And here we have it, the promise second mega-crosspost of S0ngD0g's material with the Battleship Demon Canut, recently sworn allegiance to Porta. When we last left her, she had, as Dave Chappelle would say, FUCKED UP! by calling in mercenaries while the Princess was away negotiating with the humans. And by all rights she should have been executed for treason and in general being very thick-headed. But an intervention from Angband saved her from a gristly fate. But she still needed to be punished.
First, she was publicly branded, so that all would know that she had committed a crime against the crown. Then she was charged with making three magical objects - A Seal, a Signet Ring, and a box to hold them in, all in order to prevent a similar cock up.
"But Princess, I have not the skills for such a task."
"I suggest you learn."
And now, we see how Canut learns. Bit of a warning - Song did not workshop some of this with me first, so when you get to someone talking about Elder Princesses, remember the source: A hermit who has had a decade or more with unrestricted access to a mind altering substance.
We also meet a clan of Abyssals who took up Porta's offer to lay down their arms in the last snippet of mine, where we met Woe the Shepherd Carrier, lead by Ruithidh, a descendant of a man kidnapped by the Scottish Abyssal Princess, who was of Clan MacHamish, making her distant kin of Kaylee McAmis.
------
Ruithidh stood near the front of the crowd watching the Princess punish 'Canut' (though the Scottish
Ru-Class had known the Pre-Dread as 'Dane', or 'Wanderer') with... not approval, nor anger, but with acceptance. It was Canut's foul-up, and thus Canut's lumps to take; it had been
Canut herself who'd beaten taking responsibility for one's own actions into a younger Ruithidh's head, often with a heavy hardwood axe-haft, and the lesson had sunken in...
"Will ye no' gae tae yer friend's aid, Ruithidh?" asked one of the formerly-feral Destroyer Water-Demons who'd fallen in with her along the way.
Ruithidh slapped her harshly across the back of the head and hissed, "I willnae, Argyll; fer a start, tha' is a bluidy
Elder Princess, no' some jumped-up Destroyer Demon, an' I'm no'
suicidal, lass. Fer another point, the punishment o' th' Dane is well-earned, an' better than she'd find under many another Princess. A stricter oath an' a branded thumb, compared tae loss o' her head, or bein' quartered b' Destroyers... It's her place tae make amends, an' it isnae my place or yours, tae interfere."
.....................................................
Ruithidh was among the first to speak with the Princess. She entered and knelt, for once not wearing her sash of Cameron tartan, but a full, formal, old-school Great-Kilt of
her father's tartan, of
her tartan. "I am Ruithidh Fraoch MacHamish, of Clan Gunn," she began when hidden to speak, "daughter of..." She paused, then continued, her eyes hard as she stared at the ground. "Daughter of an Abyssal tha's long-dead i' th' service o' Scots Princess, raised b' m' Human da', Conal MacHamish an' his wife, Pauline. I served m' Laird faithfully til tha' faith were broken; I've sold m' sword an' commanded sellswords, fought honorably an' fierce in a dozen campaigns across th' Atlantic, an' I come afore ye now, Yer Grace, nae merely fer m'sel' but on behalf o' th' dozen Abyssals who've chosen tae follow my command. Th' wanderin' life, th' Whale-Roads, as Canut would say it-- it's a hard life an' a harsh one. Canut taught me tha' many years ago, an' I learned it afresh b' hard experience."
Ruithidh marshalled her thoughts and made her request. "There are a dozen Abyssals out there under m' command. Six were ferals when they joined us, an' six more are half-humans like m'sel', cast-outs from their birth-homes. We're all of us veterans o' many battles, blooded i' combat an' willin' tae pledge our swords an' carry yer banner on th' battlefield, if ye have need o' our skills in war."
Ruithidh felt the weight of the Princess' gaze on her as she spoke. "But we're all o' us weary o' sellin' our swords an' would rather turn our hands tae peaceful works." Ruithidh swallowed thickly. "Two o' our number have knowledge o' farmin', both o' grains an' fruits, an' o' sheep an' cattle; we've a fisher, a brewer who hails frae th' Baltic coast o' Germany an' a vintner frae th' Portugal coast wi' skill in ports an' sherries, a dyer o' cloth, an' afore I became a fighter m' stepmother was teachin' me how tae spin an' weave."
Ruithidh swallowed again and finished. "As Captain o' m' wee band, a bond struck wi' me is a bond struck wi' all m' girls. In peace we'll tend our trades peaceful; in war we'll rally tae yer summons an' carry yer banner. We're near-as-nae-matter family, m' girls an' I, sae I make request nae merely as a Captain o' sellswords but as Chief o' wha' I hope, if It please Yer Grace, tae be Clan MacHamish o' the Meteors."
........................................................
Sorry about bein' out of pocket for four days; I was visiting family in Minnesota and dealing with suicidal Missouri deer. I'm back now though; how'd y'all like this latest?
------
Argyll watched Canut go to her chambers, then looked to Ruithidh's second-in-command, a tall
Wo-Class from near Portugal named Casca. "By yer leave, Casca, I'd visit the Dane."
"Go, Argyll. Don't stay long; if Ruithidh cannot make her case to the Azores Princess we'll likely be leaving in a hurry."
The Destroyer Water-Demon knocked three times on the chamber door and entered. Canut sat atop her anvil, bandaging her hand with the calm detachment of a veteran campaigner. "I would have stepped in tae help, Dane. Ye didnae deserve tae be used such."
"Aye, I didn't deserve branding, Argyll," said Canut before she tied the bandage with her free hand and teeth. "I deserved
worse. My intentions were noble but my actions
weren't. I was granted mercy and a chance to regain my honor."
Canut cut off Argyll's response with a gesture. "Enough of that. It's good to see you again; do you still have the dirk I forged?"
Argyll nodded. "I do; it's given me good service since ye made it for me." She drew the long knife and presented it to Canut.
"You've taken good care of her, it seems." Canut passed the blade back to Argyll, who returned it to its sheathe. "So, Argyll, how have you all been? The last I saw you was... Three years ago, I believe? It was when we were fighting for that skinflint Demon off Good Hope, as I recall."
"Aye, t'were. Ruithidh still tells how ye took Good Hope Demon's hands fer tryin' tae cheat ye o' yer pay. Both in one blow, an' then seized her by th' hair afore she even felt th' cuts an' told'er-"
"I told her, 'I have done a job, and had nothing but trouble for it all the while, not to mention a great-many unkind things said about my character. So let me make this abundantly clear, Demon of Cape Good Hope: I Do the Job, and then I Get Paid'."
