Find Conall Riordan. Cut off the right hand of the rebellion. Those were the orders that had brought a cohort of the Guard into the wilds, eighty men heavily armored seeking out just one man on the orders of the Usurper Queen. Velasca's impatience to have all resistance dealt with was drawing thin, especially when she herself was traveling the wilder roads north. But the years had taken their toll on the Guard. Women had been barred from service in the armies, men were not trained to the degree their predecessors had been. They were a heavily armored, weapon-wielding gang of thugs hidden behind the barest facade of discipline - dangerous, yes, but not shaped as those who had gone before them had been. They fought for gold, not for the love of their Queen. And they did not pay attention to their surroundings.

Thus, they were taken by surprise when the company led by Conall Riordan and Liayna na'Kari burst from the woods around them, death on swift feet for any who dared to threaten their ally and friend.

Eighty men stood, facing a rag-tag mix of fifty or less rebels and nomads. The outcome should have been obvious, inevitable. But the Usurper Queen's guards had not encountered the Goddess-sworn of Clan Tarven before, nor the fierce fury of the rebels in close contact. The nomads attacked with no clear coherent plan - some entered the fray hand to hand, others with spears and stone daggers. And from the edge of the trees, stone-tipped arrows whistled from two bows, one of which lay in the hands of Liayna herself. And perhaps most terrifying of all ....she never missed.

The rebels were slightly more disciplined than the Queen's men, trained as they were for battle by a man whose father and father before him had been Captain of the Queen's Royal Guard. Even Conall, who had never been trained as a soldier until he had joined the rebels, fought better and harder than the thugs who were in the employ of the Queen. And why not' He was, after all, fighting for his life, knowing Velasca would like nothing better than to eliminate him, in part out of vengeance and in part out of need. Cut off the right arm of the rebels and they might flounder. While in truth, there were plenty who might take his place, none of them had become as close to their commander as Conall had. The rebels fought with spirit and courage, hacking their way slowly through the ranks of the guards, with Conall in the lead, knowing it would spur the rebels on if he were to lead from the front, rather than from behind their protective ranks.

It was a bitter, short struggle. The Usurper's guard were no match for them, despite their greater numbers, caught by surprise and attacked before they could rally themselves. Their commander's horse fell from beneath him, but he rose, roaring defiance, his anger aimed squarely at the leader he could see - Conall Riordan, the traitorous rebel. Swinging his great sword, he pushed through the struggling mass of fighters, intent upon at least taking Conall with him to the great beyond.

In the meantime, the object of the commander's rage was busy fighting his own battle, cutting his way through the attackers who seemed to swarm like ants from every which way. Every now and then, an arrow would find its mark before he had a chance to swing his sword. Slowly but surely, the enemy's numbers were dwindling, but the battle was not quite over yet. A shout from somewhere amidst the bloodied crowd alerted Conall to the danger, and he swung his horse around just in time to narrowly escape a killing blow, the commander's sword missing its intended mark, but slicing through the leather that covered his target's thigh, which only enraged his opponent all the more.

As Conall's blood bloomed, a distinct call went up from the edge of the battle, from the throat of the woman who had lain with him the night before. A rippling, undulating cry, high-pitched to cut through the sounds of the fray - a cry that drew the attention of the nomads. Those who were not engaged in fights of their own turned to cut into the gathering of the last guard around Conall, striking down the men who sought to aid their commander in finishing off the man they had been sent to kill. But the commander still stood untouched. This kill belonged to Conall Riordan, and the Wild Ones would not allow another to take it from him.

Conall could have cut the man down without much effort at all, but with him on horseback and his foe on foot, he thought he had an unfair advantage and wounded or not, he slid out of his saddle and faced his opponent on equal ground. The commander seemed surprised by this, a grin crossing his face, knowing he now had the advantage.

Of course, that advantage didn't last long. A small nomad boy darted out of the ring of bodies that surrounded them, stabbing a stone knife deep into the commander's thigh. He flashed a grin at Conall as the commander roared in pain. "To make fair," was all he said in his garbled mastery of the common tongue, before he disappeared back into the fray.

Conall mirrored the grin as the boy did his deed, evening the odds once again. Soaked in sweat and blood, every muscle in his body was crying out in pain, bloodlust and adrenalin the only things keeping him going. Now that he had his feet on the ground, he tugged a second sword from his back, turning one blade in his hand menacingly before advancing on his opponent and giving him no quarter. Swords clashed in the small clearing, and for a while it seemed like neither opponent would give any ground, both of them limping and bleeding from wounds minor and not so minor, until at last, Conall's sword found purchase, slashing through the commander's chest and drawing blood, followed by the other sword which finished the job cutting his throat cleanly open.

