All his Life a Shining Fable The fire crackled, burning fiercely as if to echo the sentiments of those sat around it, hardened warriors, loquacious bards and cunning druids, all but one silent, all staring at the fire, all listening to the voice of the Chief Bard, Connor James Mac Roy, as his song ended. A fine song, but a painful one, a eulogy to the fallen. Normally such as this were an occasion of remembrance- and that too would come- but this time there were so many to be remembered, for full one third of the Warhost were fallen, against the Nything and it’s cultists. A great evil had been removed, but at what cost?. The speeches began, tales of heroism, tales of war and fire and humour and good times, as if in the telling of them one could keep the dead alive- if just for another night, another party- another fire under the stars light- so hard to say goodbye, so hard to accept that a friend you were drinking with last night would no more raise a tankard, no more stand by your side in battle, no more, not ever, no more. The assembled celts had heard tales of druidic magicks- of the noble sacrifice of Stormcrow, the Green Knight, laying down his life that the King may live, they had heard tell of Gabriel MacNulty- who knew the foe that would slay him, yet backed down not at all, soon all had been mourned, and in the best way- by their friends and clansmen, by tales of their lives, and deaths... all save one. The Taniaste, Morgan stood, huddled as if cold, yet surely the fire kept his skinny frame warm, he spoke in low tones, his eyes burning with sorrow, yet not with tears- with pride. "I wish to speak of three I have lost this day... Woe to me, for I have lost my dearest friends- I have lost Jaw’is the Formori, my Bodyguard- but of him I shall not speak- I have heard others do him justice and I know he goes to his reward, I have lost Gwydion, my apprentice, my brother- yet I cannot speak of him, for my words could never equal those of the Stag when he spoke" Morgan nodded to the Feral huntsman, who bowed his head and bared his teeth, in what may have been a smile, or a snarl. "I have lost another this day, my friend, a man of..." - his voice faltered, before picking up and carrying on, "A man of wit, and huge presence, he was with us always, and I tell you in truth- if the Fir Cruthen had a soul... it was Paddy" All bowed their heads, Paddy- dead. It seemed inconceivable- Ard Righ Padraig O’ Flaherty- drunkard, lecher, rabble rouser- dead. Paddy- finest swordsman, outrageous flamboyant, man of the people- dead. If such as he could be cut down by a foeman’s sword then what hope for anyone, what hope for all, better a star fall than Paddy- better the sun sink and never rise again than lose Paddy. The Year King, Angus Mac Roth, High King of all Fir Cruthen, and newly crowned the night before stood, and clapped Morgan on the shoulder, "I remember Paddy- I remember the first time I met him- By the Lady Badb, I do, I remember... It was the time of the Fayre- we had been preparing for it, myself and my brother Jimmy- two landless celts- too distraught with what was happening in our homeland- a traitor Year king, one who had killed his closest advisors, and fled- not returning to the land after a year as a king should- but living on as a blasphemous mockery. We had come to the Fayre, never expecting to find what we did- others like us, celts- but not downtrodden, not them, in them blazed the eyes of fire- of purpose.. I spoke to their druid Morgan, to find out what they knew... ‘It’s true, see- that the Fir Cruthen have been dragged down, that we are as nothing, but recently some of us have had dreams, I’ve had some- Tam over there has had others, and him- that bloody animal- though Badb alone knows why, look you" he gestured to a huge man, built like a bear, sat upon a barrel, tankard in one hand, idly twirling a sword in the other- his dress was a huge shirt, and the most outrageous tartan trews I had ever seen, big enough to fit two or three men they seemed. I couldn’t help but laugh, he looked so incongruous- and yet something about him forestalled such laughter, better mock a beartrap I thought, than mock that man. He grinned, and belched loudly, filling himself another tankard, never the once losing his concentration with the gyrations of his sword. I wandered over to him, Morgan following me, and so I met Paddy- Ard Righ Padraig O’ Flaherty of Erin. ‘Who yeh then?’ ‘Ah’m Angus Mac Roth’ ‘That’s nice... ‘ey Morgan, whats this lanky streak o’ piss want?’ ‘He’s a warrior Paddy- an’ at least he makes the effort to look like one, you bloody savage you’ ‘I don’t have to look like a warrior - I’m a bard yeh skinny runt- an thats good comin’ from a man who wears a big white dress’ Morgan turned to me an held up his hands, shrugging in a resigned fashion ‘And with this mark you, I have to try and follow the words of Badb, with this I have to find leaders, people who men will follow- and what’ve I got- I’ll tell you- one man who thinks he’s a wolf and plays those bloody pipes all day long-‘ He gestured to Tam, who was constantly honing his musicianship- ‘And another who , well just look - where’d men follow him to? To a bloody brewery I tell you, and no further’ Paddy just laughed, and carried on his drinking. I could almost share the druid’s misgivings, were these really what the Goddess wanted? Yet something about Paddy troubled me, he seemed far more than he let on. And so he was. Later that day there was a warrior tourney- men and women from all over the known countries had come to test their skill against one another. Hulking warriors in plated mail stood alongside keen eyed warrior women, lithe and spare of movement, all with the aim of victory. All these proud nations had put forth their best warriors- and who strode forth from our people? Bloody Paddy, that’s who- and not just that- but he had a sword in one arm- and his full tankard in another! His first fight was against a tough looking trooper from Teutonia, heavily armoured. They clashed briefly, and then Paddy cursed- all thought he had been hit, but the Teuton looked confused- clearly unaware he had hit the celt. Paddy straightened up, and one could see the stain of alcohol on his jerkin. Beside me Morgan chuckled, ‘Now that Viper’s going to catch it, you see- Paddy won’t take well to that’ It almost seemed that the druid was proud of the hulking Paddy, who he seemed to spend his whole time bickering with... and then I realised he was, as were all the other celts there- only a few of them- but their warrior, by going out without armour- and drinking- was shaming the other opponents- as if to say -this is how much respect we have for your fighters- and Paddy knew that, as his next words showed. BR> ‘Yeh’ve spilt me drink, yeh big girl, I’m gonna bust you up!’ So saying he snarled and flowed into a devastating attack, sword weaving around the other’s defences- now the man from Teutonia was no weakling, and no mean fighter- but Paddy took him apart, disarming him at one point, only to stand still and say ‘C’mon, yeh can’t hit me without a sword- pick it up- yeh embarrassing me’ It was then I heard the cheering- and knew why Badb had chosen this man, I looked at Morgan and he nodded ‘They loves him- listen to that- he might not win but by Badb he’s given them a better show than any other’ But win he did- all the way to the semi final, still with his bloody beer in his hand and sword in the other- and the crowd whooped and applauded his skill, and skilled he was. Even when he bowed out- his opponents wooden sword tapping him on the sword arm twice, he did so with a big smile and a laugh. We Celts were ecstatic, crowding round him, jostling him towards the beer tent. Morgan laughing- ‘C’mon, lets get down the tavern lads’ Paddy just grinned at him -‘Awright- but you’re buying yeh skinny bastard" ‘Too bloody right you savage- too bloody right I am’ Gods, what good times they were, I remember it well... ‘Gods, what good times they were,I remember it well" said Angus, his crowned head dipping as he stood at the wake, the others laughing at the tale. He stepped forward and spilled a little beer into the raging fire, "Drink for you Paddy, you outrageous bastard you" he said, then rejoined the circle. Another stepped forward, Lucas, Dragon of Cymrja, he raised his voice to the gathered enclave, "I remember a run in me and Paddy had, it was way back last year when we were fighting the Shades in Cymrja." It was when we were fighting the Shades last year, we were just celebrating one of our few victories, times were hard, but under King Tam, we had just started to win back, for those of you that don’t know, the Shades are horrific Undead