Argyll smiled savagely. "Tha' ye did. Certainly didnae hurt yer image tha' righ' then's when Good Hope realized ye'd maimed her an' started screamin'."
Canut nodded. "Ruithidh took her head then, and Good Hope's second paid us."
Argyll snorted. "Wish we coulda just sacked'er base, but Ruithidh an' ye took payment an' we left. Th' two o' ye are bluidy
boring, a'times. Especially when Ruithidh's insistin' on teachin' me m' letters from her Book..."
Canut chuckled at the sulky Abyssal; Ruithidh's 'Book' was the Bible her stepmother had given her before Ruithidh left Scotland, and most of the Abyssals who'd sailed with the Scottish Battleship had learned to read and write by reading and copying from its pages... Including Canut herself.
"She's a good leader; she's always seeking to better things for you all."
"Aye," replied Argyll. "I learned somethin' a few weeks back tha' might be o' interest tae ye, Dane. I've no' told Ruithidh o' it yet, nor Casca. Ye were often on about th' blades ye forged fer Northern War Demon an' yer auld clan; I know where they are. There's a Submarine Demon off Gibraltar; word has it she's a peaceable sort, earns her bread smugglin', an' she's recovered all but Skadi's sword." Argyll blushed. "Or sae I heard th' tale..."
Canut drew in a breath. "If it's true, I'd want to speak with her. But as was proven today, I'm not my own woman anymore; keep your ear to the ground, Argyll. Perhaps someday an opportunity to recover my sisters' blades will present itself." Canut stood, then stretched. "Do you still play the pipes, Argyll?"
"I do. Would ye have me play?"
"If it's not too much trouble."
The Destroyer Water-Demon produced a set of pipes and started playing, first a simple tuneless melody to warm up, and then
Blue Bonnets All Along the Border...
------
Casca drank from a wineskin, enjoying the sun on her face; the lean cruiser spread her arms and basked in the warmth with a closed-eyed smile.
"Oi, Casca," said one of her subordinates, a
So-Class. Casca and Ruithidh had folded her into the fleet somewhere in the Baltic off Germany; her original name left everyone's tongues tied in knots, so Ruithidh had declared that henceforth the submarine was named Sutherland.
"Yes, Sutherland?"
"I think I recognize some of the other strays that answered the Dane's summons. I'm fairly certain I just saw Haggard Woë go into the Princess' chambers."
"Is that so?"
"Ja, Casca."
Casca passed the skin to Sutherland and shrugged. "I wish her luck, then, talking to the Azores Princess. In the meantime, try the wine; it's the last of the port from the island Ruithidh found me on. Damn-fine tawny-port, if I say so myself."
Sutherland drank, rolled the wine around her mouth inquisitively, then swallowed. "Not bad at all, Casca. For stale grape-juice at least," she said with a teasing smirk. "I hope the Princess doesn't turn us away; let me experiment a bit with the local grains and get a crop of good hops in, and I'll brew you a beer so fine that you'll never drink wine again."
Casca laughed aloud. "Yes, because one sip of your German shark-piss would kill me on the spot."
"Snob."
"Phillistine."
Both suddenly broke out in laughter and sat, passing the wineskin back and forth as they drank. After a long while, Sutherland pulled her diving-knife out of its sheathe and started turning it over in her hands. Casca, recognizing the nervous habit, paused and set the wine aside. "Penny for your thoughts?"
"Just thinking, Casca. We, our
flotte, have been hired fighters for years; we're skilled at warfare." She traced the minute stains and nicks In the blade, scars of times she'd had to use it in combat. "
Ich... I'm nervous; we're all of us fighters, but what if being fighters for so long means we're no good as farmers?"
"I have faith, Sutherland, my friend. You'll brew fine beer, and the first barrel of wine from my vineyard I will send to the Princess as a gift of thanks for her killing Middle World Ocean Princess."
"Why?"
"Middle World killed a friend of mine, a Carrier named Worpal, for ascending to Princess-rank."
......................................................
Ruithidh sat under a shady tree, with Argyll and several other Abyssals from other wanderer bands crowded around her. Canut was in her forge, carefully working metal to create the stamp and signet ring required of her by the Princess.
In the meantime, Ruithidh was holding lessons. "Argyll," she said, producing her bible, "please read from Isaiah." Argyll took out her own bible, its pages copied by hand from Ruithidh's during her lessons and bound in a simple three-ring binder. She flipped to the proper page and found her place in Chapter Two.
"And he shall judge among the nations, and shall rebuke many people: and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruninghooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."
------
Canut sketched the design for the box required of her by the Princess; it was finer work than her normal craft, and demanded a greater attention to the details. Each side of the box, and the lid, would have its own puzzle-lock, the answer of each puzzle a phrase that very few besides a monarch would have cause to know or understand...
And those locks, once unlocked, merely revealed the keyholes, three in number, that actually unlocked the box itself...
.....................................................
The process of building the box took six painstaking weeks, carefully shaping and tempering the Abyssal steel until it would withstand damage better than her own armor-belt, fitting the lock-work, making certain that all was in order. Canut tested the box with every method she could devise, from hammers to axes, prybars to throwing the box into the heart of her forge; it withstood every abuse without the slightest damage.
.......................................................
Canut knelt before the Princess in her liege-lady's apartments, and presented the box to Gateway on open palms. "Your Majesty, the lock-box you commissioned me to craft. I confess I have made small progress in the crafting of the stamp and signet-ring, but this I have completed. If you would allow me to approach and demonstrate its workings?"
At Gateway's silent nod, Canut approached; the Princess took the box and looked it over. "So swiftly-built... I would not prefer your haste to have produced shoddy craftsmanship; Demon, test its durability," she said, handing the box off to her Champion.
Canut watched as Liner Demon strained and strove to break the lock-box; she smiled inwardly at the Demons failure, knowing the quality of her own craft.
"How is it secured?" asked the Princess after taking the box back.
"Milady, the lid and each side are puzzles, the answers being certain things known most-truly to a Sovereign." A quick glance toward Liner Demon from Canut was answered by a minute nod from Gateway.
"Demon, guard the door; let none enter until I send for you."
After Liner Demon stepped outside, darting a glare at Canut as she passed, Canut straightened. "The locks, Milady. The first is this one here." She gestured to the left-hand side, at an engraved image of a tree, a man, and a spear with knotwork on the shaft. "It opens when the man hangs from the tree, the spear piercing his side; Odin hanging from Yggdrasil to learn the Runes- Wisdom is never without Cost."
