The Council Chamber

Sword&Saturday

When they made the turn and got their first look at the Council Hall, the ciad-ghin stared in awe at the three-level building.  The outside was made of grey, white, and black marble with blue veins running throughout.  The decorative windows were stained with multicolored glass that matched those at Rhyslin’s transport chamber at Am Flur Manse.  The main doorways were created using bronze-colored wooden planks hinged with silvered steel bolts to marble columns left open at the top. 

Rhyslin gave them a few minutes to admire the building before leading them up to the stairs. “Remember, everyone is armed and will react as such,” he remarked. “Try not to start anything, but don’t let anyone take advantage of you.” 

The soldiers nodded.  If Makar, Sloan, and Silas were concerned, they didn’t let it show.  Ria looked at the doors and closed her eyes, praying for peace, while Flur grinned her readiness.  It was Rowena who looked worried.  Her eyes filled with concern.

“Is something amiss?”  Rhyslin inquired as he felt her concern through the bond. 

Rowena’s dark hair shimmered as she shook her head.  “It’s frustrating not being able to see the future when I’m around you.” 

The draoidh raised a brow, then shrugged.  “Exciting, right?”

The seeress blinked and stared at him. “Please, don’t do that. Exciting for you often turns into facing undead dragons.” His wicked grin was his only answer. She shivered, following him as he climbed the stairs and pushed the doors open. 

They were instantly buried in a loud noise, and Rana instinctively covered her ears. Rhyslin glanced around to see if there had been any additions to the building since the last meeting. The black and white marble was set out in twelve rows of twelve squares, alternating black and white, resembling a giant tàileasg board. Each square contained a chair, for a total of one hundred forty-four chairs. It would never be enough for every freeholder in the Saorsa, but these seats were held by those with the country's oldest freeholds. 

Along each side of the board were two rows of benches; the ones on the right were for guests, and the ones on the left were for more freeholders. In this case, the Ciad-ghin delegation wouldn’t use all the guest chairs; the rest would be used for other freeholders. 

The raised platform at the head of the board held another ten chairs of older design, echoing the age of their owners or their Freeholds.  These were the seats of the first ten freeholders who had founded the Saorsa. 

Rhyslin tapped Sloan on the shoulder, gestured toward the visitor’s benches, and watched in amusement as the ciad-ghin carefully navigated the floor space to their places.

He had just turned and started for his chair at the head of the board when he heard someone behind him curse.

“Get out of my way, thu 'n cù ban gòrach ann an teas[1].”

Rhyslin turned to watch as a stiff-armed shove sent Ria to her knees, her dark hair falling over her shoulders.  The man who had pushed her was muscular, bearded, and wearing the insignia of a Captain on the epaulets of his Black dress uniform. 

“I swear, you give gnèithean creiche[2] clothes and they think they are royalty.”  The captain muttered with a sneer as he drew back his left foot to kick the woman at his feet.

Before he could intervene, a wave of golden hair spiraled as Flur turned. Her poniard was already out of its sheath and rising, even as she reached up and grabbed the captain by his beard, pulling the surprised man down until he could feel the keen point of the blade at his throat. 

Rhyslin froze in shock as his normally peaceful and loving bean-cheangail leaned toward the captain and stated. “You have insulted my maighstir, sister, and house.”

The captain’s hands rose in open surrender as he tried to retreat.  “Who are you?  Who is your maighstir?” 

Flur kept right at his side, her hold as unbreakable as possible.  If the captain wanted to, he could break the hold and her wrist, but he’d also get cut. 

The golden-haired Ciad-Ghin replied, her tone cold and deadly.  “I am Flur Droigheann, boireannach a’ chiad cheangal[3]and Bana-mhaighstir nan Cridhe[4]am Mansa flùr[5].  My Maighstir is Rhyslin Darkblade.”  The Captain’s face paled with each word, but she wasn’t done yet.  She yanked his head down so he had to look at the fallen Ria.  “She is Ilyriatri Oran Roinag, dàrna boireannach ceangailte[6] and Bana-mhaighistir an sporan[7]am Mansa flùr.  Her Maighstir is Rhyslin Darkblade.”  The captain’s eyes cut to Rhyslin as sweat poured down his face.  Using the point of her poniard, Flur directed him to the dark-haired seeress.  “She is Rowena, the Seeress of Despoina, treas boireannach ceangailte[8] am Mansa flùr.  Her maighstir is Rhyslin Darkblade.”

