Ridirean Naomha nan Diathan

Warrior Wednesday

The eleven men traveled in a double-line formation. Their somber brown cassocks marked them as monks, but upon closer inspection, it was apparent that they were something more. The sharp spurs on their plain black boots were well maintained, as was the chain-mail that could occasionally be heard as they turned in their saddles to watch the road behind them. The gauntlet-covered hands that rested on partially hidden sword hilts belonged not to those who followed the ecclesiastical orders of the church.

At the head of the line, their leader raised his head, eyes squinting as he looked toward the crenelated walls of the eighty-year-old castle. 'I'm sorry, Olwyn, I'm sorry that it has to come to this.' He sighed softly, suddenly feeling older than his forty years. 'Damn it all.' He mentally cursed. 'I hate breaking oaths, but we don't have a choice.' From where they were, they could see the sunlight reflect off of the armor of the soldiers that walked the battlements.

The monk's fingers tightened around the reigns, the only sign of the frustration that he felt. “Well, daingead, we might as well see what this git wants with us.” He muttered.

“The good king Calyb might find that a tad offensive.” The rider next to him casually retorted.

The Leader looked across at the other monk. Like himself, the man was dressed in a brown cassock, with the cowl pulled over his middle-aged face. His green eyes sparkled with mirth. The Leader grunted, “Samael, just because we've been friends for thirty-five years doesn't mean that you can.....”

Samael chuckled softly, “Be sarcastic as hell with the name of said git?” He paused a moment, looking over his friend of thirty-five years. Under the cowl, brown eyes watched him intently, and the thin lips formed a strained smile. “Siuthad, Patryg, You know that none of us here actually cares what that amadan thinks.”

Patryg shook his head, the motion barely noticeable under the cowl. “I know, but by the Taghta na diathan, if It weren't for what he did, we wouldn't need to be here.” Once again, his hands tightened around the reins. His lips compressed into a thin line.

“Yep, it takes a big, brave man to arrest ten freemen and march them to his castle.” Samael looked toward the castle. “Well, let's see what the royal git wants.”

Patryg only nodded as he tapped his spurs to the flanks of his horse and resumed the walk to the Castle. When he next looked up, they were almost at the castle gates. 'You are lucky that it's just ten that came.' His brown eyes narrowed as he evaluated what little of the castle defense he could see. There were two armored knights standing guard at the gates. Glancing up, he could see two more walking the battlement. 'Unless you are a complete idiot, I'm betting that you have at least four more behind the gate and another six on the battlements.'

He was pulled from his thoughts when one of his companions edged his horse closer and casually inquired, “Are you ready?”

'Of course not.' His eyes betrayed his thoughts, and he was grateful that his companion didn't use it against him. “As ready as I'll ever be,” he admitted. I guess we might as well get this over with."

“How do you think he'll act?”

'Like a spoiled child.' But he couldn't say that out loud. He didn't want to color his friend’s judgment. “According to our information, he's let power run to his head. Either that, or he's sold his soul to the fallen.”

The other man grunted, “Well, we'll know in a few minutes. We're almost there.” His brown eyes examined the gates. 'Then, it's into the lion's den.'

“Aye..that we are.” The first man replied as he took another look at the castle walls. 'But what will we find inside?' He raised one hand to his lips and brushed his lips across the gauntlet's fingers. 'Quod creatio sit in caelum gloria. Athair eòlais, Màthair Torrachas, Please watch over us. I think we are going to need it.'

Before the sun had risen two fingers in the sky, the monks were standing in front of the heavy oak gates that, in an emergency, would swing shut to protect the inhabitants of the castle. The leader handed the reigns of his horse off to the man who would be staying outside. He caught himself wanting to touch the oak panels. 'Don't be such a fool. If they close, you're trapped. If they don't, you're home free.' He gave his cassock a tug to settle it around his waist. “I know you wanted to go in with us, but I need someone to watch the horses.”

“I understand, sir.” The last monk replied. “It's what I get for being lucky number eleven.” He reached out and clasped the leader's hand. “ Ut custodiant te ascendit.”

A smile tugged at the leader's lips. “Thank you, my son. I'll try not to get us killed.” His grip tightened on the other monk's for a moment, then released. Turning to the other nine men, he made a circling motion with his right hand. “Gentlemen, it's time to go.”

The other monks quietly moved up behind their leader and followed him as he stepped through the gate and walked down the short corridor that separated the outside from the outer bailey. As they passed through the archway that led to the outer bailey, they looked up at the holes in the ceiling. If things went wrong, they'd find their way blocked by the portcullis that would drop down from above.

Stepping from the corridor into the bright light of the outer bailey, they were greeted by the palace guard. “What brings you here, monk? One of the guards inquired as he looked the ten men over. “What business do you have here?”

The leader of the monks arched a brow. 'Was that actually disrespect that I heard in his voice? I'd lay into him, but doing so wouldn't help us out at all.' Instead, he calmly looked from the guard that had spoken to the one that hadn't. “Please let Calyb know that we are here, as requested.”

The second guard returned the monk's gaze. “And who should I tell him is here?”

'He's a wary one, more skeptical.' The monk reached up and pulled the cowl of his cassock away from his face. “I am Patryg Marshall, Grand-Master of the Order of the Lily.” His eyes bored into the second guard. “His Majesty summoned us by messenger. If you would please let him know that we have arrived.”

“You can begone, monk.” the younger guard snapped, “Your kind is not welcome here.” He glared at Patryg as he took a step toward the unflinching monk.

It was disrespectful. ' I guess we know what Calyb thinks about us.' Patryg narrowed his eyes as he watched the young guard. Behind him, he could hear one of his men moving and stopped him with a gesture. 'I don't want to hurt you, child, but I will if I have to.'

Before he could voice a warning, the older soldier stopped his subordinate. “I'd stop that nonsense, private.” When the young soldier turned in shock, the other continued. “If you knew anything at all about the Order of the Lily, you'd know that he could kill you without breaking a sweat.” He turned to Patryg. “Forgive the young pup, Master Marshall. All he knows is what he hears from Calyb.” Patryg looked to the older soldier but said nothing.

The private took a breath, then tried to defend his actions. “The King says that they are cowards.”

'So that's the reason for the disrespect.' Patryg arched a brow and made a mental note to keep his men under control. 'Not that I'll have to. They are disciplined.'

The older soldier glanced at Patryg and offered an apologetic smile, one that the monk accepted easily enough. “If you'd have bothered to have read the orders, you would see that Calyb summoned these men,” He pointed at the young private. “So, you play nice with them while I go inform the king that they are here.”

Patryg watched as the older soldier turned and walked off, heading toward the archway that led from the inner bailey to the front corridor of the castle. After a few minutes, he started walking across the grass, following in the footsteps of the older soldier.

“Hey! You weren't given permission to go any further!” The private called out as he rushed to get between the monks and the entranceway.

“I don't recall asking for permission,” the Grand Master stated as he made his way across the open ground. “It's getting warm out here, and I, for one, have no intention of waiting out in the open.” When the private moved between Patryg and the entryway and lowered his pike to block the path, the monk paused just long enough to eye the young man who blocked his path and the way he held his weapon. “If you intend to stop me, you'll need to get a better hold on that weapon.” The private was standing with his feet just a little beyond shoulder length apart, which would put him off balance if he tried to move. He had a death grip on the staff, with both of his hands facing the ground.

'Don't they teach these kids the right way to handle their weapons?' “Private. It's considered rude to make your guests wait out in the heat.”