As the commander fell, the last resistance of the guard fell with him. And much to the Arctrans' disgust, every man still standing who wore the Usurper's colors had his throat cut by the nomads without a moment of hesitation. Liayna's people did not believe in letting their enemies walk free when they could bring more enemies to this place and continue on their mission. With the field littered with the bodies of the definitively dead, it was time to look to the wounded of their own company.

Conall was perhaps the only one of the Arctrans who was not disgusted when the nomads finished their enemy. He would have done the same, especially since he didn't want any survivors returning to Phalion and reporting back to Velasca. Conall wiped the blood from his sword's on the dead man's clothing and returned them to the scabbards he wore strapped to his back, looking haggard and worn, but undefeated. He gave orders to tend to the wounded, both their own and those of the clansmen, before examining his own wounds.

Commanded to stop by her eniro, her chosen man, Liayna subsided, steaming quietly at the insults that had been thrown at her by a jealous woman who knew nothing of what she spoke.

Reena, on the other hand, refused to obey that direct order from her own commanding officer. "She's bewitched you, Conall," she insisted, pointing an accusing finger at Liayna even as she turned to her leader. "This isn't an alliance; they're using us, and they're using Liam, and they'll kill us all in our sleep as soon as they have what they came for. And she'll give the order!"

Conall's eyes narrowed dangerously at Reena's accusations and he took one hobbled step toward the woman who had shared his bed a handful of times, but had not touched his heart. Whatever warmth he might have once felt for her was quickly diminishing as her jealousy made itself known, slowly poisoning whatever friendship might have once existed between them. "And what is it they want, Reena? Hmm' Pray, tell us. Tell us so that we might all know of your womanly wisdom," he added, in a tone that dripped with sarcasm, spreading his arms and inviting both clansmen and rebels to listen to what she had to say.

"They want us gone, everyone knows that," Reena ranted, heedless of the danger she was putting herself in with every word she spoke. "We all know what the savages do - they eat their dead enemies, they murder Arctran children. They want to put their own queen on the throne, so the whole land will follow their bitch Goddess -"

But that was where Reena was forced to come to an abrupt halt. Every clansman and -woman there had drawn weapon, but it was the stone dagger, obsidian sharp, that was suddenly pressed keenly close beneath her chin that was her main concern.

Liayna snarled into the face of a woman who couldn't take a hint. "Say it again, taren. Dare to."

Conall stepped forward, taking pity on the girl who was so obviously heartsick over him, not wanting his mistakes to poison her heart or her mind and cause friction between them and their allies or cause herself harm. Very carefully, he pushed the dagger away from the girl's throat and stood between her and the angry clansmen. "Do not believe everything you hear, Reena, and do not allow what has happened between us to taint your judgement of those who would be our friends," he told her gently, trying to reason with her, hands spread in supplication.

A ripple of anger went through the nomads who stood about. Liayna's furious eyes turned to Conall. "She insulted the Goddess," she hissed. "I warned you what would happen." The nomads wanted blood for the insult offered, that much was clear.

Clear enough that Reena, for all her mindless ranting, knew when her life stood in danger. She looked at Conall pleadingly. "You can't let them kill me," she told him. "You love me, you just don't know it yet."

Conall lifted a hand to Liayna, in hopes of silencing her and bringing some peace and order to the camp before more fighting broke out. Killing Reena would solve nothing, but cause more animosity between the two groups. He moved close, so that if any of the nomads truly wanted blood, they would have to go through him first. "I will not let them kill you, but I do not love you, Reena. We enjoyed each other's companionship for a few nights. That is all. Let it go. There are others better suited to love you than I." He turned and held out his hand for Liayna's dagger, though she could not read his mind and might not know what he wanted it for. He searched her eyes, pleading silently for her trust and cooperation.

There was more anger in Reena's eyes than hurt as he made his feelings for her plain before everyone, Arctran and nomad alike. But she kept her silence now, as wary of the fury in Liayna na'Kari's eyes as anyone might be.

Liayna glared at Conall, as passionate in defense of her Goddess as she was in everything else, breathing deep and slow to keep her temper in check. He was her eniro, and he was giving her an order, albeit a silent one. Very slowly, she drew the dagger back from Reena's throat, speaking one word in the old speech to stay the hands of her people as she laid the stone weapon in Conall's hand. If he made a misstep now, she had another at her hip to take vengeance for the insult.

Once the stone weapon was safely in his hand, he turned once again to Reena, seeing the anger in her eyes, but hoping she was not foolish enough to get herself killed with angry words she did not mean. "Give me your hand," he told her as he held out his own to take hold of hers, giving her the chance to mend her mistakes before it was too late.

Humiliated before all her fellows - comrades she had boasted to of Conall's love for her - Reena bit down on her anger, her face ugly with jealousy and betrayal as she opened her hand to her leader.