“By the gods, woman.  I apologize for …” The captain sputtered and gulped as Flur snorted.  “I’m not the one you threw to the floor and threatened to kick.”  Her voice turned syrupy and sweet, but that sweetness didn’t extend to her eyes.  Those were still cold.  “She’s the one you should apologize to,” she loosened her grip, “if you have honor, that is.” 

The captain gulped again, then whispered, “If I may?” he gestured up toward his throat, where the point of Flur’s poniard was still resting atop his carotid artery. The golden-haired bean-cheangail stared into his soul and lowered her blade with a bat of her eyelashes.  The captain carefully wiped the sweat from his face, took two steps toward Ria, reached out his hand, and said, “I beg your forgiveness, Lady Ilyriatri.”  When she took his hand, and he helped her to her feet, he continued, “I acted without thought and have had my error pointed out.”  If she thinks I fear her sister, the more, the better. But it wasn’t Flur that the Captain was afraid of; it was the Draoidh whose eyes promised sudden death if his bannaichean didn’t accept the apology. 

Ria accepted his help, gazing from the captain to Rhyslin and back to the captain as she pretended to think it over.  She could feel Rhyslin’s determination through the bond.  If I don’t forgive him, what happens?

There was nothing but silence, even though the bond, and she glanced over at Rhyslin, seeing the absence of emotion on his face. I will challenge him to a duel, and I will win.  She felt his confidence through the bond and shivered despite herself. 

At her side, the captain had his eyes locked on Rhyslin.  He knew what would happen if this woman didn’t forgive him.  His military career would be over, and the Draoidh would bury him under the council hall.

How could I be so stupid?  No woman in here is ever what she seems.  He looked around for the first time, paling again as he saw the Ciad-Ghin delegation sitting in the visitor section. They’re all armed.  Oh crap, they must be here for the treaties.  He cast his brown eyes on the woman he had pushed and managed a half-smile. 

Unaware of his thoughts, Ria was lost in thought.  She didn’t want anyone hurt over her, and she couldn’t help but look at Rhyslin from the corner of her eye.  She wanted to ask Allanagh and Mayana what they thought, but she couldn’t do that without leaving her spot.  What do I do?  How badly do I want him hurt?  She nervously bit her lower lip and was about to answer when she felt something growing at the back of her mind.  What?

Good Goddess, is this what it feels like to communicate through the bond?  She heard a quiet voice in her thoughts. 

Rowena? The quiet seeress had never used the bond to speak. 

Yes.  Are you okay?  The brunette inquired. 

Ria took a deep breath and let it out.  I am fine, I suppose.  She projected.  I have to decide whether or not to forgive him.  Do I want Rhyslin to fight him?

I’d help you if I could, but Rhyslin has a way of, well, you know.  Rowena answered with what felt like a shrug.

Thank you for trying to help, Ria sighed mentally. She turned her attention to the captain. “You are forgiven, captain,” she stated formally as she accepted his assistance. The look of gratitude on his face made her feel somewhat better.

“Thank you, Lady Ilyriatri,” the captain said in relief. “Allow me to show you to your seat.”  He then started leading her to the visitor’s section. 

“Captain, are you trying to insult me now?”  Rhyslin inquired, causing the captain to freeze.  “Ilyriatri is not a visitor. She’s a member of my house.  Their seats are behind mine.” 

The captain stammered an apology, leading Ria to Rhyslin’s box.

“What the frell is this shit?” A voice called out, and Rana turned to find a young man throwing something at Rowena. 

Without thinking, the spellblade moved between the seeress and the flying object and leaped up, her hands reaching out to snatch it out of the air.  She landed easily on her feet and looked down to see what she had caught.  It was a glass sphere about the size of a skull, something smokey drifting through it.  She quirked a brow and called out.  “Maighstir Rhyslin.”  When he looked at her, she held up the sphere.  “Someone was trying to hit Rowena with this.” 

The draoidh’s eyes flicked from the sphere to Rowena, who looked shocked, back to the sphere and then to Rana.  “About my earlier instructions.”  When Rana inclined her head, Rhyslin stated, “Disregard them.” 

Rana nodded and then looked at the young man in question. “Maighstir, are all the men in this country bullies and cowards?”  That got the result she wanted, as the room fell silent and all eyes landed on her. Now that she had their undivided attention, she held out the sphere. “One of your soldiers threw this at Lady Rowena.” 