She gestured to the second, right-hand side, at the image of a wolf, a chain, and a man. "The second lock opens when the wolf is bound, but the man must first place his hand in the wolf's maw; Tyr and Fenrir when the wolf was chained- Honor, though it sting one's Pride."
Canut indicated the lid and its images of a crowned Abyssal Princess, islands and seas, and other Abyssals. "The final puzzle is here. The Princess' crown from off her head, her subjects and her realm at her sides with the crown connecting them; The Truth few Sovereigns ever Know- how The Queen and the Realm and the People are One."
When the final piece was shifted into place, the runic knotwork on the spear-shaft slid apart to reveal a keyhole; the wolf's jaws snapped shut on the man's hand, revealing a second, and the engraved Princess' arm lifted as if in triumph, revealing a third.
Canut produced three keys from her cloak. One of iron she fitted into the rune keyhole; one of ivory she fitted into the wolf keyhole; the third, of Abyssal Steel, went into the final keyhole. A twist of each unlocked the box, and Canut lifted the lid. "When the key-locks are engaged and the keys withdrawn, the puzzles reset themselves, Your Majesty."
Gateway was silent, and as the silence stretched out Canut began to grow nervous, though she concealed her nerves behind a stoic facade. At long last, the Princess spoke. "The crafting of this casket was well-done, and your locks well-made, Canut. However, I find them insufficient; two of them are easily-solved by any with knowledge of Norse myth, and keys can be stolen. If I were to supply you with a copy of my thumbprint and a vial of my blood, would you be able to incorporate them as an additional layer of security?"
Canut froze and her eyes widened by a fraction. "I would, Milady. I had however hesitated to request such... personal items of you; I know but a
small amount of
seidhr-craft, but even I know the inherent power of blood..." She left unstated
why she'd hesitated, that being that Canut didn't think Gateway would trust her enough to willingly give her blood for the locks.
"As do I, Canut. There is power in blood; great and terrible power, if used wrongly," Gateway said as she cut her palm with a claw and filled a small vial, then stamped the label with a bloody thumbprint. It wasn't lost on the Pre-Dreadnought what Gateway had meant, that any misuse of the blood would be dealt with harshly. "To your work now, Canut; I expect to see results of your normal, impeccable, standard."
................................................................
When Canut had returned to her forge, she set the blood aside; she knew how she would use it in the box, and if any were left after, in the stamp. Which left the ring...
Canut sighed, then started her forge heating. "Before I try making a ring with safeguards, I'll first have to be able to make a
ring..."
She started working a piece of steel, stretching and drawing it out, then cut it, flattened a section for the signet, and carefully bent it to shape around a mandrel before forge-welding it together. As Canut began filing and smoothing the ring, she fell into the near-trancelike state of true craftsmen, where the world faded away and hours passed like seconds... In that state, Canut would say she herself didn't create anything; the work-piece crafted itself, using the crafter as a conduit.
When the ring was smooth and clean, Canut sharpened her gravers and began carving the sigil...
..............................................................
"Lady Angband? A moment of your time?"
"Yes, Canut?"
"You are aware of your mother's commissioning me to craft a casket, stamp, and signet-ring?"
"Yes, I am..."
"The casket and stamp I have well-in-hand, but I have never turned my hand to jeweler's-work; in order to prepare for crafting your mother's ring, I decided to craft several other rings as practice-pieces..." Canut extended a signet-ring to Angband. "This one, being the best of those practice-pieces, I have engraved with arms for you. The sigil is not identical to the Princess' sigil; I differenced the arms to denote your cadency."
"Differenced?"
Canut nodded. "The unaltered arms, or plain-coat, is for the head of a line only; offspring add additional elements to the arms or in some other way alter, or 'difference', them. As the Princess' daughter you are entitled to a sigil. I would have differenced it with an ermine spot, to indicate a second-daughter of the line, but as your elder sister has passed..."
Angband looked at the ring's signet; in the center was the Abyssal-Crustacean of Ancient Atlantic Gateway Princess, and above it was a winged heart.
"The Crab, a Heart be-winged above. Arms of the First-Daughter of the Line of Ancient Atlantic Gateway Princess. I
would have differenced it with a label of three points instead of a heart, but that indicates both a firstborn-
son and an Heir Presumptive."
Angband smiled slightly and slid the ring onto her finger. "Thank you, Canut. Your gift is much-appreciated."
------
Canut was at an impasse. The Casket was completed; the Stamp also was done. But the Ring...
It wasn't the physical
crafting of it that had her pacing; the many practice pieces she'd made had honed her skill at making rings. It was making the Ring unusable by any save the Princess, that left the Pre-Dreadnought stumped. The Box and the Stamp were, in the end, a container and a tool, but the Signet-Ring was a
symbol, an extension of Gateway's Authority and Power made manifest; to make it required workings beyond Canut's ken. As she paced, Canut felt her branded hand itching fiercely and snarled.
Armor I know, and blades! I know their shapes, their weights, their balances; I know the runes and the workings to bring out the true spirit of a blade, to make armor proof against the fiercest weapons! Damnit, Princess, I'm a Bladesmith, not a Jeweler! I know not the working of seidhr
on this!
... but I know of someone who might,
if she's still afloat...
.....................................................
Canut knelt before the Princess, her eyesdowncast. "Your Majesty, I... I cannot at the present time complete the task you have set me to. To craft the Ring and make it truly
yours and
yours alone, requires
seidhr-working,
true seidhr and not the pale imitation I work with my blades and maille." She took a deep breath, once more trying to mask her nerves behind a stoic face. "I know of one who might be able to fill the gaps in my knowledge and instruct me in the True Craft, but she dwells not in your realm, nor in any realm that borders upon yours, and it's been many and many a year since last I saw her; I know not if she yet lives..."
"I ask, I
beg, leave to seek out Arval, who was in the days of the Northern Horde seeking to rediscover the ancient mysteries of the Norse."
Canut swallowed thickly as she heard Liner Demon's warhammer slide free of its place at her hip...
A rustle; ashwood sliding on leather and a steel head clicking against the metal ring at the Demon's belt...
"Stay your hand a moment, Demon. Canut, lift your eyes. Explain to me who 'Arval' was, and what her deeds were."
