allies thus drawing Crotalus' attention from Roanoke while Harlow along with others assisted towns like Buena Vista, Lexington, Clifton Forge and Covington as well as the surrounding rural areas. O'Neal also recalled both Irving and the Kestrel speak on how the ruling full blooded Knutesians along with some of their half breed offspring
become extremely sluggish during the hot months of summer, retiring into their cool subterranean city, or if living away set up residence in the nearest cavern. Some even had dwellings built over cold springs in order to beat the heat and shield themselves from bright summer sunlight. This had O'Neal thinking about the time Murlina had them spend a night in Luray Caverns.
With the Knutesian ruling class partially dormant and hiding in their holes, summer would be the perfect time to attack. If opportunity arose, O'Neal would personally crawl into that hole and behead Crotalus. Dark Knutesia, another place outsiders as well as even it's Tazewellian allies shunned.
Along a creek side road O'Neal's party now rode and although they passed several farmsteads, not a person was to be seen.
Kenneth Dean Shipley, other wise known as Minister Shipley or Dean cursed aloud when he saw the meager offerings his collection plates fetched this grey and misty Sunday. A tall portly man with closely cropped dark hair and long beard, he appeared better kept than the rest of his congregation. The only son of a ridge running Pineville preacher, Shipley had moved with his family to Harlan when the resident Pentecostal preacher died after getting bit by three timber rattlers at an evening church service. Five years ago, shortly following the old church outside of town being burned down, Shipley's father had built, a new structure for his flock to worship. Constructed of cut stone and topped with a slate roof, the Joyful Fountain Holiness Church appeared more of a citadel. than place of worship. There were high stone walls, a bell bell tower manned with riflemen and a good number of other well armed clergymen. This church would not be the target of pagan arsonists. Taking stock of his collections including, flour, cornmeal, dried beans, bins of potatoes, wool and whatever valuables or coin these poor people had given, Shipley cursed his lot. He once had dreams of taking his father's place as minister and town leader. Those dreams came true in a most violent manner when his father and some ten armed clergymen were shot off their horses three years ago at Grays Knob. This occurred shortly after a farmer near Cranks Ridge by the name of McKelway was pistol whipped to death for refusing to contribute. If people didn't come into Harlan for Sunday services, then the minister would pay them a weekday visit, preach a quick sermon and afterwards, his armed clergymen would collect money or goods, sometimes at gunpoint. Even as Ed McKelway died, his available fellow clansmen rallied and came at these Pentecostals who fled. On the road by Grays Knob, the McKelways overtook Shipley's father and avenged Ed's murder. Shipley blamed his father's death on Bob McRae who had returned from Big Stone Gap and began stirring up anger against the church. McRae's sister Mary had come across an almost four hundred year old book about Celtic beliefs and being one of the few Black Mountain people who could read, went on to turn people away from Joyful Fountain Church whom they saw as overbearing. Black Mountain people, especially the women whom the church had more or less deemed subservient baby producing domestic slaves, embraced these old Celtic beliefs. Needless to say Sunday service attendance at the elder Shipley's dropped considerably. As Mary McRae plainly put it - "We no longer attend that church and should no longer have to support it." Some clansmen as well as women took up arms and kept the elder Shipley along with his clergy off their off their lands,the McKelways however had not long quit going to church and seemed fair game. No sooner than Ed was buried an all out feud commenced. Shipley formed a his congregational army and fortified Harlan. While the Black Mountain country's rugged interior became a pagan land, from Harlan to Pineville, the narrow Cumberland River Valley remained in Pentecostal hands. Raids and counter raids were common place. Although having a larger fighting force,
Shipley's congregational fighters had given considerable ground and were finding themselves becoming more on the offensive. Embittered, as he once had aspirations of marching into Middlesboro and making it his holy capital, Shipley cursed McRae's name then set about formulating a new offensive strategy. Leaving his church's storehouse, he entered the spring house. Closing the door behind him, Shipley fell to his knees with hands clasped. "Oh Jesus my king, please forgive me for what I'm about to do, but oh lord it's the only way I can see you, oh lord." Rising to his feet, Shipley opened up then reached into a barrel and pulled out a large ceramic jug. Pulling the cork, he proceeded to swig moonshine.
Within an hour Minister Kenneth Dean Shipley was extremely intoxicated from the large amount of strong liquor he consumed in such a short time, but that wasn't enough. He continued drinking. While he swilled moonshine, his eyes focused upon a corner illuminated by the lantern light. Shipley gazed into wavering cobwebs and in that light they appeared as delicate glowing gold strands. In the shadows they cast he saw or imagined a face with slanted eyes and thin mouth.
"Lord is that you?" He slurred, his wide unblinking bloodshot eyes stilled fixed upon that corner.
"Dean, I'm your daddy speaking to you from the great beyond."
"Daddy!",
"Dean, god and I want you to defeat those satanist pagan heathens, but you can't. Surrender Harlan to them and return to Pineville."
Shipley's mouth flew open in disbelief. "No!" Rising to his feet, he glared at the corner. "You ain't my daddy and if you are, you're in hell serving Satan! God wants me to drive the heathens away and build a kingdom in honor of his glory. I will be his sword to smite heathens where ever they be. Away with you, messenger of the devil!" At that he hurled his candle lantern at the corner.
