Bridge of Swords Page 7

  Huw could see his words were hitting home, while he also saw, out of the corner of his eye, the mysterious man in the shadows shifting around in his seat.

  ‘After he has raided and murdered, he will send emissaries to us, promising Forlish soldiers to protect us. Protect us from his own men! By this he thinks we shall accept the yoke of Forlish rule, allow ourselves to give away our real fortune, our freedom, in exchange for Forlish taxes and laws and a cruel king’s rule!’

  ‘When will these raiders arrive?’ someone shouted.

  ‘I do not know,’ Huw admitted. ‘Some could be here now. They could be scouting out villages, ready to launch an attack whenever they sense a weakness. We need to be vigilant. I know we have never had guards or foresters on duty but we need to keep a watch out …’

  ‘And what do we do if we see them?’ Vernin called.

  Huw stopped then. He had not thought this through, he realised. Knowing you were about to be attacked was one thing — stopping such an attack was another thing altogether. Every village had men who liked to hunt, who could use slings to bring down birds, or spears to kill boars. But they had few, if any swords.

  ‘Aye — and what if we do turn some bandits back? Will they not just return in greater numbers?’ Vernin continued.

  Again Huw was stuck. He had thought to issue his warning, be acclaimed as a hero and then move on, his job done. He sensed the room was turning against him — and asking Rhiannon to dance again was not going to save the situation. He glanced to his left, where the man sat in the shadows, and inspiration came to him.

  ‘We have to watch out for strangers, people who do not fit in, for they could be Ward’s men.’

  He was staring straight at the man as he spoke, and could feel the focus of the room switch from him to the man. What if this really was one of Ward’s men? What if he could catch one of the spies, find out how to stop them — he really would be a hero then!

  Sendatsu had listened to the tale with growing horror. It seemed the humans were not without their own troubles. He had no wish to be around if there was a war about to erupt in this area. It added yet more urgency to his quest. It was also disturbing to hear the plan these Forlish had come up with. It was something his father might have done, and seemed to indicate a subtlety far beyond what elven lore said could be expected of any humans.

  ‘Does anyone know that man?’

  Sendatsu heard the change in the bard’s voice, looked up to see the bard pointing at him, every eye on him — and they all seemed unfriendly. There was plenty of muttering going on around the room. He hurriedly tried to think what had been said and what he had missed.

  ‘He walked in not one turn of the hourglass ago and he is the strangest stranger I have ever seen,’ Vernin announced. ‘He slapped gold on my table and had never tried mead before!’

  Instantly the muttering doubled.

  ‘Aye, and he did not know what a pig was, is scared of sheep and eats only raw turnips!’ the two-fingered man roared.

  Sendatsu opened his mouth to protest but was drowned in a wave of debate.

  ‘Maybe he’s from Rheged. I hear they eat turnips over there,’ someone suggested.

  ‘My father was from Rheged and I’ve never eaten turnip before!’ another snarled.

  ‘I hear over in Clayhill they like to sleep with their sheep,’ someone called.

  ‘I heard that! And it was only in that really cold winter!’

  ‘Tell us, traveller,’ the bard’s voice boomed over the small arguments breaking out all over the room, ‘are you a servant of King Ward? Are you from Forland?’

  ‘I don’t even know where Forland is!’ Sendatsu protested.

  Instantly the atmosphere changed subtly, becoming darker and more threatening. He glanced around at the unfriendly faces and cursed. This was not going well. While he was not afraid of these humans, neither did he want to hurt them. Better to walk away and come back later to speak to the bard and dancer.

  ‘I know nothing about your King Ward. But I know when I am not welcome. I shall leave you in peace.’ He stood, grabbing his bowstave from where it rested against the wall, and headed for the door. None moved to stop him, although all watched.

  ‘Stop him! He’s a Forlish spy!’ the bard shouted.

  A handful of men moved across the doorway.

  ‘Let me leave. I do not want to hurt you,’ Sendatsu warned.

