The Lion of Mumu: The Story of Dunlaing Raithlind

[Atreides03]

Prologue Part I

The River Bandon near Rath Raithleann
760 AD

​

Dunlaing stood upon the bank of the Bandon and watched as the waters of the river moved slowly by. After watching the water for some time he closed his eyes and tried to allow the feel of the place to wash over him. He smiled as the summer sun warmed his skin and the gentle murmur of the river filled his ears. The air here smelled of grass and the river itself and Dunlaing felt a sense of peace and contentment. He opened his eyes and knelt by the bank, opening the pack at his waist as he did so. He was startled to see that a hooded crow was perched on a rock next to his head. He was sure that it had not been there when he had closed his eyes, nor had he heard it fly in. In fact, Dunlaing was fairly certain that he hadn't heard the singing or flight of any birds at all since he had arrived here.

He smiled at the bird and said, "Hello, little bird. Would you like some bread? I've brought enough to share."

The bird cocked it's head and stared directly into his eyes in a way that, even at his young age, Dunlaing found unusual. Unusual and a little uncomfortable. Dunlaing pulled his gaze away and rummaged through his pack for the hunk of bread he knew was in there. He fished it out and broke a good sized piece off for the bird. However, when he turned to offer it he found that it was gone. Dunlaing frowned at the empty rock. He was sure that he hadn't heard it leave. A quick check of the sky around him showed it to be empty. The bird had seemingly vanished. He shrugged and placed the piece of bread on top of the rock. Maybe it would come back.

Dunlaing turned his attention back to the pack at his waist and removed the other two items he had brought along with him. They were small daggers; well made and encased in fine leather sheathes. They had gifted to him by his father a year ago. He turned them over in his hands a few times admiring them and remembering how he'd begged his father to have them made for him. Then, one at a time, he hurled them into the river while whispering a prayer.

"What are you doing?"

Dunlaing whirled around at the sound of the voice, his heart feeling like it was trying to climb out of his throat. A woman stood behind him almost within arms reach. She was beautiful with long black hair and bright blue eyes. She wore a simple looking but finely made dress that was as black as her hair and gave her skin a very pale look. How had she approached him so closely without him hearing?

"Are you incapable of speech?", she asked.

Dunlaing struggled to calm his heart and make a reply. His tongue felt frozen by the shock of her sudden and silent appearance. As he stared at her he saw that she was holding a piece of bread in her left hand. He watched as she broke a piece of it off with her right hand and raised it to her mouth and began to chew. Her eyes never shifted from gazing into his own throughout this. He felt as if they were looking inside of him somehow. He turned away to find relief from that gaze. His eyes happened to light upon the rock next to him and he saw that the bread he had left there was gone.

He steeled himself and forced himself to turn back to her and meet her gaze. " W-Who are you?", he finally managed to ask.

"I asked you a question first.", she replied. "Answer mine and perhaps I'll answer yours."

Dunlaing looked over his shoulder at the river and suddenly felt childish and a little guilty. He thought about making up a story, but for some reason he felt sure that she would know if he lied. Finally he said,"I was making an offering."

Her eyes narrowed and she suddenly stepped closer so that she was now directly in front of him. With a great effort Dunlaing resisted the urge to back away. She looked down at him and asked, "To whom and why?"

Dunlaing gave a nervous shrug and answered, "To the river I guess". The woman gave no reaction to this answer, but simply continued staring down at him. Dunlaing felt a need to explain and went on, "My grandmother tells me stories about the old times. She says that rivers were sacred and powerful places and that the old gods are always nearby. She says that people are forgetting them now and don't bring them things anymore. I felt sad for them."

"So you brought them a gift? Something you treasured?", she asked. When he nodded his head she broke into a smile and said, "You're a good boy, Dunlaing."

"How do you know my name?", asked Dunlaing.

The woman shrugged and replied, "I know many things. I know also that today is your tenth birthday."

Dunlaing considered this non answer and for the first time also considered whether or not this woman was dangerous. He considered running, but there was no where to run other than into the river. As quickly as he thought of running, though, he felt shame. He was of noble birth. He was heir to Clan Raithlind. He would not run from or cower before some woman. He straightened his back, squared his shoulders, and forced a look of determination onto his face. Mustering as much command into his ten year old voice as he could he said, "I demand to know your name and what you want with me."

