= (IRP) The Sword and the Shield

Shamus turned around, ready to defend himself against Pim, when he noticed that he was gone. That meant that he was probably gathering reinforcements. He put his weapons away and began to scratch his head, wondering how he was going to move both of them.

"Are they gone?" Shamus turned to the sound of the half mumbled, half strained voice. Jerro was awake, that was a step in the right direction.

"Ye-es." Shamus hazarded. "Two of them are unconscious, one ran away. There may be more, we should leave now. Can ye walk?"

"Not yet, I don't thInk" Jerro was still sore all over, and somewhat stiff in the joints, so he continued to exercise his muscles by making small movements. After several minutes, he was able to sit up on his own. Then, as he was trying to get rid of the stiffness in his neck, he saw Pagan. "Holy... we've got to get her to a doctor."

He stood up shakily. He almost fell over, but Shamus was there to catch him. He regained his balance, and moved to the door with slow, unsteady steps. Each step wracked his body with pain, but he forced himself on. "Ye get Pagan... and I'll concentrate... on walkin straight."

Shamus picked Pagan up and they walked outside. The cart was gone. "Looks like we'll have to walk. Can ye make it?"

"I'd better, the next ride away won't be all that friendly." The three made their way down the road back to Imleach.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Pagan had been conscious for almost an hour before she reacted to the rocking movement around her. She was lying in a painful, stagnant slumber. Well not quite lying - somebody was carrying her. But her body and brain refused to react to the fact that she was still alive. She simply wasn't able to move a muscle. The spark of life had been brutally blown out of her. She just wanted to lie still until death would come...

But the movement disturbed her. Something was trying to surface in her brain - thoughts, images. She fought against them. She just wanted to lie still until she would die.

Torture. Mutilation. The word formed in her brain. With the thought emerged the images in her mind's eyes. Heads without eyes. Naked corpses, hollow and dried. The executioner had gutted them, removed their internal organs. While they were still living, after hours of terrible torture.
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"Umm... Is she okay, I mean, she seems to be in pain, a lot of pain."

Jerro groaned. "Yea, poison does that to ye." Jerro was stumbling down the road. He knew that they wouldn't make it to town if they had to wait for him. "Shamus, go on ahead. I'll be right behind ye. Pagan may not make it... if ye have to... wait for me. Just go."

Shamus turned around to argue, when he saw the look on Jerro's face. Behind the pain, he was determined to get them to town. Shamus looked away, and said, "Alright, but I'm comin back for ye."

Jerro gave a weak chuckle. "Don't worry about me. I'll be right behind ye." Shamus hesitated for a second, then turned down the road at a run. Jerro watched them go until they were out of sight. Then he stumbled down off of the road, into the woods by the side. After passing the first couple of trees, where he was sure he wouldn't be seen. Then, he collapsed and let his weariness wash over him. He was out cold before he even hit the ground.
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O'Concobair: nec timeo nec sperno* *O'Connor: I neither fear nor despise

Callaghan was slowly coming back to his conciousness from a nightmare he had been having. In the nighmare he had been torturing dozens of tramps tied up in racks, but whatever he did to them, they didn't bend to his will, they didn't scream. Instead they were laughing at Callaghan, mocking him and asking for more...

A slight kick on his side made Callaghan open his eyes. The dim light hurt his eyes at first, so he closed them quickly, then opened them again. His vision was blurry, but there was a figure standing above him. Callaghan blinked his eyes a few times rapidly before he could focus his eyes on the figure.

It was Viscompte Argento. And he didn't look very friendly. Then again, Viscompte never did. In a sudden flash Callaghan remembered what had happened and what must have happened after he got knocked out. He swallowed hard and opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a touch of cold steel to his cheek.

Callaghan swallowed again and tried to smile disarmingly. It looked more like a grimace. "I know I messed up a little bit, Viscompte, but they couldn't have gone far. We can hunt them down and then throw them into the pit, just like ye said, Viscompte. Ye and me! We're friends, right? There's no harm done. We cool. We repair the situation and then I will obey every word ye ever say - just like I should have done in the first place! We friends... right?"

Shamus was making good time on the way back to town. He was traveling quickly and only had to leave the road once to avoid a cart. Shamus couldn't see who it was from his hiding spot, but he knew that it was Pim's reinforcements. He was almost to the gate when he was intercepted by the guard.

Coming into town with a bruised, bloodied, burned, unconscious women on your shoulders was pretty suspicious, but after a trip to the guard house and a quick explanation, he left Pagan there to get her fixed up and left to go get Jerro.