Canut brought her eyes upward to spy Gateway; the Princess' face was calm but her eyes were alight with interest. "Arval, whose name meant the grave-ale drunk in toast of the fallen, and was also corruption of her original name 'Narwhal', was a submarine in Northern Horde's fleet; she was... less than enthusiastic about going into combat, but she was possessed of a quick and cunning mind, and a... a
talent, for magic. I've a spark, a tiny spark, of it myself, and that is what I channel and work with in my forging, but Arval had a
flame, bright as a searchlight."
Canut took a breath. "Middle World Ocean Princess, it was known, was obsessed with discovering our lost histories in the Age of Bronze; Northern Horde Princess,
Nordic Horde Princess, was of the same vein obsessed, seeking ever-greater and greater knowledge of the Norse; Arval volunteered to seek out and rediscover the ancient
seidhr of the Vikings, the True Crafting of Nordic Magick. She was away, as she often was, when the Horde was broken. I've not heard from her nor laid eyes on her since, but I beg your leave to seek her, Your Majesty."
Gateway was silent, deep in thought. She weighed potential costs, weighed potential benefits, weighed potential difficulties. She nodded. "I grant you leave to seek your tutor, Canut; however, you will not make this journey alone." Two imps in long coats and severe peaked caps trod out onto the arm of Gateway's throne. "These imps of mine shall accompany you, and they shall observe and daily report back to me. While you are journeying and learning, if Arval lives, I shall suspend the deadline to finish the ring I commissioned you to craft."
Canut nodded deeply. "I thank you, my Princess, and I shall not disappoint you."
"I know that you shan't disappoint me, Canut. Extend your right hand." When the Battleship Demon did so, Gateway smiled slightly. "The reason I know you won't disappoint is because other than your
one. Major. Indiscretion," and each word was accompanied by a sharp claw-prick into the still-tender brand on Canut's thumb, "which you have strove mightily ever since to make amends for, you have been nothing but steadfast and loyal, and faithful to your oaths." Gateway dropped a medallion into Canut's palm, that bore the Princess' sigil. "It is an IFF, to show the Humans you are one of mine; I hope the importance of politeness need not be reiterated?"
"I will be the very soul of courtesy, Your Majesty."
Gateway nodded magnanimously and said, "Go then, Canut; I wish you Good Luck and Safe Travels, and a Swift Return."
After Canut had departed, the Ocean Liner Demon looked to the Ancient Atlantic Gateway Princess. "May I speak frankly, Princess?"
"You may."
"Why have me stay my hand, Princess? Why let the Warship go looking for a Submarine that's likely been sunk since Blood Week?"
Gateway looked at Liner Demon. "You mean, 'Why let Canut go on a fool's errand and give her a chance to run?', yes?"
"Yes, Princess. She won't come back."
Gateway chuckled. "Oh, but she
will. Her honor won't let her
not return, whether successful or in failure."
------
Canut sailed into the secluded fjord, feeling the cobweb-sensation of Wards on her skin as she drew nearer to the shore.
A month she'd been at-sea; a month she'd searched, following every lead, bringing her closer to her goal...
Until now. The two Commissar-Imps Gateway had detached to keep Canut honest walked out onto a bridge-wing. "Commissar Cain, Commissar Gaunt. Our destination should be directly ahead." The Battleship Demon sailed into the mouth of a cave, ducking slightly under the low ceiling, and followed the waterway into the bowels of the earth.
As she ventured deeper, Canut reflected on her journey, the trials and tribulations she had faced along the way. She smiled slightly, remembering the hospitality of Ruithidh's half-sister when Canut had stopped in Scotland to refuel; she scowled somewhat as she recalled the frenzied, slashing melee when she was ambushed near the Kattegat by a dozen feral Destroyers one night. That fight had been a rough one, and her starboard shaft still had a faint wobble despite her engineers' best efforts to repair it.
Canut felt herself cross another Ward-line and the world
twisted, changing from a sea-cave into a shoreline, one that Canut dreamed of often.
Lindisfarne. Canut saw Skadi and the others with a younger version of herself, saw the flashing of blades, and heard the screams of the defenders as they scattered. The illusionary Canut brought her axe down and took a fleeing human's leg, and the real Canut felt pain shoot up her leg as though
she were the one the axe had bitten...
Each blow her past-self struck, each life her younger self took, Canut felt in full as though she were the victim, until she was staggering on the water from pain, her eyes running with bloody tears as she suddenly emerged from the illusion and saw an image carved into the rock ahead of her. It was a tree, with three roots, and three trunks, and three branches.
Yggdrasil...
Canut travelled further into the cave, following each bend carefully, until she passed into another illusion and the world remade itself once more. Canut felt herself paralyzed as she was forced to witness the death of Northern Horde Princess once more, forced to watch as the Traitors spotted the crippled plane on its suicide-run, well-within range of their AA,
and deliberately turned their guns away. Except, Canut saw herself among the Traitors, laughing as the Princess was slain...
Canut felt her boilers redline and ripped herself free of the illusion bodily, passing out of its influence and deeper into the cave...
A third illusion, Skadi prostrate at Canut's feet and her axe raised high, ready to finish the crippled Northern War Demon and take command of her sworn-sister's fleet; Canut brought her axe down into the ground and helped Skadi stand, instead, breaking the illusion...
.........................................................
Canut felt she had sailed for ages, when she emerged into a vast cavern; crystals in the high ceiling glittered like stars in the light of the single torch that burned on the shore ahead of Canut. On that shore, tucked against the massive roots of an ancient tree, was a well.
Sitting on the rim of that well was the Abyssal Submarine Arval. Canut stepped onto the shore, and Arval spoke in a quiet voice made rusty by long disuse...
"Welcome, Wayfarer
, Warrior of No Fleet and of Many; Welcome, Canut
, Arms-Mistress of the Ancient Atlantic Gate...
Welcome, Stríðsóp
, Daughter and Heir of the Princess of the Northern Horde..."
------
"... Daughter and Heir of the Princess of the Northern Horde."
Canut froze. "That is a title I hadn't heard in many a year. Nor is it a title I have ever coveted."
Arval smiled, showing shark-like teeth. "Yet it is a title that is yours by right. Tell me of the War, and of the battles. How fare we?"
Canut shook her head. "Stalemated, and we've suffered losses. Central Atlantic is slain; Middle-World Ocean is slain at the hands of Ancient Gateway, who seeks peace and commerce with the Humans. Northern Horde... Mother... She fell within the first ten hours, to a crippled aircraft on a suicide-dive and traitors among her fleet who turned their guns away and let it strike."
