End of the decade...and what a decade it was!
Politcal disasters, military disasters, natural disasters, economic disasters....It there is one thing you will remember from the first decade of the 21st Century, it was seeing the flag at half mast almost every week...
Nonetheless, in spite of it all, or maybe to spite it all, we had some fun. Babies were born, people got married, things were invented and believe it or not, some good did come out of all this even if you have to look deep.
I had fun this decade between terrorist threats and economic collapse. I managed to get on the radio in 1998 and though I have been through several stations, I still get to yack to a few thousand people about football and hockey.
My Steelers won two Super Bowls (XL and XLIII) and the Pittsburgh Penguins won the Stanley Cup in this year after nearly pulling it off in 2008.
I finally wrote HeavenSteel and Aries Marching will come out in January (I promise!!!) I think I will post the cover tomorrow...
My life has taken an upward swing since I left that dump of a radio station I was at in early 2008. I got married, finished writing my second book, went to graduate school (all A's so far...), and got back down to my free safety playing weight of 190. I was 189 this morning.
And I can still benchpress 225 pounds...
I hope each and every one of you has a great 2010. I wish you nothing but health and happiness and I know you will conquer whatever this year tosses at you.
Have a Happy New Year and pay attention to the don't drink and drive homes.
If you're going to get snockered, do it at home and watch out for the table on the way down!
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Monday, December 28, 2009
Marching around
Friend of mine is writing a paper on military music and this is some of the stuff he is using. Makes good work out music!
The British Grenediers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLc-bvcdNTw
German Koniggratzer Marsch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RqaOS_az5qI
US Cavalry march: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaaBN4Mm0Ok&feature=related
Scotland the Brave: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBKBI7DOLHA
Defending World Champion Flight of the Valkyries! : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AlEvy0fJto&feature=related
From Apocalypse Now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sx7XNb3Q9Ek&feature=related
The British Grenediers: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WLc-bvcdNTw
German Koniggratzer Marsch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RqaOS_az5qI
US Cavalry march: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oaaBN4Mm0Ok&feature=related
Scotland the Brave: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vBKBI7DOLHA
Defending World Champion Flight of the Valkyries! : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7AlEvy0fJto&feature=related
From Apocalypse Now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sx7XNb3Q9Ek&feature=related
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
Final Exams Finished!
It was a tough brutal three week stretch but in the end, we won! Two term papers, two position papers and a classic final exam but we did it! First semester of graduate school is in the books!Yes, Russian studies major! I had to declare a major in history, picking from European, American, Atlantic World, Military or Public History. EuroMajor with probably military as a minor...That Citadel stuff came in handy after all, I guess....
Maritime History of the Western World, Fall of the Weimar Repubic and Historiography are all offically credited to me. I liked all of the classes and I will put the professors at East Carolina up against anyone...even Harvard. Or even Pitt!
If they don't win, they will at least cover the point spread!
Getting ready for next semester....Documenting Lost Indian Tribes of NC (a little off the beaten path for me but I need a US course...) and History of Ancient Greece.
I know, I know...Ancient Greece is a little of a cop out for me but I need a European course ;-)
Until then I am taking a break unti classes start on Jan 8.
Without false modesty, I can say I earned it!
Time for some pizza!
Monday, December 7, 2009
Chapter One
Chapter 1
A ten pound stone stood outlined against the crystal blue autumn sky for a glorious second before it began the inevitable downward slope of the arc. Its thud on a pile of neatly placed rocks was greeted with a wild shout, announcing the end of a rather unique conditioning drill.
Kejen Densky stood in the courtyard of Sparent's castle with his fists raised in triumph. The gray oversized shirt Northmarchers favored was drenched in sweat but that was the point of the exercise. The cheers of his fellow soldiers gathered around ran a close second. Kejen waved and took a bow, doing his best to brush the dirt with his forehead.
“Not bad, my friend, not bad at all!” Gusaric, the garrison commander clapped. “But I thought you were supposed to run with each of the stones, place it on the pile and run back again.”
Kejen saluted the other officer before giving giving an explanation. “I just wanted to end the exercise with a little excitement. I think a fifty yard throw with my left hand, off balance deserves some attention!”
“You will always be good at drawing attention, Kejen!” Gusaric laughed. “And you always will be!”
Kejen chuckled, picked a stone from the pile and tossed it straight up about six feet. Gusaric's eyes followed as it dropped into Kejen's hand. Kejen's large hand swallowed the stone easily enough and the muscled arm connecting it to a broad shoulder hardly registered the mass of the falling ten pounds. A quick right pivot and even quicker overhand throw later and the rock landed at the feet of a newly promoted captain.
“That is why I make it a point never to run out into the courtyard without looking first!” Leron said in an attempt to scold the rock thrower who not only had him outranked but was also much larger. Of course, that would have no effect whatsoever and Leron knew it. “I think I am going to keep my helmet on from now on.”
Kejen's wolfish grin was answer enough.
The Hero of Dunrovin and bearer of HeavenSteel may have been nearing his fortieth birthday but Kejen Densky was showing no signs of aging gracefully. Gusaric was not in the least bit surprised. Kejen was never one to hurtle into something at less than full speed. If anything, Gusaric's
childhood friend seemed larger and stronger than ever. The garrison commander of the Castle of Sparent sucked in his gut a little. Some people were simply Blessed.
“You know better than to think I would hit you with a rock, Leron!” Kejen's voice boomed into every corner throughout the Castle of Sparent. No, the thought of aging gracefully had not even begun to enter Kejen's mind. Odds were it could not even find the front door, Gusaric smiled wryly.
“You would not hit me intentionally...” Leron began. “Well, I know you would not want to clot me on the noggin this moment at any rate. You have a visitor.”
The way Leron had stressed the last word told Kejen exactly who had come to see him. Kejen mumbled his pardon and ran across the courtyard to the entrance portal, inadvertently showering his commanding officer with some dirt.
“He could probably outrun half my horses.” Gusaric wiped his eyes before walking across the courtyard. “If he ever decided to run around the world, he could probably do it in a month.”
Leron fell in alongside Gusaric. “A month and a day.” He opined. “Kejen would stop off to get us a couple of presents.”
“He's a good fellow.” Gusaric agreed as they neared the Castle's entrance.
Kejen came to a full stop in front of a woman with a couple of baskets in one hand and a young boy in the other. He hugged her with a gentleness completely out of character. One of the guards looking on politely turned away to hide his laughter as the lady tried to hug Kejen with one hand with the baskets still on her forearm.
“How are you today, my dove?” She said with her typical barely above a whisper voice. How anyone could equate Kejen to something like a dove was beyond most people's logic but Kavala knew her husband on levels no one else could.
“Much better now that you are here, Kavala.” Kejen smiled. “How are the wee ones today? Are they giving you much trouble?”
“They are angels.” Kavala answered softly. Her Lans accent was barely
noticeable.
“Must get it from your side of the family.” Kejen grinned.
“I have been good!” The little boy said somewhat louder than a four year old should have sounded around strangers walking by. Evidently, Kejen's side of the family wielded some considerable influence as well.
Kejen picked the squealing boy up under the arms and lifted him up. “Is that true, Ank? Should I ask your mother?” He put his son down. “I know you are a good boy.” Kejen turned his attention to one of the baskets. “How is little Alutia today?”
“Sleeping.” Kavala answered. “Some people are so lucky.”
Gusaric and Leron walked by. The Sparent Brigade's leading officer patted Ank's head and the little boy smiled.
“Good morning, Kavala.” Gusaric said politely.
“Good morning.” Kavala answered neutrally.
If Gusaric was bothered by that, he did not show it. Leron nodded and followed his superior officer to his quarters. He managed to hide his smile though. Of course, he was smiling about something else all together. “Ank” was short for Ankleton, a small village near Barcova where, Kejen confided in him, that little Ank was conceived. Leron vowed that Kavala would never find out Kejen had ever let him in on that bit of knowledge. It was not Kavala he was afraid of though. It was her husband who threw rocks around every morning because he thought it was a fun thing to do...
“No need to bring that up, Kavala.” Kejen all but chided his wife.
“I just think you should be the brigade commander and he should be second in command.” Kavala's seldom used claws came out.
Kejen shrugged. “It is but a small thing. We are friends. Always have been, always will be. We fought alongside each other and we have grown up together.” Kejen motioned his family over to a table next to the courtyard as a group of soldiers began to march into the castle.
Kejen looked oddly pensive for a minute, looking through the formation of marching men at something else from another time in another place. “When you have been to some of the places I have and seen some of the things I have seen, you ask yourself, 'how important is military rank?' “
Kavala followed Kejen's gaze. She was an extremely intelligent woman
but as smart as she was, Kavala could never be able to understand what it had been like to be at Lamptra or in the bloodstained hallways of the Argual.
After the defeat of the Khaizani and recovery of HeavenSteel, Kejen suffered the worst fate imaginable. That of a warrior with no war to fight. Since that day at Dunrovin, no threats, serious or otherwise, appeared on the horizon to menace the Northmarch. The Masovian threat was always there but Regalwood's attention was focused in the opposite direction, mounting what appeared to be a never ending series of large scale expeditions across the Centola into Rhenia. Sometimes it seemed as if the Masovians completely forgot their northern neighbors even existed.
Aside from the Khanate of Khaizan exploding into civil war and Croghen's Rhenian adventurism, it seemed as if the entire world was forswearing from the wars constantly roiling across its face. Even the Sea-Faring Kingdoms were not fighting each other as usual and Thenros's almost constant border clashes with the Saracens were giving way to trade negotiations. King Fleston clearly regarded the birth of the new century a couple of years earlier as the beginning of a new era of peace.
Kejen followed the footsteps of the valiant Kuran, honoring his friend by not only volunteering for the legendary Demon Division but passing the arduous training with flying colors. Wearing the black armor of that elite formation was the greatest honor of his life.
But there was nothing for the Division or anyone else in the regular army or even militia to focus on.
An exchange of permanent emissaries with Masovia underscored the new shift in relations between countries. No one in Regalwood appeared ready to embrace Northmarchers as brothers but there did not seem to be a war ready to break out either. The forty years since the Battle of Driergam was the longest the two rivals had gone without a clash of arms so maybe a lasting peace really was at hand.
Kejen dutifully trained and prepared and prepared and trained but year after year, everything remained quiet. Knowing from painful personal experience that glory often came with a dreadful price in blood, he realized that this new turn of events was probably for the better. What worried Kejen though was that if the Masovians ever showed signs of reverting back to their
old tricks, it would be harder to convince anyone to get ready for what was coming. Especially a King Fleston who desperately wanted to usher in his era of peace.
And that would confer upon the Masovians a tremendous advantage.
Gusaric accused his friend of getting old and suspicious. To that, Kejen simply retorted, “Do you trust Masovia?”
“No, I do not.” Gusaric replied.
Eventually Kejen left the Division to go back into the regular army so he could, as he put it, twiddle his thumbs closer to home instead of in the middle of no where.
Still, he made sure his departure was on good terms and kept in touch with the friends he made there. Part of it was because of the camaraderie but Kejen had another compelling reason as well.
Kascar, acerbic as usual, also had an annoying tendency to be right. “Remember this and remember this well, boy, ” He growled in Kejen's face. “Even when Masovians smile, you still see their teeth.”
Ank sat quietly for once, hands folded, imitating his father. Kejen reached over and ran his hands through his son's hair. Brown, Kejen thought, like mine! He gently kissed his sleeping daughter Alutia and then kissed his wife on the cheek.
“You are what is important to me!” Kejen said in a quiet intensity that seemed to fill the courtyard. “You and nothing else. Let anyone take any rank they want. Do so with my blessings! I have you, Ank and Alutia and that is all I will ever want!”
“Oh Kejen, I love you so much!” Kavala hugged her husband hard. “I just want you to be happy!”
“With you I am always happy.” Kejen hugged his wife back. “Now love Gusaric like you do my brother. He is a good man and would never hurt anyone.”
“Should I give him half the lunch I brought you then?” Kavala smiled, placing the second basket on the table.
“No need to act insane!” Kejen laughed.
“Can I ask you a personal question, sir?” Leron ventured
“Now you want to become formal?” Gusaric's eyebrows raised. “You? The most informal person I know?”
Leron looked down on the wooden floor as Gusaric sat down behind a desk. “My apologies. Very well, I will just say it then. I just wanted to know why Kejen's wife does not seem to like you very much.”
“Oh that.” Gusaric snorted and added a dismissive wave. “She thinks Kejen should have been made colonel and garrison commander instead of me.”
“Why would she care about that?” Leron asked.
“Would your wife not be upset if you did not get what you deserve?”
“You mean 'what she thinks you deserve?' “ Leron laughed. “If it were up to my Hentia, she would have made me a general a week after I met her!”
“My wife thinks the same.” Gusaric smiled. “I must admit thought, I was surprised. Not just what Kejen did against the Khaizani but remember he did a stretch in the Demon Division too. Someone like that is an army onto himself!”
“But Kejen is not the sort who cares about rank anyway.” Leron said. “I have known him a long time.”
“Not as long as I have.” Gusaric finally took his rank's privilege. “Look at the entranceway behind you. He and I came trough there side by side along with his brother. And you are right. He does not care about what is painted on his armor. He cares about his soldiers and his people. And I am very proud to call him my friend.”
There was a knock on the door. Leron turned and his eyes widened a bit in surprise when he saw a guard from the gate standing with there with Kavala.
“Sorry to bother you, sir.” The guard said. “But his lady has something to give you.”
Gusaric stood up and dipped his head slightly. “Of course, please come in”
Kavala smiled and walked in. The smile seemed genuine. Gusaric wondered who much of what he said made it to her ears but he kept his face professionally expressionless.
“Even Kejen could not finish all of what I brought him.” She said. “So I thought you might enjoy it.”
“That you very much.” A confused Gusaric said as she placed the basket on his desk. “Would you like me to give Kejen the basket back later today?”
“Yes, thank you.” Kavala said. “May good health and happiness follow you wherever you may go.” Gusaric wondered what was happening. She had never said that before! Kavala smiled and left before Kejen lost control of Ank and Alutia in the entranceway, leaving Gusaric no chance to return the traditional goodbye.
“That was nice of her.” Leron finally said.
“Yes it was.” Gusaric agreed. He looked though the basket's contents. “Roast chicken. Very nice! Would you like a bite, Leron?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“For all I know, it could be poisoned!”
Beafalo rode through the open gates of his castle at Chenla, robes flapping in the cool autumn air and guards in tow, the very image of ducal glory. He doffed the floppy hat Masovians generally wore and gave one of his stable hands a withering look. The lad had not run up to the Duke of Recalto quite fast enough to suit His Grace.
