The Red-Haired Night

The Red-Haired Knight: Her Enemies - Oisin and Lugh.

"Ah! What a grand day!"

"Aye, but the witch still lives."

"Her living does not sour the day for me, Lugh!"

"I have already banished her from my thoughts, as well."

With that, the two Lords of the High Ground rode in companionable silence for some time.

They were like that— they were the most unusual of all beings, warriors with ink-stained hands, and poets with magic in their bones. So, they were both very clever, and also tough. Both had read their Caesar and their Merlin. Both debated the virtues and failings of Homer.

They rode with no escort, they rode without armor, they carried only small swords of the kind Lords carried on the hunt. Their clothes were rich but subdued. Light wool over linen undergarments. Doeskin riding trousers. Both had close-cropped brown hair and tanned faces; they rode hatless to toughen their bodies to the elements, for they did spend a great deal of time, especially in the winter, in their studies.

In height and build, quite different— Oisin was tall and lean with heavy forearms and big calloused hands, as I said, stained with ink.

Lugh was short and stout, but the stoutness of a bear, a strong man, a wrestler of the old school. A badly healed broken nose marred a face that could have been handsome for a more settled soul.

It was guessed by outsiders that they would unite against the Witch Warrior, but Oisin and Lugh had looked out for the interests of the High Ground, which was THEIR interests long before the Witch Warrior had become a worry for the other leaders, especially the leaders of the land surrounding, what was now dubbed, the Devil's Valley.

This Middle Ground between the Prosperous Valley (now maligned as property of the Devil) and the High Ground was mostly a broad plain through which, the river, which made the Prosperous Valley fertile, flowed in deep ravines.

Along the small branches of that beloved river, the Middle Ground had some moderately well-off lands. Indeed, the lords of the Middle Ground ruled exclusively in these areas. The plains in between were Wild Lands populated with nomads and bandits; often, it was difficult to distinguish between the two.

Oisin and Lugh were riding out of their High Ground into this Wild Land, with no concern, no escort.

They were to see with their own eyes, the state of the settled areas of the Middle Ground. The Wild Lands were of no concern— they were always chaotic and without masters.

This day, they traveled slowly, not to attract attention...but if, per chance, they did, they had ways of dealing with curious eyes.

A clutch of deserters on horseback galloped by them, unseeing.

Long after these passed, Oisin guffawed, "This is not even a sport; those men were as if blind."

Lugh cautioned, "A true scout would have seen us...there was more dust in the air than just that the wind would have raised."

"Remember when we were youths, just testing our talents, the sport we had was observing bathing maidens."

"Until Master shamed us for misuse of magic by exposing us naked at the harvest feast!"

"It is well we are celibate; we would dishonor too many women...there would be so many 'virgin births' that a new religion would form!"

Lugh answered with a scowl...being celibate for his powers was a sacrifice he accepted but did not think it proper to joke about violating unsuspecting virgins in the night.

Oisin ...smiled... "You know I jest...we are too honorable, or too honor bound to our oaths to do such things."

Lugh simply grunted.

They rode in silence for some time...ironically, and simply by chance, frightening some bathing nomads in one of the smaller tributaries of the swiftly flowing, beloved river...It was in an oxbow of that stream...gentler currents and deep cold pools.

In fact, more than bathing was involved— it was the monthly fertility rite of the nomads. The women of the tribe all bled at the same time. A celebratory bathing party celebrated the end of their bleeding. The women purified their bodies and then cleansed the men; observing how difficult it was for the men to be without their 'comfort' for so long.

The two magician-warrior lords did not bother cloaking their presence from the nomads, any more than they would bother with deer, unless they meant to take them for food. It was rumored the nomads were tough flesh and not tasty at all, so generally they were not hunted.

The nomads were a small people...the tallest male standing a head shorter than an average male High Grounder. They were dark skinned from the sun, for they rarely wore clothing. Their women were smaller still, and quite hairy by the standards of the settled peoples, a thick bush of pubic hair and long armpit hairs...many had mustaches.

When the bathers were assured...by some spell...that no harm would come to them, they resumed their ritual. It was inviting bad fortune if the bathing ritual were not completed.

The females had drawn lots— as they did every month. One of them would copulate with every male at the bathing pool. The tribe was strictly matrilineal...this practice ensured that no man could claim any woman or her offspring as their own.

All of this was beneath the notice of the Lord Magicians of the High Ground...as they continued on their reconnaissance.

Malle was on a ride of her own, fully armed, and armored, escorted by picked men of her guard. It was a training ride to ensure she was up to staying in the field with males half her age. And her armor, while finer than theirs, was also heavier. Malle was a strong woman...but a few hours in plate armor sweated the energy out of the stoutest of warriors.

Her Prosperous Valley was a large exercise ground for her...but she had determined that the next battle would not be fought on home soil. Marechal counseled a cautious defensive strategy. Her strongest opponents were said to be cautious men, they would have learned that her first victory was made easier by the weakened condition of the army that faced her after days of an unsupplied march across the Wild Lands between their home territories and the Prosperous Valley.

They would take time to stockpile provisions and transport for the trek across the Wild Lands.

Malle was an impatient soul, eager for vengeance. But she did not let the thirst for vengeance cloud her judgment in this matter.

The nearest fertile valley, now without their previous lord, was a week's march away. The land was in turmoil, the succession had not gone smoothly and there were multiple claimants for the leadership. Each was too weak to oust the others, so they formed an uneasy alliance.

They were not a threat to Malle, they were too weak and chastised by the overwhelming defeat their forces had at the hands of her army. But their land could it be a base, a source of supplies to the Powers of the High Ground.

Malle would ride today...to the edges of her land. There at a border post, she would rest surrounded by her guards. Safely, she could rest, dream and plan.

(Many thanks to kenjisato, my long-suffering editor.)

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