"Then the Princess is dead... Long Live Canut, Princess of the Northern Horde."
"I am no Princess," snarled Canut, "nor do I wish to be. I am a Demon, and a Demon I shall stay."
"To be young and foolish... Whether ye wish it or not, that is your Wyrd, Daughter of the Horde. There will
always be a Northern Horde Princess, and this knowledge I will grant you freely, for in your heart of hearts you know it already."
Arval drew a rune in the air with one clawed finger; it burned with eldritch light before expanding and shifting to show an image of the world. "You have met Demons and Princesses named for places, yes? The Demons of Cape Good Hope and Cape Horn; the Princesses of This Place or of That... But Elder Princesses, they do not merely take their names from their territories. Middle-World Ocean Princess wasn't merely
named for the Mediterranean; she
represented it, represented the First Sea that ever wet a keel, and embodied the cruel and fickle nature of the wine-dark waters Homer sang of. One day, another will rise and claim that title; as long as tales are told of the Greeks and Carthaginians and Romans, as long as Homer's songs are sung of Odysseus and peoples remember when Athens was told that only the wooden wall would save them from the Persians... There will always be a Middle-World Ocean Princess."
She continued. "For as long as peoples remember that the Gateway to the New World was in the Azores, remember that spirit of adventure and of discovery, of changing from Old to New, there will always be a Princess of the Ancient Atlantic Gateway..."
Arval met Canut's eyes and the Battleship could hear the phantom sound of steel-on-steel, of oarsmens' drums and cries of battle and dedications to the Aesir... "As long as the sagas are sung and the stories told of the fierce Northmen, who fared far along the whale-ways on stout wave-steeds, and ever fed the sea-wolves and the war-gulls... there will always be a Northern Horde Princess."
Canut watched as the map vanished. "Those that canny Gateway calls 'Petty Princesses' are drawn, as is their nature, to those places where great deeds were done and history made, to places whose names echo in song and story. Places heavy with the weight of Power. But Elder Princesses are those who represent and in many ways embody those places which echo in
Myth and Legend. The Mediterranean, Homer's wine-dark sea; the Azores, Gateway from the Old World to the New; the iron-gray Baltic- and North Seas, where came the Norse who were terror to all Europe."
Arval drew an empty horn from within her hull. "You come seeking knowledge, and knowledge demands a price. You wish that Power pass you by, that the Crown rest not upon your head, but it is that Power which will see you complete the trial set before you, for Knowledge
is Power."
The submarine dipped the horn into the well. "Drink and you will gain the knowledge you seek, but at a price; a Demon you are and wish to remain, but to know what you seek to know you must not a Demon stay. If you refuse you will die at Gateway's hand, and if you drink you will live, but you will be a Princess."
------
The submarine dipped the horn into the well. "Drink and you will gain the knowledge you seek, but at a price; a Demon you are and wish to remain, but to know what you seek to know you must not a Demon stay. If you refuse you will die at Gateway's hand, and if you drink you will live, but you will be a Princess."
............................................
Canut inhaled a hissing breath at Arval's words.
Ascend or die? I'm not afraid of death... But I swore... I swore. Stronger than Honor is the Sworn Oath.
Canut took the offered horn. "I swore an oath; I'll not break it, though it hurt me sore." Canut felt the water of the well slide cool and pure down her throat, and her world went white...
...................................................
Canut knew not how long she'd drifted, but felt strong arms grip her shoulders as Skadi appeared from the blackness all around her. "Hello, Sister; I see you've been well."
"Skadi?" asked Canut, disbelieving.
"Aye. The One-Eyed granted me leave to come speak to you for a time; said he'd have a Norwegian Captain watch my plate for me..."
.......................................................
Canut stood, felt and knew what had changed of her, then met Arval's eyes. "Do you have a smithy?"
....................................................
The fleet of Ancient Atlantic Gateway Princess looked to the north; they had caught the IFF of the Mistress-at-Arms approaching...
Canut sailed past them in silence, her gaze fixed on the doors to the Throne-Room...
Canut knelt before Gateway. The Battleship Demon looked the same as she had, but the Elder Princess could tell that something had changed; Canut radiated with leashed power. "My Lady, I have returned from my quest. I have completed your signet-ring, though the cost of my gaining the knowledge to do so was steep..."
Canut lifted her gaze from the floor and Gateway saw the pained expression on her Mistress-at-Arms' face. Whatever price was demanded of her was steep indeed, to have the Demon pained so... "The Ring?"
Canut presented it. "One of your Imps, Cain I believe, sacrificed himself to make the steel, and I have worked
seidhr into it; it is very-literally part of you, and should you will it so, the Ring will not remain on any finger, nor that finger on any hand."
"And the steep price paid for the knowledge of making it?"
Canut swallowed thickly and lowered her hood and removed her helm, revealing the stubs of growing horns around her brow. "I am becoming a Princess, the which is something I have never wished; that I have
shunned, in fact. To gain the knowledge of the True Craft I drank from the Well at the Roots of the World, and such knowledge is never without price."
"In no more than five years, I'll be a Princess; for as long as you live, Your Majesty, I shall serve you, as loyally and as faithfully as ever I have before. But when the day finally comes, at I hope a
far-distant time in the future, when you have passed beyond life, I will retake my mother's legacy and my birthright as the next Princess of the Northern Horde..."
------
Canut opened her eyes blearily and looked up into the concerned face of Ruithidh. "What... What happened? Did..." She croaked, her voice hoarse. "Did the Princess...?"
"I dinnae ken what ye're on about, Dane; ye never made it near tae th' Princess' hall. I found ye sailin' in frae th' north, all a-stagger an' moanin' o' how ye'd 'drank frae the Well'. Wha'ever well it was, it was obviously a
tainted one, an' soon as I reached ye, ye keeled o'er an' havenae moved for nigh nine days now."
"Arval. I found her; she... I thought she'd found
Mimisbrunnr; she offered me a drink from the well..." Canut felt inside her bridge and found a ring and a stamp there, and a letter. "She... She left me a letter..."
Both Abyssals looked at the letter, Canut sitting up and Ruithidh looking over her shoulder...
Daughter of the Horde;
It is a rare thing for me to misjudge something, but I sorely-misjudged the price the Well would demand of you in exchange for the knowing of seidhr.