beasts, not human in the slightest, deadly there are, and here comes Paddy, proclaiming that his Erinian troops be given a place at the front, now I wanted them to defend the flank, but he was having none of it... "Ah, c’mon now Lucas, y’know full well that I’ll only get bored on the flank, and come charging in so yeh might as well put us at the front anyway" "Ard Righ Paddy, with all respect this is my land and we will wage this war my way" we stood, at an impasse, he would not budge and nor would I, immovable object gainst irresistable force. Morgan, ever present during the war councils, spoke up, "Paddy, you know Lucas has been fighting these things for a long time, so have I, whereas in Erin it seems that your soldiers have been sat there eating, drinking and growing fine bellies" he finished, looking at Paddy with a strange grin. Of course Paddy wasn’t having this, "Are you saying that Erinian’s are too old and fat to fight on the front line, is that it, you Cymrjan runt, I could snap you like a twig, and well you know it- I could break a Shade in half with my hands tied behind my back, so don’t you give me that" "Could you?" The Taniaste’s voice was silent, and his smile this time seemed entirely devoid of humour. Paddy bunched up a fist, "Anytime yeh’re ready shortarse" "No, no, not me" Morgan waved his hand irritably, "A Shade, you said you could break a Shade with your hands tied behind your back, I have one as prisoner you know" "Why?" I was angry, there was no information one could gain from them, their minds were alien and they were mute. "That’s not important now, but do you agree Lucas, that if Paddy can break a Shade with his hands tied behind his back then his troops can take the front line alongside you?" What could I say, "Of course, but that won’t happen, those things have a carapace half an inch thick" "Not an issue" replied Morgan calmly, looking at Paddy. "Damn straight it isn’t" replied Paddy, clearly feeling slighted. The challenge took part in my square at Caer Pengellen, the Shade was brought up, arms bound behind it’s back, as Paddy’s were, the thing snarled, baring inch long fangs, the only feature in a face otherwise devoid of any organ, other than a shiny black shell, as tough as armour. "Are you ready", I said. Paddy nodded, "Oh yeah, ah’ll show yeh how us fat old mick’s fight, are you ready?" He nodded at the Shade at this point, which if it understood the taunt, gave no reaction. All others retired behind the shieldwall that encircled the pair, and the Shade was unleashed, naturally it made a beeline for Paddy, open maw drooling saliva as it rushed him, Paddy seemed unconcerned, or frozen, until the last moment, when he jumped back a pace, letting the jaws clamp shut a foot from his face, he then swiftly slammed his head into the Shade’s shell like head. The creature jumped back a pace or two, waving it’s head as if to clear it, and Paddy staggered to the side and spoke to us, "Best of three?" We both nodded, dumbfounded at the spectacle. Again the Shade barreled in, more cautious this time, it feinted an attack, but Paddy sidestepped and as the creature whirled round he hooked it’s leg with one of his own, tripping it, then slammed his forehead again into the beast, which leaped to safety, at the edge of the shieldwall, and seemed to be examining the possibility of climbing it with no free arms. Paddy looked the worst for wear also, and bellowed at the crowd, "BEER" Instantly a tankard was held in front of him and he gulped down it’s contents as it was poured down his throat. He turned again to the Undead beast, which was even more cautious this time, clearly not wanting to close with the Erinian madman. "C’mon yeh big girl" The Shade seemed particularly unmoved by the taunt, and so Paddy tensed his legs and roared, "Look out, here comes me head!" and did a charge of his own, rushing the beast, The Shade opened it’s fangs in anticipation as the celt roared in, but Paddy was cunning, he leapt as high as he could in the air, and using the momentum of his fall he cannoned his head into the Shade’s skull, which split like an egg, spraying blackish green fluid all over Paddy’s clothing, it stood shakily for a moment, then collapsed, amid roars of approval from the surrounding Fir Cruthen. "BEER!" roared Paddy again, staggering uncertainly, bouncing off the shieldwall. His