========Part 3=== Blood Oath ============== The next morning Conor awakens to find Molly cradling him, but asleep herself. He surveys the room from his bed; the fire has burned down to coals, leaving little warmth to the chamber. Fergus lay snoring near it wrapped in a travel blanket. The pain from his leg was immediate and intense. He couldn't prevent a moan from escaping. Molly hears him and stirs, "Lay still, the more you move, the more it will hurt." She whispers into his ear, still holding him under the arms and across his chest. She nuzzles him warmly and softly kisses his cheek, stroking his hair, hoping the comfort will ease his pain. "Can I -- water?" he asks huskily, throat dry. "Fergus!" calls Molly, bringing the older warrior awake and alert. "Come look to his bandage. I'll stir the fire, he needs some warm broth in him." She carefully removes herself from behind him, placing a pillow there instead. "How does the leg feel this morn'in?" Fergus begins to unwrap the leg, looking for any signs of infection. Molly holds a cup of water to his lips, and he sips it gratefully. She feels his head and throat for signs of fever and thankfully, there is none. Now able to talk, "It throbs some...um-m-m" he shifts his weight himself, gritting his teeth in effort, "I won't be running the woods any time soon" lying back weakly with a sigh. Fergus examines the wound, "There's no more bleeding and the wound is clear. Just stay off of it for a few days and you'll be up in no time." cuffing the younger on the head. "Oh, and Fergus... thanks for the sore jaw" rubbing his face for effect. "I did 'ya a favor lad, taking that bolt out of 'ya was hard work" raising his eyebrows for emphasis. The rest of that day and that night were spent tending to both wounded warriors. **************************************** The following day a Sanctuary lookout reports to Conor, still abed, "The banner is Morgan's, I'm sure of it...I stopped at his hold once on my way to the northern sea. They're camped about two miles north." The young leader considers the news. "He'll have outriders about looking to find me and probably looking for Kellen as well." The bodies of the slain men from the clearing had already been dealt with. "Fergus, send out patrols, try to keep his scouts in sight. Warn the men to go carefully, don't lead them back here." Then aside to Molly, "I should leave here, as long as Morgan is looking for me, I put all of you in danger." He starts to get up from the bed. Molly stops him, "You said Kellen told you his father had forgotten the blood oath. Maybe he's just looking for his son." Fergus steps over, "She's right lad. Stay put until we know more." At this Conor looks up into Fergus's eyes, "They're too close to the Sanctuary, they could easily stumble upon us." The leader in him was asserting itself. "I should try to talk to Morgan about this, and tell him about his son. Try to know his mind on the oath matter. We can't just sit hear waiting to be found." He starts to rise again, this time Molly doesn't stop him, but offers her shoulder to lean on. He's still weak, but manages to stand with support. Admiration showing in his eyes, the older warrior relents, "Well, if you're determined about this, I'll get a few men together to escort us." ******************************* The Conor party approaches Morgan's camp from the west, swinging a wide arc between themselves and the Sanctuary. Outriders challenge them as they ride near. Conor calls out to the riders with authority, adrenaline pumping, "I'm Conor, son of King Derek, here to talk to Chieftain Morgan, let us by!" The leader in charge motions them forward, keeping a steady eye on all six. The camp was a temporary hodge-podge, by the far side of the river. A curious crowd gathers behind the mounted strangers following them to the tent of their chieftain. One of Morgan's men ducks inside the tent briefly. A moment later, Morgan himself steps forth. He's a grizzled bear of a man, taller than average and stocky with age, yet imposing and menacing regardless. He stands staring at the group, sizing up each rider, and choosing himself, the one who would be Conor. He steps forward towards Conor's mount. The young leader, seeing he's recognized, lowers himself gingerly from the saddle. He stands straight-backed near his horse and unsupported, looking Morgan in the eye unblinkingly. His leg silently screaming in pain under him. Swallowing first he states formally, "I am Conor, son of King Derek." A complete hush surrounds the two, not even the horses make a sound. Morgan conspicuously looks him over head to toe, even stepping around him to get a full view of the young man. Conor stands facing straight