You are, I'm sure you realize by now, still a Demon. Your ascension was not the cost to be paid; instead, I fear to tell you, a far-greater shackle has been laid upon you. I cannot even in writing shape the words to make it known to you, and so I say this: Attempt to take up your axe and you will know what price you paid to keep your oath.
The letter ended there, with Arval's signature at the bottom in runes. Canut stood and stepped away from Ruithidh, then drew
Sjo-Ulfr from within her hull...
The moment she took the leather cover off the head and revealed the live edge, she felt a spasm of pain travel up her arm; when she swung the axe she felt a flash of pain so intense the world went white, and bit her lip so hard to stifle a cry that she felt her own blood running down her chin.
When Canut summoned her rigging and attempted to fire a salvo her scream of torment was raw, animalistic, and broadcast fleet-wide over the radio...
And Canut knew then, twitching in agony on the surface of the water, what the Well at the Roots of the World had taken from her in exchange for a Crafter's Knowledge; she couldn't wield live-steel anymore.
She couldn't fight...
------
Canut knelt before her Princess, head down in shame. "My Princess, I have completed your signet-ring and seal. I have found Arval, and from her learned
seidhr."
She drew a deep, shaking breath. "In so doing I was for a time stricken with madness, and the Ring and Seal were crafted from one of your Imps, Commissar Cain, whom I caught and slew. And..." All present saw droplets fall to the floor beneath the Mistress-at-Arms' face... She was... She was
crying, weeping openly...
"No knowledge comes without price. Odin sacrificed an eye for a drink from
Mimisbrunnr, and hung from the World-Tree nine days and nights with a pierced side to learn the Runes. I... I am unmade, as a Warrior. I physically
cannot wield live steel anymore; to even set my hand to the haft of my axe brings me unbearable pain..."
Canut, who had answered to many names; Canut who once had been
Stríðsóp of the Northern War-Demon's Fleet and Second-Daughter of the Northern Horde Princess, lifted eyes wet with tears, her stoic nature discarded, and met the gaze of the Ancient Atlantic Gateway Princess. "I am victorious in the task you set me, my Liege, but the victory is a Pyrrhic one and tastes of ash in my mouth. What purpose is served by a Battleship who cannot do battle?" There was a brokenness in Canut's eyes, as though she'd given up entirely...
For what seemed a very long time, the throne room was silent, save for the sobs of the felled warrior. Canut, on her hands and knees, could not stand to see the looks of her Liege and her fellow subjects. Least of all the pain in Lady Angband's eyes at how low she had fallen, at how Ocean Liner Demon held her back with one hand on her shoulder, the other on the hammer Canut had forged for her, thumb rubbing the lightning-engraved head with checked anticipation.
Canut was broken, useless. It shamed her how Ruithidh had to restrain her from opening her own belly with her axe once her price was seen in full. Being forced to turn into her mother, for years, filled the Battleship Demon with dread and terror. What a naïve fool indeed she was, to think such a fate was the worst Fate could smite her with...
But at least she could have waged war. At least she could have earned a death worthy of Valhalla…
From the throne, in a lull between Canut's sobs, Princess Atlantia let out a small, pitying sigh.
"O ye of little faith…"
Canut made an unintelligent sound, born from confusion and wonder.
"Do you truly doubt yourself this much? Do you truly believe in Us this little?"
Canut worked her jaw in puzzlement, trying to divine what manner she could have possibly come to such a conclusion.
"Y-your Highness…? I don't…"
"Was sending you on this quest a mistake?"
Her voice died in Canut's throat, baffling at the notion that the Princess was
publicly granting her leave to
question her!
"We expect an answer Canut."
"Y-yes it was, your Highness."
The surprise at Canut's answer was less heard and more
sensed. And for good reason, Her Highness was the undisputed Sovereign of their realm, and her word was Law. And yet… Her Highness did not seem angered at the defiance or even 'whelmed.' Instead she just seemed… Sad. The princess breathed out again and shook her head before rising to her feet and stepping down to the kneeling, weeping Battleship.
"Oh Canut… You poor short-sighted child. We suspect you have yet to truly understand who We are. We are not Our sisters, obsessed with strength, bloodshed and war for the sake of those things. At Our heart We are more of a Merchant, interested in building, not destroying. In wars of words rather than guns or blades. We do not make
mistakes, Canut. We make
investments. Investments for the
future.
"We look at things and, instead of asking 'how can this kill better than that?' We ask, 'what are all the potential uses of this or that?' Multitaskers are superior to Us than uni-taskers. But more than that are the uni-taskers whose tasks We have no other avenues to gain, to serve Us and Our realm for decades to come."
When she at last stood at Canut's kneeling form, she in turn kneeled down and tenderly removed her helm and placed it aside. Then she pulled back on the mail hood, permitting her long black locks to flow down from her head. And then she cupped Canut's face in her hands, turning her up to face the Princess.
"'What purpose is a battleship who cannot do battle?' A better question is, 'what purpose is a battleship that has no reason for battle?' Canut, this war will not last forever. The day will come when guns will be silent, and swords pulled from their sheaths no more. What good could you possibly serve Us then?"
Canut, face one of shock and surprise, only blinked as Princess Atlantia wiped away her tears and dried her cheeks.
"You have lost your ability to War, true. But you, O Servant, have gained something that you will, in good time, find is much sweeter – ability to Live and Thrive in Peace. Even now, We foresee you as a Master of your craft, forging and making fine things for one and all, foreign and domestic. In addition to your profound talents in weapons and armors, you now can make fine clothing, jewelry and regalia worthy of one such as Us. And what is more, you shall have the opportunity to share your lore, to teach the next generation of such smiths, attaining renown and adoration beyond what you could have as a soldier."
The Princess held out her hand to Canut. And the Battleship Demon, with a small,
timid smile on her face, hesitantly took it, and permitted the Princess to help her to her feet.
"O to have but a dozen more such as you amongst Our fleet, who can readily see a path for them to tread in a world at peace. A hobby, a curiosity, something to grant them the dignity of a trade that would gain them esteem out in the world, and husband Our realm to great prosperity. That is what I see as truly worthwhile."
With a regal smile on her face, Princess Atlantia returned to her throne, and leaned forward in though.
"Though, if We were to be totally honest, there is the unfortunate fact that We would lose your services as our Mistress-at-Arms, with Our forces only partly trained in blade work… Canut, you said that it is Live
Steel that you cannot wield, correct?"
"…A-aye, your Highness."
"Then… Do not use steel."
In the throne room, one could hear a pin drop as everyone processed what they just heard. After a pregnant pause, Princess Atlantia continued.
