Daughter of the Windswept Hills

by A. S. Warwick

  A shout came just as she vaulted the parapets of the wall onto the battlements and her sword flashed into her hand. A guard, finally alerted to the attack, rushed to intercept her, lunging with his spear as he neared. She brushed it aside and cleaved at him with her sword. It bit through his leather armour and he fell backwards, blood pouring from his wound. His scream split the night and somewhere in the city a dog started barking. Others of the Aedring made the top of the wall, and rushed into the gatehouse over the river which housed the mechanisms to raise the river gates. Fianna stood her ground as more guards came at her, trying to prevent a catastrophe from occurring. Shouts and the clash of weapons came from within the gatehouse, only for a brief while, and then the gates began to slowly grind up.

  Weapons thrust and swung as Fianna engaged the guards, a wild mood upon her. In the dull of night, she had the advantage, for she was much more accustomed to it than the men of the city who lived in the light even during the evening hours. One man she neatly ran through, before ramming her forehead into the face of a second as she sought to free her blade from the first. She kicked his body clear of the blade, sending him crashing back into another, knocking him to the ground. Her sword flashed again and the man dazed from the blow to his face fell, his head half severed from his neck.

  One of the Aedring lifted a horn to his lips and blasted out a long signal into the night, while elsewhere warning horns sounded from the defenders, calling out to the defenders of the city.

  "Hold the gate!" Fianna yelled as an arrow flickered from out of the night to punch into the shoulder of a hillsmen near by to her. The man grunted, took a hold of the shaft and snapped it off. The small band of Aedring took up position before the gatehouse, defending the opening they had made as out beyond the city came wild shouts as the gathered hosts of hillsmen surged forwards.

  A clatter of horse hooves marked the arrival of more men. Below, Fianna could see a band of Hashalite mercenaries and her heart leapt at their arrival, for here was a foe worthy of battle. The Hashalites dismounted, strapping small shields to their arms and drawing their curved swords. Each group knew that this was the crucial fight for the fate of the city, for if the Hashalites emerged victorious, then they could close the gates, barring the way to the Aedring assault, but if they lost then the city was lost with it.

  Men screamed as they charged up the stairs to the top of the wall, led by a tall Hashalite with a forked blue-black beard and a face like a hawk, wielding a two-handed tulwar. One of the Aedring leapt to engage him. Blades clashed and sparks flew and then the hillsman fell back, his guard breached. The Hashalite stepped over the body and threw himself at the rest of the Aedring, while behind him the rest of his men crested the steps onto the wall, and there, beneath the night's sky, two races of men derided as barbarians by the civilised of the cities fought for the outcome of one of those cities.

  Fianna pushed herself towards the tall Hashalite warrior, her sword parrying aside a strike from another man. She shoved him aside as she barged through, and he fell prey to a thrusting spear as he lost his footing. The Hashalite flashed a toothy smile as he saw her approach and raised his blade towards her.

  "Come swordmaiden," said he in an accent so thick that she could barely make the words out, "Let us dance this night."

  Fianna leapt full into the fray, unafeared, and their sword clashed together. The Hashalite had both the reach and strength over her, but she had the wild blood of the Aedring roaring through her heart, and the speed and cunning of a hunting cat. Time and again their blades met and rang, neither able to breach the defences of the other. All around them Hashalites and Aedring fought and died in bloody contest for control of the river gates.

  Fianna hammered a strike in low, one driven by iron resolve and muscle, a blow which the Hashalite turned aside with his tulwar, sweeping it into a reverse aimed for her head. Narrowly did Fianna duck under it, hearing the scream of the blade as it whispered above her.

  The sounds of the shouting rush of Aedring grew closer yet, and the blare of horns more strident. The fighting became more desperate as the Hashalites threw themselves upon the remaining Aedring upon the wall with desperate fervour. The tall Hashalite forced Fianna slowly backwards with a series of ripping blows, utilising his extra reach. All Fianna could do was block and parry, keeping the tulwar from her flesh. Her steady retreat led her up against the battlements of the wall, her back forced against it and there she stopped. No further options of retreat were available to her. The beast stirred within her, that part of her Aedring heritage that stared death defiantly in the face and spat in its eye. Like a wild, cornered animal she snarled and launched herself at the Hashalite in an unexpected move, hoping to get inside his reach, to take the fight to him and not give into despair, or surrender to it like many civilised men would do when faced with such odds. When at last she reached her end, it would be with sword in hand and defiance on her lips, as a true Aedring.

  The Hashalite stood his ground and their two blades met and locked together. Both strained to push the other back, their muscles cording and veins straining. Over the locked blades they stared at the other, hard faced and steely eyes, neither budging an inch.

  Between tight clenched teeth, Fianna hissed, "The way is barred. The gates will remain open. The city will fall."

  A sardonic grin flittered across the strained faced of the Hashalite warrior. "I told them that it was folly to raid the hills. I warned them of what they would unleash and they would not listen."

  "Then why do you stay here and defend this place?" Fianna asked, a moment of confusion showing in her eyes.

  "Madness, honour. Who knows? Here I am, and here I stay."

  "Then here you shall die."