He took hold of her wrist as he held up the stone dagger to show everyone present - nomad and rebel alike - what he intended to do. "Apologize for insulting their Goddess," he instructed quietly, leaning close, his words meant for her ears alone. "And hope that they accept your apology."

The woman made a guttural sound beneath her breath as he leaned close to her, the jealous fury in her eyes growing very close to hatred in these dangerous moments. "I won't mean it," she breathed, for his ears alone, before raising her voice. "I meant no offense," Reena declared. "Before the Nine Gods, I swear it ....I take back what I said about your Goddess."

A low murmur went through the nomadic group, a suggestion of hands relaxing from weapons. Liayna drew slowly back out of her aggressive stance. "Water the earth with your blood," she said harshly, her tone suggesting that this was no arbitrary demand. "If the Goddess forgives, so shall we."

"It is more than that, Liayna," he said, hobbling forward, making no complaint about the wound in his leg, though it was obviously troubling him. "I do not wish one woman to come between us, between whatever is happening between us."

She glanced at his leg as he hobbled toward her, a faint smile touching her expression for a fleeting moment. "It is not possible for her to come between us, eniro," she told him quietly. "I am yours until the stars burn cold. Whether you want me or not, I will never belong to another man."

"Would it surprise you to hear that I feel a connection to you that I cannot explain" It is more than physical attraction, more than simply....lust. It is something I have never felt before and cannot explain." He quieted a moment as he watched her, as if debating how much to say or how to say it. It wasn't love, not yet, but there was something there that made him feel as though she was destiny. "Perhaps you have bewitched me," he said, though from the smirk on his face, it was obvious he was only teasing. "You said I am Goddess-touched. What does that mean?"

"Of course it does not surprise me," she told him, though her tone suggested that he had surprised her a little. "Have I not already told you that I feel the same connection?" His smirk made her laugh a little, the upsets of the evening set aside easily enough as she reached to draw him down beside her, laying her palm gently over the bandage at his thigh. "Goddess-touched ..." she mused over how to explain that one. "Not often, but sometimes, one of our own leaves the clans, and enters into what you call a marriage with one of your own. The children and grandchildren of that union are Goddess-touched. I think, perhaps, your mother, or one of your grandmothers, was not born an Arctran."

He took her hand, allowing her to pull him toward her, to settle on the soft ground beside her and the stream, wondering a little about the wound he'd seen her inflict upon herself, but was no longer there. She was something of a mystery, and like any mystery, he found her intriguing and wanted to know more. The answer to his question startled him, brows arching upwards, green eyes confused and a little troubled. "But..." he hesitated for just a moment before continuing. "I do not know my birth mother."

"Your grandmother, then," she said softly. "No woman of the clans would allow her child to grow without knowing her, or at the least, her people. Where were you born?" She had good reason to ask, glancing down at the bandage wrapped about his thigh thoughtfully.

Her question was a valid one, but one he was unsure how to answer. "If I am not fully Arctran..." He trailed off at the thought of what that might mean, distracted by the realization that his thigh was no longer throbbing painfully. He looked to his leg, where she had laid her hand, and frowned thoughtfully. "What did you do?" he asked, wonder in his voice.

"Nothing," she told him with a small smile playing at her lips. "Look for yourself." She withdrew her hand, chuckling at the wonder he showed. There was only one true reason that her touch, fresh from the touch of the Goddess, should have worked at all, and they were already discussing it. "You were born in the north," she guessed quietly. "Perhaps even in the city of Phalion. Yes?"

He shifted his leg so that he could unwrap the bandage from around his thigh and see for himself. "Yes," he admitted. "As far as I know. I have no memory of any place before that."

"Then your clan is my clan, if you would choose to follow the heritage of your maternal blood," she said in a quiet voice, finally moving to take off the belt that held her daggers and quiver and lay them beside herself on the moss. "Phalion is under Clan Tarven's protection, and has been for more than fifty years."

"How can that be possible?" he asked in a hushed voice that was undeniably full of wonder. He rarely spoke of his humble origins, and had no memory or knowledge of his own familial bloodline. "Is there any way I can find out more?" he asked, forgetting about his leg in the wake of this latest development.

"We have kept a close watch upon Phalion since the old queen began to show the first signs of the madness," Liayna told him, sharing a little of the secrets that surrounded that keep. "We knew something would happen there. Kari was a part of it." She paused, stopping herself from sharing anything more before she gave away the great secret that she had been charged to tell only to the rebel general himself. "I am sure the day will come when you can meet Kari yourself. She'll tell you what she knows."