Those horrific images vanguished the fear and pain over the injuries Pagan had suffered. She embarked on that enormous effort that was turning her head. The poison she had drank had locked her muscles into hard knots. Pagan moaned like an animal before she could turn her head. Tears washed the dust and dried blood out of her eyes. Her gaze focused on the roof.

Little by little as the sun started rising over the horizon Pagan inspected her battered and possibly dying body. She didn't know where it hurt the worst. Maybe in the gut. The gut! Pagan clenched her feet in horror as the idea of dying the worst death possible emerged in her mind - an impaled stomach. She cursed whatever had woken her from her slumber. Why couldn't they let her lie down and sleep until it was all over! Why did she have to live and feel the strenghtening pain and see how her stomach would little by little start to boil of the gases! Why did she have to feel her madness grow hour by hour?
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Shamus returned to the scene of where he and Jerro separated. Shamus was an expert tracker, so even though the dirt was disturbed by recent travel and the moon gave off little light, he was able to find Jerro's trail. By the time he picked up the trail, the sun was well up in the sky. He found Jerro, slumped in a boneless heap beneath the tree. Upon closer examination, Jerro seemed fine, except where he hit his shoulder on a root. Jerro was also shivering too much for the weather to account for. No matter, they'd sort Jerro out once Shamus got him to safety. Shamus wearily picked Jerro up and ran once again down the long trail back to town.

Somewhere near An Gort, Chonnacht...

The boss had not not been happy with what had happened to Callaghan - not because he had been so fond of Callaghan but because Callaghan had been a member of the NNGO. Nobody killed members of the NNGO without a proper authorization from the boss. The boss had a reputation to protect, and if he just let people kill his men unpunished he would soon find himself without a criminal organization to lead.

The situation was problematic, though. They needed d'Argent and his business, for the moment at least. And they needed to send somebody else there to take Callaghan's place and oversee their interests. But as soon as d'Argent had utilized his usefulness...

Neil shivered as he was approaching the old ruins of what had once been a fort where he lived. Neil had slumped as pale as a sheet when he had heard the order: d'Argent wants someone intelligent, so we'll give him someone intelligent! Get Ciar Indigo! The boss must have been seriously irated if he seriously wanted to send Indigo to An Mumhain. They never used Indigo for these kinds of operations. Not operations where he was supposed to work with people. Neil figured he wanted to shock d'Argent a little bit too, to show him he had crossed the line.

But still, Neil wished it would have been anyone else but him who had to go to that old fort where Indigo lived. In the dungeons like some kind of evil spirit. And who knows - maybe he was that.

Neil slipped in from a crack in the wall and headed towards the castle. Once there he lit a lantern and descended to the basement. The basement smelled stale and rotten. He could hear rats squeking all over him. He couldn't understand how even Indigo could live here - a normal man would have gone insane in a week. But then again - Indigo was not a normal man and most likely insane to begin with.

He went to one of the cells where he knew Indigo lived. It was a large cell designed to house twenty or so prisoners. Neil raised the lantern but the sphere of light didn't reach all corners. He couldn't see anyone, yet he knew Indigo was there. Watching him.

And then, a voice: "Hello, Neil." It was a deep, rich and melodious voice, civilized and intelligent, soft, gentle and hypnotic voice. The most beautiful voice Neil had ever heard. Angelic was the word that came to his mind. "Did you bring me food?"

"Not this time, Ciar. The boss wants you to do something for him."

A man entered the sphere of light, and Neil felt irresistable urge to retreat before that horrifying figure. For Ciar Indigo was a terrible sight. He was closer to seven feet tall and skinny, and he had broad, bony shoulders and long arms. He was dressed all in black. Even his two scabbard belts and the hilts of his swords - and, Neil knew, the blades too - were as black as death. But the most horrifying thing about him was his face. It was snow white with a stint of gray. His eyes were like two deep, black holes in the mask-like face. His skin was uneven and deformed. Where once had been his nose and cheeks the skin was just one big wrinkly scar. His right ear was gone and the hole was covered with a black patch. His left ear was deformed and voluble. His mouth was but an ugly, limp crack in the middle of all the scar-tissue. His hair - golden and lifeless - grew as uneven bobbles in his temples and neck. His scalp was filled with similar bad-looking scars. Under his chin his skin was tight and white, his scars had strained to a breaking point. He wore a scarf on his neck.

The scarf was indigo blue.

"Please tell me about it, Neil", Indigo said with that strangely appealing and pleasant voice that didn't seem to belong to that monstrous face. Neil started talking and Indigo retreated into the shadows again. Neil talked about fifteen minutes without interruption.