The black haired woman's eyes danced with amusement and she laughed. The sound did not strike Dunlaing as mirthful, but rather reminded him of the sound that swords made when they clanged together in the practice yard. She gave a slight bow to him and answered, "Very well, my Lord. My name is Morrigan and I've come to give you gifts."

"Gifts?", he asked. He cast an appraising eye over her and said, "I don't see any gifts and why would you give me any?"

Morrigan knelt down in front of him and answered, "I would give you gifts because offerings deserve offerings in return. But the gifts I bring you cannot be held in your hands." She reached out with both hands. She placed her left hand against his temple and her right over his heart. She continued, "They are held here in the mind and here in the heart. Do you accept my gifts, Dunlaing?"

Dunlaing opened his mouth to reply but no sound came out. He imagined that he could feel a crackling in his skin where she was touching him and fear began creeping back into him again. He started to think that he needed to get away from here. Just forget his pride and run without stopping until he reached the safety of Rath Raithleann. Morrigan's voice cut into his thoughts as she said in a mocking tone, "It's alright if you're frightened, little prince. You can run home and leave my gifts behind if you wish."

The mocking tone and the accusation that he might be scared of her decided it for him. He said, "I accept your gifts."

Morrigan smiled and said, "As you wish." Just then the crackling feeling intensified as she pressed her hands more firmly against his head and chest. It built until it felt like waves of fire were sweeping throughout his body which had gone completely rigid. Dimly, he thought that this was what getting struck by lightning must feel like.

As he set his teeth against the pain Morrigan spoke again and her voice seemed to boom in the air around him, "You have given three gifts and so I will give three in return. First I give you the thrill of battle. The only thing that will truly stir your heart is the beating of war drums and the tramping sound of an army on the march. The only song your ears will seek is the song of steel meeting steel. Second I give you a brave heart. You will plunge headlong into battle and the only fear felt will that which you inspire. Lastly, I grant you endless ambition so that you may put my other gifts to good use."

Dunlaing found himself on his knees drenched in so much sweat that he wondered for a moment if he had fallen into the river. His head felt cloudy and his tongue felt thick. He crawled to the river and plunged his face into it. After taking several mouthfuls of the cool water he sat back and looked around. He was alone except for a hooded crow that was perched on a nearby rock and seemed to be regarding him with interest. He shook his head and tried to will some clarity into it. He remembered coming to the river for something, but couldn't remember what. He also couldn't remember how long he'd been here. From the position of the sun in the sky, though, he could tell that he'd been here long enough that he was probably going to get into trouble. He stood on slightly unsteady legs and looked at the crow again. Something tickled the edge of his mind when he looked at it, but quickly faded away. He began walking back home.








This is my first attempt at an AAR and it will be in narrative style. I've decided to ease myself into AAR writing by focusing on writing about the life of a single character: Dunlaing Eoganachta-Raithlind of Deasmhumhain. This AAR will cover only his lifetime and will end when he does. I will try to update on a regular basis as best I can.

 

[stnylan]

Well that is a momentous, not to say potentous, opening scene. And what price the Morrigan's gifts?

Welcome to AAR writing. I hope you enjoy yourself.

 

[Atreides03]

stnylan: Thank you for taking the time to read. Morrigan certainly doesn't give selflessly.

 

[Atreides03]

Prolugue Part II

Rath Raithleann
773 AD​

Selbach mac Fergal, Chieftain of Clan Raithlind of the Eoganachta, stood atop the earthen rampart of Rath Raithleann and looked down to a small, circular clearing just to the south of the ringfort. His son, Dunlaing, was down there along with some of the best fighting men of the clan- the Fianna as Dunlaing preferred to call them. As Selbach watched, Dunlaing danced among the men and struck blow after blow with his blunted training sword. The mock battle soon concluded and the men moved to the edge of the circle. Selbach knew that this was only a momentary pause and that Dunlaing would soon have the men at it again.

Turning away from the fighting men Selbach began walking back toward his residence and seat of power, which was positioned in the exact center of the ringfort. As he walked his thoughts turned to his only son. As he did, he felt the usual mix of pride and misgiving that always swirled around his mind when he thought of Dunlaing. His son had grown up to be a strong man. He stood a full head taller than his father and his frame was powerful; no doubt a result of the constant training and sword play that he engaged in. Truly, in terms of physical prowess at least, he was a son to take great pride in.