The boy mumbled an apology. Beafalo was in a good mood so instead of tongue lashing the miscreant he merely ignored him him as he dismounted. After all, he, Beafalo, had just returned not only from Regalwood but from a private audience from His Most Glorious Highness himself!
Beafalo bounded up the stairs to his castle two at a time. Not too bad, he thought to himself. Even the two guards at the door nodded slightly in approval before coming to attention. He may not have been as young as he once was but Beafalo was still in the prime of his manhood.
A duke generally had others open the doors for him at his own estate but today the flew open from a powerful shove of Beafalo's own hands. Masovians were a theatrical folk and Beafalo loved theatrics more than most.
The sudden entrance had the effect he wanted as conversation in the ducal throne room suddenly stopped as if cut off. The Duke of Recalto stepped forward and announced as loud as he could, “I have returned from Regalwood!”
After a second of stunned silence, cheers erupted from his retinue and some of the cleaner serfs brought in from the fields for the occasion. They chanted his name as Beafalo walked ramrod straight down the center of the room to his throne, mounted up on a dais of three steps.
Torsovo, his second in command, stood next to the throne and when Beafalo's foot touched the first step, he dutifully sank to one knee and respectfully lowered his head. His sovereign liege patted Torsovo on his blond head and quickly touched his seat with the other hand.
“Ah, it's still warm!” Beafalo laughed. “Did you enjoy sitting in it while I was gone?”
Torsovo grinned sheepishly. “I merely did what was necessary in your absence, my lord.”
“And you enjoyed every second of it, I am sure.” Beafalo smiled back. He remembered clearly what he was like at Torsovo's age, almost twenty years ago, eager to show how capable he was. “I am glad you do like it because one day this will be all of yours.” Beafalo's wave encompassed the entire throne room and everyone in it.
All assembled bowed reverently in the direction of both men. They also dropped almost as one to a knee as the Duke of Recalto sat on his throne. The gesture was done quickly for it was well known that Beafalo reacted harshly to anything that seemed a breech of noble decorum.
Beafalo let them stay that way for a few seconds before giving his subjects permission to stand up again. “Anything interesting happen while I was away with the Emperor?” He asked Torsovo. “I am fully confident that everything ran smoothly with you in my seat.”
“Fairly routine.” Torsovo reported. “There was, however, one matter that required you judgment.”
His Grace spied his son and daughter quietly entering the room. “Can it wait a few minutes or is it something that needs to be addressed this very second?”
“It can wait as long as you desire, Your Grace.” Torsovo said with a
smile. He had sent the man away one time before. He was sure added delay only made the unwelcome visitor fume more. That, of course, delighted Torsovo to no end.
Beafalo descended the steps appearing as majestically as he could and embraced his children. Bregetene was a large lad, strongly resembling his father but a mute one as well and born somewhat slow as well. No one would ever come out and say that though. Especially after the example Beafalo had made of the one one man who ever did. The fact he was a noble did not save him from Beafalo's wrath. Beafalo would challenge anyone, anyone at all, to single combat on this issue! After the other noble's untimely end, no one, wisely, ever did.
Esteru's long black hair loudly proclaimed her to be her father's daughter. Her looks however came from the mother she never knew. Beafalo winked at a couple of the ladies of the court as he hugged his children. The Duke may have been a widower but he still clearly enjoyed his time holding court. Here and in other, more private settings.
Beafalo held his daughter's hand out to Torsovo, who kissed it gently before walking over to shake Bregetene's. Esteru had to guide her brother's hand a little and contrived to skillfully brush Torsovo's. Beafalo smiled at that. Torsovo and Esteru was the match he wanted. Esteru was of his blood and Torsovo, while not a blood relative, was like a son to the Duke of Recalto. Since Bregetene's mental faculties did not allow for a conventional succession, a Torsovo-Esteru union provided the next best orderly alternative.
Still, there were some underlying issues that made the lord of Chenla's castle uneasy. Torsovo was, by nature, an aggressive man. An aggressiveness that carried over to more intimate settings if what some of the ladies of the court said were true. On the other hand, Torsovo, as well as practically everyone else in Masovia, knew better than to cross Beafalo especially where his children were involved. Torsovo was showing signs of increasing maturity so perhaps the problem would resolve itself, Beafalo hoped.
“Now what is this problem you needed me to take care of?” Beafalo snapped, yanking Torsovo's thoughts back to the proper business of running
the duchy.
“I will have him brought to you immediately, Your Grace.” Torsovo
answered. After an audible sigh and a quick longing glance at Esteru, he barked out an order to a couple of soldiers.
Beafalo smirked as he climbed back up the dais and sat down on his throne. He knew exactly what Torsovo would do. He was just like his father. Brave man. It was unfortunate he had to die at the hands of the Northmarchers just when he had quietly and skillfully worked his way into a position to exploit their vulnerabilities. At least I have fulfilled my promise to watch over his son, Beafalo thought to himself.
And speaking of Northmarchers...
Wiart stalked angrily into the throne room, flanked by two Masovian soldiers who acted as if he was carrying some disease. Golif, his oldest son, trailed behind, was basically ignored. He glared daggers at the back of the heads of the two guards but that had no effect whatsoever. Even if he had thought of doing something more drastic, he knew the rest of the Masovian mob gathered here would prevent anything serious from happening. A good look at the edged weapons the soldiers carried made a rather convincing argument against doing anything rash too.
Beafalo steepled his hands and stared down at the Northmarcher farmer brought before him. His face remained impassive so Wiart was not sure what the Masovian lord was thinking. No greetings were offered and after an awkward moment, Wiart shrugged, mustered his rusty command of Masovian and simply said what was on his mind.
“You have a cow that belonging to me and want it back.” Wiart knew his grammar was not all it should have been but he knew he managed to get his point across.
Beafalo leaned forward patronizingly. “Do you understand what I am saying?” In Masovian, slow and very deliberate.
Torsovo smiled. He knew Duke Beafalo was enjoying himself.
Wiart scowled. He could not only sense the contempt in Beafalo's voice but feel it. “Yes, I understand you.”
Beafalo beamed like a school teacher watching his pupils reading on their own for the first time. “Excellent! Then you will understand this: I do not have your cow. Nor do I have anyone else's cow!” Beafalo's head swiveled around looking at on one in particular. “I have only my own cows!”
Laughter filled the room but Wiart saw nothing funny. He only saw a pompous overdressed Masovian twit trying to make a fool out of him. Nonetheless, he still tried to sound reasonable. “There is a brand on the cow---”
“I cannot read that scrawling your people call a language.” Beafalo lied. Anyone living on either side of the border picked up at least a little of the other's language. And Beafalo not only knew a little of what the Northmarchers spoke but had spent years studying it. The Duke of Recalto pointed in the direction of of the soldier on Wiart's right. “You! Your name is Auggio, is it not?”
The soldier stiffened to attention, both delighted and alarmed the duke knew his name. “Yes, your Grace!”
“Are you the one who first encountered this man on our side of the border?”
“Yes, your Grace.” Auggio answered
“Does he seem to be in his right mind?” Beafalo said with a nasty grin that also seemed to invite the soldier to share in a joke. “Do you think he sees cows everywhere? Perhaps he rides around from castle to castle claiming they have taken cows so that he can build up his own herd?”
A gale of laughter swept over the room and the now seething Wiart. This was beginning to get out of hand. Golif's feet shifted uncomfortably.
Auggio reached up under his helmet that looked like something Hernando Cortes would have worn while sacking Tenochtitlan and scratched his forehead. “Now that you mention it, Your Grace, he does seem a little off.” He addressed his friend on the other side of Wiart. “Would you not agree, Fornebu?”
Amid the laughter washing over him anew, Wiart did the unthinkable. He took a step forward and his foot was on the step of the dais. Auggio and Fornebu's inattention allowed Wiart to travel more than halfway to Beafalo, much to the dukes sudden horror.
Wiart, as angry as he was, at least had the presence of mind to approach with his hands open to show that he was unarmed.
“Now look here!” He shouted at Beafalo. “I did not come here to be mocked or to have you justify stealing my livestock!” In his anger, Wiart forgot he was shouting in the Northmarcher language and was demonstrating
that he nothing of or cared anything about Masovian nobility etiquette.
Beafalo stood up and kicked Wiart where it hurt the most. The farmer doubled over, clutching himself and Beafalo's fist landed on the point of Wiart's chin. Wiart tumbled down the stairs. Fornebu knocked Golif down and Auggio put his foot down on Wiart's neck. Amid the shouting, Beafalo walked down the dais, squatted down and yelled into Wiart's face. “You have some nerve to walk up to me when I did not give you permission!”
Wiart wanted nothing more to lob a globule of bloody spit into Beafalo's face but a sidelong glance at his son in the grip of a Masovian soldier stayed that thought. Golif struggled for a bit but another Masovian soldier came over and helped Fornebu subdue him further.
“Get him on his feet!” Beaflo shouted at Auggio from point-blank range.
The soldier pulled Wiart up roughly and held him up on the balls of his feet.
“Now my dear Northmarcher.” Beafalo said in a voice louder than usual so the rest of the throne room could hear him. “You seem to know nothing of how to act in the presence of your betters. Your education begins now.”
Wiart growled in frustration but Auggio's grip was like iron. The Masovian soldier knew that Beafalo was angry with him too for letting Wiart slip up to the dais so he was determined not to let anything like that happen again. Fortunately for Auggio, Wiart dominated Beafalo's attention.
“First of all, you address me as 'Your Grace' or 'my lord' or even 'duke' “ Beafalo began his lecture. Wiart looked away. A sharp sounding slap echoed across the room. “You are not paying attention! You are lucky that was only a slap, not another punch. Again, address my as 'Your Grace.' Do you understand?”
Wiart just glared back at him. Northmarchers were a stubborn people. Mules must play a prominent part of their ancestry, Beafalo thought.
“Very well.” Beafalo huffed. “Bring the boy up here.”
Wiart's eyes widened as his son was yanked up off the floor but Beafalo knew it was a little early to take any satisfaction from that. “Again, address me by my proper title!” The Duke of Recalto commanded.
His captive still remained defiantly silent.
“Kill his son.” Beafalo said nonchalantly.
“No, no, Your Grace!” Wiart shouted and struggled ineffectually against Auggio's hold. “Do not punish him for my mistakes, my lord!”
Beafalo waved off the approaching soldier with the spear. “See? You do know what I am saying! Not bad at all.” He leaned forward into the face of Wiart who was beginning to show some signs of fear at last. His nasty smile presaged the next words well. “I look forward to working with you some more.”
The Masovian noble took a step back and began issuing orders. “You! Boy!” He pointed at Golif. “Run home and tell your mother that your father will be along in a week or so.” Then he glared at Auggio and Fornebu. “Take our friend here into the dungeons. We will teach him some manners.”
A ten pound stone stood outlined against the crystal blue autumn sky for a glorious second before it began the inevitable downward slope of the arc. Its thud on a pile of neatly placed rocks was greeted with a wild shout, announcing the end of a rather unique conditioning drill.
Kejen Densky stood in the courtyard of Sparent's castle with his fists raised in triumph. The gray oversized shirt Northmarchers favored was drenched in sweat but that was the point of the exercise. The cheers of his fellow soldiers gathered around ran a close second. Kejen waved and took a bow, doing his best to brush the dirt with his forehead.
“Not bad, my friend, not bad at all!” Gusaric, the garrison commander clapped. “But I thought you were supposed to run with each of the stones, place it on the pile and run back again.”
Kejen saluted the other officer before giving giving an explanation. “I just wanted to end the exercise with a little excitement. I think a fifty yard throw with my left hand, off balance deserves some attention!”
“You will always be good at drawing attention, Kejen!” Gusaric laughed. “And you always will be!”
Kejen chuckled, picked a stone from the pile and tossed it straight up about six feet. Gusaric's eyes followed as it dropped into Kejen's hand. Kejen's large hand swallowed the stone easily enough and the muscled arm connecting it to a broad shoulder hardly registered the mass of the falling ten pounds. A quick right pivot and even quicker overhand throw later and the rock landed at the feet of a newly promoted captain.
“That is why I make it a point never to run out into the courtyard without looking first!” Leron said in an attempt to scold the rock thrower who not only had him outranked but was also much larger. Of course, that would have no effect whatsoever and Leron knew it. “I think I am going to keep my helmet on from now on.”
Kejen's wolfish grin was answer enough.
The Hero of Dunrovin and bearer of HeavenSteel may have been nearing his fortieth birthday but Kejen Densky was showing no signs of aging gracefully. Gusaric was not in the least bit surprised. Kejen was never one to hurtle into something at less than full speed. If anything, Gusaric's
childhood friend seemed larger and stronger than ever. The garrison commander of the Castle of Sparent sucked in his gut a little. Some people were simply Blessed.
“You know better than to think I would hit you with a rock, Leron!” Kejen's voice boomed into every corner throughout the Castle of Sparent. No, the thought of aging gracefully had not even begun to enter Kejen's mind. Odds were it could not even find the front door, Gusaric smiled wryly.
“You would not hit me intentionally...” Leron began. “Well, I know you would not want to clot me on the noggin this moment at any rate. You have a visitor.”
The way Leron had stressed the last word told Kejen exactly who had come to see him. Kejen mumbled his pardon and ran across the courtyard to the entrance portal, inadvertently showering his commanding officer with some dirt.
“He could probably outrun half my horses.” Gusaric wiped his eyes before walking across the courtyard. “If he ever decided to run around the world, he could probably do it in a month.”
Leron fell in alongside Gusaric. “A month and a day.” He opined. “Kejen would stop off to get us a couple of presents.”
“He's a good fellow.” Gusaric agreed as they neared the Castle's entrance.
Kejen came to a full stop in front of a woman with a couple of baskets in one hand and a young boy in the other. He hugged her with a gentleness completely out of character. One of the guards looking on politely turned away to hide his laughter as the lady tried to hug Kejen with one hand with the baskets still on her forearm.
“How are you today, my dove?” She said with her typical barely above a whisper voice. How anyone could equate Kejen to something like a dove was beyond most people's logic but Kavala knew her husband on levels no one else could.
“Much better now that you are here, Kavala.” Kejen smiled. “How are the wee ones today? Are they giving you much trouble?”
“They are angels.” Kavala answered softly. Her Lans accent was barely
noticeable.
“Must get it from your side of the family.” Kejen grinned.