  ‘You won’t leave until you answer to us,’ the bard declared.

  Sendatsu sighed. He did not want to reveal himself to everyone but it looked like there was no choice.

  ‘There is a simple explanation for this,’ he began, placing his bowstave against a wall and preparing to reveal himself.

  ‘Aye — you’re here to betray us!’ Two-fingers grabbed at Sendatsu’s arm.

  Instinct took over and he moved smoothly into a fighting stance, freed his arm and flipped Two-fingers across and into a table of drinkers. Humans, food and drink went in every direction. The rest of the hall watched in shock as Two-fingers slowly got to his feet.

  ‘Get him!’ the bard yelled.

  ‘Aye — get the Rheged traitor!’

  ‘Stop the Clayhill bastard!’

  Instantly a dozen fights began, all across the hall, between all different people, while women screamed and children shrieked and men shouted. Sendatsu took a pace back, to protect his back, but the initial rush was not at him but at each other. Then a bellow of anger made him turn.

  Time seemed to slow, and Sendatsu became aware of tiny details, inconsequential things, as Two-fingers charged at him. Sendatsu slapped an arm aside then thrust out his own hand, slamming the rigid edge between thumb and forefinger into Two-fingers’ throat. The man’s feet shot out from under him and he flipped over backwards, choking and gasping in the muddy rushes.

  Then a whole crowd was rushing at Sendatsu. If they had all come together, he would have had no chance but these humans fought each other, or got tangled up in chairs and tables. For an instant he thought about drawing his sword and threatening them — but remembered the carnage he had wrought among the Council Guards. He could not risk that again.

  But he was not defenceless. He had learned to fight with his hands and feet — against his peers and against his father. In contrast, the humans that attacked him seemed to move so slow, most of them obviously affected by what they had been drinking. As he had been taught, he merely emptied his mind and dealt with anything that came near him. The answers he sought, upsetting the humans, revealing himself — those worries vanished.

  Two men converged on him as he waited, completely calm. He saw a punch coming from his left long before it was dangerous. It was just like being back on the training mats. The moves he had practised a thousand times, until they were second nature, they just flowed now. His left hand curled up, deflecting the punch away, and he stepped smoothly into a second block to avoid a blow from his right, this time catching and holding the man’s arm. His left leg snapped out as he shouted, an explosion of sound to concentrate power and focus himself.

  He dropped the first man with a kick to the head, then used a double punch, an uppercut followed by a reverse fist to the nose, to send the second man crashing to the floor.

  Another roundhouse punch — how slow did they arrive! — came at his head from the right and it was easy to flick the fist harmlessly over his shoulder and then drive the stiffened fingers of his left hand into the balding man’s gut. As Baldy folded over, groaning, he grabbed Baldy’s shoulders and swung the man into the path of a kick launched by a man whose face was disfigured by huge boils. Baldy went flying, felled by his friend, and before Boils could recover, Sendatsu stepped closer, always in perfect balance, to deliver a punch and a kick in the same instant; the double blow sending Boils reeling away, to where he almost landed in the fire.

  A pair of them, son and father, had seized one of the long benches and now ran at Sendatsu, using the bench as a shield, either to strike him or drive him into a corner,
where he would be easy prey.

  Instead he ran forwards then, at the last moment, slid under the bench, skidding on the damp rushes and deliberately not thinking what he might be sliding through. He reached up as the rough wood scythed over his head and allowed himself to be carried along for an instant, before swinging his legs out to the left, to where the son was carrying the bench.

  He trapped one of Son’s ankles between his feet, then jerked it to the right and let go of the bench in the same moment. The son went flying, tumbling over the front of the bench, while the father on the other end was sent cartwheeling across the floor.

  As more men converged, he flipped to his feet and grabbed the bench, bringing it up like a shield. A grey-haired man punched it and then howled in pain. He kicked Grey-hair between the legs and the man’s howl of pain turned into a scream as he folded over.