Now standing in darkness he issued a scream of anger, turned, flung open the door and staggered out.
Coming around a bend, O'Neal, Futrell, Palmer and O'Hara found themselves looking at sizable fields of tall reefer growing on each side of the road. The air in this large level clearing was fraught with the pungent scent of extremely potent weed. Although not quite yet ready for harvest, O'Neal was tempted to clip off a few buds, but thought better of it. Taller than corn, thick and leafy this field of reefer would be a dangerous place for outsiders to be riding through as at anytime they could be bushwhacked. Reefer raiding was not unheard of in the Appalachians and thieves could be shot just like as if they were attempting to make away with horses, cattle or any other livestock. Quite mesmerized by all this reefer, Big Joe said: "Hopefully we are destine to become friends with whoever is growing this beautiful bounty."
It was then they heard the unmistakable sound of triggers being cocked behind them.
"Don't turn around and I sincerely suggest reaching for the sky, that is if y'all want to see another sunset!" It was a woman's voice. "Who are you and what's your business on McKelway land? I'll have no lies!"
With a gun at one's back, O'Neal knew that an exceptional lie or honest answer could quell hostilities. He chose the latter. "Howdy. I'm John O'Neal up here looking for an old friend."
"John O'Neal? There are no O'Neals here in the Black Mountains. Just who is this old friend you're looking for, stranger"
"Bob McRae of Kildav." O'Neal replied. Hearing footfalls coming up beside them, O'Neal's party turned in their saddles and saw a woman along with four young men, two of them in their teens all armed with long rifles as well as big cane knifes. The woman, probably in her forties was buxom and of good features. Two beautiful, yet serious grayish green eyes complemented a comely well tanned face framed by long thick tawny hair streaked with gold. Barefooted, she was clad in a thin vivid green waistcoat and knee length dark green breeches.
"You and your friends here are not associated with those O'Dells outside of Harlan, are you John O'Neal? She inquired, rifle at ready.
"I know no O'Dells and have never been anywhere near Harlan, ma'am."
"Where do you know Bob McRae from?"
"I knew him as a Ranger Captain and fought by his side east of here in the Clinch River Valley some eight years ago when the Mayor of Kingsport attempted to expand his domain."
Her eyes widened. "Wait! Don't tell me! You are Captain O'Neal?"
"I'm O'Neal."
Lowering her rifle the woman smiled and informed him: "Old Bob has spoken of you. Forgive me for not figuring that out sooner, but it's been right crazy up here at Black Mountain lately, plus too be honest, my sons and nephews here just got through sampling this year's crop when we heard y'all riding up."
"Can we put our hands down now, ma'am? O'Hara asked, adding: "I'm Joe O'Hara, a friend of Battling Bob McRae as well."
"Oh mercy me!" the woman gleefully exclaimed, "Two legends in one day! Big Joe O'Hara! Old Bob has spoken kindly of you too."
Sliding off his horse, O'Neal approached the woman. "Well welcome to McKelway farms, I'm Josephine McKelway, but you can call me Jo." Stepping in she wrapped her arms around O'Neal and embraced him tightly. Perhaps it was the blissful scenery or the fact O'Neal had not been with a woman for some time, but feeling her pressed tightly against him was quite arousing. Releasing O'Neal, Jo took a step back and smiled at him. Not really knowing why, O'Neal extended an arm and took a golden lock of her hair in his hand. Rubbing it in his fingers, he returned Jo's smile. The soft warmth of Jo's body as well as her presence brightened up this long journey. It seemed he looked into those lovely grayish green eyes for a happy eternity however this enchantment was interrupted.
"Speaking of sampling the crop, t'would be nice if some weary travelers were offered a pipe full or so." O'Hara hinted. At that O'Neal laughed and said: "Indeed." then introduced his party. "You've already met Big Joe. These two other fellows are fighting men out of Galaxia and good friends of mine. This here is Captain Fleet Futrell and Dragoon Thrust Palmer."
"Well howdy boys." She greeted then invited them to sit down and have a smoke.
"Rest for awhile, then I'll take y'all over the ridge and into Evarts where a big council is being held. That's where you'll find Old Bob." Getting a small fire going on the road, Josephine's eldest son filled up a rather large pipe and offered it to Big Joe. Drawing in the pungent smoke, O'Hara passed it to Jo who was sitting very close next to O'Neal. During the course of their conversation they learned that Josephine was the widow of Ed McKelway.
"I'm truly sorry for you and your boys' loss, Jo." O'Neal said offering belated condolences.
"Ed was a good hard working husband and father. I've accepted his death and know it sparked off better days to come now that we have those fanatics on the defensive. Tell me fellows, did you come up here to give Old Bob a hand and if so, why didn't y'all bring more men?" At that Futrell shot O'Neal a look. "We could of brought more and it need be could send for more, but know Roanoke is under Knutesian sway and could strike out at any of it's neighbors at any given time."
"Knutesia? I've heard Old Bob speak of the Knutesians and their wicked ways." Jo stated as they lounged in the shade of tall reefer plants...
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