“I have been good!” The little boy said somewhat louder than a four year old should have sounded around strangers walking by. Evidently, Kejen's side of the family wielded some considerable influence as well.
Kejen picked the squealing boy up under the arms and lifted him up. “Is that true, Ank? Should I ask your mother?” He put his son down. “I know you are a good boy.” Kejen turned his attention to one of the baskets. “How is little Alutia today?”
“Sleeping.” Kavala answered. “Some people are so lucky.”
Gusaric and Leron walked by. The Sparent Brigade's leading officer patted Ank's head and the little boy smiled.
“Good morning, Kavala.” Gusaric said politely.
“Good morning.” Kavala answered neutrally.
If Gusaric was bothered by that, he did not show it. Leron nodded and followed his superior officer to his quarters. He managed to hide his smile though. Of course, he was smiling about something else all together. “Ank” was short for Ankleton, a small village near Barcova where, Kejen confided in him, that little Ank was conceived. Leron vowed that Kavala would never find out Kejen had ever let him in on that bit of knowledge. It was not Kavala he was afraid of though. It was her husband who threw rocks around every morning because he thought it was a fun thing to do...
“No need to bring that up, Kavala.” Kejen all but chided his wife.
“I just think you should be the brigade commander and he should be second in command.” Kavala's seldom used claws came out.
Kejen shrugged. “It is but a small thing. We are friends. Always have been, always will be. We fought alongside each other and we have grown up together.” Kejen motioned his family over to a table next to the courtyard as a group of soldiers began to march into the castle.
Kejen looked oddly pensive for a minute, looking through the formation of marching men at something else from another time in another place. “When you have been to some of the places I have and seen some of the things I have seen, you ask yourself, 'how important is military rank?' “
Kavala followed Kejen's gaze. She was an extremely intelligent woman
but as smart as she was, Kavala could never be able to understand what it had been like to be at Lamptra or in the bloodstained hallways of the Argual.
After the defeat of the Khaizani and recovery of HeavenSteel, Kejen suffered the worst fate imaginable. That of a warrior with no war to fight. Since that day at Dunrovin, no threats, serious or otherwise, appeared on the horizon to menace the Northmarch. The Masovian threat was always there but Regalwood's attention was focused in the opposite direction, mounting what appeared to be a never ending series of large scale expeditions across the Centola into Rhenia. Sometimes it seemed as if the Masovians completely forgot their northern neighbors even existed.
Aside from the Khanate of Khaizan exploding into civil war and Croghen's Rhenian adventurism, it seemed as if the entire world was forswearing from the wars constantly roiling across its face. Even the Sea-Faring Kingdoms were not fighting each other as usual and Thenros's almost constant border clashes with the Saracens were giving way to trade negotiations. King Fleston clearly regarded the birth of the new century a couple of years earlier as the beginning of a new era of peace.
Kejen followed the footsteps of the valiant Kuran, honoring his friend by not only volunteering for the legendary Demon Division but passing the arduous training with flying colors. Wearing the black armor of that elite formation was the greatest honor of his life.
But there was nothing for the Division or anyone else in the regular army or even militia to focus on.
An exchange of permanent emissaries with Masovia underscored the new shift in relations between countries. No one in Regalwood appeared ready to embrace Northmarchers as brothers but there did not seem to be a war ready to break out either. The forty years since the Battle of Driergam was the longest the two rivals had gone without a clash of arms so maybe a lasting peace really was at hand.
Kejen dutifully trained and prepared and prepared and trained but year after year, everything remained quiet. Knowing from painful personal experience that glory often came with a dreadful price in blood, he realized that this new turn of events was probably for the better. What worried Kejen though was that if the Masovians ever showed signs of reverting back to their
old tricks, it would be harder to convince anyone to get ready for what was coming. Especially a King Fleston who desperately wanted to usher in his era of peace.
And that would confer upon the Masovians a tremendous advantage.
Gusaric accused his friend of getting old and suspicious. To that, Kejen simply retorted, “Do you trust Masovia?”
“No, I do not.” Gusaric replied.
Eventually Kejen left the Division to go back into the regular army so he could, as he put it, twiddle his thumbs closer to home instead of in the middle of no where.
Still, he made sure his departure was on good terms and kept in touch with the friends he made there. Part of it was because of the camaraderie but Kejen had another compelling reason as well.
Kascar, acerbic as usual, also had an annoying tendency to be right. “Remember this and remember this well, boy, ” He growled in Kejen's face. “Even when Masovians smile, you still see their teeth.”
Ank sat quietly for once, hands folded, imitating his father. Kejen reached over and ran his hands through his son's hair. Brown, Kejen thought, like mine! He gently kissed his sleeping daughter Alutia and then kissed his wife on the cheek.
“You are what is important to me!” Kejen said in a quiet intensity that seemed to fill the courtyard. “You and nothing else. Let anyone take any rank they want. Do so with my blessings! I have you, Ank and Alutia and that is all I will ever want!”
“Oh Kejen, I love you so much!” Kavala hugged her husband hard. “I just want you to be happy!”
“With you I am always happy.” Kejen hugged his wife back. “Now love Gusaric like you do my brother. He is a good man and would never hurt anyone.”
“Should I give him half the lunch I brought you then?” Kavala smiled, placing the second basket on the table.
“No need to act insane!” Kejen laughed.
“Can I ask you a personal question, sir?” Leron ventured
“Now you want to become formal?” Gusaric's eyebrows raised. “You? The most informal person I know?”
Leron looked down on the wooden floor as Gusaric sat down behind a desk. “My apologies. Very well, I will just say it then. I just wanted to know why Kejen's wife does not seem to like you very much.”
“Oh that.” Gusaric snorted and added a dismissive wave. “She thinks Kejen should have been made colonel and garrison commander instead of me.”
“Why would she care about that?” Leron asked.
“Would your wife not be upset if you did not get what you deserve?”
“You mean 'what she thinks you deserve?' “ Leron laughed. “If it were up to my Hentia, she would have made me a general a week after I met her!”
“My wife thinks the same.” Gusaric smiled. “I must admit thought, I was surprised. Not just what Kejen did against the Khaizani but remember he did a stretch in the Demon Division too. Someone like that is an army onto himself!”
“But Kejen is not the sort who cares about rank anyway.” Leron said. “I have known him a long time.”
“Not as long as I have.” Gusaric finally took his rank's privilege. “Look at the entranceway behind you. He and I came trough there side by side along with his brother. And you are right. He does not care about what is painted on his armor. He cares about his soldiers and his people. And I am very proud to call him my friend.”
There was a knock on the door. Leron turned and his eyes widened a bit in surprise when he saw a guard from the gate standing with there with Kavala.
“Sorry to bother you, sir.” The guard said. “But his lady has something to give you.”
Gusaric stood up and dipped his head slightly. “Of course, please come in”
Kavala smiled and walked in. The smile seemed genuine. Gusaric wondered who much of what he said made it to her ears but he kept his face professionally expressionless.
“Even Kejen could not finish all of what I brought him.” She said. “So I thought you might enjoy it.”
“That you very much.” A confused Gusaric said as she placed the basket on his desk. “Would you like me to give Kejen the basket back later today?”
“Yes, thank you.” Kavala said. “May good health and happiness follow you wherever you may go.” Gusaric wondered what was happening. She had never said that before! Kavala smiled and left before Kejen lost control of Ank and Alutia in the entranceway, leaving Gusaric no chance to return the traditional goodbye.
“That was nice of her.” Leron finally said.
“Yes it was.” Gusaric agreed. He looked though the basket's contents. “Roast chicken. Very nice! Would you like a bite, Leron?”
“Why are you asking me that?”
“For all I know, it could be poisoned!”
Beafalo rode through the open gates of his castle at Chenla, robes flapping in the cool autumn air and guards in tow, the very image of ducal glory. He doffed the floppy hat Masovians generally wore and gave one of his stable hands a withering look. The lad had not run up to the Duke of Recalto quite fast enough to suit His Grace.
The boy mumbled an apology. Beafalo was in a good mood so instead of tongue lashing the miscreant he merely ignored him him as he dismounted. After all, he, Beafalo, had just returned not only from Regalwood but from a private audience from His Most Glorious Highness himself!
Beafalo bounded up the stairs to his castle two at a time. Not too bad, he thought to himself. Even the two guards at the door nodded slightly in approval before coming to attention. He may not have been as young as he once was but Beafalo was still in the prime of his manhood.
A duke generally had others open the doors for him at his own estate but today the flew open from a powerful shove of Beafalo's own hands. Masovians were a theatrical folk and Beafalo loved theatrics more than most.
The sudden entrance had the effect he wanted as conversation in the ducal throne room suddenly stopped as if cut off. The Duke of Recalto stepped forward and announced as loud as he could, “I have returned from Regalwood!”
After a second of stunned silence, cheers erupted from his retinue and some of the cleaner serfs brought in from the fields for the occasion. They chanted his name as Beafalo walked ramrod straight down the center of the room to his throne, mounted up on a dais of three steps.
Torsovo, his second in command, stood next to the throne and when Beafalo's foot touched the first step, he dutifully sank to one knee and respectfully lowered his head. His sovereign liege patted Torsovo on his blond head and quickly touched his seat with the other hand.
“Ah, it's still warm!” Beafalo laughed. “Did you enjoy sitting in it while I was gone?”
Torsovo grinned sheepishly. “I merely did what was necessary in your absence, my lord.”
“And you enjoyed every second of it, I am sure.” Beafalo smiled back. He remembered clearly what he was like at Torsovo's age, almost twenty years ago, eager to show how capable he was. “I am glad you do like it because one day this will be all of yours.” Beafalo's wave encompassed the entire throne room and everyone in it.
All assembled bowed reverently in the direction of both men. They also dropped almost as one to a knee as the Duke of Recalto sat on his throne. The gesture was done quickly for it was well known that Beafalo reacted harshly to anything that seemed a breech of noble decorum.
Beafalo let them stay that way for a few seconds before giving his subjects permission to stand up again. “Anything interesting happen while I was away with the Emperor?” He asked Torsovo. “I am fully confident that everything ran smoothly with you in my seat.”
“Fairly routine.” Torsovo reported. “There was, however, one matter that required you judgment.”
His Grace spied his son and daughter quietly entering the room. “Can it wait a few minutes or is it something that needs to be addressed this very second?”
“It can wait as long as you desire, Your Grace.” Torsovo said with a
smile. He had sent the man away one time before. He was sure added delay only made the unwelcome visitor fume more. That, of course, delighted Torsovo to no end.
Beafalo descended the steps appearing as majestically as he could and embraced his children. Bregetene was a large lad, strongly resembling his father but a mute one as well and born somewhat slow as well. No one would ever come out and say that though. Especially after the example Beafalo had made of the one one man who ever did. The fact he was a noble did not save him from Beafalo's wrath. Beafalo would challenge anyone, anyone at all, to single combat on this issue! After the other noble's untimely end, no one, wisely, ever did.
Esteru's long black hair loudly proclaimed her to be her father's daughter. Her looks however came from the mother she never knew. Beafalo winked at a couple of the ladies of the court as he hugged his children. The Duke may have been a widower but he still clearly enjoyed his time holding court. Here and in other, more private settings.
Beafalo held his daughter's hand out to Torsovo, who kissed it gently before walking over to shake Bregetene's. Esteru had to guide her brother's hand a little and contrived to skillfully brush Torsovo's. Beafalo smiled at that. Torsovo and Esteru was the match he wanted. Esteru was of his blood and Torsovo, while not a blood relative, was like a son to the Duke of Recalto. Since Bregetene's mental faculties did not allow for a conventional succession, a Torsovo-Esteru union provided the next best orderly alternative.
Still, there were some underlying issues that made the lord of Chenla's castle uneasy. Torsovo was, by nature, an aggressive man. An aggressiveness that carried over to more intimate settings if what some of the ladies of the court said were true. On the other hand, Torsovo, as well as practically everyone else in Masovia, knew better than to cross Beafalo especially where his children were involved. Torsovo was showing signs of increasing maturity so perhaps the problem would resolve itself, Beafalo hoped.
“Now what is this problem you needed me to take care of?” Beafalo snapped, yanking Torsovo's thoughts back to the proper business of running
the duchy.
“I will have him brought to you immediately, Your Grace.” Torsovo
answered. After an audible sigh and a quick longing glance at Esteru, he barked out an order to a couple of soldiers.
Beafalo smirked as he climbed back up the dais and sat down on his throne. He knew exactly what Torsovo would do. He was just like his father. Brave man. It was unfortunate he had to die at the hands of the Northmarchers just when he had quietly and skillfully worked his way into a position to exploit their vulnerabilities. At least I have fulfilled my promise to watch over his son, Beafalo thought to himself.
And speaking of Northmarchers...
Wiart stalked angrily into the throne room, flanked by two Masovian soldiers who acted as if he was carrying some disease. Golif, his oldest son, trailed behind, was basically ignored. He glared daggers at the back of the heads of the two guards but that had no effect whatsoever. Even if he had thought of doing something more drastic, he knew the rest of the Masovian mob gathered here would prevent anything serious from happening. A good look at the edged weapons the soldiers carried made a rather convincing argument against doing anything rash too.
Beafalo steepled his hands and stared down at the Northmarcher farmer brought before him. His face remained impassive so Wiart was not sure what the Masovian lord was thinking. No greetings were offered and after an awkward moment, Wiart shrugged, mustered his rusty command of Masovian and simply said what was on his mind.
“You have a cow that belonging to me and want it back.” Wiart knew his grammar was not all it should have been but he knew he managed to get his point across.
Beafalo leaned forward patronizingly. “Do you understand what I am saying?” In Masovian, slow and very deliberate.
Torsovo smiled. He knew Duke Beafalo was enjoying himself.
Wiart scowled. He could not only sense the contempt in Beafalo's voice but feel it. “Yes, I understand you.”
Beafalo beamed like a school teacher watching his pupils reading on their own for the first time. “Excellent! Then you will understand this: I do not have your cow. Nor do I have anyone else's cow!” Beafalo's head swiveled around looking at on one in particular. “I have only my own cows!”
Laughter filled the room but Wiart saw nothing funny. He only saw a pompous overdressed Masovian twit trying to make a fool out of him. Nonetheless, he still tried to sound reasonable. “There is a brand on the cow---”
“I cannot read that scrawling your people call a language.” Beafalo lied. Anyone living on either side of the border picked up at least a little of the other's language. And Beafalo not only knew a little of what the Northmarchers spoke but had spent years studying it. The Duke of Recalto pointed in the direction of of the soldier on Wiart's right. “You! Your name is Auggio, is it not?”
