by Troy A Hill
We saluted each other again, and he began a new dance with me. A series of on-hand swings, then an off-hand swing, repeat, repeat, then both weapons at once. Once I got the rhythm, he let me lead the warm-up dance. We slowly circled each other. Emlyn finally stepped back and saluted with his blades. I returned it and shifted my weight to another ready position, one sword held high over my head, pointed at him. The other in front of me, point up. He dropped into a stance similar to my own.
Then the flurry of blows commenced. I found my rhythm and was able to take the offensive for a brief time. He slashed the false edge, or back side of his off-hand blade, at my chest. I used a simple block and redirected it past me. Then he surprised me. His body spun. I was anticipating an elbow strike to my face. Instead, he twisted around me, and his other blade moved toward the back of my legs. I used my supernatural speed to quick-step out of its way. One of my blades arced down to catch the blow before it landed on my flesh. I had seen that particular combination used by only one other swordmaster, my mentor.
He was fast. Very fast for a mortal. And skilled. Almost beyond measure. I pulled speed from my demon a few more times. If I kept drawing on that power, I’d have to feed sooner than usually did. But I was able to dodge all of his strikes. Someone with his skill and talent should have been amazed at my burst of superhuman speed. Instead, his eyes stayed engaged, and he continued to press the attack.
Another of his strikes almost snuck over my guard. Usually, a fighter might trade three or four blows with an opponent. If they were both still alive, they might step back out of measure, before they began another series. In this fight, however, we were trading a dozen or more strikes and parries in a single exchange. He often shifted from low to high and back again in his attacks.
Had I been human, I would have tired by now. Even as an undead Child of the Night, I should have been exhausted from the sun in the sky. Gwen and her goddess had changed that. I could feel energy flow up my magical cord from the divine Lady of Britannia. The cord was humming loudly in our fight. So loud, I expect the mortals to hear it.
We traded even more strikes. Again, I had to leap over slashes he made at my knees right after I blocked strikes toward my head or shoulders. Gah! He was fast. This swordmaster of Penllyn kept forcing me to reach beyond the connection the goddess and pull power from my blood demon to keep up with him.
My body had been too long from the dance. My muscles were slowly recovering their memory of these techniques. Emlyn seemed to realise that and pushed just beyond my limit with each thrust or riposte. He forced me to recover the memories of the dance. I could barely keep up, and I loved it. My heart was singing. The beauty and grace of swordplay were at the heart of my soul. He drove me with relentless swipes and twists of his swords.
I could feel my passion rising. Not just for the well-chiselled features of the man before me, but for the competition that a true master of the dance can bring out. Emlyn and I danced the dance of skill, of dedication, of the love of the artistry in the dance. We let the blades be the words of the poem, while our bodies engaged them in the rhythm and cadence of the bards. And my heart continued to sing with joy every moment of our dance
I finally was able to take the initiative for a brief moment. My main sword darted in from overhead. His off-hand weapon snapped up to meet it. The wood hissed as the two weapons slid into a bind. My other sword went low, for his knees. As he countered with a parry to that side, I stepped farther into his measure and dove my main sword under his for a side strike.
He was fast. He managed to block both strikes, but our arms were outstretched to either side, weapons in the bind, guard pressing into guard. In a typical fight, we would be close enough to grapple. A knee into the groin, or a head butt against the other. Instead, I wanted to melt against him. To feel his flesh against mine. His breath against my cheek and his lips on mine.
Sweat beaded on his bare chest. His breathing was fast from the exertion. His face remained the same neutral state it always had, but fire glowed in his eyes. I smiled and fought to keep myself from unleashing my passion on his body in other ways. He had not just rekindled that passion in me but set it to a roaring inferno. I swallowed hard and kept my hands on my blades instead of on his bare chest.
“You honour me beyond all measure, Milady.” He stepped back, raised his weapons in salute, and bowed low to me.
I saluted him with my weapons and gave him a similar bow.