And yet, as Selbach stepped through the door of his residence and began making toward it’s great hall, he had to admit that his son’s great enthusiasm for the warlike arts left him feeling frightened. Not for his own sake, of course, but for that of the clan and it’s future. Clan Raithlind had never looked to bloodshed to secure power. Their way was that of agriculture and commerce. Sure, they engaged in cattle raiding as everyone did, but they had never sought to aggressively project their power through force. Dunlaing, however, clearly wanted Clan Raithlind to become a military power. Seemed obsessed with the idea, in fact. Selbach shook his head. His son had not been raised this way. In his young years Dunlaing had been schooled in the art of rulership and commerce. Sometime around his tenth birthday, however, Dunlaing had developed an obsession with war and battle. He had thrown himself into training as a warrior and had largely neglected his other training ever since.

Selbach reached the great hall and sank into his chair at the head of it’s table. He called out for food and drink and then went back to pondering his son. Not for the first time, he wondered if Dunlaing would truly be the best man to succeed him as Chieftain. With Dunlaing as Chief, Selbach knew, the clan would be called to war on their neighbors and when that happened the largest and most powerful of the Eoganacht branches- Clan Locha Lein- would likely crush them. The Locha Lein held the title of Kings of Mumu and their power base was far stronger than that of Clan Raithlind.

Selbach heard the sound of someone entering the hall from the servant’s entrance behind him. Without turning to look he absent mindedly waved his hand for them to place his food and drink on the table before him. Plans for how to turn his son away from leading the clan to a bloody and uncertain future were churning through his mind when the dagger slid across his throat.

 

[stnylan]

One cannot allow a father's doting love for his son, or a Chief's love for his people, get in the way of destiny.

 

[Atreides03]

One cannot allow a father's doting love for his son, or a Chief's love for his people, get in the way of destiny.

Indeed not, but who's destiny?

 

[Atreides03]

Chapter I

Rath Raithleann
773 AD​

Dunlaing allowed the small, round shield in his left hand slide down out of his grip so that he was holding it with the tip of one finger. As he walked away from the training field he kept the blunt training sword in his hand but rested the blade on his shoulder. It had been a good session. The Fianna- the hand picked full time warriors in the service of Clan Raithlind- were ready for battle. They lacked nothing in terms of training and equipment. The only thing they did lack, Dunlaing thought with a frown, was an enemy to blood and be blooded by. Dunlaing had been pressing his father for some time to unleash the clan’s forces, but had been rebuffed every time. No matter, the time would come eventually. His father wouldn’t be the Chief forever after all.

A wind picked up and Dunlaing shivered. He was soaked with sweat and, now that he was no longer engaged in training, he could feel every bit of the cold December air. He quickened his pace as he moved below the earthen wall of the ringfort and toward the entrance. Behind him he could hear the Fianna departing in the opposite direction- they lived outside of the walls of the ringfort. He was only a hundred or so paces from rounding the wall and reaching the entrance when he heard a crow begin to caw above him. He looked up and saw the bird perched on the top of the ringfort wall and looking down at him. As he soon as he locked eyes with it the bird took flight and began flying in the direction of the training field. Dunlaing turned to watch it go and as he did, he caught sight of two men moving toward him. They were hunched over and keeping pressed to the wall of the ringfort as they came. It was readily obvious to Dunlaing that these men were attempting to catch him off guard.

When it was apparent that they had been seen the two men stepped away from the wall and straightened to full height. Now that they were more out in the open Dunlaing recognized them as men in service to his cousin Connath, though he couldn’t recall their names. He was about to ask them what they were about when both men drew daggers and gave answer.

Dunlaing firmly gripped his shield and swung his sword off of his shoulder. The two assassins laughed as he took up fighting stance. Their confidence was not surprising considering the fact that Dunlaing was carrying a blunt weapon and their daggers were sharp and deadly. The two men began fanning out and Dunlaing realized that they were going to be able to attack him from multiple directions if he didn’t act quickly. He decided to be aggressive and lunged forward. As he did, he swung his shield and released it in the direction of the assassin on his left. He heard a surprised sound from the man followed by the sound of the rim of his shield hitting him in the face. Dunlaing paid him no further mind, however. He couldn’t afford to be distracted or waste time. Instead he rushed toward the other killer.