The soldier stiffened to attention, both delighted and alarmed the duke knew his name. “Yes, your Grace!”
“Are you the one who first encountered this man on our side of the border?”
“Yes, your Grace.” Auggio answered
“Does he seem to be in his right mind?” Beafalo said with a nasty grin that also seemed to invite the soldier to share in a joke. “Do you think he sees cows everywhere? Perhaps he rides around from castle to castle claiming they have taken cows so that he can build up his own herd?”
A gale of laughter swept over the room and the now seething Wiart. This was beginning to get out of hand. Golif's feet shifted uncomfortably.
Auggio reached up under his helmet that looked like something Hernando Cortes would have worn while sacking Tenochtitlan and scratched his forehead. “Now that you mention it, Your Grace, he does seem a little off.” He addressed his friend on the other side of Wiart. “Would you not agree, Fornebu?”
Amid the laughter washing over him anew, Wiart did the unthinkable. He took a step forward and his foot was on the step of the dais. Auggio and Fornebu's inattention allowed Wiart to travel more than halfway to Beafalo, much to the dukes sudden horror.
Wiart, as angry as he was, at least had the presence of mind to approach with his hands open to show that he was unarmed.
“Now look here!” He shouted at Beafalo. “I did not come here to be mocked or to have you justify stealing my livestock!” In his anger, Wiart forgot he was shouting in the Northmarcher language and was demonstrating
that he nothing of or cared anything about Masovian nobility etiquette.
Beafalo stood up and kicked Wiart where it hurt the most. The farmer doubled over, clutching himself and Beafalo's fist landed on the point of Wiart's chin. Wiart tumbled down the stairs. Fornebu knocked Golif down and Auggio put his foot down on Wiart's neck. Amid the shouting, Beafalo walked down the dais, squatted down and yelled into Wiart's face. “You have some nerve to walk up to me when I did not give you permission!”
Wiart wanted nothing more to lob a globule of bloody spit into Beafalo's face but a sidelong glance at his son in the grip of a Masovian soldier stayed that thought. Golif struggled for a bit but another Masovian soldier came over and helped Fornebu subdue him further.
“Get him on his feet!” Beaflo shouted at Auggio from point-blank range.
The soldier pulled Wiart up roughly and held him up on the balls of his feet.
“Now my dear Northmarcher.” Beafalo said in a voice louder than usual so the rest of the throne room could hear him. “You seem to know nothing of how to act in the presence of your betters. Your education begins now.”
Wiart growled in frustration but Auggio's grip was like iron. The Masovian soldier knew that Beafalo was angry with him too for letting Wiart slip up to the dais so he was determined not to let anything like that happen again. Fortunately for Auggio, Wiart dominated Beafalo's attention.
“First of all, you address me as 'Your Grace' or 'my lord' or even 'duke' “ Beafalo began his lecture. Wiart looked away. A sharp sounding slap echoed across the room. “You are not paying attention! You are lucky that was only a slap, not another punch. Again, address my as 'Your Grace.' Do you understand?”
Wiart just glared back at him. Northmarchers were a stubborn people. Mules must play a prominent part of their ancestry, Beafalo thought.
“Very well.” Beafalo huffed. “Bring the boy up here.”
Wiart's eyes widened as his son was yanked up off the floor but Beafalo knew it was a little early to take any satisfaction from that. “Again, address me by my proper title!” The Duke of Recalto commanded.
His captive still remained defiantly silent.
“Kill his son.” Beafalo said nonchalantly.
“No, no, Your Grace!” Wiart shouted and struggled ineffectually against Auggio's hold. “Do not punish him for my mistakes, my lord!”
Beafalo waved off the approaching soldier with the spear. “See? You do know what I am saying! Not bad at all.” He leaned forward into the face of Wiart who was beginning to show some signs of fear at last. His nasty smile presaged the next words well. “I look forward to working with you some more.”
The Masovian noble took a step back and began issuing orders. “You! Boy!” He pointed at Golif. “Run home and tell your mother that your father will be along in a week or so.” Then he glared at Auggio and Fornebu. “Take our friend here into the dungeons. We will teach him some manners.”
December 7, 2009
Has it been 68 years since Pearl Harbor? Seems like yesterday.
Actually, I wasn't there.....LOL But watching Pitt's collpase to Cincy and the Steelers lose to Oakland(!) makes me feel like I was watching some sort of disaster unfold...
I promised you the first part of Aries Marching and here is the prologue and first chapter! Gunning (odd word for a medieval epic...) for a December 16 release!
Prologue
Strangely enough, it all started because of a cow. Granted, there were other reasons as well but it was a lost cow that set the whole series of events in motion.
It was not just any cow! It was a cow that provided more milk than any other two cows in the surrounding countryside. Or even three as the proud farmer would boast at the market.
That was precisely the reason Wiart went on a frenzied search through the fields and even ventured onto the grounds of some of his neighbors, desperately trying to find his lost “Lilja.”
No man who wanted to continue sharing his bed with his wife would dare name a cow after her. Instead, Wiart named his prize milk producer after his first love nearly half a lifetime ago. Wiart briefly wondered where the original Lilja was now but the ruthless practicality of this man of the earth crushed the irrelevant thought as he scanned the horizon for the current Lilja. Any remnants of that lingering thought were swept away by the brisk autumn wind, a harbinger of another brutal Northmarcher winter. Wiart shivered a little and shook his head. He was not a young man any more but he still wished he was in bed with his wife. For a variety of reasons. Chief of which was to stay warm during the winters that were beginning to effect him more with every passing year. He cursed youth's abandonment of him. For a variety of other reasons.
At least he had three good strong sons. Good boys everyone of them. Boys? They were men now, capable of running the farm without him. Maybe even better without him even though Wiart would never admit it. Where had the years gone?
Wandering thoughts were another sign of advancing years, Wiart growled even though he was no where near senility. What he did notice was that his search was starting to move ever more southward. The old man hoped it did not go too far south.
Livestock disputes between farmers were nothing new. Usually it was
resolved quited amicably when one man pointed out the branding on an animal to the other. Sometimes they simply settled the difference in kind or in an exchange of goods. It paid to be on good terms with your neighbors. Farms that butted up against each other were bound to have some kind of conflict from time to time.
Unfortunately, with every step southward, it was starting to look more and more likely that the farm Lilja had wandered off to was on the other side of the always volatile Masovian-Northmarcher border.
If she wandered there, Wiart thought harshly. He would not put it past some Masovian to have hopped past the rune stones marking the frontier and running off with his property under the cover of darkness. Born thieves, those Masovians! Constantly casting scorn on the Church when they were not outright persecuting it did not help Masovia improve its image with Wiart.
Why would they care? Wiart grumbled. He was just a simple farmer. Masovia was a great empire. Wiart stood up straight in righteous indignation. He may have been just a simple farmer but was a man, was he not? And a man with a legitimate grievance!
Wiart walked up to one of the stones marking his homeland's border with that of Masovia. The north side of the stone was painted in proud Northmarcher black and green with a some gold lines. The other side,Wiart knew, was in gaudy red, blue and even more gold. Wiart looked around and saw no guards or roving patrols, Northmarcher or Masovian. He was not surprised. The border was simply too long to put someone along every foot of it.
Wiart clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling his anger grow. The Masovian thieves may have crossed at this very spot! On the other hand, maybe Lilja did indeed wander over the border on her own. Well, no Masovians were coming forth to tell him about it and as far as Wiart was concerned, it was the same thing!
Wiart saw the shadows start to lengthen as the Sun started to sink toward the horizon. Earlier every day now, he noticed. The upset farmer considered stepping defiantly onto the Masovian side of the rune stone but elected not to. He would see enough of that heretical land tomorrow when he
went to reclaim what was rightfully his. He did not want to spend a second more than he had to on that accursed soil.
Wiart looked around and mentally retraced his search. He'd looked north, east and west and no one had seen Lilja nor had he found anything to indicate she gone in any of those directions. The farmer glowered in the only direction left.
He turned and began to trudge home. Wiart was not sure if he would get his cow back from those thieves but, by God, he was going to give them a piece of his mind!
His Highest Majesty, King Croghen of the Pugu, Ruler of the most glorious Masovian Empire, sat upon his golden throne, receiving tribute and praise from a defeated Rhenian princeling.
That he was here was proof he was beaten but he also looked beaten, down on his knees before the Masovian emperor, eyes averted and staring at the first stair of the dais. The thin, sweat soaked clothes did not lend themselves to a favorable impression. And the feathers sticking out of a battered hat in some laughable attempt to retain a veneer of dignity failed utterly. It seemed an almost disgraceful waste of any martial effort to even consider fighting men like this. Appearances could be misleading however. The Rhenian clans, disorganized and lacking any central authority, fought and fought hard to protect their megar fiefdoms. Individually, they were as tough and skilled as any soldiers in the world. Especially when fighting on their home soil. But it was no match for the organization, tenacity and resources of the Empire to their immediate north. The superior leadership of Masovia's armed forces also imbued in her soldiers a confidence that translated into a feeling of near invincibility. Obstacles fell and challenges not only were overcome but actively sought out. Their fighting edge was honed, sharp and fearsome.
And completely wasted on the rocky, mountainous land across the Centola seemed to produce chieftains like this by the thousands. The pathetic pile of coins in a shoddy looking chest seemed to underline the laws of
diminishing returns.
The defeated man stayed on his knees for a long minute. For once, it was not due to Masovian arrogance His Majesty's mind was focused on something else. Croghen finally noticed his newest vassal looking up the dais imploringly and the King waved him away, boredom clearly evident. The other Rhenian brought to bear by Masovian arms was much more interesting. At least he brought a couple of very fine daughters to the court of His Most Glorious Majesty.
Queen Ohalate's mouth was a hard, thin line. She could read her husband's mind like a book. She would not dare berate the King in public but might venture to make her displeasure known in private. Perhaps. It was not unheard of for Masovian Emperors to have their Queens executed.
Ohalate, however, would not be one of them. She was a strong willed, educated woman. What she did, or did not do in public, was all for the greater and continuing glory of the Empire and of the Pugu tribe. It was a shame she had been born a woman, some thought. Ohalate could be a splendid Empress and Masovia's glory would be even greater, others whispered. Of course, such thoughts stayed private. The eyes and ears of the Scarlet Paladins, the elite of Masovia's military, were everywhere, seemingly able to divine everyone's most guarded secrets. The scarlet armor and helmets were hard to miss, not only when they were assembled around Croghen but all around the throne room itself.
Still, Paladins or no Paladins hovering nearby, Ohalate stole quite a bit of attention at court. A few years younger than her husband, her hair, pulled back in a bun today, was the color of the setting sun. Her still slender build contributed to her aura of magnificence and it was said her smile outshown even the jewels of her crown. Three children and three decades of ruling failed to erode her looks appreciably. Ohalate, it was declared with no false modesty, was the personification of Regalwood and the very epitome of Masovian womanhood.
Croghen's black beard tumbled down onto his chest as he looked down at his own feet for a second. All assembled at court knew that was not a gesture of self-pity. Croghen did not seem capable of that particular emotion. Years of attending their King had taught the assembled nobles their ruler's
mannerisms.
As they expected, His Most Glorious Majesty stood up. “Do you think yourselves lords of the earth because you have defeated a collection of peasants and their array of pitchforks?!”
The nobles and generals flinched not only at their King's thunderous voice but the sheer vehemence behind it. The angry question seemed to lift the roof off of the columns buttressing the entire, vast Grand Place of Masovia. Even the tremendous space between the floor and ceiling seemed to be filled with the King's anger. “Rhenia is a land you can conquer but it is not one you want to rule. Poor, stony, it is even hard to get to because you have to cross the Centola River! Yet you stand there,smug and comfortable, like you have actually accomplished something?!”
The members of the court shuffled their feet uncomfortably. None dared look up at their lord. It was not only fear of imminent death but few people could match the fiery, piercing stare of Croghen's dark, dark eyes. They not only seemed to absorb the light of the room but even the very soul of whoever he was angry with.
“The shame of my ancestors!” Croghen's hand went to his forehead. “They fought real enemies! Powerful enemies! Not only defeated them but conquered them! Crushed them completely and utterly!”
Their King's scorn ripped into the nobles and their retinues Anyone not concerned with His Highest Majesty ordering an immediate mass execution was at the very least looking for a direct route to the great doors of the throne room.
Most found a temporary escape from Croghen's fury by looking at the paintings and impressive frescoes adorning the walls of the Grand Palace. A couple of others though won a bit of favor from the King when he saw them looking at the map on the other wall. Croghen nodded with a sliver of satisfaction but not enough for anyone to notice. Anyone not with a mind as sharp a mind as Ohalate. She knew exactly what her royal husband was doing. Those looking at the map were the ones looking for an opportunity to further the greatness of the Empire And perhaps there own as well but why not? Those who advanced the interests of King Croghen deserved to have their fortunes advanced some as well.
The one staring hardest at the map he probably saw in his dreams every night was a tall well made blond man in his fifties, the Field Marshal of Masovia's armies. Croghen felt his spirits rise but fought to keep it from showing on his face. Destrane had fought in the Rhenian wars more than anyone else. The King knew of his chaffing to fight a real war against a real enemy too.
A noble in an orange tunic stood next to Masovia's highest ranking general. His black hair and goatee contrasted sharply with Destrane's fair hair and clean shaven face but the hardness in his eyes matched the general's easily enough. His shoulders may have borne the weight of a few less years than those of Destrane's but the intensity Croghen felt radiating from the Duke of Recalto seemed to raise the temperature of the room.
Croghen felt excitement begin to course through him and even his hands felt as if they were tingling. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. He chose to ignore his son Sarnello uncomfortably adjusting his eye patch as he too looked in the direction of the map and accurately read his father's mind. The King hoped no one noticed the subtle message the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent was trying to send Croghen would have to deal with that later.
“Leave us!” His Highest and Most Glorious Majesty commanded all in the cavernous chamber. Everyone quickly shuffled through the great doors. Everyone not in the Royal Family. And Destrane. Croghen caught his eye and motioned him closer.
The last person to leave the room was the orange tunic wearing nobleman. He turned, faced the King and Emperor of Masovia, bowed at the waist and pulled the doors shut. The Scarlet Paladins quietly watched every move.
Destrane stood next to his King. Both were the same age and had known each other for nearly half a century so the Field Marshal was able to take a few liberties.
“Are you as troubled by this map as I am, old friend?” Croghen inquired of his leading, and favorite, general.