ahead, willing himself not to fall over. His bandaged leg evident through the split in leather of his pants leg stuffed into the boot top. Coming back around to face the younger, Morgan finally speaks, "I see you're wounded." He states simply, with a voice deep and resonant. Almost at the end of endurance, Conor blurts out, "I have news of your son Kellen." And with that the leg buckles under him. Morgan catches a groaning Conor in his arms as Fergus jumps down from his horse and hurries to help. Motioning to Fergus to wait, he hikes his muscled arm under Conor's, holding his waist saying, "I've got him, we'll go inside my tent and talk." And with that, half carries an embarrassed young leader inside. Everyone remaining outside the tent, stand where they are, suspiciously eyeing each other. Fergus takes hold of Conor's horse and stands waiting, wishing he could be inside with him. "Here," says the older man sitting his charge down on a bench. Conor grunts, taking the bench and sticks the betraying leg out in front. The wound was bleeding slightly. Morgan moves to a small table and pours a mug of ale, handing it to the younger. Gratefully, Conor accepts and downs half of it in one swallow. "How did 'ya come by that wound?" the chief asks, sitting himself down. Face coloring, Conor answers truthfully, "Your son caught me with a crossbow bolt." Morgan watches him closely, trying to gauge the younger man. He saw his father Derek in him. "No doubt, he ambushed 'ya." Surprised, Conor's head jerks up. "He did. He said he would satisfy the blood oath and take my head." Now Conor watched the elder closely, ready to judge the reply. "The blood oath? I gave way to that oath after the last battle between your father and me. We agreed privately. No one else knew." Then standing and taking a few steps, "For honor's sake, neither of us could admit to standing down from the oath. So we just let it die of old age." Blinking in amazement, Conor, "Kellen said that with my head he would have all the power he ever wanted, I assumed he meant you'd reward him." Shaking his head no, "That boy was never satisfied with being my youngest son. He always knew what I had would go to my eldest son, Trellor. He was killed by the Roman Longinus." Conor sat up straighter, realization dawning, "Then he meant to kill me for the Romans and they would give him the power he wanted." Nodding in agreement, "Probably meaning to kill me as well." A slight pause, adding "Kellen is dead." Again, Conor is surprised by the astuteness of this man. "Yes, and all those with him. They're buried in the wood nearby." Shrugging, Morgan sits down, "Let them be." Both sit quietly a moment, digesting what has been said. "You should know that I had planned to join with the Romans, maybe even against you and your confederation." The young leader's eyebrows raised, "HAD planned?" "Once aware of the treachery of this Longinus, that evil sorcerer and his lying bitch Diana, I've changed my mind. They came to my Hold a few days ago, simpering and demanding that I give them men to use against you. Trying to invoke the blood oath for their own ends." Conor listened attentively. "I threw them out on their arses." His booming laughter shook the tent poles. Conor joined in shyly, finishing his ale. Those waiting outside relaxed upon hearing the laughter. Fergus thought, 'Well, he isn't killing him if they're laugh'in together.' Morgan refilled Conor's mug of ale. Then, serious again, "I had reservations about this confederation. I had heard of it AND you. I still thought you too young and inexperienced to be in charge of it all. I doubted you, Derek's son or no. Without a firm hand of experience and wisdom, we could all suffer much worse from these Romans." Conor seeing the opening he waited for, "Then join with us now. I need men like you, strong and wise to help guide me. I'm not too proud to seek experience where I lack it. Together we can fight the Romans and preserve our land for our children. The longer we stand apart and fight each other, the more time the Romans have to strengthen themselves against us. We're a strong people and we'll fight all the stronger united. Will 'ya stand with us and help us in our struggle Morgan?" The impassioned plea was so eloquent and heartfelt, it roused the pride in the old warrior. He rises and helps Conor to his feet, standing eye to eye, "Now that I have a sense of you lad, aye, I'll join with 'ya... and gladly." The two exit the tent, Morgan again supporting Conor leading him to his horse. Fergus steps forward and sees the twinkle in his young friend's eye. Morgan hands Conor off to Fergus and stands back, addressing the waiting crowd in a loud voice. "I should have