Call To Arms
“My lady I beg your leave? We have Vikings to kill. Squire, fetch these men some horses. Sound the battle horn.” Sir Redwald said then shouting “We ride for Sir George and Wilton, God wills it.”
The chaos clamor of knights vesting their armor and prancing and neighing of horses competed with the trumpets sounding across the glade.
Chrisween rushed to Avon side. Sir Redwald and Erick swung up onto their prancing chargers eager to the challenge.
“What your problem highlander? Get on the horse.” said Sir Redwald.
“Aye, he be a very big horse”
“Well trim his beard. We will be calling him little Bruce, get mounted, we ride God wills it.”
The verbal joust of Redwald was not helping Avon mount the seventeen-hand heavily-armored restless black Percheron charger. A squire came to Avon aid helping mount and handing him his sword.
“Where is my horse?” Chrisween asked.
“My lady you can ride in the coach with the handmaidens.” Sir Redwald said.
“No, I will ride a horse. Give me a horse, God will it.” Chrisween flashed a menacing stare at Redwald snapping like a wolf.
“Choose well your battles, sire, this is one you cannot win. She can ride with me.” Avon said.
“Squire, help my lady to get on the horse” Redwald ordered.
The squire knelt holding on to the stirrup of Avon saddle forming a steps for her to ascend. Looking at the ground he said “I am your stoop milady use my back to get on.”
As Chrisween climbed, she began to think, I have never been on a horse. She probed Kathleen for what to do; Kathleen could not help for she too had never been on a horse. All she could do was remind her of the sheriff’s horses and how they bucked and ran. Unnerved she sits, her feet dangling off the side, behind Avon putting her arms around him holding on for dear life. Holding him her fears began to languish as her courage found strength in hugging the solid muscular chest of Avon.
Avon feeling the raging power of the veteran warhorse between his inconvenience knees. Felt as if he were a caber juggled and being balance for a toss. His mind panes of broken windows and mirrors of the past days, his lads that lay dead, disjointed emotions, enveloped in a scaring rage to bring them back, and then there is this lass who has stole his sanity. Who was she, where did she come from, and why, why did I say she was to be his wife? Her embrace squelched his raging thoughts. Little Bruce raring pulling away from the squires grasp jolts ‘tilting the Bruce, Avon's sword at the sky forcing words “Onward, God will’s it.” From Avon’ stonewalled glaze. An attempt to hide the facts he had never ridden a horse of this caliber. He had only ridden the fell ponies of the highlands as a lad. Little Bruce settled in to a gentle strolling gate in line with the parade pressing their campaign. Winged crickets buzzing thoughts leaped threw Avon mind fanning the wrath of fears. How am I going to tell Kyle’s parents of his death, the site of Kyle’s head being kick around still burns...,I want to kill them. Did Bruce have a chance to defend himself? How am I going to tell of them? How can I tell the clan the wool was gone and there was no money to pay them?
Chrisween squeezing, pulling him back to her, with her head resting on his back. Again his thoughts return to her, Thoughts of Her planting seeds in the fertile fields of heather morn, wakening in my home with her in my arms. The sweet smell of the lavender steamed from her arms toyed with dreams of what it might be.
Guide-on bannered lancers gallop past bring him back to the task at hand and thoughts of the pending battle. How many will there be? How can I fight from the back of this mountain of a horse, I have always fought on foot? I can see the face of the raiders as they kick Kyle’s head, will they be there? Can I find them? Can I kill them? What of Chrisween? What if she gets hurt? Should I head for home taking Chrisween with me? can I Let Redwald and Erick take care of the Viking, but I owes James, Bruce, Kyle, and the clan the heads of their murders?
Kathleen following in the wooded rows is stop by the Oak king. He tells her she has to go back to Stonehenge the counsel of the elders need her. “I have embodied a wolf, what need could they have of me?”
“They know of the exchange Hehewuti is upset, she wish your present before the counsel.”
“I must go to kill the Viking, they killed my mother and father, let me pass.”
The Oak king branches thrash about in a wail and the ground trembles “NO! GO TO STONEHENGE OR DIE.”
Kathleen turns to run to the join the knights. The oak king catches her in a branches and throws her towards the Henge. “You will die. Go to Stonehenge.” She lands hard bruising pain shoot threw her rattle body. Warily she stands and starts off to the Henge.
Two hours pass she see the friar stone animated beckoning her to join the circle of faceless hooded figures. Cowing low she edges closer fearing what may come of her. A gentle soft voice come from the circle “Kathleen we have been robbed, the wheel of stars, it was been taken. Time has stop for us, we are turning to stone and myth. You must save us. We cannot go the stars.”