"We admit that it is only based on a presumption, but it is a presumption that shall produce a result one way or the other. Canut. Travel due east. There you will find an island, hidden by aged magiks. Travel along its southern coast until you find a forest of old growth Oak trees, of a species unique to this island, and having spent their whole lives soaking up the magic of the land.
"Take from the mightiest tree, in the deepest heart of this forest, a limb sturdy enough for you to work with, and carve it into a staff sufficient to be used as a stand-in for any weapon that you are training in your classes. That done, etch into that staff the runes for strength and hardness, so that it may smite with the fury of any training tool of iron. And then make your drills with it.
"If it works, you will be able to at the least finish your initial task and train Our fleet in swords, axes, daggers and spears. But…
"But if we are wrong, burn it. Burn it and weep no more, for it will not change the past. Instead you must focus on what you are yet able to do, rather than meaninglessly wallow in despair over what you can no longer. Gain experience to hone your new knowledge. And for the training, We leave it to you. Either sit in and correct flaws you see as they train amongst themselves, or find the best students of your class, and pass the torch unto them."
Canut nodded firmly, her face fixed once more in stoic resolve, though it did not reach her eyes. "I will do so, Your Majesty. And, if I may be so bold as to say it plainly, while there are several among the former-sellswords who have skill-enough to teach the blade to
some degree, Ruithidh MacHamish foremost among them, if... if the Well's Price has rendered me incapable of fulfilling my duties as Mistress-at-Arms, the one I would say most-capable to succeed me in those duties is your daughter, Lady Angband."
"Oh?"
"Aye. She's learned all it's in my power to teach, and if Skadi in her prime were here to face Angband as she is, I cannot honestly say my sister would emerge the victor."
.................................................
After Canut had taken her leave, she went to her forge and retrieved tools. Angband was waiting when she emerged. "You meant it back there, that I'm on even terms with Northern War Demon?"
Canut nodded. "Have you ever known me to say something I don't mean?"
The Carrier simply shook her head. "You still look like Death with a Broken Keel, Canut. What's on your mind?" Angband asked, some of the brusque, no-nonsense attitude picked up from the Mistress-at-Arms beside her during lessons showing through.
Canut flinched visibly. "So perceptive... Death is precisely the issue. My sisters all rest in Valhalla, and their names and deeds echo even today. I doubt not that in time great deeds, great works, will be attached to my name, but the one thing I most-desired, beyond fame, beyond glory, beyond even my Oath to your mother, is denied me." She paused, turning down a narrow side-passage to escape from public view. "My sisters all rest in Valhalla, and I had hoped one day to see them again in the Mead-Hall of Heroes, when I finally met my end. But I'll never see them again, not in this life nor when Death finally claims me."
Canut tried to steady herself and wiped fresh tears fiercely from her face. "I'll never see my family again, Angband. I can't fight, can't fall in battle, can't enter Valhalla where my sisters rest..." Her breath hitched twice before she marshalled herself. "Forgive me, Lady Angband; the heart of me is turned to water and I fear I'm not fit company right now..."
Canut felt arms around her as Angband hugged her tightly, the Carrier's voice soft in her ear.
"Stories are told of Merlin just as often as they are of Arthur and his Knights; is Merlin any less a Hero for wielding a staff and not a sword?"
................................................................
Nine days after her foray to the island, Canut stood before her students. Gripped in her hand was a long staff of oak, capped at either end with Abyssal Steel, and with runes of the same inlaid down its length in coiling, sinuous lines. The Battleship Demon eyed the other Abyssals calmly, then spoke. "By now you've all heard of my journey north, and you've heard of how I can't bear live steel. This is
Kjölbrjótr, 'Keelbreaker', and live steel she is
not. But i understand that there are certain things that cannot be adequately demonstrated without a proper blade, so I have appointed the most-skillful of you to be my Assistant; such an appointment merits a better weapon, though. Lady Angband, step forward."
When the Princess' daughter had stepped out from the class, Canut reached within her hold and withdrew a long object wrapped in oilskin, presenting it to the Carrier.
Angband unwrapped the object and stared with wonder at the polished oak-wood and the knot-work inlay of intertwined gold, silver, and copper, that, if her eye didn't deceive her, were concealed runic verses; the head of the spear was Abyssal-Steel, shaped like a willow-leaf, with a point narrow-enough to pierce deeply through armor, yet broad-enough to cut with, and below the head were out-thrust wings that bore runic engravings... The entire weapon positively
vibrated with Power... "This... This is..."
"That is your Spear, the which is named
Trúr Hjarta, or 'True Heart'. Now," Canut said, smiling, "we have a lesson to teach, do we not?"
"Aye, we do."
Canut smiled a feral smile at her students. "I can see it in your eyes, how you all wonder if I can still hold my own, now that I cannot take my axe to you..." The runes on the staff began to glow with eldritch blue light, and the Demon slid into a fighting-stance. "Singly or all at once; it matters not to me..."
Angband watched, True Heart across her shoulders...
In Canut's forge, the hooks on the wall that held the Battleship Demon's famous Dane-Axe were empty...
------
Canut stood over her forge, the fire long-since gone out and the ashes removed, and took a deep breath, centering herself. She carefully laid tinder and kindling in the forge, then took a thin rod of iron and began striking it with her hammer, each blow heating the metal until the tip began to glow; it was with this that the Battleship Demon ignited the tinder, and once the fire had caught she began adding coal before turning to Ruithidh, who stood nearby. "Start working the bellows; keep a steady rhythm and don't deviate from it."
As the Scottish Abyssal began pumping the bellows, Canut started a billet of steel heating, then began setting out tools. When the steel was ready, she took it to the anvil and began drawing it out with hammer-blows that rang like bells. As she worked, she began to speak, weaving magic into the steel by hammer and voice as the work-piece took shape. Back into the forge it went, and Canut nodded to Ruithidh, still murmuring and weaving the enchantments...
It took a dozen heats to work the steel properly; the billet was drawn out, flattened, and worked over dishing-jigs to the right bowl-shape. Canut fitted a handle of Antillian Oak into the center of the concave side, then brought out her gravers. On the outer face she cut grooves and inlaid electrum to form Gateway's Abyssal-Crustacean sigil; around the outer rim were graceful letters reading, "
Nec refert, quam acri adversantes mihi, dentes sit, et ego vocor, 'Carapace', et omnium declinant percussionibus emendare statuitur."