let this be known a long while ago. But I'm put'in it straight now. The blood feud between King Derek, the lad's father, and me was forgiven and forgotten before Derek died. No one's honor is touched. Conor has no obligation in this. Also, I speak now for the northern clan of Morgan who will join with Prince Conor in the United Confederation of Tribes. Together, united, we will force these Romans off our land and back to the stinking hole they came from!" A raucous cheer erupts from all listening. Weapons rise in salute and defiance. Conor grins broadly at Fergus, fairly beaming. A relieved old warrior grins back and slaps the young man on the back, forgetting the weak leg. Conor stumbles and Morgan catches him again. Some laughter rings out amid the cheering. Smiling with a fatherly concern, he addresses Fergus, "Here man, get your Prince to his bed, that leg's not well enough to be used yet." One of Morgan's guards comes running over, "Lord, a large dust cloud is coming this way from the east." Both Conor and Fergus turn and look to the east at the approaching dust cloud. "I think we have trouble Conor." Others in the crowd start to notice the same sight, men start hurrying to gather their weapons. A general alarm is sounded from the eastern lookout posted on the nearby hill. Morgan, seeing the frantic haste about him and the cloud gaining, motions to his guard, and orders, "We fight with these people! I want Conor here to have at least two men by his side at all times!" Fergus, surprised by the gesture, "The Romans outnumber us even with your men helping, you take Conor and ride for your Hold!" Conor squares himself in front of Fergus's face, gripping his arms tightly, and shouts above the noise, "I'm not a lad of 12, old man -- you won't keep me from this battle, bad leg or no!" Determination set his features and Fergus knew he couldn't keep him from the fight this time. "We head for the Sanctuary! Fight on the way if we must... they'll have seen the cloud by now as well." Fergus helps him mount. The Romans were closing in and from the size of the dust cloud, it was all the men they had at the fort and then some. Men were taking defensive positions, Morgan placing his guard at strategic spots, helping to organize everyone else. Conor & Fergus now both mounted rode quickly with their escort and Morgan's out of the camp making straight for the Sanctuary. Somehow they outran the Romans in arriving there. Fergus made sure the women & children and Molly were safely below and guarded. Morgan's men assigned to Conor stayed close by. Almost too soon, the battle was engaged. Battle roars sounding from the first of the defenders to contact the front line of Romans. Shouting the roar himself, Conor spurred his horse into the thick of it slashing with his sword on the right, and kicking with his left, good leg, as foot soldiers sought to pull him down. Morgan's men rallied forward dispatching the soldiers that got too close to the Prince. Fergus had his own hands full, his mount cut out from under him, he was now afoot. Five Romans were surrounding him and closing in for the kill. Spotting his champion, Conor spurs his horse over to the fray. He rears the horse, sending two of the five attackers sprawling under sharp hooves, another he slashes with his sword, taking the man's sword arm off. Fergus looks up and smiles, "This time YOU did the sav'in!" and raises his sword in mock salute. The pause was brief, soon both were engaged with other Romans. The defenders were holding their own, but the losses were great on both sides. Many killed, many more wounded, some horribly. Longinus sat mounted, looking down into the battle from a high vantagepoint with Diana. "I'm going down, I intend to get this Prince myself, no one else seems capable of it!" and jerks the reins harshly, causing his mount to rear in alarm. The sorcerer barrels down the hillside, making a direct line to Conor, still mounted, fighting on with his people. He hacks his way ever closer to the Prince, bodies falling away from him as if no obstacle at all, so great is his hatred and rage against the young leader, he allows no one to slow him. Fergus spots Longinus nearly upon Conor, whose back is turned unawares and lunges in toward the dark lord with his great sword. He misses Longinus, who turns at the last moment, but mortally wounds his mount. The horse goes down taking Longinus with it. Failing to leap free in time, Longinus finds himself pinned under the great beast, now in death throes. Conor turns to see Fergus disarm Longinus as he lies pinned and helpless. The tide is now turning for the defenders, many of the Romans start a retreat having seen Longinus go down. Many don't