hands were untied and he was steadied by the crowd as he downed his drink. "My gods, the man’s an animal!" I remarked to Morgan, who shrugged, and said, staring into the background, "Yes, yes he is". "So," Paddy addressed us, "Do I fight on the front line or not?" I laughed "Of course you do, you daft bastard, is that the extent of your military tactics?" "Of course" he said, "Always use your head" I groaned at his pathetic joke, but sure enough, come the winter, Paddy’s Erinian soldiers were at the front, and they acquitted themselves nobly. I swear though, that I have never seen anything like the look of surprise that Shade had on it’s face as he leaped that last time, I know they have no facial features but I swear the thing looked scared, I know he scared me the daft bastard. Gods rest you Paddy, your like won’t be seen again "Gods rest you Paddy, your like won’t be seen again" said Lucas, as he too stepped forward and poured his drink into the fire, then stepping back into the circle. Morgan stepped forward again, as he did so, Connor James MacRoy started a soft, yet strangely discordant tune, chords jarring with each other, tumbling over and over each other to form a curiously compelling refrain. Morgan paused, head lowered, then spoke softly, his words loud and clear, as if borne on the wings of Connor’s tune. ‘Paddy was a Bard, a bard, much like Connor, or Kerrian, or any other bard, yet his work was different, what does a bard do?" Silence reigned for a moment, until the assembled celts realised the Taniaste was waiting for an answer, a warrior at the back spoke up, "They sing songs" "Part of it, I’ll grant you, but we all sing songs" answered the wiry druid Another answered-"Keep the history, and the law" " Aye, that they do, yet can not anyone with a mind and memory do so" "They inspire us"... The words were quietly spoken, by a young warrior, who appeared startled and almost scared that he had spoken before his elders. Morgan bowed, his eyes fixed slowly on the young celt before answering. "Yes... they inspire us. Tell me, what was so special about Paddy’s fight in the tourney. Did he win?, did he lose?" "Who cares!, But did Angus remember the tale! Of course he did, and you all laughed, and those of you that were there will never forget it, will you?" "And what of the Shade? Was that such a victory, a mighty fighter like Paddy against a single Shade, Faugh!, For shame!, Have not all of us here laid a score of such creatures low in our time? No, my friends, what was remarkable was the manner in which he did it, to fight a Shade without weapons, and to win, to do the unthinkable, the unusual... the inspirational- That is a Bard for you, that was Paddy for you., that’s what he was, an example, all his life a Shining Fable, and his death... His death... ‘Ahhh, right sure I’m looking forward to this Morgan, what a smack on the face ah’m gonna give those Nything daemons, ah wouldn’t be surprised if they turned and legged it now" "Ah shuddup Paddy, you big headed sot, they’ve killed better than you see, and will do so again, your only saving grace is that it’ll take so long to hack through your body, you great ox, you" "Just jealous yeh are, that Badb made you a druid, an’ not a fearsome fighter like me, d’yeh think ah’ll go down in history like Cu Chullain and Finn MacCumhaill?" "Of course, where in Fir Cruthen history has there been a more ill tempered, alcoholic lout than yourself, we’ll drink to you tonight we will after the foe hack you down" "Hah, as if that’ll happen, Morgan." Yes it will, tonight I’ll sing your eulogy my friend, and now I must laugh and joke with you, as if you have a tomorrow "It comes to us all Paddy, and you’ve not picked a bad day for it" "Ahhh, away with yeh, yeh morbid taffy" I laughed and walked to my King, to counsel him on the coming battle. As I did, Paddy called to me, "Hey Morgan, yeh right, today’s a lovely day to die" Those were the last words I spoke to my friend. "All his life a shining fable, and his death... a legend’s fall" "Here’s to you Paddy" "You were our Soul" The fire was quiet for a moment, as Morgan poured some ale into it, a gift to the dead, He stood, head cocked, as if he could hear something, then he smiled, grief gone. All could have sworn they heard a hearty laughter, ringing loud and true in the stars. © Andrew Dudgeon 1999