“That’s an accusation that could get a person killed, young lady.”  Rana half-turned to find an older man with grey hair looking at her.  From his spot on the front dais, he was from one of the founding families.  “May I see the object?”  Rana held up the sphere, letting the grey-haired general see it.  The man shook his head, his insignia of a double five-pointed star glimmering at his throat.  “Who threw it?”

Rana turned back to the side where the sphere had been thrown.  It took her a few minutes to find the young man.  “There, sir.”  She said, pointing up. 

“Which one, young lady?” the general inquired. There are a few dozen young men up there.” 

Rana huffed as she pointed her finger at the young man with the lieutenant’s bar and whispered, “Nochdadh a nis cionta aon duine, cuairticheadh solus e, a thilg am ball-criostail[9].”  At her command, the lieutenant’s body was outlined in shimmering silvery flames that didn’t burn. 

The general looked up and saw shimmering light surrounding the lieutenant. “What have you to say for yourself, Lieutenant Sparhawk?” he called out, startling the young man, who looked contemptuously down at the crowd. 

“I have no idea what you are talking about, sir!”  The young man called back.

“This young lady has accused you of trying to hit Lady Rowena in the head with that Crystal ball,” the general said, looking up at the young man.

“She’s lying, General Oberon, like most of her kind.” 

Rana and the Ciad-Ghin delegation bristled at his words. The young spell blade looked to Rhyslin for guidance and found him watching her. He inclined his head, giving her the nod to do what she wanted. She returned to the lieutenant with his permission and said, “I am no liar. I have the proof here. Since the lieutenant has insulted me, I challenge him to a duel.” 

Sparhawk scoffed. “Get stuffed, girlie. I don’t accept your challenge.” He had an air of superiority about him that extended to his eyes, and his smirk was dismissive.

Without missing a beat, Rana looked over her shoulder at Rhyslin. “You said that the men in this country had honor. I don’t see it,” she commented, lifting the glass sphere over her head. With a look of apology, she turned to Ria. “Do we want to live among liars and cowards?” 

What is she trying to do? Ria wondered as she watched her daughter. It was almost as if she was trying to get him into a fight. Then she realized what was happening. Rana was defending her new family. 

Rhyslin listened to Rana’s declaration and Sparkhawk’s refusal. “General Oberon,” he quietly got the general’s attention. When the grey-haired officer looked at him, he gestured toward the lieutenant. “Officers in the Military have taken an oath to tell the truth, always, correct?”

“Unless something changed in the last officer’s class, that is correct.”  He glanced up at Sparhawk.  “He’s not one of my officers.  He must belong to another unit.”  He scanned the room, looking for someone.  “Colonel Oborgoff!”  He called out upon seeing the man he was looking for. 

Hearing his name called, the slightly younger man looked around. Upon seeing the general, he made his way to the Dais.  “Yes, General Oberon?”

“Get four men and make us a ten-foot ring.  We have a challenge.”  The general stated as he watched the lieutenant. 

The colonel nodded, selected ten men randomly, and had them start moving the chairs to form the combat ring.  “What about young Sparhawk?  He didn’t sound like he was going to accept the challenge.” 

“He doesn’t have a choice.  He’s a lieutenant in the military.”  Oberon growled as he fixed his eyes on Sparkhawk.  “Lieutenant Sparhawk, get down here.”

The lieutenant stiffened and slowly turned around.  “Yes, sir?”

“Do you intend to answer this young lady’s challenge?” 

“No, I do not,” Sparhawk said coldly. “She’s a prey species and not worth considering.” 

“Prey species?”  Rhyslin inquired, walking up behind Oberon.  “Nobody calls Ciad-Ghin a prey species, except for luchd-fiadhaich of the far northern plains.”  He examined the young soldier.  “What brings one of you into the Saorsa?” 

“It’s not a secret,” Sparhawk said.  “My people banished me, and I came here to live.  I joined the Blackhawks six years ago.” 

Rhyslin listened, nodding at the story.  Such was the Saorsa.  They didn’t ask where a man came from as long as he served faithfully.  Those who served faithfully became citizens.  “Why did you throw that orb at my bannaichean?” 

The lieutenant shrugged. “I was throwing the orb at the prey species, not your seeress.  She just got in the way.” 

Rhyslin glanced over at Oberon, who shrugged and directly addressed the Lieutenant.  “I don’t care why you did it, Lieutenant Sparhawk, but as an officer, you will accept the challenge, fight the young lady, and fight with all of your heart.”

Sparhawk scoffed, “Against a prey species?”

Rhyslin nodded, “Against a prey species.”  Keep calm, Rana, he thought as the spell blade bristled. 