realize that their lord can't be killed, so assume he's finished. Conor sounds the call to retreat as well. The battle all but done, the healthy begin retrieving bodies of fallen comrades and wounded, taking them back to the Sanctuary entrance to be brought below for tending. Fergus helps Conor down from his horse and they approach the fallen Longinus, still pinned. Strangely quiescent, Longinus lays quietly, watching them come near. Like the serpent he is, he *appears* harmless. Assuming he's no threat and appearing injured, Conor gets within reach. Suddenly he lashes out with one arm that had undergone the lizard change, claws hideously long and sharp, slashing Conor's already wounded right leg at the calf. Crying out in pain and surprise, Conor falls back onto Fergus and both go down under the impact. Conor is still within reach of those long claws and Longinus grabs him by the foot, quickly pulling him along the ground towards him. Murder rages in the sorcerer's eyes. The lizard transformation now spreading over the rest of his body. Fergus tries to disentangle himself from other bodies he had fallen onto and lurches on his knees trying to grab a now struggling Conor back away from the monster. But Longinus is quick as lightning and has Conor by the throat in a flash. Gasping and arching on his back Conor struggles to beat away the claws closing around his throat. Breath all but cut off, claws digging into the soft flesh of the neck, blood starting, ignoring his stiff shoulder, Fergus stands and comes down hard with a crushing blow to Longinus' arm. It is nearly severed above the elbow, but continues to dig in and close around Conor's throat with a mind of it's own. Conor's struggles are now feeble, his face turning blue from lack of air. Longinus screams aloud, "Suffer and die!" as he struggles to free himself from the horse. Fergus swings another blow, this time closer to the wrist of the arm, completely severing it. Longinus screams again, a hideous call. Fergus peels the clawed fingers away from Conor's throat, casting the disgusting hand far away. Conor is blue and not breathing, nor moving. Pulling the boy further away from the struggling, maddened monster, he pushes hard into Conor's stomach just below the ribs forcing air up and into his throat. He pushes again, "Come on lad, breathe!" This time it works and Conor chokes and coughs, coming around slowly. He's bleeding from the clawing, but air is getting through. Longinus, seeing his murderous attempt again fail is nearly foaming at the mouth in frustration and rage. His severed hand even now re-growing on the stump. Fergus shudders at the sight, and heaves Conor up onto his shoulder carrying him away from the screaming, now incoherent, monster still pinned beneath the dead horse. Fairly running across the clearing to the entranceway, he hurries to get down the stairway to Molly, who will know how to help him. Catlin sees Fergus approaching and grabs Molly by the arm dragging her away from the man she was tending. Molly, at first annoyed, looks where Cat is dragging her and sees Fergus hurrying into their chamber carrying Conor. Both women dash into the room. The elder warrior is gently laying Conor on the bed. Molly screams upon seeing the blood at her husband's throat. Catlin holds her sobbing friend, her own face contorted in grief. Fergus quickly wets a cloth and rubs away the blood, the better to see the extent of damage. The young leader moans and moves his head, regaining consciousness. Fergus steps back reaching for a clean cloth. Molly flies to Conor cradling his head in her arms, kissing his cheek - he lives! "Here daughter, you finish cleaning that wound, I'll look to his leg." Handing her the clean cloth. Catlin comes over now too, tears streaking her cheeks. "What happened?" she asks. "That devil Longinus came sneaking up on him at the end of the fight, I killed his horse out from under him, he got pinned." Examining the fresh claw wounds on the leg, "We thought he was harmless enough, but the lad got too close. The devil turned himself into a lizard and went for his throat." Conor was now awake and listened to the tale retold. Molly was softly comforting him, laying cool cloths against the raw throat. Fergus pointing to the leg wound, "This needs cleaning, there's some leather from the britches stuck in there." He sets himself the task, and looks up to the head of the bed. "You're a mess lad. And a lot of trouble lately too. If you weren't my daughter's husband, I'd have none of 'ya by now." "Da! He's hurt, don't 'ya be teasing him!" cries Molly, gladdened that her love will live. Conor manages a crooked grin and weakly whispers, "Saved me again old man..." *The END*