He turned his gaze out over the forest and the babbling brook beside them, lost in thought for a long moment, wondering what all this meant for both himself and for her. He had always wondered about his parents, especially his mother. He could not help but notice the love and affection Liam's mother had for her son and him for her, and though he did not let jealousy poison his heart the way Reena had, he was envious of their closeness. There was no doubt someone had once given birth to him, but he had no idea who that someone might be. "Thank you," he said finally, his voice uncharacteristically soft.

Liayna looked over at him, surprised by the soft gratitude. "You have nothing to thank me for," she pointed out, just as softly. "Clan blood flows true in the Goddess-touched. You would have found your way to us eventually." Her bow came to rest on the moss beside her other weapons, her hands rising to unpick the gold clasps on her leather corset, the only armor she wore. It seemed that she had chosen this place in which to rest tonight.

The significance of what she had told him was not lost on him. If she was right, and he had no reason to suspect she was not, he was not entirely Arctran, born of mixed blood, Arctran and Clan Tarven alike. Though he knew some might question his loyalty, if they knew the truth, this new bit of knowledge only made him more determined than ever to mend the rift between their people and to bring peace to the land they both loved and shared. Her voice drew him back from his wandering thoughts and he remembered the bandage on his leg. "Is it you who healed me or the Goddess?" he asked, though it was unclear whether he was speaking of a wound of the body, the spirit, or the heart.

"Healing is the gift of the Goddess," Liayna assured him, her smile warmer now they had stepped away from talk of the past. "Unlike the Arctrans, we do not run to our divinity, demanding an end to any sickness, any injury. We ask Her if She would have us continue on, and if that is Her will, then we find that we are healed. Not every injury, not every sickness. But often enough."

"Steel is..." He had to pause a moment to consider. No one had ever asked him such a question before, and he realized this was only one of many differences between their peoples. "Steel is made with iron. It is heated in a forge and then shaped to form tools and weapons." He had not brought his swords with him and hence, could not demonstrate, but she must have noticed them on his back and in battle earlier that day. "I will show you when we reach the mountains."

"There must be more to it than that," she chuckled softly, "but I have no head for details like that. What metal we have, we trade for. It is easy enough to melt down your silly coins to make clasps and buckles." She turned to look up at him with a wicked smirk on her lips. "Are you coming in, or are you waiting for me to kneel before you, eniro?"

He actually chuckled at her question, perhaps truly laughing for the first time since meeting her. "I would not stop you, but yes. If you are through asking me questions." He stepped out of his trousers and tossed them aside onto the pile of discarded clothing, along with his boots, and stepped into the water, pleasantly surprised that it was not as cold as he was expecting.

"I have many questions," she assured him with a grin, moving to join him as he stepped into the water, smoothing her arms about his waist as she breathed him in. "But there is always time for questions another day." She nipped his chin teasingly. "You must remember to sleep tonight, eniro. You will fall from your horse tomorrow if you do not."

"Then perhaps you should not keep me awake, aera," he countered, the word just slipping from his lips without conscious thought. He circled her waist with his arms, dipping lower into the pool of water to rinse the sweat and the blood from his body.

She lowered with him into the water, true pleasure lighting up her eyes as that word fell from his lips. "When we reach your camp in the mountains, I will have to speak with your priests," she said thoughtfully. "They do not recognise the Goddess. Our joining will mean nothing to them unless their gods are invoked."

"What of the Goddess" Aren't we already joined in her eyes?" he asked curiously, not wanting to admit that what the priests thought meant little to him. He had never been an overly religious man, and now he thought he knew why.

"Yes," she nodded, lips curving in a smile that might have been shy on any other woman, but on her was charmingly disarming. "In the eyes of the Goddess, I am yours and you are mine. I will kill to keep you if I must. And you have named me your aera. I do not love you yet, eniro, but I will. Until the stars burn cold."

"Are you sure you won't live to regret that one day' You hardly know me, Liayna. I hardly know you, but I know there is some....connection between us. It is something I have never felt before with any other woman." Though they had only laid eyes on each other one day before, it seemed as though their fates were already linked and written in the stars.

Her hand gently slipped from the back of his neck to rest over his heart as she held his gaze, calm and quiet, and almost frightening sure of herself. "There is a connection," she told him. "I feel it. You feel it. The Goddess chose us for each other, Conall Riordan. And now I have you, I will not let you go. I never regret my actions, my choices. They are mine, and I protect what is mine."

"You need not worry, Liayna na'Kari," he told her, meeting her gaze with a calm, sure gaze of his own. "There is no one else who can claim me, and none who holds my heart." He'd had a few lovers over the years, but none who had touched him the way that she had, none that he had felt any connection to or who matched him the way that she did. "Who am I to question the wisdom of the Goddess?" he asked with a soft smile on his face that faded just as his lips met hers, as if to seal his words with a kiss. Who, indeed?

((The Goddess has ways we ordinary folk do not wot of. :lol: Hugi-mingus thanks to Conall's player!))