“Every day and every night, your Majesty.” Destrane answered. His eyes flitted over to the Paladin closest to the Queen. Her name was Serita
and her shapely muscled form occasionally rivaled the troubling map for Destrane's attention. The female Paladin, hair red like her principle's, was the Queen's favorite. Destrane chuckled inwardly. She was his favorite Paladin too but that was because she was the only female of the elite unit. And even he, the Field Marshal of Masovia, knew better than to do more than look. It was not because Serita could obviously take care of herself. It was not even because she was married to Benoto, the Commander of the Paladins. The reason was quite simple. His wife would kill him.
“You have done very well in Rhenia, General.” Croghen praised Masovia's first soldier and shattered any reveries in Destrane's mind. “We have fought well and won but for what purpose? We did not annex any land because it is not worth having. We have some vassals across the Centola River but do they serve us in any productive manner?”
Destrane shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “We have blooded our army.”
Croghen stroked his beard and frowned. “A blooded army with no enemy to fight.” The frown grew deeper. “Some of the best officers are not of the Pugu. With no enemy to fight and feeling there is still glory and honor to be won, do members of the Sinuli and Ranata think perhaps of the old days when they were first among equals and sat upon our throne?”
The question was not only poised to Destrane but Ohalate as well.
The Queen's sharp features looked pinched for a second at the sound of the names of the other tribes who had occupied the pinnacle of the Masovian world.
“There are not many opportunities for conquest.” Destrane sighed sadly. “Sometimes I feel I was born too late.”
“I feel the same way.” Croghen agreed. “The last real war we fought was forty years ago and both of us were almost too young for that!”
“We never lost on the battlefield!” Destrane's fists balled up. The memory clearly still rankled. “The Verrentian pretender would have won and we would the country in our pockets if it were not for the accursed Northmarchers at Driergam!”
“My father said the same thing to me many, many times.” Croghen revisited the same memory. “The pretender we set up was not quite strong enough to move on Clutzen on his own but the fool did anyway and was
killed within sight of the city.”
“If it were not for Maridon, we would have taken Clutzen and we would have driven a wedge between the Nyhissians and Northmarchers.” Ohalate added. “Then Masovian banners would be on the Pergus River.”
Croghen acknowledged his Queen with a grave nod and a brief longing for opportunities missed. He shifted to the present “What options do we have? Invading Verrent would soon turn into a war with Nyhissia and the Northmarch all at the same time.”
Masovia was vast but fighting three countries at the same time might be even more than Croghen's vaunted arms were capable of. Despite his long relationship with the King, Destrane decided to keep that thought to himself. After all, Croghen surely knew the same thing and his Highest Majesty would not say that aloud.
“Perhaps we could somehow exploit the dislike between Keinsen and Verrent.” Destrane began. “Despite having the same language and culture---”
“That leads us back to a war with three other nations again!” Croghen cut him off, clearly irritated. “Asrine is isolated and vulnerable, even more so due to our foothold in northern Rhenia but the Church lunatics would call for a crusade and the cursed Northmarchers attack us from the rear, aided by their lapdogs, Verrent and Nyhissia!”
Destrane began to point to another part of the map but Croghen quickly squelched anything the general was about to say. “Moving against Kielstrock results in the same problem.” Croghen had been doing some serious thinking on this matter, Destrane thought to himself. “We have to march up and over the mountains.” The Emperor continued without even recognizing the fact anyone else existed. “We can fight our way through anything they throw in our way but the Northmarchers attack us on our flank.”
“So every direction we turn, our problem is the Northmarch.” Queen Ohalate summed up.
“It has been that way for centuries, my dear.” Croghen said with a good dose of sarcasm. Ohalate scowled for a second and Destrane bit back a grin. Regardless of who ruled the household, Croghen was clearly beyond any shadow of a doubt, the Highest King and Majesty. “I still rue the day nearly twenty years ago when I had a chance to strike at the Northmarchers' back
when the Easterners attacked.”
“Perhaps the problem is not the Northmarchers but ourselves.” Sarnello, the Heir Apparent, stated boldly.
“Explain yourself!” Croghen nearly shouted. The near shout nonetheless echoed throughout the vast chamber.
The unperturbed Sarnello proceeded to do just that. “Our glorious empire is vast and powerful. No nation or concert of nations can destroy it. Is it possible that there are ways to achieve greatness other than war?”
Croghen burst out with an un-regal spate of laughter. Destrane smiled and looked away. Even if the King disagreed with Sarnello, it would not be wise to laugh at the Crown Prince.
“My dear boy.” The Emperor and King of Masovia finally said after regaining his composure. He wiped away an inadvertent tear and continued. “Do try to act like the King you will one day be and not like a court jester.”
Croghen only laughed at his son's bristling and walked over to Destrane, putting a hand on his Field Marshal's shoulder. “Look at Destrane's face. Do you see his scars? Do you think he would agree with you?” He went back to the map without waiting for an answer. “Twenty-five years of life does not make you a master of it.”
“But I do know something of war, Father.” Sarnello said coolly, tapping his eye patch. “The Rhenian who shot that arrow was an excellent teacher.”
The room suddenly felt colder as a deadly silence descended upon it. Even Ohalate shivered, thinking that perhaps she was about to lose her oldest son.
“That will be all.” Croghen ground out between clenched teeth. “Dismissed.”
Sarnello bowed and then stalked out. He may have gotten the better of the exchange but his anger was clear as he stomped across the marble floor.
The King glared daggers at the back of his son's head as two Scarlet Paladins opened the door to let him out. Croghen turned his attention back to the map, hands clenched in anger behind his back.
After some hesitation, Destrane defended the Prince, who was also one of his soldiers. “Not only does the lad have our Queen's looks and your raven hair,” he began. Ohalate's smile said Destrane was on safe ground.
“But he also has your iron will and resolve, your Majesty.”
“That resolve seems to march in a direction I find most inconvenient.” Croghen said sharply. Then he turned around slowly and looked at his Field Marshal. “Do you not think the same?”
Destrane cast his eyes down. “Yes, your Majesty.”
“Say what is on your mind, Destrane.”
The veteran Field Marshal thought carefully before beginning the most hazardous advance of his life. He felt safer trying to navigate through those rocky canyons the Rhenians like to spring ambushes in. “Our Crown Prince fought most valiantly and well in Rhenia, your Majesty. I was there when he lost his eye.”
“What is your point?”
Destrane spread his hands out imploringly. “I only ask that you not judge your son too harshly. Men, boys really, are quite impetuous at that age.”
“You forgot to mention 'impertinent' as well!” The still angered Croghen shot back. Destrane looked down and said nothing.
A few seconds of silence passed. “Still what you say does hold some seeds of wisdom.” Croghen graciously admitted. “Persino has the same force of character but it runs in the proper direction. Anasia is under Ohalate's wing so there is no need for worry there. They do not have any of these, these....” Croghen struggled for the right word.
“Delusions.” Ohalate found it for him.
“Do you know what an old man once told me, your Majesty?” Destrane asked. “He told me life's lessons were like a puzzle. You have the pieces and you put it together. But first you have to know what the final picture looks like. When you realize what the picture is, you know how to put the pieces together.”
Croghen snorted and turned to look at the map again. Puzzles? What did that have to do with anything? Then he noticed the map was made of tiles and it actually did look like a puzzle of sorts.
His mind rearranged the map into a way that suited him. “The final picture...” The Emperor said to himself. He put his hand on the map, touching his empire, then the land of the hated Northmarchers and finally
Asrine. “Pieces to a puzzle and there is the picture.” he said a little louder this time as an idea, a vision really, began to take place. Now there was an interesting thought!
“Is everything well, your Majesty?” Destrane asked.
Croghen spun around with a smile on his face bigger than the Anker Mountains. “Yes it is! More than well!”
Destrane was confused “I do not understand...”
“I need to think on this some more.” Croghen seemed to be dancing with uncharacteristic joy. Something had definitely captured his imagination. Something he saw on that map. “I will talk to you more on this in the days to come!”
“As you wish, your Majesty.” A befuddled Destrane mumbled. He was about to leave but the King gave a powerful tug on his elbow.
“Who was the nobleman next to you earlier?” Croghen demanded. “He wore the markings of the Pugu but had the heraldry of someplace beyond the Plikon.”
“Beafalo, the Duke of Recalto.” Destrane answered while at the same time still wondering why His Most Glorious Majesty was suddenly so excited.
“Up on the Northmarcher border.” Croghen said mainly to himself.
“Yes your Majesty.” Destrane felt obligated to answer. “He probably knows more about them than anyone else.”
“Good! Good!” An enthusiastic Croghen rubbed his hands together. “Tell him I should like to meet him. Immediately!”
Actually, I wasn't there.....LOL But watching Pitt's collpase to Cincy and the Steelers lose to Oakland(!) makes me feel like I was watching some sort of disaster unfold...
I promised you the first part of Aries Marching and here is the prologue and first chapter! Gunning (odd word for a medieval epic...) for a December 16 release!
Prologue
Strangely enough, it all started because of a cow. Granted, there were other reasons as well but it was a lost cow that set the whole series of events in motion.
It was not just any cow! It was a cow that provided more milk than any other two cows in the surrounding countryside. Or even three as the proud farmer would boast at the market.
That was precisely the reason Wiart went on a frenzied search through the fields and even ventured onto the grounds of some of his neighbors, desperately trying to find his lost “Lilja.”
No man who wanted to continue sharing his bed with his wife would dare name a cow after her. Instead, Wiart named his prize milk producer after his first love nearly half a lifetime ago. Wiart briefly wondered where the original Lilja was now but the ruthless practicality of this man of the earth crushed the irrelevant thought as he scanned the horizon for the current Lilja. Any remnants of that lingering thought were swept away by the brisk autumn wind, a harbinger of another brutal Northmarcher winter. Wiart shivered a little and shook his head. He was not a young man any more but he still wished he was in bed with his wife. For a variety of reasons. Chief of which was to stay warm during the winters that were beginning to effect him more with every passing year. He cursed youth's abandonment of him. For a variety of other reasons.
At least he had three good strong sons. Good boys everyone of them. Boys? They were men now, capable of running the farm without him. Maybe even better without him even though Wiart would never admit it. Where had the years gone?
Wandering thoughts were another sign of advancing years, Wiart growled even though he was no where near senility. What he did notice was that his search was starting to move ever more southward. The old man hoped it did not go too far south.
Livestock disputes between farmers were nothing new. Usually it was
resolved quited amicably when one man pointed out the branding on an animal to the other. Sometimes they simply settled the difference in kind or in an exchange of goods. It paid to be on good terms with your neighbors. Farms that butted up against each other were bound to have some kind of conflict from time to time.
Unfortunately, with every step southward, it was starting to look more and more likely that the farm Lilja had wandered off to was on the other side of the always volatile Masovian-Northmarcher border.
If she wandered there, Wiart thought harshly. He would not put it past some Masovian to have hopped past the rune stones marking the frontier and running off with his property under the cover of darkness. Born thieves, those Masovians! Constantly casting scorn on the Church when they were not outright persecuting it did not help Masovia improve its image with Wiart.
Why would they care? Wiart grumbled. He was just a simple farmer. Masovia was a great empire. Wiart stood up straight in righteous indignation. He may have been just a simple farmer but was a man, was he not? And a man with a legitimate grievance!
Wiart walked up to one of the stones marking his homeland's border with that of Masovia. The north side of the stone was painted in proud Northmarcher black and green with a some gold lines. The other side,Wiart knew, was in gaudy red, blue and even more gold. Wiart looked around and saw no guards or roving patrols, Northmarcher or Masovian. He was not surprised. The border was simply too long to put someone along every foot of it.
Wiart clenched and unclenched his hands, feeling his anger grow. The Masovian thieves may have crossed at this very spot! On the other hand, maybe Lilja did indeed wander over the border on her own. Well, no Masovians were coming forth to tell him about it and as far as Wiart was concerned, it was the same thing!
Wiart saw the shadows start to lengthen as the Sun started to sink toward the horizon. Earlier every day now, he noticed. The upset farmer considered stepping defiantly onto the Masovian side of the rune stone but elected not to. He would see enough of that heretical land tomorrow when he
went to reclaim what was rightfully his. He did not want to spend a second more than he had to on that accursed soil.
Wiart looked around and mentally retraced his search. He'd looked north, east and west and no one had seen Lilja nor had he found anything to indicate she gone in any of those directions. The farmer glowered in the only direction left.
He turned and began to trudge home. Wiart was not sure if he would get his cow back from those thieves but, by God, he was going to give them a piece of his mind!
His Highest Majesty, King Croghen of the Pugu, Ruler of the most glorious Masovian Empire, sat upon his golden throne, receiving tribute and praise from a defeated Rhenian princeling.
That he was here was proof he was beaten but he also looked beaten, down on his knees before the Masovian emperor, eyes averted and staring at the first stair of the dais. The thin, sweat soaked clothes did not lend themselves to a favorable impression. And the feathers sticking out of a battered hat in some laughable attempt to retain a veneer of dignity failed utterly. It seemed an almost disgraceful waste of any martial effort to even consider fighting men like this. Appearances could be misleading however. The Rhenian clans, disorganized and lacking any central authority, fought and fought hard to protect their megar fiefdoms. Individually, they were as tough and skilled as any soldiers in the world. Especially when fighting on their home soil. But it was no match for the organization, tenacity and resources of the Empire to their immediate north. The superior leadership of Masovia's armed forces also imbued in her soldiers a confidence that translated into a feeling of near invincibility. Obstacles fell and challenges not only were overcome but actively sought out. Their fighting edge was honed, sharp and fearsome.
And completely wasted on the rocky, mountainous land across the Centola seemed to produce chieftains like this by the thousands. The pathetic pile of coins in a shoddy looking chest seemed to underline the laws of
diminishing returns.
The defeated man stayed on his knees for a long minute. For once, it was not due to Masovian arrogance His Majesty's mind was focused on something else. Croghen finally noticed his newest vassal looking up the dais imploringly and the King waved him away, boredom clearly evident. The other Rhenian brought to bear by Masovian arms was much more interesting. At least he brought a couple of very fine daughters to the court of His Most Glorious Majesty.
Queen Ohalate's mouth was a hard, thin line. She could read her husband's mind like a book. She would not dare berate the King in public but might venture to make her displeasure known in private. Perhaps. It was not unheard of for Masovian Emperors to have their Queens executed.