The man’s eyes went wide and he stumbled back, stunned at the sudden switch from hunter to prey. He brought the dagger up, but Dunlaing’s sword was the weapon with the greater reach. Dunlaing thrust and swung with the weapon continuously, forcing the assassin back and easily keeping the sharp blade of the dagger away from him. Finally, Dunlaing landed a solid blow to the side of the man’s head which staggered him and left him dazed. Dunlaing seized the opportunity and swung the sword toward the man’s face. The blade of the weapon wasn’t sharp, but it was heavy and still more than capable of being dangerous. The assassin’s face exploded into a red ruin and he crumpled to the ground, his dagger falling from suddenly limp fingers.

Dunlaing knelt down next to him, discarding the sword and picking up the dagger as he did so. He was about to plunge it down when he felt the dagger of the second assassin pierce his training armor and enter his back. Dunlaing clenched his teeth against the pain as the dagger was pulled from his body. He looked over his shoulder in time to see the dagger arcing back down for another strike. However, a black crow suddenly swooped in front of the man close to his face. The distraction caused to strike to go wide and threw him off balance. Dunlaing seized the opportunity and spun fully around and to his feet. He brought the dagger up and thrust it under the assassin’s chin. Blood gushed from his mouth and the man fell.

Dunlaing left him to choke on his own blood and returned to the other man who was making awful gurgling noises through his ruined face. Dunlaing slit his throat and finished it. As he knelt over the corpse the crow landed on it's head and looked up at him from it’s grisly perch. A sudden image of a black haired woman on a river bank flashed into Dunlaing’s mind. The woman seemed familiar but Dunlaing couldn’t recall why.

Dunlaing heard a sudden cry from the direction of the ringfort and looked in that direction. Other voices rose to join that cry. The shouts ranged between what sounded like anger and anguish. Dunlaing looked back at the body next to him and saw that the crow was gone. He got to his feet and winced as pain exploded from the wound in his back. He hurried toward the ringfort.

 

[stnylan]

Quite the violent sort he is turning into, not unexpectedly.

 

[Dunaden]

It's good to see that Dunlaing didn't have his father murdered, though it's still all in the family.

I did expect Dunlaing to feel some kind of surge of excitement or joy when he realized the men were there to kill him, it was his first real "battle" with his life on the line, and I expected Morrigen's first gift to kick in, "First I give you the thrill of battle. The only thing that will truly stir your heart is the beating of war drums and the tramping sound of an army on the march."

 

[Atreides03]

stnylan: Well, violent times and all that.

Dunaden: Thanks for reading and commenting. I'd say her second gift came into play. Perhaps the first will need a larger engagement?

I went ahead and played through to the end of Dunlaing's story which is why an update has taken a while. Now that the game, or his part of it, is done I'll be updating more frequently.

 

[Atreides03]

Chapter II
Dublin
March 774 AD​

Congalach Ua Neill-Noigiallaich, King of Meath, entered the audience chamber trailed by the usual assortment of guards and court officials. He crossed to a small raised dias and seated himself upon a chair positioned in its center. Once settled, he looked down from his perch to the man standing below and said, “Greetings to you, Dunlaing mac Selbach. Welcome to my home and to my city.”

Dunlaing looked up at the King of Meath. He was a young man; only a few years older than Dunlaing and carried himself like one used to power. He had fair hair and dark eyes that shone with intelligence. Or perhaps it was cunning. Dunlaing decided to skip over courtly introductions and get directly to the point. He said, “I have come to demand justice.”

“Justice?”, asked Congalach. “What justice do you seek?”

Dunlaing took a slow breath in order to calm a rage that was suddenly building up in him. Congalach knew damn well what he was here for. Pretending otherwise was an insult. On the day of his father’s murder Dunlaing had rallied the Fianna and led them to the home of his cousin, Connath. They had found it abandoned. No doubt the coward had fled when he learned that Dunlaing had survived the attempt on his life. He had spent the last three months consolidating his hold on the title of Chieftain of Clan Raithlind and upon the territories he had inherited. All through that, however, his mind had been focused only on vengeance against his cousin. Word had finally come that he had taken shelter in the court of the King of Meath and Dunlaing had set out for Dublin immediately. Dunlaing pointed at a man standing to the left of the King’s chair and said, “That man is a kinslayer and I have come to bring him justice.”