When he had finished there was a long silence. Neil couldn't see or hear anyone, but he knew Indigo was there. Neil could sense his presence. Neil almost jumped out of his shoes when he heard a voice from behind him saying: "Was that all, Neil?"

"N-no, not quite. When the operation is over, the boss wants... Final Silence. Ye know what that means, eh?"

"Yeah. I know what Final Silence means. Get me a horse. I should be in Imleach in three days."

d'Argent's pen had hovered over the parchment for about five minutes as he decided what to write.

After long consideration he began




He attached the note to a raven and sent it off. He hoped the Red Duke did not take the news badly as His Crimson Grace was far less forgiving than was d'Argent...

It was far into the evening when Shamus found himself at the gates again. Whether by luck, or by fate, one of the guards posted was there the first time he came to town.

"What? Again? How many people ye got stashed out there?"

"Last one. I promise." He answered wearily, out of breath from his trek. The guard took Jerro over one shoulder and helped Shamus bring Jerro to the doctor. He was placed in the room next to Pagan's, and would receive treatment after they were done checking up on Pagan. Shamus slumped into a chair facing the door and thanked the young guard. The guard left and he waited for the doctor to come, but fell asleep long before he came.

Dr. Redmund Sweeney and his wife Maureen stood bent over that almost lifeless figure the whole night. They weren't worried about Jerro - he was mostly just tired and needed rest more than anything else - but Pagan's condition was much worse. They forced meat juice through her clenched teeth, and each time she threw up they poured some more into her. A portion of the invigorating juice found it's way through to her stomach, and little by little life started to ignite in her again. They had washed and tied the bad-looking scald on her side and with astonishment and horror realized that it had been done with a burning iron. They were also worried about the horrible bruises on her ribs, stomach and head. Dr. Sweeney couldn't rule out possible internal injuries, bleeding, concussion, fractured skull or brain injury. Near the morning Pagan turned and moaned.

Sweeney stretched himself and pressed his back with his hand. He clenched his teeth and against his will he had to smile. His wife looked at him.

"She will pull through, Redmund - won't she?" she whispered.

Redmund nodded. "Aye, she will pull through."

Mrs. Sweeney sat down heavily. They were both in their fifties, and even though Redmund's little practice and their cattle farm gave them nice income and comparatively safe future, the early harsh years had aged and worn them. But the joy still shining in their eyes proved that tough life had never drained them out of their kindness and philantrophy.

A knock on the door woke Biddy up in her little cottage a few miles south of An Gort. Who could it be at this hour? The rooster hadn't even sung yet! Biddy rubbed her eyes and put on something more decent than her night gown before she rushed to open the door.

A stranger stood behind it, a stranger dressed all in black. He had a black slouch hat too. He had pulled it very low and was looking at the tips of his boots so Biddy couldn't see his face. Biddy saw he had two swords hanging from his hips and swallowed. He had to be a robber, possibly from the NNGO! And she lived all alone in here - the nearest neighbor was half a mile away.

"Good morning, ma'am. Sorry about the hour, but my horse hurt its leg. Could you please help me?"

The strangers voice was magnetic and self-conscious and sent a tingling feeling all over Biddy's body. How tall he was! And he must be very handsome too - with that voice there was no doubt about it. Why was he hiding his face like that? Was he running from the law and wished to remain incognito?

Suddenly Biddy didn't care anymore if he was an outlaw. The excitement of it all made her shiver. A handsome, rugged outlaw here in her cottage! What might he do to her?

"Aye", Biddy said, "but please, do come in first. I'll make us both a strong cup of herbal tea. I haven't waken up fully yet."

"Do you live here by yourself?" the stranger asked.

"Me? Aye, all alone, poor Biddy, the eternal spinster. No neighbors either, nowhere close by..."

Ciar Indigo lifted his head up and focused the gaze of his eyes at the girl, eyes that were like bottomless black wells in the middle of his horrific face. Before the girl had managed to scream, his hands moved like lightnings and grabbed her head. There was a snapping sound, like someone had stepped on a dry branch, and the girl slumped on the floor, instantly dead.

Ciar Indigo stood there a long while, perking his ears, trying to detect anomalies in the normal rhythm of nightly noises in the countryside. When he was satisfied that nothing was out of the ordinary, she stepped over the dead girl and entered the cottage. He went through all the cabinets and shoved all the food and other useful stuff he could find in a bag.

Ciar Indigo was supplying himself for the long ride in Imleach.