Ohalate, however, would not be one of them. She was a strong willed, educated woman. What she did, or did not do in public, was all for the greater and continuing glory of the Empire and of the Pugu tribe. It was a shame she had been born a woman, some thought. Ohalate could be a splendid Empress and Masovia's glory would be even greater, others whispered. Of course, such thoughts stayed private. The eyes and ears of the Scarlet Paladins, the elite of Masovia's military, were everywhere, seemingly able to divine everyone's most guarded secrets. The scarlet armor and helmets were hard to miss, not only when they were assembled around Croghen but all around the throne room itself.
Still, Paladins or no Paladins hovering nearby, Ohalate stole quite a bit of attention at court. A few years younger than her husband, her hair, pulled back in a bun today, was the color of the setting sun. Her still slender build contributed to her aura of magnificence and it was said her smile outshown even the jewels of her crown. Three children and three decades of ruling failed to erode her looks appreciably. Ohalate, it was declared with no false modesty, was the personification of Regalwood and the very epitome of Masovian womanhood.
Croghen's black beard tumbled down onto his chest as he looked down at his own feet for a second. All assembled at court knew that was not a gesture of self-pity. Croghen did not seem capable of that particular emotion. Years of attending their King had taught the assembled nobles their ruler's
mannerisms.
As they expected, His Most Glorious Majesty stood up. “Do you think yourselves lords of the earth because you have defeated a collection of peasants and their array of pitchforks?!”
The nobles and generals flinched not only at their King's thunderous voice but the sheer vehemence behind it. The angry question seemed to lift the roof off of the columns buttressing the entire, vast Grand Place of Masovia. Even the tremendous space between the floor and ceiling seemed to be filled with the King's anger. “Rhenia is a land you can conquer but it is not one you want to rule. Poor, stony, it is even hard to get to because you have to cross the Centola River! Yet you stand there,smug and comfortable, like you have actually accomplished something?!”
The members of the court shuffled their feet uncomfortably. None dared look up at their lord. It was not only fear of imminent death but few people could match the fiery, piercing stare of Croghen's dark, dark eyes. They not only seemed to absorb the light of the room but even the very soul of whoever he was angry with.
“The shame of my ancestors!” Croghen's hand went to his forehead. “They fought real enemies! Powerful enemies! Not only defeated them but conquered them! Crushed them completely and utterly!”
Their King's scorn ripped into the nobles and their retinues Anyone not concerned with His Highest Majesty ordering an immediate mass execution was at the very least looking for a direct route to the great doors of the throne room.
Most found a temporary escape from Croghen's fury by looking at the paintings and impressive frescoes adorning the walls of the Grand Palace. A couple of others though won a bit of favor from the King when he saw them looking at the map on the other wall. Croghen nodded with a sliver of satisfaction but not enough for anyone to notice. Anyone not with a mind as sharp a mind as Ohalate. She knew exactly what her royal husband was doing. Those looking at the map were the ones looking for an opportunity to further the greatness of the Empire And perhaps there own as well but why not? Those who advanced the interests of King Croghen deserved to have their fortunes advanced some as well.
The one staring hardest at the map he probably saw in his dreams every night was a tall well made blond man in his fifties, the Field Marshal of Masovia's armies. Croghen felt his spirits rise but fought to keep it from showing on his face. Destrane had fought in the Rhenian wars more than anyone else. The King knew of his chaffing to fight a real war against a real enemy too.
A noble in an orange tunic stood next to Masovia's highest ranking general. His black hair and goatee contrasted sharply with Destrane's fair hair and clean shaven face but the hardness in his eyes matched the general's easily enough. His shoulders may have borne the weight of a few less years than those of Destrane's but the intensity Croghen felt radiating from the Duke of Recalto seemed to raise the temperature of the room.
Croghen felt excitement begin to course through him and even his hands felt as if they were tingling. A plan was beginning to form in his mind. He chose to ignore his son Sarnello uncomfortably adjusting his eye patch as he too looked in the direction of the map and accurately read his father's mind. The King hoped no one noticed the subtle message the Crown Prince and Heir Apparent was trying to send Croghen would have to deal with that later.
“Leave us!” His Highest and Most Glorious Majesty commanded all in the cavernous chamber. Everyone quickly shuffled through the great doors. Everyone not in the Royal Family. And Destrane. Croghen caught his eye and motioned him closer.
The last person to leave the room was the orange tunic wearing nobleman. He turned, faced the King and Emperor of Masovia, bowed at the waist and pulled the doors shut. The Scarlet Paladins quietly watched every move.
Destrane stood next to his King. Both were the same age and had known each other for nearly half a century so the Field Marshal was able to take a few liberties.
“Are you as troubled by this map as I am, old friend?” Croghen inquired of his leading, and favorite, general.
“Every day and every night, your Majesty.” Destrane answered. His eyes flitted over to the Paladin closest to the Queen. Her name was Serita
and her shapely muscled form occasionally rivaled the troubling map for Destrane's attention. The female Paladin, hair red like her principle's, was the Queen's favorite. Destrane chuckled inwardly. She was his favorite Paladin too but that was because she was the only female of the elite unit. And even he, the Field Marshal of Masovia, knew better than to do more than look. It was not because Serita could obviously take care of herself. It was not even because she was married to Benoto, the Commander of the Paladins. The reason was quite simple. His wife would kill him.
“You have done very well in Rhenia, General.” Croghen praised Masovia's first soldier and shattered any reveries in Destrane's mind. “We have fought well and won but for what purpose? We did not annex any land because it is not worth having. We have some vassals across the Centola River but do they serve us in any productive manner?”
Destrane shuffled his feet uncomfortably. “We have blooded our army.”
Croghen stroked his beard and frowned. “A blooded army with no enemy to fight.” The frown grew deeper. “Some of the best officers are not of the Pugu. With no enemy to fight and feeling there is still glory and honor to be won, do members of the Sinuli and Ranata think perhaps of the old days when they were first among equals and sat upon our throne?”
The question was not only poised to Destrane but Ohalate as well.
The Queen's sharp features looked pinched for a second at the sound of the names of the other tribes who had occupied the pinnacle of the Masovian world.
“There are not many opportunities for conquest.” Destrane sighed sadly. “Sometimes I feel I was born too late.”
“I feel the same way.” Croghen agreed. “The last real war we fought was forty years ago and both of us were almost too young for that!”
“We never lost on the battlefield!” Destrane's fists balled up. The memory clearly still rankled. “The Verrentian pretender would have won and we would the country in our pockets if it were not for the accursed Northmarchers at Driergam!”
“My father said the same thing to me many, many times.” Croghen revisited the same memory. “The pretender we set up was not quite strong enough to move on Clutzen on his own but the fool did anyway and was
killed within sight of the city.”
“If it were not for Maridon, we would have taken Clutzen and we would have driven a wedge between the Nyhissians and Northmarchers.” Ohalate added. “Then Masovian banners would be on the Pergus River.”
Croghen acknowledged his Queen with a grave nod and a brief longing for opportunities missed. He shifted to the present “What options do we have? Invading Verrent would soon turn into a war with Nyhissia and the Northmarch all at the same time.”
Masovia was vast but fighting three countries at the same time might be even more than Croghen's vaunted arms were capable of. Despite his long relationship with the King, Destrane decided to keep that thought to himself. After all, Croghen surely knew the same thing and his Highest Majesty would not say that aloud.
“Perhaps we could somehow exploit the dislike between Keinsen and Verrent.” Destrane began. “Despite having the same language and culture---”
“That leads us back to a war with three other nations again!” Croghen cut him off, clearly irritated. “Asrine is isolated and vulnerable, even more so due to our foothold in northern Rhenia but the Church lunatics would call for a crusade and the cursed Northmarchers attack us from the rear, aided by their lapdogs, Verrent and Nyhissia!”
Destrane began to point to another part of the map but Croghen quickly squelched anything the general was about to say. “Moving against Kielstrock results in the same problem.” Croghen had been doing some serious thinking on this matter, Destrane thought to himself. “We have to march up and over the mountains.” The Emperor continued without even recognizing the fact anyone else existed. “We can fight our way through anything they throw in our way but the Northmarchers attack us on our flank.”
“So every direction we turn, our problem is the Northmarch.” Queen Ohalate summed up.
“It has been that way for centuries, my dear.” Croghen said with a good dose of sarcasm. Ohalate scowled for a second and Destrane bit back a grin. Regardless of who ruled the household, Croghen was clearly beyond any shadow of a doubt, the Highest King and Majesty. “I still rue the day nearly twenty years ago when I had a chance to strike at the Northmarchers' back
when the Easterners attacked.”
“Perhaps the problem is not the Northmarchers but ourselves.” Sarnello, the Heir Apparent, stated boldly.
“Explain yourself!” Croghen nearly shouted. The near shout nonetheless echoed throughout the vast chamber.
The unperturbed Sarnello proceeded to do just that. “Our glorious empire is vast and powerful. No nation or concert of nations can destroy it. Is it possible that there are ways to achieve greatness other than war?”
Croghen burst out with an un-regal spate of laughter. Destrane smiled and looked away. Even if the King disagreed with Sarnello, it would not be wise to laugh at the Crown Prince.
“My dear boy.” The Emperor and King of Masovia finally said after regaining his composure. He wiped away an inadvertent tear and continued. “Do try to act like the King you will one day be and not like a court jester.”
Croghen only laughed at his son's bristling and walked over to Destrane, putting a hand on his Field Marshal's shoulder. “Look at Destrane's face. Do you see his scars? Do you think he would agree with you?” He went back to the map without waiting for an answer. “Twenty-five years of life does not make you a master of it.”
“But I do know something of war, Father.” Sarnello said coolly, tapping his eye patch. “The Rhenian who shot that arrow was an excellent teacher.”
The room suddenly felt colder as a deadly silence descended upon it. Even Ohalate shivered, thinking that perhaps she was about to lose her oldest son.
“That will be all.” Croghen ground out between clenched teeth. “Dismissed.”
Sarnello bowed and then stalked out. He may have gotten the better of the exchange but his anger was clear as he stomped across the marble floor.
The King glared daggers at the back of his son's head as two Scarlet Paladins opened the door to let him out. Croghen turned his attention back to the map, hands clenched in anger behind his back.
After some hesitation, Destrane defended the Prince, who was also one of his soldiers. “Not only does the lad have our Queen's looks and your raven hair,” he began. Ohalate's smile said Destrane was on safe ground.
“But he also has your iron will and resolve, your Majesty.”
“That resolve seems to march in a direction I find most inconvenient.” Croghen said sharply. Then he turned around slowly and looked at his Field Marshal. “Do you not think the same?”
Destrane cast his eyes down. “Yes, your Majesty.”
“Say what is on your mind, Destrane.”
The veteran Field Marshal thought carefully before beginning the most hazardous advance of his life. He felt safer trying to navigate through those rocky canyons the Rhenians like to spring ambushes in. “Our Crown Prince fought most valiantly and well in Rhenia, your Majesty. I was there when he lost his eye.”
“What is your point?”
Destrane spread his hands out imploringly. “I only ask that you not judge your son too harshly. Men, boys really, are quite impetuous at that age.”
“You forgot to mention 'impertinent' as well!” The still angered Croghen shot back. Destrane looked down and said nothing.
A few seconds of silence passed. “Still what you say does hold some seeds of wisdom.” Croghen graciously admitted. “Persino has the same force of character but it runs in the proper direction. Anasia is under Ohalate's wing so there is no need for worry there. They do not have any of these, these....” Croghen struggled for the right word.
“Delusions.” Ohalate found it for him.
“Do you know what an old man once told me, your Majesty?” Destrane asked. “He told me life's lessons were like a puzzle. You have the pieces and you put it together. But first you have to know what the final picture looks like. When you realize what the picture is, you know how to put the pieces together.”
Croghen snorted and turned to look at the map again. Puzzles? What did that have to do with anything? Then he noticed the map was made of tiles and it actually did look like a puzzle of sorts.
His mind rearranged the map into a way that suited him. “The final picture...” The Emperor said to himself. He put his hand on the map, touching his empire, then the land of the hated Northmarchers and finally
Asrine. “Pieces to a puzzle and there is the picture.” he said a little louder this time as an idea, a vision really, began to take place. Now there was an interesting thought!
“Is everything well, your Majesty?” Destrane asked.
Croghen spun around with a smile on his face bigger than the Anker Mountains. “Yes it is! More than well!”
Destrane was confused “I do not understand...”
“I need to think on this some more.” Croghen seemed to be dancing with uncharacteristic joy. Something had definitely captured his imagination. Something he saw on that map. “I will talk to you more on this in the days to come!”
“As you wish, your Majesty.” A befuddled Destrane mumbled. He was about to leave but the King gave a powerful tug on his elbow.
“Who was the nobleman next to you earlier?” Croghen demanded. “He wore the markings of the Pugu but had the heraldry of someplace beyond the Plikon.”
“Beafalo, the Duke of Recalto.” Destrane answered while at the same time still wondering why His Most Glorious Majesty was suddenly so excited.
“Up on the Northmarcher border.” Croghen said mainly to himself.
“Yes your Majesty.” Destrane felt obligated to answer. “He probably knows more about them than anyone else.”
“Good! Good!” An enthusiastic Croghen rubbed his hands together. “Tell him I should like to meet him. Immediately!”
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thanksgiving Football Weekend!
Thanksgiving is a holiday where you give thanks for all the good things in your life. Sometimes the bad things work out for the best too!
Thanksgiving is also about football!
This was "Haas Football Weekend 2009"!
On Friday, the Las Vegas Locos did battle with the Florida Tuskers for the first UFL Championship out in Sin City. Pretty good game and it went into overtime with the Locos pulling out a 20-17 win!
Later that night, I shifted gears to college football. Pitt charged down I-79 just across the West Virginia border to Morgantown for the 102nd Backyard Brawl. The strange thing about West Virginia is that they hate Pitt but love the Steelers...It was another tough, grind it out game and it came down to a field goal at the end...Unfortunately, it was a Mountaineer field goal and Pitt came up short 19-16.
Saturday saw the East Carolina Pirates host, than ambush, the Southern Mississippi Golden Knights. The Pirates jumped out to a 17-7 halftime lead and then saw their advantage evaporate in the second half. SM stormed back and scored to tie it up at 20 in the fourth period. The Knights were going to take the lead with extra point but ECU blocked it and took it to the other endzone. In the NFL that is a touchdown but in college, you only get two points. Leading 22-20, the Pirates kept it on the ground and managed to add a field goal for a 25-20 win. With th ewin, East Carolina hosts the Conference USA Championship next week against the University of Houston.