Congalach looked over to where Connath stood and beckoned him closer. The accused man came to stand at the foot of the dias. This position put him directly across from Dunlaing and almost close enough to touch. Dunlaing burned with the desire to strike out at his cousin, but held himself in check. Congalach looked down at Dunlaing and with a sly smile asked, “And if I refuse to hand him over? I have, after all, taken this man into my service.”

Dunlaing replied, “Connath mac Argtall murdered my father who was also his Chieftain. As a son and a member of Clan Raithlind I demand my honor price in accordance with our ancient law and custom. If he refuses, he will be branded outlaw and all hands will be turned against him. If you shelter him, you will bear his guilt as your own.”

“What price do you ask?”, inquired the King.

“His death.”, answered Dunlaing. “He will face me in single combat. With his death, justice will be served.”

“What if I kill you instead?”, asked Connath speaking for the first time.

“I am the last of my branch of the ruling house and have no heirs. If I fall my lands and titles will fall to you.”, replied Dunlaing.

Connath turned to look up at King Congalach and said, “I will face him.”

Congalach nodded his head and announced, “Then it shall be done. Let us move to the courtyard. I’d rather not have bloodshed in my audience chamber.”

Moments later Dunlaing stood facing Connath in the courtyard. The two men stood within a circle made up of men from Dunlaing’s retinue as well as from Congalach’s. Both men held war axes; they were Dunlaing’s choice. He knew from experience that Connath had rarely trained with them. Dunlaing, however, trained with every weapon he could get his hands on. He stepped toward his cousin and said, “When I kill you I’m going to leave your body here to rot, but I’ll be taking your head with me. I’m going to preserve it and keep it so that your soul will be forever my prisoner.”

A look of fear flashed though Connath’s eyes and a murmur went up from the witnesses. Most were probably not used to hearing such a blasphemous thing uttered out loud. Dunlaing sprang forward and the duel began. Dunlaing pressed his opponent aggressively and Connath fell back, only narrowly avoiding the blade of Dunlaing’s axe. Dunlaing’s swings were wild and brutal, but not as uncoordinated as they might have appeared. They were intended to keep Connath off balance and in that they succeeded. Finally, Connath stumbled and wasn’t able to get away before Dunaing’s axe bit into his leg just below the knee, nearly severing it. Connath let out a scream and collapsed onto the ground. He began trying to crawl out of the circle, blood trailing from his wounded leg. Dunlaing stepped on his back to stop him and swung his axe down on the back of his cousin’s neck.

After a couple of well-placed swings Dunlaing held Connath’s head by the hair in one hand. Without a word he walked out the fighting circle to where his horse was tied. He deposited his prize into a sack that was tied to the horse and cinched it shut. That done, he unhitched the horse and mounted it. Looking down at the King of Meath he said, “Connath has paid me my honor price for his crimes. Perhaps one day we’ll discuss the price you owe.” He rode away without waiting for a reply, his men following with him.

As Dunlaing journeyed home to Rath Raithleann, he thought of the army that was waiting there- and of where to march it.

 

[stnylan]

A bless/curse from the supernatural, and a desire for revenge. What an excellent mix.

He certainly didn't take long to get started on the revenge, and his closing line sounds less like a threat and more like a promise.

 

[HistoryDude]

Morrigan clearly wants war...

Our protagonist has become a vengeful man. A longing for battle and vengeance and endless ambition do not a long life make. Then again, Morrigan did bless him, so perhaps his death is still far off...

Also, why doesn't Dunlaing remember his encounter with Morrigan?

 

[Atreides03]

stnylan: He certainly is an aggressive young man. It's safe to say that the King of Meath is on his list of least favorite people.

HistoryDude: Morrigan would absolutely love for a war to break out and it seems certain that one soon will. She also has her reasons, I'm sure, for Dunlaing's memory issues.

 

[Atreides03]

Chapter III
Rath Raithleann
April 774 AD​

Having made the journey back home without incident, Dunlaing rode to the entrance of his stronghold, Rath Raithleann. As he did, he cast an appreciative eye upon the wooden palisade that was being erected around it. He had decided to enhance the strength of his fortifications upon the advice of his wife, Latsinuida. Aside from providing protection, she had argued, having proper walls instead of earthen ramparts would enhance his standing amongst his peers. Dunlaing rode through the gate and made directly for his home in the center of the fort. Dismounting, he handed the reins to a servant and walked inside. He spotted a serving woman and asked, “Where is my wife?”

The servant bowed in his direction and replied, “In your private chambers, My Lord.”