  A man with only one eye dived at him but he shifted his weight and used One-eye’s momentum to hurl him onto the serving table, which went down with a crash, scattering goods, drink and chickens into the confusion.

  It was time to go, before someone got really hurt. The path to the door seemed clear and he prepared to make a run for it.

  Huw watched the hooded stranger in amazement then glanced at Rhiannon, who was also gazing open-mouthed at the man.

  Dropping his lyre, he ran at the man, launching himself from the back. Even as he did so, part of him said this was a big mistake. But he arrived from an unexpected direction, and threw his arms around the man.

  Instantly Huw realised the man was hugely muscled. But that was not the only realisation. When he flicked his head around, his cowl slipped back and Huw found himself just a couple of inches away from the man’s ear. Seeing it was such a shock that he almost let go — and then the man simply shrugged Huw off, sending him flying backwards, tumbling across the floor.

  Huw lay there for a moment, winded, as well as trying to understand what he had just seen.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Rhiannon asked, rushing to help him sit up.

  Huw turned to her. ‘He’s not a spy for Ward — he’s an elf,’ he managed to say.

  ‘What? An elf? Are you sure?’

  ‘I saw his skin, his eyes — and his ears! I have heard enough stories about them to know one when they are right in front of me!’

  ‘So what do we do?’

  ‘We have to stop this — we have to help him. Who knows why he is here but an elf! In Vales! He could be the difference if we are to stop Ward. Help me up!’

  Sendatsu cursed himself. He had lost focus for but a moment and that stupid bard had grabbed him. It had only slowed him down for a few heartbeats but the clear path to the door was gone. Instead, Two-fingers and three others stood there, looking grim. There was still a chance to escape through the window — but that meant leaving his bowstave behind. And he needed that bow. There might be nothing for it, he would have to draw his sword. Regrets could come later. Then he saw Two-fingers whip out a knife and realised he was out of choices. Next moment they were all charging at him and he tensed himself for an explosion of blood and violence.

  With Rhiannon’s help, Huw staggered to his feet and ran at the men rushing the elf. Heedless of their size, numbers and the knife the leader carried, his only thought was to help the elf.

  ‘Stop this! Leave him alone!’ he bellowed.

  But things had gone too far. Desperately, Huw leaped over a table, hurling himself into the four of them, and bringing everyone down in a huge pile.

  Gasping, he bounced clear of them and found himself on his back, looking up into the startled face of the elf.

  ‘Quick! Go! While you can!’ Huw cried.

  Sendatsu understood the chance being offered — for the moment nobody was trying to attack him, so he jumped across the fallen bodies, grabbed his bowstave and raced out into the rain. He did not stop until he was clear of the village, and under the poor shelter of some trees. There he paused, panting — but there seemed to be no pursuit.

  Sendatsu cursed. Next time he went into a human village, he would have to be more careful. The answers were there. He just had to find them.

  The rain slowed, dried to a drizzle and then petered out, although heavy drips still fell from the trees. He could not imagine waiting out here. He had to find somewhere else. Propelled by a sense of looming desperation, he hurried west, hoping to find another village quickly.

  5

  I remember what the forefathers told me about how we came to this land. I do not know if it is true but I believe it is more likely than some of the tales I have heard my people tell the humans. We did not arrive on gull-wing ships, nor on strange craft pulled by dragons. We came in old boats, which leaked, and rotted away on the shoreline not long after we landed.

  My ancestor and his eleven companions had tried to find a home among the Nipponese. But while they were happy there, for a century, the rulers of Nippon finally drove them out, frightened of these Elfarans, who did not die and instead kept marrying, creating bigger and bigger families, all of them able to do magic. By then there were hundreds of us, and our numbers were growing all the time. Even with the dozens of half-brothers and-sisters among each clan, our Elfaran forefathers were worried about interbreeding and, as leader of each clan, had the final decision on who could marry. Not all were happy with this, but all accepted their judgement. They also created a separate order, the Magic-weavers, the most gifted mages among us. Even then they saw magic could be used as a weapon, and wanted to have it under their control. Although, ironically, they were the only ones among us who couldn’t actually use any magic.