Sunday, I shifted back to the pros. In fact I went north of the border. The Canadian Football League's championship took place in clear, cold but sunny Calgary, Alberta. My Saskatchewan Roughriders played Montreal's Alouettes. The Riders were nine point underdogs but jumped out to a 10-0 lead at the end of one. Montreal fought back from a 27-11 fourth quarter deficit to close to within two. On the last play of the game, Montreal missed a 43 yard field goal and the Riders had won the Grey Cup 27-25!
No, they hadn't
The refs flagged Saskatchewan for having 13 (!) men on the field. In the CFL, you play with 12 men and somehow there was one too many green jerseys out there. Montreal got another chance from ten yards closer and all of Saskatchewan was screaming.
Learn to count!!!
The came the piece de reisatnacne, the crescendo if you will:
Pittsburgh Steelers vs. Baltimore Ravens
The Steelers had third string QB Dennis Dixon under center and a lot of people had the temerity to write my Steelers off.
How dare they?!
Typical Steeler-Raven slugfest back and forth. Dixon played great and the Steelers seized the lead 17-14 late in the fourth. Then the Steeler defense could not hold Balto when they had too but at least the damage was limited to a field goal.
Into overtime. Dennis finally made a "new guy playing in his first NFL start" mistake and the Ravens had a 20-17 overtime win.
The Football Weekend ended just like it started--with a 20-17 overtime game.
And I enjoyed every second of it.
And I managed to finish a 22 page paper on the Historiography of Russian Foreign Policy in the Twentieth Century....
I will do you a favor and NOT post that...LOL
But next week I will put up some of Aries Marching!
Michelle is working on the maps right now.
And she says you cannot rush genius....
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
All they want is your money
A couple of days ago, I received in the mail a letter from a car salesman who graduated from my alma mater, The Citadel, back in 1981.
As you probably guessed, I did not get along then or now with my school. I have never contributed a penny nor do I really keep up with anything that goes on there. I spent four years of my life there and the Nazi worshippers in charge tried to run me out and twice threatened to have me courtmartialed.
I graduated--with TWO degrees and with honors.
It was not the freshman year stuff (called "fourth class system") I objected too even if they went a little far with it. That is my concession. What I did not care for was the continued harrassment and attempts to steal my belongings, stick me with constant guard duty and threaten me with "demerits."
Too many and they throw you out of the place.
Give me an apology and maybe we can start over. But I do not see that happening.
What upset them the most was that I would not take any crap from them and struck back. God saw fit to give me knobby fists. Plus I can outstare goldfish and most cats. Apparently somewhere in the regulations, it is an offense not to respectfully return Hitler salutes or to participate in mass goosestepping. Refusing to shout "Heil Hitler!" was also frowned upon.
I will be the first to tell you my belt buckle may not have been the shinest but my marksmanship was hard to beat. I also never, ever left a classmate in distress and helped out anyone who needed help I could provide.
It was depressing to see freshmen I helped keep from quitting turn around and become wannabe Nazis to the following year's incoming class. I drew the line when those same people I helped tried to turn on me. When direct means failed, they tried to be more subtle but I reacted in a direct manner and ended any scheme before it started.
They still tried.
And they failed.
The "Brotherhood of the Ring" is a lie and I figured that out rather quickly. Should I have gone to Pitt? Definatley. But I was not going to be the butt of any jokes. They may say whatever they like about me but remember a few things:
(A) Say it to my face
(B) I beat you on your home ground using your rules
(C) You still beg me for money
None of my so-called "brothers" have ever made contact. I live next to one of the largest military bases in the world and I was on the radio for a decade. Not exactly hiding...
So back to our original story. Car salesman from Class of 1981 I never heard of and is much older than yours truely envokes this supposed bond in the hopes of selling me a Jeep Cherokee. Is that what all the Death Marches and Hell Nights were all about?
I still laugh when I get plaintive appeals for donations.
I'd rather give it to some homeless guy.
As the Sycthians once said to the invading, exaspetated Persians suffering in the heat of the steepes: "Go weep."
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Rain, rain and more rain!
I would not have been surprised to see someone building an Ark! It rained for four days straight! Remnants of Hurricane Ida drifting northward and it decided to stay. At least it ended any drought problems we might be having.
The four day rainfest wrecked my running schedule but I managed to get a lot of stuff done...I can't fool around outside when the rain is falling in buckets!
But the weekend was great so if you are going to have crappy weather, it might as well be during the workweek.
A black cat ran in front of me on Friday the 13th and guess what happened. Nothing. Well, the cat came back for me to pet it so before I tell you superstitions are nonsense, I should check to make sure I do not have rabies! LOL
After christening the cat "Jackie Robinson", I continued on my way to say hi to a couple of identicial twin dogs I call "Thane" and "Drane", after two identical brothers I created in Aries Marching, due out, I might add, in December.
After Gracy the gray cat came over to say hi to the three of us, I tromped home and say birds all over the place. Have I acquired to power to summon animals? Or do I smell that bad? LOL
I am going to try and get a government grant to research the question.
And the project will be headquartered in Las Vegas...
Monday, November 9, 2009
It can be done!
Fall of the Berlin Wall!
It can be done! On this day in 1989, the Berlin Wall fell! Not because of a military assault or even a massive revolution. No, the people of East and West Germany moved towards each other, ignoring heavily armed East German and Soviet border guards, to join hands. Some of the people on the wall are East German border guards...LOL
This a day to begin great things! Whatever barriers you have within you will fall and today is the day you take the first step forward to whatever it is you want to do!
I remember standing in the barracks of the Citadel hearing the news. I could not believe it! Something as vicious and solid as the Berlin Wall fell without a shot being fired! On that day the Cold War ended and freedom spread into Eastern Europe and eventually to every corner of the USSR itself.
Twenty years later, we still face threats to freedom. The sad thing is is that our own government is the threat. It seems overpowering, solid and invincible but remember the supposedly solid Soviet bloc. It vanished the day the people decided they had had enough.
The same thing can happen here. Corrupt leadership in all levels of government all the way down to the local one combined with greedy corporations have created a Berlin Wall in our minds and hearts in the 21st century.
Get your priorities in order, treat others as you yourself would like to be treated and never, never, let yourself be pushed around whether it be by the increasingly rapacious government or corrupt business practices (Small local businesses are the best!).
Polite, firm and unbending. If Rosa Parks can do it and the entire German nation can, so can we!
Go forth and conquer!
Monday, November 2, 2009
Red Storm Rising...
The People Strike Back?
Conservative voters in New York’s 23rd Congressional District may think they have a difficult decision on Tuesday, Nov. 3, 2009, but a closer look reveals a shocking surprise: they don’t. The 23rd District is holding a special election to determine who their next Congressional representative will be, and it has all come down to three individuals: Republican Dede ScozzafavaDemocrat Bill OwensIndependent Doug Hoffman Knowing nothing about the candidates, conservatives might initially feel inclined to vote the Republican Party line. The problem, however, is that they have a real choice to make in this race. They can choose between an ACORN-endorsed liberal Republican in Scozzafava or a pro-life, anti-bailout, anti-spending conservative in Hoffman. This information might lead conservatives to believe the choice is an easy one – vote for the conservative. The problem, however, is that by breaking with the Republican Party, they might very well be handing over a victory to a liberal Democrat aligned with Nancy Pelosi. So, now, the question becomes, “Should conservatives prostitute their beliefs and vote for a liberal Republican just because her victory would help keep a far-left Democrat out of office?” The situation isn’t all that unusual, and typically conservatives take the path of least resistance. This race is different. This race is a true litmus test of what’s to come in the 2010 midterm elections. Voting the straight Republican line accomplishes nothing for conservatives in the 23rd District or for conservatives in general. Voting the straight GOP ticket would send a message to the Republican National Committee (RNC) that the status quo is just fine. When rank-and-file Republicans march in lock-step with the party there is no incentive for the RNC -- or even local Republican Committees for that matter -- to rethink their endorsements. There is no incentive for them to change their ways. The race for New York’s 23rd District is the perfect opportunity to send a clear message to the RNC that conservatives want their party back. The issue should be non-negotiable for conservatives. If they put their political values over the party’s political preference in this election, the shock waves will be felt across the country. This is an opportunity for conservatives to make a strong statement about who truly holds the power in our country: “We the people.” Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich made his choice this week by publically endorsing Scozzafava, the highly liberal Republican. Gingrich explains his reasoning on his web site:
My number one interest in the 2009 elections is to build a Republican majority,” Gingrich writes. “If your interest is taking power back from the Left, and your interest is winning the necessary elections, then there are times when you have to put together a coalition that has disagreement within it.Gingrich is right. Should Republicans in the 23rd Congressional District split their votes between Scozzafava and Hoffman, there is the very real possibility that Owens, an even bigger liberal, could win the election and represent them in Washington. But what if that doesn’t happen? There is another way of looking at it: in terms of odds. Hoffman is the only hope conservatives in the 23rd have for like-minded representation in Congress. Whether they cast aside their convictions and vote for Scozzafava or hold on to them and vote for Hoffman, the worst-case scenario is they’ll have either a liberal Republican or a liberal Democrat representing them. On the off chance Hoffman wins, however, conservatives will have lost nothing and gained everything. After all, a liberal is a liberal, regardless of party affiliation. Conservatives in the 23rd should ask themselves which choice will keep them up at night when the election is over … and vote to ensure they sleep well.
Now my take...
If the Republican party does not act like Republicans, you will see more of this. Democrats too by the way...This is why the Repubicans were trounced so throughly in 2006 and why they never stood a chance in '08. Of course, Bush's screw ups did not help.
The problem with the two party system is that it can be just as unresponsive and repressive, yes, repressive as a one party system. They try to convince you the Democratic and Repubican parties are your only choices.
Well, the people in upstate New York disagree.
And this is why I am a committed Independent.
I believe both parties have forgotten the people they are supposed to represent. They care more for special intersts and are as corrupt as anything we joke about in Mexico. There needs to be serious reform in many arenas in this country..political, economic, social...and our most of our "public servants" do not seem that interested.
This development in upstate New York should get their attention.
They will try to use scare tactics to head off the Conservative Party by first claiming that voting Conservtive will split the vote and allow the Democrats to win. The people of the 23d Congressional District have answered that if this is the best candidate the Republican Party can offer, maybe it is better that they take their chances outside the two party apparatus.
Conservative voters in New York’s 23rd Congressional District may think they have a difficult decision on Tuesday, Nov. 3, 2009, but a closer look reveals a shocking surprise: they don’t. The 23rd District is holding a special election to determine who their next Congressional representative will be, and it has all come down to three individuals: Republican Dede ScozzafavaDemocrat Bill OwensIndependent Doug Hoffman Knowing nothing about the candidates, conservatives might initially feel inclined to vote the Republican Party line. The problem, however, is that they have a real choice to make in this race. They can choose between an ACORN-endorsed liberal Republican in Scozzafava or a pro-life, anti-bailout, anti-spending conservative in Hoffman. This information might lead conservatives to believe the choice is an easy one – vote for the conservative. The problem, however, is that by breaking with the Republican Party, they might very well be handing over a victory to a liberal Democrat aligned with Nancy Pelosi. So, now, the question becomes, “Should conservatives prostitute their beliefs and vote for a liberal Republican just because her victory would help keep a far-left Democrat out of office?” The situation isn’t all that unusual, and typically conservatives take the path of least resistance. This race is different. This race is a true litmus test of what’s to come in the 2010 midterm elections. Voting the straight Republican line accomplishes nothing for conservatives in the 23rd District or for conservatives in general. Voting the straight GOP ticket would send a message to the Republican National Committee (RNC) that the status quo is just fine. When rank-and-file Republicans march in lock-step with the party there is no incentive for the RNC -- or even local Republican Committees for that matter -- to rethink their endorsements. There is no incentive for them to change their ways. The race for New York’s 23rd District is the perfect opportunity to send a clear message to the RNC that conservatives want their party back. The issue should be non-negotiable for conservatives. If they put their political values over the party’s political preference in this election, the shock waves will be felt across the country. This is an opportunity for conservatives to make a strong statement about who truly holds the power in our country: “We the people.” Former House Speaker Newt Gingrich made his choice this week by publically endorsing Scozzafava, the highly liberal Republican. Gingrich explains his reasoning on his web site:
My number one interest in the 2009 elections is to build a Republican majority,” Gingrich writes. “If your interest is taking power back from the Left, and your interest is winning the necessary elections, then there are times when you have to put together a coalition that has disagreement within it.Gingrich is right. Should Republicans in the 23rd Congressional District split their votes between Scozzafava and Hoffman, there is the very real possibility that Owens, an even bigger liberal, could win the election and represent them in Washington. But what if that doesn’t happen? There is another way of looking at it: in terms of odds. Hoffman is the only hope conservatives in the 23rd have for like-minded representation in Congress. Whether they cast aside their convictions and vote for Scozzafava or hold on to them and vote for Hoffman, the worst-case scenario is they’ll have either a liberal Republican or a liberal Democrat representing them. On the off chance Hoffman wins, however, conservatives will have lost nothing and gained everything. After all, a liberal is a liberal, regardless of party affiliation. Conservatives in the 23rd should ask themselves which choice will keep them up at night when the election is over … and vote to ensure they sleep well.
Now my take...
If the Republican party does not act like Republicans, you will see more of this. Democrats too by the way...This is why the Repubicans were trounced so throughly in 2006 and why they never stood a chance in '08. Of course, Bush's screw ups did not help.
The problem with the two party system is that it can be just as unresponsive and repressive, yes, repressive as a one party system. They try to convince you the Democratic and Repubican parties are your only choices.
Well, the people in upstate New York disagree.
And this is why I am a committed Independent.
I believe both parties have forgotten the people they are supposed to represent. They care more for special intersts and are as corrupt as anything we joke about in Mexico. There needs to be serious reform in many arenas in this country..political, economic, social...and our most of our "public servants" do not seem that interested.
This development in upstate New York should get their attention.
They will try to use scare tactics to head off the Conservative Party by first claiming that voting Conservtive will split the vote and allow the Democrats to win. The people of the 23d Congressional District have answered that if this is the best candidate the Republican Party can offer, maybe it is better that they take their chances outside the two party apparatus.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Sunday, Sunday, Sunday!
If God decided to take Sunday off, I guess I could too! :-) It has been a slow week but looking ahead to what I have to do next month, I figure it was a good idea to take the break now while I have a chance!
Aries Marching should be ready to go (finally!) right after Thanksgiving. Aries Unleashed will be ready to go hopefully in the Summer of 2010 and it is going to be a while before I get to the fourth one.
What is it about Sunday and deep thinking? My mind seems to wander off more than usual on Sundays. Maybe it is because it is the end of the week and I am looking back or is it the beginning and I am looking forward. See? Odd, esoteric kind of stuff.