Dunlaing nodded to the woman and walked past her until he reached the stairs that led up to his private rooms. He entered to find Latsinuida standing at a window and watching the work being done on the walls. She turned as he entered and said, “Welcome home, husband. I assume that your return means that your cousin is no more?”

Dunlaing lifted the sack that he had carried with him from Dublin and upended it over a table. As Connath’s head rolled across the surface, Dunlaing tossed himself into a nearby chair and put a foot atop the table. He replied, “He faced me in single combat.” He laughed as he waved a hand toward the head and finished, “He lost.”

Latsinuida looked at her husband’s prize and made a face. “Put that thing away. And take your foot from the table. It was just cleaned.” Dunlaing rolled his eyes but did as she asked. She said, “It pleases me that you still live.”

Dunlaing laughed and replied, “It pleases me as well.” He walked to the door and shouted for a servant. After one arrived he handed off the bag containing Connath’s head and gave instructions as to what was to be done with it. That done he turned back to his wife and asked, “How has my domain fared in my absence?”

She tilted to her head slightly to the side in a gesture that was, Dunlaing had learned, as close as she’d come to something as undignified as a shrug. She answered, “From within we prosper in every way. From without we have…. issues.”

“Such as?”, he asked.

“We face challenges from the other Eoganachta clans.”, she replied. “Indrechtach of Clan Chaisil has already put forth a claim on your lands and is gathering strength. My spies tell me that he will soon seek to press that claim. In addition, the Bishop of Innisfallen has been moving about our lands. His stated purpose is a visit to Clone, but in truth he is working to see your lands seized by the King of Mumu. If he can gather enough support for a Clan Locha Lein claim to your lands we can expect an invasion.”

Dunlaing reached up and tugged at the end of his beard, something he did when deeply in thought. He said, “I’m surprised that they are moving so quickly and boldly against me.”

“You should not be.”, said Latsinuida. “You have no heir and are therefore the last member of the ruling branch of Clan Raithlind. Removing you would mean not only gaining your lands, but all your titles as well in one move. The other clans are simply being practical.”

Dunlaing nodded and asked, “Your advice?”

Latsinuida considered her answer for a moment and replied, “The King of Mumu is the stronger enemy, but Indrechtach is the more immediate danger. He is already preparing to fight and will need to be dealt with quickly. Mumu can be delayed.”

“Delayed how?”, asked Dunlaing.

Latsinuida answered, “His agent, the Bishop, is staying in a house nearby. It’s unguarded and I have some reliable men that can arrange an unfortunate accident for the poor man. The plan has been made and can be set into motion if you approve.”

Dunlaing raised an eyebrow at his wife. “Murder a Bishop?”, he asked.

“I said nothing of murder.”, she replied. “I said accident.”

Dunlaing smiled at his wife. He was more sure now than ever that he had made the right choice when he had put her in charge of such matters as plots and secrets. While he had assumed that being raised in the court of the Frankish Emperor would had given her a certain aptitude for her role, he was truly impressed at how well she was taking to it. Dunlaing said, “Very well. See to the Bishop’s accident. I will call the clan to a hosting and march against Indrechtach.”

By weeks end Dunlaing was riding into Urmhuhmhain, the territory of Clan Chaisil. Stretched out behind him was every able bodied fighting man in service of Clan Rathlind, some 800 men. Finally, after all the long years of training and waiting, Dunlaing was leading his clan to war. He was resolved that he would return to Rath Raithleann victorious, or not at all.

 

[stnylan]

They seem well suited

 

[HistoryDude]

A warrior and a schemer... that’s a match made in Heaven, or, more probably Hell.

War approaches, but that was always inevitable. Hopefully, the Raithlinds can win this one.

 

[Atreides03]

stynlan: They do, don't they?

HistoryDude: War has certainly been his aim. Hopefully it doesn't backfire.

 

[Atreides03]

Chapter IV

Dun Caiseal
April 774 AD​

On an open plain, in the shadow of the Clan Chaisil stronghold of Dun Caiseal, 750 fighting men of Clan Chaisil stood waiting in battle formation. Opposing them and standing just out of bowshot was the 800- man invading army of Clan Raithlind. Directly in the center of the Raithlind line, below a white banner emblazoned with a red stag, stood the Chieftain of Clan Raithlind, Dunlaing mac Selbach. From behind the battle line could be heard the rattling of war drums and the deep bellows of bull horn trumpets. As Dunlaing gazed across at the enemy line an almost giddy sense of anticipation began to build up inside of him. This was to be his first taste of a real battle. He felt no fear, however, but rather an emotion that he could only describe as eagerness. Every hair on his body seemed to stand up and every nerve ending crackled with energy. Dunlaing pointed his sword at the enemy line and the men of Clan Raithlind advanced.