“Milord Emlyn, I have trained long and hard with a great master. I thank you for helping me remember the form and rhythm of this dance.”
His reply died on his lips as applause rang out. Gwen was on her feet next to Caerwyn. Bleddyn, Nesta, Rhian and Cadoc stood with them. The two guards who had been training earlier had also stayed to watch. The light haired one had his mouth open in either shock or awe. Cadoc stood next to him with an identical expression. Once he saw my gaze land on them, the guard bowed low to me.
Emlyn tucked his wooden weapons under his arm. I passed him mine. He stayed there, expectant, for a few beats longer than usual.
“You are more than you seem,” he said quietly. That little sliver of a smile crept onto his face and disappeared just as quickly. He spun to take the weapons back to the edge of the practice field.
Gwen slid her arm around me for a quick hug.
“You impressed more than a few people this morning,” she projected. I thought I detected a note of caution in her voice. “You are full of surprises, my love.”
“Lady Mair,” Lord Penllyn’s voice rang out. “You have not only protected our home and families, but you have brought a smile, even if it was just a small one, to my brother. Please tell me that you will stay here with us in Penllyn as long as you are able.”
“I already extended that invitation,” Rhian said as she leaned in to hug me. “She and Gwen are both welcome in our home as often as they desire.”
Lord Cadoc still wore his stunned expression. The guardsman next to him poked in him in the side with an elbow.
“Live by the sword, die by the sword,” the guard said. “You, milady, have probably sent many men to their graves. I’ve never seen anyone keep up with our Penteulu like you just did. I’m no slacker with a sword, and I couldn’t have lasted more than a moment against him when he fights like that.”
I laughed and gave him a slight bow.
“I’ve had years of training with a master of great skill,” I said. “Or I wouldn’t have been able to. You do have skill yourself, goodman. What is your name?”
"Afon, milady," he said and bowed again. This time his arm twisted outward with a grand flourish. Cadoc rolled his eyes at the antics of the guard and had to take a small step back to avoid being struck by Afon's arm.
“As long I don’t meet anyone of your skill before we meet again, I shall welcome your tales of battles over a mug of mead any time. Live by the sword…”
“We know, you say it all the time,” Gerallt interrupted him with a large grin. “One of these days someone is going to outclass you on the field. As you lay there, stabbed and hacked, bleeding out on the field, the entire battle will stop while every one of us yells ‘Die by the sword!’ at you.”
Cadoc and the others laughed. Afon chuckled with him at the jest, then gave me a nod of his head as he and Gerallt headed back down the hill.
“Milord Cadoc,” I said, to shift the attention off of me. “How is your wife this morn? Has she recovered from last night?”
“She is well, and should be herself today,” he said. “I wish that she could have risen earlier to see your performance. She always likes to watch sword drills. I’m sure she would have enjoyed it.”
“Perhaps,” I said, “when she watched you practice, it wasn’t the swordplay, but, the man with the sword she loved to watch.” He said nothing, and his cheeks turned bright red.
“My son, with women you will always be a step behind,” Rhian said as Gwen chuckled. “But know that she loves you.” Rhian gave him a quick hug.<
br />
Emlyn approached with the practice weapons tied together with cord into a bundle.
"Milords, Miladies," he said as bowed toward us. "I will retire the day." His gaze shifted toward me. I could see a spark behind them as he held my gaze. My passion reacted to his gaze. I could feel my cheeks warm again.
"Lady Mair…" he said. He kept his brown eyes on me for a beat. "You have honoured me with our dance today." I had the distinct impression there was more to be said, but he chose to hold it. Another nod of his head and he set off down the path back to the keep below.
“Oh dear,” Rhian said. “No one has ever matched him that well on the practice field. I fear you’ve awakened something in our Penteulu, Mair,” she said.
Fire brewed in me as well. I knew I had enough of Gwen’s blood in me to make my cheeks red. I felt her arm slide around me again.