Sparhawk’s deeply tanned skin darkened in anger. “Very well, General. I will do this and teach this young woman a lesson she won’t forget,” he said as he smoothly slid through the crowd and waited for the men to clear the space. 

When the chairs had been moved to make a circle about fifteen feet around, Rana moved to one edge of the circle while Sparkhawk moved to the other edge. Rana held the orb in her right hand as if trying to decide what to do with it. Sparhawk loosened his sword in the sheath and let it fall back. The look in his eyes promised pain and misery should he get his hands on her. 

“I hope you both are ready,” Oberon commented as he looked at both combatants. “The young lady,” he looked at Rana.

“Vuureona Seilmatt, daughter of Ilyriatri.”

“Vuureona has accused you, Sparhawk, of the plains of throwing a glass orb at Lady Rowena.”  He fixed the Lieutenant with a stare of disappointment.  “You have denied this and called her a liar.”  He gestured back to Rana.  “She has challenged you to a duel.  As the challenged, you get to select the weapon and victory terms.”

The Lieutenant straightened in pride. “I won’t need a weapon to beat this girl. Unarmed, to first blood,” he stated, already seeing victory.

Rana shrugged, still holding the orb, and nodded in agreement.  “Agreed, unarmed and to first blood.” 

The general drew a slow breath, then raised one hand.  “Fight!” 

At his command, Sparhawk set himself and lunged at Rana, his fingers curled in fists.  Her hazel eyes watched him close the distance, and when he was roughly five feet from her, she dropped the orb and caught it with her foot, sending it flying toward the lieutenant. 

“Briseadh agus sgaoileadh, bhuail an ceann[10].” She whispered and grinned as the orb shattered into a cloud of glass that flew directly toward Sparhawk, who tried to avoid it. 

She kept an eye on him, seeing the blood run down his face from the hundreds of tiny scratches.  Just as he reached for her, she ducked under his outstretched arms and rolled to one side.  Seeing his prey escape, he growled as he whirled and threw himself at her, his fists drawn back to hit her.  The blood was pounding so heavily in his ears that he didn’t hear it when the General called an end to the duel.  He was so intent on catching her that he missed the second warning.  It wasn’t until he found himself tightly wrapped in Magic that he was snapped out of his rage. 

“That will be enough, lieutenant.” He finally heard Oberon’s voice raised in anger.  “The duel is over, you’ve lost.”

“Wait, what?” Sparhawk growled under his breath as he allowed the rage to abate.  “What are you talking about?” 

Rhyslin watched as the young man slowly relaxed, then released the power.  “Check your face.”

The lieutenant did, blinking as his hand came away bloodied.  He turned on Rana with an accusatory look.  “Why didn’t you tell me that you were a spellblade?” 

Rana brushed her fingers through her hair as she answered, “You didn’t ask.  Besides, would it have made a difference?”  Her eyes were fixed on his, daring him to lie again.

“No, it wouldn’t have,” he admitted. Though it might have made me act more carefully.”  He accepted a cloth towel from someone and dabbed at his face. “I don’t suppose you know how to heal, do you?”

The spellblade shook her head, “No, sir.  I haven’t gotten that far in my studies.” 

He sighed and continued to dab at the wounds, pausing as Flur stepped around him. “I can heal you,” she smirked ironically. “If it doesn’t offend you to have a prey species, stop the bleeding.” 

Sparhawk grumbled under his breath before nodding.  “I stand corrected; your tribes are anything but prey species.”  He lowered the towel. “Very well, you may heal me.” 

The golden-haired bean-cheangail merely nodded as she reached up and traced the numerous wounds with her fingertip.  “If it please thee, Mathair Astinmah, please heal this wounded soldier.”  The goddess’s blessings flowed as each wound healed, leaving only the slightest scars.  She took a half step back when she was through, “There are a few scars, but then I’ve heard that plainsmen wear scars as badges of honor.” 

“We do indeed,” Sparhawk commented.  “We use them to remember life lessons that we should already know.  For instance, I should have known not to pick a fight with a spellblade.”  Flur’s giggle was his only answer.

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[1] You stupid female dog in heat.

[2] A prey species

[3] First Bondswoman

[4] Mistress of Hearts

[5] Of the Flower Mansion

[6] Second Bondswoman

[7] Mistress of the Purse

[8] Third bondswoman

[9] Let the guilt of one man now show, light surround he who the crystal ball did throw.

[10] Shatter and spread, hit the head

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