As he walked forward Dunlaing let out a booming war cry and began to beat the flat of his sword blade against the small, round shield he carried in his left hand. All around him the other men of his clan imitated their Chief and the resulting sound of steel on wood mixed with battle cries fought to drown out the drums and horns behind them. The men of Clan Chaisil sent arrows and javelins by way of reply, but they had acted too soon and the shots fell short. Dunlaing continued on, still shouting and beating sword against shield. Another volley came in from the Chaisil men. This time some of the shots found targets and men fell. An answering volley came from the Raithlind line and as the arrows flew over his head Dunlaing broke into a run and charged the enemy line.

As Dunlaing raced forward his eyes sought out the black and white banner of Clan Chaisil and he pointed himself toward it. He closed the last distance between himself and the enemy line. Dunlaing focused his attention on a Chaisil soldier in the front rank. He roared and smashed his shield into the other man’s own, putting all his weight behind it. The Chaisil man was thrown backwards into his comrades. Before he could recover Dunlaing stabbed with his sword and the blade easily pierced the cloth coat and entered the man’s chest. He crumpled to the ground and Dunlaing stepped over him as the rest of the Raithlind army crashed into the Chaisil line.

The battle was a tight, close quarters affair and Dunlaing felt himself being pushed ever deeper into the enemy line by the crush of bodies at his back. He hacked at shields, heads, and hands with his sword. His shield blocked enemy strikes or was used to force men back. Several times it was used as a weapon as Dunlaing smashed the rim of it into men’s faces. Slowly, step by step, Dunlaing cut his way toward the black and white banner.

In the midst of the action as he was, Dunlaing could not see how the battle as a whole was going for his army. He had been advised to stay back from the line in order to direct the battle as well as keep himself safe. Dunlaing had rejected that advice and chosen to share in the dangers of battle with his men despite the loss of tactical control. Now, surrounded by the din of battle and the smell of blood, Dunlaing was sure that he had made the right choice. This was where he belonged.

Dunlaing pressed forward, driving his sword into the gut of a man who was too slow to bring his shield up to protect himself. As he pulled the blade out, Dunlaing saw that he had fought his way into an open space in the enemy line. The black and white banner was finally before him. Below it stood a man who looked several years younger than Dunlaing himself. Not the Chief Indrechtach, Dunlaing realized, but his 17- year old son, Argtall. The two men locked eyes for a moment before Dunlaing rushed forward. Dunlaing swung his sword high and Argtall raised his shield to turn the blow. As Dunlaing’s sword bounced off the shield he swung his own shield and drove the rim of it into his opponent’s midsection. Argtall grunted and stumbled backward, the air driven out of him. Dunlaing gave him no time to recover and pressed his attack. He battered at his younger opponent relentlessly, driving him back with blows from both sword and shield. Dunlaing raised his sword overhead and swung the blade down toward Argtall’s head. The younger man brought his shield up to stop the blow and Dunlaing shifted his weight and the angle of the strike as he did. Argtall tried to correct and bring his shield around to meet the attack, but he was too slow and Dunlaing’s sword bit deep into his side. Argtall let out a cry of pain and fell to his knees, his sword and shield falling from his hands. He looked up at Dunlaing and raised a pleading hand toward him. Dunlaing drove his sword through Argtall’s chest and the heir to Clan Chaisil slumped lifelessly to the ground at his feet.

Word of the Argtall’s death swept through the Chaisil force. Already buckling under the fierce Raithlind assault, their line collapsed completely once news of their war leader’s death reached them. First only small groups broke from the line, but soon the Chaisil army was in full flight toward the safety of Dun Caiseal. Dunlaing gave his men no time to celebrate the hard fought victory, but instead ordered an immediate pursuit. His army gave chase, cutting down any stragglers they encountered. By days end Dun Caiseal was under siege.

 

[HistoryDude]

A highly successful battle!

Dunlaing seems to be someone who enjoys battle - and killing. That could end in destruction. Live by the sword, and die by it.