“Mair is a gift of many talents,” Gwen said. “And I am glad The Holy Lady has brought her to us.” She gave me a little squeeze.
“You have found a solution to the problem of how you will feed, love. Do not let him get away.” Gwen sent to my mind.
“Is it that obvious?” I asked.
“That you two are two sides of the same soul,” Gwen suggested. "Anyone who saw you together on the field knows that you are meant to be together. Bed him, feed on him. Love him. The Lady has told me I must share you. After seeing you and him together with your swords, I understand why. Neither of you will be complete without the other."
3
Absolution
Gwen and I took our time walking down to the keep. Enid sat with the Cadoc in the main hall. Bleddyn and Caerwyn conversed with their top men near the hearth. Rhian's brother Heilyn, abbot, actually bishop of the see, was with them. His face lit up when he saw us. He rose and gave a short bow to the men around Bleddyn. Then our rotund abbot bustled his way through the great hall toward Gwen and me.
“Blessings and greetings to you both,” he beamed as he took our hands in his. The jovial abbot persona had returned, and I caught myself smiling in return. “My dear,” he said to me, “the lords over there tell me you are a wonder and bring more blessings to us, today. We are very fortunate that The Holy Mother has brought you to us.” The Holy Mother. That would take some getting used to. The Celtic Goddess Gwen served had been adopted by the Cymry version of the Roman Church. They viewed her as the mother of their saviour godling. Gwen, herself, also hid in plain sight by reinforcing the idea that she was a nun dedicated to the service of the saintly mother, instead of being the last Druidess in Britain, and a disciple of the Celtic goddess.
Heilyn took us by the arms, one on either side of him, and led us to a quiet corner away from everyone. Once we were seated, he raised his holy symbol to his lips, and then made the sign of the cross with it.
"Milady," he said lowering his voice to just above a whisper, "Lady Gwen has told me of your ordeal in the borderlands at the hands of that guild. Much of that land is under my authority. Do you wish to make an official charge against the guild?" He patted my hand which rested on my knee and added "Unless Rome becomes directly involved, we can keep you anonymous. I fear the guild, however, may attempt to bring in the Bishop of Rome."
“I would prefer not to draw that attention,” I said carefully.
“But you escaped, and those miscreants misrepresenting the Church are still out there.”
I glanced at Gwen, unsure of what she had told him.
“I told him only that you escaped, not how it occurred,” she sent her thoughts to me. Supposedly, my adoption by her goddess had opened a few benefits, like our mind to mind speaking.
I looked around to make sure that no one was close enough to overhear us.
"Fortunately, no, they are not." I bit my lip before continuing. How much did I want to share with him? "There was a third, a young man they had just recruited, who aided my escape." I looked down at my hands and surpassed a shudder at the memory of my demon controlling me, to kill Onion Breath and Hunchback. "I am sorry, but I had to kill the men. I sent their young apprentice home; I never knew his name."
The abbot nodded and raised his cross in the air before me making the sign of the cross again.
"I absolve you of any sin you have, my dear. Killing is never easy, nor the best, but you had cause, and another person to defend." He let his cross rest back on his ample belly. "Gwen said she nursed you back to health. Yet you were able to kill your attackers?" He motioned toward the yard outside. "I heard of your dance with Emlyn this morning. Those men were that good?"
I shook my head and smiled.
"No, your grace. I was that injured before the fight." I said. "If I ever locate that young man, I will do all that I can to reward him. He earned much more than just my respect."
“You have surprised us in so many other ways,” the jovial abbot persona had returned to his demeanour. “I am sure that you will uncover your anonymous compatriot before too much longer.”
He fumbled in his pouch for a moment, then brought up a cloth wrapped bundle. He held it out toward me with a smile.
“Since you gave up your holy symbol last night,” he said.