  Every decision they made was for the good. Their intentions were always honourable. But they did not see what was coming.

  Our arrogance blinded us, we came to believe in our own superiority. Some of us tried to work with the human tribes already here — but not enough, nowhere near enough. The rest despised the humans and used them to make themselves rich. The only solution was to lock ourselves away from them, until the magic within us had faded, until we were like other humans. My forefathers chose me to make this plan happen, and I worked with the Magic-weavers to make it so. I knew there would be danger in this. But I did not realise from which direction it would come.

  ‘You’ll pay for that, you bastard!’

  Huw tried to sit up but the two-fingered man grabbed him and loomed above, knife in hand.

  ‘Wait! Stop!’ Huw tried to shout — but the man’s face was twisted in anger and the knife began to descend … then his face went blank as a chair smashed across the back of his head and the two-fingered man fell beside the terrified Huw.

  Huw — and the man’s three companions — glanced up to see Rhiannon there, looking a little surprised, and holding the remains of a chair.

  ‘What was that for?’ a man asked.

  Rhiannon glared at him. ‘My mother was from Rheged!’ she lied defiantly.

  The three men looked at each other, then one shrugged. ‘Fair enough then.’

  All around them, the fights were ending and men were helping each other to their feet, comparing wounds and offering to buy each other drinks.

  ‘Shouldn’t we go after that spy?’ Vernin emerged from under the wreckage of his table.

  ‘No! Leave him!’ Huw got back to his feet, using his trained voice to drown out any protests. ‘He’s not one of Ward’s men — he’s not even a man at all, he’s an elf!’

  That silenced the room — even men who had been lying on the floor rolled over to look at Huw.

  ‘What?’ Vernin spat.

  ‘I saw his ears — he’s an elf. I don’t know what he was doing here but …’

  ‘Never mind him — what have you been doing here? First you tell us Ward and his Forlish are about to descend on us all, then you say there’re spies sitting among us, telling them which houses to rob and which wives to steal, then he starts a fight and you try to stop it!’ Vernin advanced on Huw, his face reddening with anger, an alarming number of othe
r men behind him.

  ‘Keep back!’ Rhiannon warned them. ‘I have a chair and I’m not afraid to use it!’

  The ridiculousness of her threat, as much as the fire in her eyes — and the fact her dress was revealing almost all of one thigh — brought them to a halt.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Huw apologised. ‘I made a terrible mistake. Please, let me pay for it.’

  Vernin paused then. ‘You would have earned a fair bit at Ward’s court then?’ he asked cautiously.

  ‘Shall we say two gold pieces?’ Huw offered, knowing it would leave him with a much lighter purse. ‘And then drinks for all?’

  Vernin beamed, while even those men nursing broken noses or missing teeth brightened considerably. And so they should, Huw reflected bitterly, fearing for his purse’s contents.

  It took plenty of ale, as well as more songs and several dances from Rhiannon, before all was forgiven. Even Two-fingers was happy enough, with four more tankards of ale in him, to tell everyone the story of how a beautiful woman had hit him with a chair.

  ‘Go back to your room — I’ll try and find the elf,’ Huw whispered to Rhiannon.

  ‘Did he see me dance?’ Rhiannon asked.

  That stopped Huw in his tracks. ‘Yes, he did. He couldn’t take his eyes off you,’ he admitted quietly.

  Rhiannon’s imagination had also been fired by the thought of an elf. Her dream had been to dance with the elves — if one had already seen her … perhaps he would ask her to return to mysterious Dokuzen, to perform there!

  ‘Let’s find him first,’ Huw suggested, not liking this particular development much but the thought of finding an elf wandering around Vales was too exciting to dampen his enthusiasm completely.