  "We all of us die," he responded with the fatalism bred into the desertmen of Hashala, a fatalism not unlike that of the Aedring, "But if it is to be so, then I shall die here of my own choosing. How can man die better? But that fate has not yet been decided."

  With a great effort, he heaved against Fianna, forcing her back a step. As she went, her defences slipped, leaving her open and vulnerable. As the tulwar flashed down, she desperately tried to get her sword into position, yet she could see that it would not happen in time.

  Yet before the tulwar could bury itself in her flesh, a blur darted before her and an Aedring took her place. He swung a hand axe, slamming it into the side of the Hashalite, though in return the tulwar clove into him, tearing through his collarbone deep into his chest. The Hashalite said not a word as he staggered away a few steps, a calm acceptance on his face before he fell over. His blood seeped from his beneath his body, to drip from the top of the wall. The Aedring warrior crashed down at Fianna's feet, the tulwar lodged deep into his body.

  "Aifgar!"

  The cry was torn from Fianna's throat as she looked upon the pale face of her betrothed, one wrought with pain as a deep pool of dark blood spread out around him.

  As she knelt down at his side, mindless of the blood, the Aedring crashed into the city, flowing through the open river gate or scaling the ropes left behind from the initial assault, spilling over the walls. She was still there when Hraega found her and the fallen Aifgar.

  "We need to do something for him," Fianna pleaded.

  "There is nothing we can do," Hraega told her gravely, resting a hand on her shoulder. "You know that."

  Aifgar's mouth moved as he strained to talk, pain etched on his face. "I go now, my Peregrine, content. I die as an Aedring should. I will await your coming, but not any time soon. Fly free, my Peregrine, and live long." Then his eyes fell closed and he was gone.

  * * * * *

  11 – Daughter of the Aedring

  The city burned. With the fall of the river gate, the Aedring flooded through the city, looting and pillaging as they went. The residents had fled, left unharmed by the Aedring hillsmen, but searched for any valuables they might have tried to carry off with them. Among those feeli
ng had been the sheik, Mashraf, attempting to hide amongst them, disguised as a woman. Even so, the Aedring had found him and captured him, binding his limbs with thick cords. As the city fell, the Hashalites who remained, fighting in different parts of the city, offered their arms to the Aedring.

  "They fought bravely," Fianna told Hraega when they were brought before him. "They had no need to stay, nor were they involved in the raids on our lands, and yet they stayed. Their leader was a true man of honour."

  "Release them," Hraega ordered. "Return to them their arms and harness and mounts. See to it they have their pay and food and let them go."

  The captain of the mercenaries, a tall Hashalite who appeared much alike to the man Fianna had fought on the wall, bowed to Hraega. "We will not forget this, great chief, and the men of Hashala always honour their debts."

  The sheik was another matter. He fell at Hraega's feet with much wailing and gnashing of teeth.

  "Silence, cur," Hraega snapped at him. "You are no man, if you behave thus. Your crimes speak for themselves. There is only one fate for that."

  There and then they held him down and Hraega himself struck the sheik's head from his body, the parts tossed away as common garbage.

  Last of all Hraega turned to Fianna. "The city has been taken. The day has now come."

  "I know grandfather. I walk now into exile."

  "Do not do anything rash, my child," Hraega told her, his words soft so only she could hear them. "This day has been especially heavy for you, but in five years you will return to us. You will be one of us again. Where now will you go to in your exile?"

  "I have thought long of that," Fianna replied, lifting her head high, "And I will not journey with one of the other clans. No, I shall walk among the lowlanders, and when I return, I shall bring their wealth back with me."

  "Never forget who you are," Hraega told her, "A daughter of Aedring, born among the windswept hills."

  "I will not."

  Hraega produced a broadsword and shield, and a shirt of leather and mail. "You are a swordmaiden of the Aedring, battle-tested and honoured," he said, presenting them to her. "Take these and use them well on your journeys."

  * * * * *

  12 - Peregrine

  The remaining Hashalite mercenaries were preparing to depart when Fianna approached them. Their captain wheeled his horse about as she neared, looking down at her with eyes a touch narrowed and thoughtful.

  "Some of my men spoke of you," he said. "They say you fought my brother, Radhar."

  "If it was he at the river gate, then it was so," Fianna told him.

  "You are also not the one who slew him, they say, else there would be a feud between us."

  "We both suffered loss there," Fianna said, her face locked tight, "For the man who slew him, and was likewise slain by him, was my betrothed."

  The Hashalite let out a sigh and touched a hand to his heart. "Then we are both the poorer for it, but the heavens enriched. What brings you to us?"

  "I am an exile from my people. You are men of honour and I would join you."

  A crooked smile touched the Hashalite's face. "An unusual proposal," said he, "But we are depleted in number, and a strong swordarm is always welcome. We ride for distant Qaiqala, for there is always work to be had there for mercenaries such as us. Tell me, by what name are you known?"

  Aifgar's last words came to her as she answered. "Peregrine," she said. "My name is Peregrine."

  The End

  The Deeds of Peregrine and Blade continues in The Red Blade, wherein we first met the boy who will become Blade..

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