The weather is cooling off and it is supposed to be a cold winter. Good thing I like cold weather! On the other hand, I have heard that before...today I watched Pittsburgh and Minnesota do battle in the Steel City and it was sunny and 55! Take it from someone who knows..days like that in October are rare there! That is more like Spring than Fall but I did not write the operating manual for this planet.
I will have a lot to do this November and it seems a bit daunting. I, of course, am being dramatic as usual. There is nothing life threatening (unless you count the way no one seems to be able to drive...), so I took today off to gather my strength, sharpen my focus, take a deep breath and plunge into it head first.
If nothing else, I won't be bored!
Aries Marching should be ready to go (finally!) right after Thanksgiving. Aries Unleashed will be ready to go hopefully in the Summer of 2010 and it is going to be a while before I get to the fourth one.
What is it about Sunday and deep thinking? My mind seems to wander off more than usual on Sundays. Maybe it is because it is the end of the week and I am looking back or is it the beginning and I am looking forward. See? Odd, esoteric kind of stuff.
The weather is cooling off and it is supposed to be a cold winter. Good thing I like cold weather! On the other hand, I have heard that before...today I watched Pittsburgh and Minnesota do battle in the Steel City and it was sunny and 55! Take it from someone who knows..days like that in October are rare there! That is more like Spring than Fall but I did not write the operating manual for this planet.
I will have a lot to do this November and it seems a bit daunting. I, of course, am being dramatic as usual. There is nothing life threatening (unless you count the way no one seems to be able to drive...), so I took today off to gather my strength, sharpen my focus, take a deep breath and plunge into it head first.
If nothing else, I won't be bored!
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Oil Prices Out Of Control...Again
Once again, oil rices are out of control....
Time to strike back. How do you do that, you wonder? You've cut driving back as far as you can go, oil supplies are at an all time high and still growing yet the price continues to climb. This is how you do it.
Don't buy anything for Christmas.
There will be advertising left and right, up and down, in front and behind, all hours of the day exhorting you to spend, spend, spend and spend some more.
Don't do it.
Send cards instead. This is how you bring down money hungry corporations. It won't be easy and it is going to take a while but it seems pretty obvious war has been declared against the American people. Forget terrorism, the greatest threat to America is here at home and they have the same passport you do
Do you have the courage to strike back? Or will you continue to dig yourself deeper into their pockets?
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Happy Columbus Day!
Happy Columbus Day!
...a day late!
I never understood why this was not a bigger holiday. The man joined the New World and the Old together forever. The fun thing about this holiday is listening to the Politically Correct Stormtroopers try to tear Columbus down. portraying him as an invader of a New World Eden.
Sorry, he wasn't.
No one knew what smallpox was and he thought he was in Asia. And if he did not land in the Bahamas in October 1492, someone else would have. The Vikings were in Newfoundland somewhere around 1000 and if the Portuguese could read maps, they might have realized they landed in Brazil in 1480. On the other hand, maybe they didn't. Like I said, they weren't the best with maps. And the Chinese might have been scoping out the West Coast as early as 1421.
And all the while, the Aztecs were ripping hearts out of captives on top of pyramids in what would one day be Mexico City and cannibals called the Caribs roamed the sea that would be named for them.
Columbus was one of the greatest salesman of all time and maybe the greatest captain ever. He was also a terrible colonial admistrator and was hauled back to Spain once in chains because of that. But he never ripped anyone's still beating heart out for some bloodthirsty deity.
Let's face it. No one is perfect.
Including self righteous politically correct adademics who can't fathom an argument or point of view different from their own.
We can't change the past but we can make the future better by treating others the way we would like to be treated.
Happy Columbus Day!
Monday, October 12, 2009
Nobel Peace Prize goes to who?!
President Barack Obama was stunned to hear he had won the Nobel Peace Prize. He wasn't the only one. Come to think of it, I think everyone on Earth (along with any aliens monitoring the aforementioned planet...) was too. Compounding the mystery was the revelation that the deadline for nominations was February 1. Obama was inaugurated on January 20. That of course leads to the question, "What exactly has he done to win the Nobel Peace Prize"?
The Nobel Peace Prize Committee stammered out something about "changing the discourse of international relations" but I fail to see how overseeing two wars and threatening Iran is a fundamental change from the Bush administration's approach to foreign relations. As a matter of fact, Obama is sending 21,000 more US troops to Afghanistan which is sure to escalate the war there. Furthermore, General McChyrstal is asking for another three divisions, which would push manpower levels there to over 100,000. And the American commitment to Iraq is still over that particular magic number.
Anyone pointing to the health care "reform" is going to be broadsided by the question of how can threating to fine someone who does not sign up for health care be construed as reform? I have yet to hear an answer to that. From Republicans or Democrats.
Now there is the political angle. Norway is presently governed by a left of center coalition and one member of the committee was heard to say the nomination was a "kick to Bush's leg." Last I checked, Bush has been retired since January. For self-proclaimed liberals, the Norwegians seem to be looking backward into the past.
Maybe Barack Obama will do something in the future to earn the Prize. Regulating oil markets and muzzling speculators who make the world a worse place would certainly get my support. Award him a the Prize when he actually does something. Forecasting someone's political future is not much different than rolling the dice.
I hope the Committee doesn't break their arms patting themselves on the back. All the Nobel Peace Prize Committee accomplished was to cheapen the Prize. If Barack Obama had any humility, he would have gracefully declined the Nobel Peace Prize saying there are other people who have done important things.
All they have done is deepen the cynicism that affects the whole globe and pull the Nobel Peace Prize to the level of fantasy football.
I am going to McDonalds and get a happy meal. There might be a Nobel Peace Prize in it!
The Nobel Peace Prize Committee stammered out something about "changing the discourse of international relations" but I fail to see how overseeing two wars and threatening Iran is a fundamental change from the Bush administration's approach to foreign relations. As a matter of fact, Obama is sending 21,000 more US troops to Afghanistan which is sure to escalate the war there. Furthermore, General McChyrstal is asking for another three divisions, which would push manpower levels there to over 100,000. And the American commitment to Iraq is still over that particular magic number.
Anyone pointing to the health care "reform" is going to be broadsided by the question of how can threating to fine someone who does not sign up for health care be construed as reform? I have yet to hear an answer to that. From Republicans or Democrats.
Now there is the political angle. Norway is presently governed by a left of center coalition and one member of the committee was heard to say the nomination was a "kick to Bush's leg." Last I checked, Bush has been retired since January. For self-proclaimed liberals, the Norwegians seem to be looking backward into the past.
Maybe Barack Obama will do something in the future to earn the Prize. Regulating oil markets and muzzling speculators who make the world a worse place would certainly get my support. Award him a the Prize when he actually does something. Forecasting someone's political future is not much different than rolling the dice.
I hope the Committee doesn't break their arms patting themselves on the back. All the Nobel Peace Prize Committee accomplished was to cheapen the Prize. If Barack Obama had any humility, he would have gracefully declined the Nobel Peace Prize saying there are other people who have done important things.
All they have done is deepen the cynicism that affects the whole globe and pull the Nobel Peace Prize to the level of fantasy football.
I am going to McDonalds and get a happy meal. There might be a Nobel Peace Prize in it!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Never a waste of time!
Instead of dilgently pursing any number of things, I took the night off and spent it with Michelle, wandering around the city. In this rush/rush world of ours, we quite often forget to take a little time off to regain a semblence of sanity. When you spend time with someone you love, it is NEVER a waste of time :-)
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Happy Anniversary!
Our First Anniversary!
On September 27, 2008, I married my best friend! No, this is NOT Massachusetts...just clearing that up right now!
I love Michelle more than anything in the Universe. Why she puts up with my shenanigans is beyond my comprehension but she has added so much to my life.
We first met at the radio station I was working at back in December 2003 (I think...) and we have been on a number of adventures since! The year since we have been married has been the best ever! I have never been so happy! I finished my second book and saw my Steelers and Penguins both win championships. Even if none of that stuff happened, I still would have been happy because Michelle is with me all the time. She is the reason I live and I would die for her if I had to (though I would like to consider every other option first...). I thank God for sending her even though I do not deserve to the object of such a loving person's affections.
I love you Michelle! Let's go eat some chocolate muffins....
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Found some $ for Health Care!
Here is an idea! Let's take the money we hand over to the United Nations, an organization that seems to dislike us yet we, for some reason, pay 25% of their expenses and use it for problems here at home. Our contribution to the UN can be the rent free building in the middle of Manhattan. When their peacekeepers are not off raping minors or watching the latest Israeli incursion into Lebanon roll by, the United Nations actually does a great job on refugee issues.
We have problems here at home and the $1.3 billion dollars we owe the UN (for what exactly, no one seems to know...) could certainly come in handy for a lot of things. Extending unemployment, paring down the deficit, establishing college grants, putting into health care...the list goes on. This won't solve everything but a billion dollars on the shelf could do a lot of good.
Here is another source of fast cash on a national level: Get rid of the Department of Homeland Security. It is not securing the borders and Janet Neopolitano apparently seems more interested in chasing "right wing extremists" (ie anyone criticizing Obama..more and more people fitting that description it seems...) than potential terrorists. I have no desire to further fund a homegrown Gestaopo with my tax dollars thank you. We all ready have the FBI for that. (See Waco, 1993 for further info...). The IRS ranks up there too.
I just found another source of money that could do good elsewhere: Cut congressional salaries in half. Call your local congressman and let me know what they think of that :-)
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Staying busy!
If idle hands are the Devil's tools, then he isn't anywhere near me this week! It has been a busy week but it keeps me off the streets! :-P
I have been up at 0500 to get a jump on every day this week but today I will get it all done! I am amazed at how much I can get done with an extra hour but I think I will go back to my customary 0530-0600 wake up.
I took Michelle to a health fair sponsered by her TV station and was treated to the sight of harried looking TV and radio salespeople with obivious blood pressure problems running in cirlces. I snagged some grapes from their breakfast table and sat down to watch the rat race. I wish I could have put numbers on them and placed bets! I began to wonder if the whole building was a human hamster cage. Mabye the muffins Michelle purloined on the way out were the analogues of those hampster food pellets.
Chocolate chip muffins are great! Devouring them with someone you love makes it all worth it.
Back to Monday posting! I have to fix an attic fan!
Friday, September 11, 2009
Monday, September 7, 2009
Happy Labor Day!
No one I know has this day off. Sounds like a scheme to keep the Post Office from losing more money...On the other hand, if you are working, this is a great time to pick up some overtime...or something.
I managed to get a good two mile run in before the rain started falling. Fortunately I cut the grass back on Saturday. It did not look that bad but I did not want a parade of disreptable looking dudes marching up to my door wanting to cut the grass for $100. Not only is that too much but I can screw it up for a bare fraction of the cost. I calculated it costs about $1.25 for me to mow the lawn. That figure, of course, does not include my invaluable time :-)
Here is a quick way to win any Labor Day bar or picnic bets:
Labor Day is a United States federal holiday observed on the first Monday in September (September 7 in 2009).
The holiday originated in Canada out of labor disputes ("Nine-Hour Movement") first in Hamilton, then in Toronto, Canada in the 1870s, which resulted in a Trade Union Act which legalized and protected union activity in 1872 in Canada. The parades held in support of the Nine-Hour Movement and the printers' strike led to an annual celebration in Canada. In 1882, American labor leader Peter J. McGuire witnessed one of these labor festivals in Toronto. Inspired from Canadian events in Toronto, he returned to New York and organized the first American "labor day" on September 5 of the same year. (compliments of Wikipedia)
The holiday originated in Canada out of labor disputes ("Nine-Hour Movement") first in Hamilton, then in Toronto, Canada in the 1870s, which resulted in a Trade Union Act which legalized and protected union activity in 1872 in Canada. The parades held in support of the Nine-Hour Movement and the printers' strike led to an annual celebration in Canada. In 1882, American labor leader Peter J. McGuire witnessed one of these labor festivals in Toronto. Inspired from Canadian events in Toronto, he returned to New York and organized the first American "labor day" on September 5 of the same year. (compliments of Wikipedia)
Yes, Labor Day here in America started in Canada LOL Well, sort of...After the Pullman Strike, Congress pushed through a holiday honoring labor and made sure it did not fall on May 1 as not to align with any Communist/Marxist agendas or provide any undue remeberances of the Haymarket Riot in 1886.
Yes, I am a history major!
Now, the history major has to install some attic stairs! Then later, back to writing some more of Aries Unleashed!
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
The Bahamas
Michelle and I returned from Nassau Sunday night. Very hot and very sunny and the waves were incredibly violent! LOL I was not only almost knocked down by a wave at the water's edge but had sea shell fragments in my hair and eyes!
We went on the ship Carnival Sensations and it was quite the experience! I ate a lot but played a lot of fantasy golf too! I loved the hot chocolate the best....
The first night after leaving Port Canaveral, we sailed through the waves in the wake of Hurricaine, I forgot the name. It was at that point I realized why the tickets were so cheap...I ate way to much and felt quesy. It was not sea sickness! >:-) I did see some people vomit over the side so I have the feeling the cleaning staff earned their salaries on this trip! The crew was incredibly friendly and it seemed a genuine sort of friendliness. I also noted my wallet was not missing :-)!
I am not a "water person" but I did enjoy splashing about in the pool and hot tub with Michelle. Going to Nassau is also the furthest south I have ever been. Somehow I did not get sunburned...must be my Mediterranean complexion...LOL.
We came back on Sunday night and yes, I went for a run...a good sweaty run! :-) After all, I had a lot of cake and hot chocolate to work off!
We went on the ship Carnival Sensations and it was quite the experience! I ate a lot but played a lot of fantasy golf too! I loved the hot chocolate the best....
The first night after leaving Port Canaveral, we sailed through the waves in the wake of Hurricaine, I forgot the name. It was at that point I realized why the tickets were so cheap...I ate way to much and felt quesy. It was not sea sickness! >:-) I did see some people vomit over the side so I have the feeling the cleaning staff earned their salaries on this trip! The crew was incredibly friendly and it seemed a genuine sort of friendliness. I also noted my wallet was not missing :-)!
I am not a "water person" but I did enjoy splashing about in the pool and hot tub with Michelle. Going to Nassau is also the furthest south I have ever been. Somehow I did not get sunburned...must be my Mediterranean complexion...LOL.
We came back on Sunday night and yes, I went for a run...a good sweaty run! :-) After all, I had a lot of cake and hot chocolate to work off!
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