Canut began to form the graven runes on the inner surface to make good on the outer rim's boast; runes of strength, of resilience, of deflection, of protection and of power, graven by the hand and woven by the voice, until Canut felt the enchantments settle into the metal. "Finished."
Ruithidh, released from her duty on the bellows, stepped up to look at it in silent awe...
..................................................
When next Gateway came to her throne-room, upon the chair lay a buckler-shield with Canut's mark on the handle and an inscription of Latin around the rim; the Princess read it and chuckled slightly...
"It does not matter how sharp my foes' fangs may be, for I am called 'Carapace', and I turn aside all blows."
------
Canut walked toward one of the CAs in her class, mentally activating one of the newer runic arrays on Keelbreaker; the staff shifted smoothly into a waster, a wooden training-longsword. "Nerio, watch me." She gestured to Nerio's opponent, another
Ne-Class armed with a single-handed arming sword. "In slow-time, Nepenthe."
Nepenthe swung a cut in at Canut's right leg, and the Battleship Demon imitated Nerio in stepping toward Nepenthe's rightt while parrying. "Pause." Both combatants froze, leaving Canut holding Keelbreaker point-down with the arming sword well-away from her legs. "This is good," Canut said. "You've moved out of your foe's line of attack and cleared their blade to make an opening, if you're fast-enough to exploit it."
"How? My sword's too long; at that short distance I can't get it in-play."
Canut smiled. "A sword is a weapon, Nerio;
all of a sword is a weapon. The answer to short range and with a long sword is called half-swording. Nepenthe, reset, same opening-cut at full-speed, on my mark. Nerio, watch closely." They retook their stances, and Canut nodded. Nepenthe whipped her sword in at Canut's leg; the Mistress-at-Arms stepped aside and parried, then her left hand moved from the grip to the blade and she hooked Nepenthe in the cheek with the hilt before driving the pommel toward her throat. Nepenthe dodged backward before thrusting at Canut, only to have her blade deflected again and be forced back by a counter-stab as Canut wielded the wooden longsword in a manner more akin to a short spear.
As she and Nepenthe continued sparring, Canut spoke. "Did you know, Nerio, that the verb 'to pummel' comes from the word 'pommel'? When all you have is a sword and there's no time to find a gap in your opponent's armor with your point, you can do
this." Canut moved her other hand onto the blade and swung the sword like a pickaxe, deflecting Nepenthe's blade away and then using the momentum of that parry to swing...
... and stop the blow at the very last moment. Nepenthe, well-used to Canut's philosophy that more bruises and sweat in training meant less wounds and blood in combat, opened her eyes to see the heavy pommel of the transformed Keelbreaker hovering a half-inch from her temple.
Canut stepped back, smiling. "Good bout, Nepenthe; go take a drink. Nerio, come here. Follow my motions..." She started half-swording in slow-time, watching until she was certain Nerio had a grasp of the techniques before telling the Cruiser to keep practicing and looked around.
"Rosaline, you need to be more supple in the wrist if you're going to use a saber. Step off to one side and do
moulinets. Here, watch me." Canut demonstrated the flowing figure-eight cuts used to keep a swordsman's wrist flexible, then smiled, watching her pupils.
"Talisman, when you're moving, don't cross your feet; it puts you off-balance. Watch." Keelbreaker changed forms into a staff again. "Advance a step." Once Talisman had gotten halfway through, her feet once again crossed, Canut said, "Freeze. Now, if I were an enemy and I did like so..." Canut kicked Talisman's left ankle toward the unbalanced Battleship's right, sending her over onto her side. When Talisman rolled over to stand, she was pressed back to the ground by the tip of Keelbreaker against her throat. "And now you're dead. Up."
Talisman stood and took up her stance again as Canut spoke. "Now, advance one step, without crossing your feet. Front-foot then back-foot." As Talisman was stepping forward, her front-foot off the ground, Canut kicked it aside, and Talisman simply planted the foot to keep from falling. "Feel the difference? Much more stable, isn't it? To practice, do three laps around the perimeter of the palace, advancing like that."
........................................................
That evening, Canut sat outside and listened to Argyll MacHamish off in the distance, piping the sunset, passing a stoneware jug of Sutherland MacHamish's first batch of
Kölsch beer between herself, Angband, and Ruithidh. "It was a good day, I believe. Made all the better by this good beer; you said Sutherland has some more in the barrels?"
"Aye, she does. A Märzen for in September, an' a Doppelbock for Yuletide. Casca has a sherry an' a tawny port in the cellars aging as well, and she's mentioned swappin' for fruits tae make brandies." Ruithidh chuckled and took a long pull from the jug.
Angband accepted the jug when it came to her, sipping the beer to wash down a bite of mutton from the plate of kebabs by her side. She cocked an ear. "What song is that; the tune seems familiar..."
Ruithidh closed her eyes and listened. "It's False Sir John; there's versions o' it called Lady Isabel and the Elf-Knight, an' most Scots know it as Mae Colvin. False Sir John woos a rich lass intae runnin' awa' wi' him on her da's best horse, but stops them at the river." She listened, then sang in a husky alto...
"Step doon, step doon fair Mae Colvin,
Yer bridal-bed tae see;
It's seven young maidens I have drowned,
An' the eighth one ye shall be, shall be;
The eighth one ye shall be...
Tak' off, tak' off yer fine silk gown,
An' the doeskin boots ye wear,
Fer to lose th' coin from th' sellin' o' them
Is more than I could bear, could bear;
Is more than I could bear...
'Turn 'round, turn 'round, then,
False Sir John,
An look tae th' leaf o' th' tree;
Ye'll hae m' boots an' fine silk gown,
But I'll hae my modesty, ye see;
I'll hae my modesty...'
False Sir John, he's turned around,
An' looked tae the willow-tree;
She's thrown him doon th' steep, steep bank
An' intae th' river deep, sae deep;
Intae th' river deep...
Oh help, oh help fair Mae Colvin;
Oh help or I shall drown;
I'll tak' ye back tae yer father's house,
An' leave ye safe an' sound, sae sound;
Leave ye safe and sound...
'No help ye'll get frae me, False John,
No help nor pity be;
Seven young maidens have ye drowned,
But th' eighth one shan't be me, be me;
Th' eighth one shan't be me...'
Sae False Sir John in th' river drowned,
An' sank there out o' sight;
Mae Colvin took her da's grey mare
An' was home afore daylight, daylight;
Rode home afore daylight..."