I had indeed done so. The Witch Hunters had been forced into admitting their real intentions. The wily abbot had used his authority to force the guild's Seeker, one of their highest officers, to acknowledge that the guild wanted to appropriate holy relics. Anything connected to a miracle. Things that glowed, and dispatched spirits like Lord Cadoc's sword.
I unfolded the cloth to reveal a finely carved cross of oak, as large as my palm.
“This is one of Brother Iolo’s best,” Abbot Heilyn said. “I had thought to present it to Lady Enid this morning as a gift from the abbey.”
“I could never take a gift meant for someone else,” I said and tried to push it back toward him.
"Tut tut, girl, there'll be none of that," he replied and closed my hands around the oak. His smile was infectious. "You sacrificed your symbol last night, so the Seeker would stop pressing to take the sword that Lady Enid had given to her husband." I had indeed done that.
The sword was a wedding gift, but one on which that Gwen had put the blessings of the goddess. The magic of the goddess made it glow and destroyed the spirits that had terrorised Caer Penllyn last night. Moreover, that made the Witch Hunters very interested in it. So I turned over a small cross, one that I doubted was magical. The magic I used to dispel the spectres had come from the goddess to me, and I shoved it into the cross. Giving it up seemed to be the best course to keep the Witch Hunters from taking a family gift from the groom.
“Brother Iolo loves to spend his time with his art, either carving or drawing,” the abbot added. “I shall ask that he make another one for my newest niece. Then you shall each have one of Iolo’s finest carvings.”
"Thank you for the gift, your grace," I said and returned his smile. The cross already had a leather cord attached, so I passed over my head.
"Blessings to you, my new dear friend," Abbot Heilyn said and took my hands to kiss them. He rose and bowed. "If you will excuse me, I feel a need to listen to the lords of the land for a while. Otherwise, they might decide to go to war somewhere and not tell me about it."
4
A Dream of Death
As the morning meal wound down, I made the pretence of yawning. Gwen raised an eyebrow at the gesture.
“Tired, dearest?” She asked.
“Actually, yes,” I replied over our mental link. “Perhaps the excitement of last night has caught up with me. Would the grove at the top of the hill be a safe spot for me?”
“Of course,” Gwen replied.
Gwen was correct, and the grove was both unoccupied and sheltered from the view from the fort below if we moved back toward where the land gave way to the open cliff.
“I’ll let you know once I’m awake,” I told her after a quick kiss. “What will you tell others, if they ask where I am?”
“Religious devotions, dearest,” Gwen said and
winked at me. “I’ll tell them that after last night’s ordeal, you felt the need to spend time in connection with The Holy Lady. Perhaps, she’ll steer your dreams again and give us more insight into what we face.”
Gwen was correct. Our goddess did want me to spend time with her.
Once I'm under the soil, I usually have no conscious thought. I'm dead. This time, however, I found myself aware as I floated in the dream mists again. Even though I couldn't see her, I felt the presence of the goddess beside me… all around me… I wasn't sure that I had much of a sense of direction while I was in the dream world. But, she was there. I could feel her love for me, and I sensed that she had sent a guide. A black raven flew with me as I travelled across the landscape.
We dove down and followed an animal of some sort. It was in a wooded area, and we stayed above the trees. Perhaps it was because of my connection to the goddess, but I could sense that it was a predator on the hunt. As it neared the edge of the forest, it paused. I sensed that it watched the land in front of it. A small roundhouse, with smoke that climbed slowly from the hole in the centre of its thatched roof. Swine roamed a fenced area. A young lad carried a wooden bucket and dumped the slop in a wooden trough for the pigs.
The predator moved away, deeper into the forest. We followed it for several moments, with the trees still between it and myself. Whatever the animal was, it was large. A bear perhaps? Was this the growling I had heard in my last dream? The one with the Gwyddbwyll board? A bear? Or something else. I tried to push my mind down, to follow it.
We sailed above the forest for a bit. A flash of furry movement below us. The raven led me on, paralleling the predator’s run. Once, the trees thinned. Nothing there.
