Re: The Game: Chapter 13
In reply to Zuriel Silendril (msg # 268):
The Strawman of Al-Serrah's Field
Listen, my children, and quake with fear
At the horrible tale of Al-Serrah, vizier
To the Sultan of Jade, from centuries past
When Gaelia's reach was far from vast
I remember well that day and year
When a man from the fields came, drenched in sweat
And claimed that a horrible phantom had spawned
Al-Serrah, the landowner, sent soldiers to vet
The truth of the tale, and to hang by dawn
One lamp if 'twas true, and two if 'twas lies
While Al-Serrah held vigil, on horse, in disguise
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Gaelian village and farm
For the country folk to be up and to arm
The soldiers deployed under cover of night
Silently crept to the fields, a phantom to sight
Only moon lit the fields filled with brown withered reeds
Whose dancing played tricks on the things the eye sees
Thus the men saw a figure, both looming and vast
Standing tall in the fields, with a shadow that cast
Fear in their hearts; their swords were drawn fast
And the huge black hulk, which stood magnified
By the light of the moon had nowhere to hide
Meanwhile, the lamp-hanger waits in the street
Wanders and watches, with eager ears
'Til in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men, in combat engaged
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet
And the measured clatter of bandoleers
As archers took aim at the fields from range
He climbed to the top the barn, as tall as a church
By the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the lofted chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,--
By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town
And the moonlight flowing over all.
Beneath, in the fields, the soldiers lay dead,
Swords strewn and useless on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That the lamp-hanger could hear, like a sentinel's tread,
The rustling sound of the hulk as it went
Creeping along like a living lament
And seeming to rasp with a whispering voice
The lamp-hanger now must make his choice
In this place, at this hour, with secret dread
Alone in a barn, watching over the dead
Then suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On that shadowy something, moving near
The lamp-hanger stiffens, heart filled with fear
As he spies not one but several shapes
Surrounded now, he has no escape
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride
At the edge of town walked Al-Serrah
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now he gazed at the landscape near and far,
Then, impetuous, stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The top of the barn, where his solider was perched,
For a moment his nerve gave way in the chill
Of the night, which was lonely and spectral and still
And lo! as he looks, at the barn's height
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
He notes that only a single lamp burns.
A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet;
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
He has left the village and mounted the steep,
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And under the alders that skirt its edge,
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.
So through the night rode Al-Serrah;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Gaelian village and farm,---
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo for evermore!
For, borne on the night-wind of the past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness and peril and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
And the midnight message of Al-Serrah.
Men of all ages, both soldiers and not
Took axes and hoes to the shadowy plot
But all that they found were the corpses of men
Who'd been sent on the first investigation
There were six in the fields, and one in the barn
Where the lantern still burned in a silent alarm
But the shadowy hulks, which murdered those men?
Must still be at large; they were not seen again.
This message was last edited by the GM at 15:55, Mon 29 Dec 2014.