Sword of Neamha

by Stephen England

  I nodded, striving to preserve my temper. The time would come soon enough. I turned back to the girl. She was sitting in the dust of the street, cradling the torso of the young man the mercenary had decapitated, tears flowing down her face. Whether husband or brother or lover I could not tell. Her language was unknown to me.

  I took another look about the small village. Our men were out of control, looting and killing. I saw a man dash out of one of the houses, a loaf of bread in his hand. By the door he stopped, spotting a villager lying wounded nearby. He paused only to thrust a spear through the helpless man’s belly, dispatching him. Then he was gone.

  I reached down and grasped her shoulder. She fought against me as I tried to pull her to feet. “It’s not safe here,” I hissed, painfully aware she couldn’t understand me. I’m not sure I understood myself fully. What had I hoped to achieve by rescuing her?

  I bent down on one knee, sheathing my blood-drenched blade. Her eyes were a startling green, stained with teardrops. “I won’t hurt you,” I whispered gently, hoping something would get through. A glimmer of understanding flickered in her eyes and she slowly relinquished her hold on the body, allowing it to slump onto the hard-packed earth.

  It was as we made our way down the street that I spied Tancogiestla. Afoot now, he staggered away from us sword in hand. He was singing wildly and swaying from side to side. Somewhere, gods help us, somewhere—he had gotten hold of wine. My heart sank within me and I looked back at the girl I had rescued. She didn’t know it, but we were now all in worse trouble than we had ever been before. Tancogeistla was drunk again.

  Chapter V: Consequences

  The slaughter continued until nightfall and after darkness descended upon the small village I could hear the screams of the village women. I didn’t even want to imagine what was happening to them.

  The young woman lay huddled in the corner of the hut we had taken refuge in, curled upon her cloak. She wasn’t asleep.

  Who would be?

  I crouched there by the door all night, my sword clenched in my fist. Once or twice I heard footsteps approach, but no one entered. No one tried to harm us. I must have dozed off in the wee hours of the morning, for I awoke to hear her scream.

  For a moment, I thought someone had slipped by my guard and I sprung to my feet, ready to go to her aid. My bloodshot eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and I could see more clearly. We were alone.

  She was sitting bolt upright, her body shaking uncontrollably. Muffled sobs escaped her lips. A nightmare. Clearly reliving some of the moments of the previous day. I sheathed my sword and went over to her, gently wrapping my arms around her thin form. She didn’t react to my presence at first, but I could feel her body slowly relax.

  “Shhh…” I whispered, speaking gently, soothingly, as I would have to a little child. It didn’t matter that I had no idea how to speak her language. Some things are universal.

  When next I awoke, the sun was shining through the door of the small hut. Motioning to the girl to stay where she was, I left the hut. Viewed in the light of morning, the devastation was even more terrible. Flies were beginning to gather on the corpses strewn everywhere. The villagers had been massacred.

  I found Tancogeistla and the brihetin on the edge of town, gathering the rest of the troops from their looting. Tancogeistla was still clearly under the influence of his drink and was cursing the troops as they staggered into formation.

  Cavarillos was standing on the edge of the group, arms folded across his brawny chest. He smiled at my approach, his mercurial temperament once again asserting itself.

  “Sleep well?” There was something suggestive in his tones. I shook my head, knowing what he meant.

  “Where is she?”

  “In the village,” I replied. “I am going back for her.”

  “Why not leave her here?” he asked, clearly baiting me. I didn’t like the look in his eye, the way he glanced over at Tancogeistla.

  “You left no one else alive,” I shot back angrily. “There is nothing left for her here.”

  “That’s not entirely true,” he retorted, amusement in his tones. He was always amused whenever I showed anger. “We left a few of the women alive, but—I’m afraid they didn’t last the night.”

  I turned away, sickened by his humor. “You had better hurry,” he instructed, still laughing. “One of the village men agreed to show us the way north. We will be moving soon.”

  I went back to the hut where I had spent the night and collected the few things that belonged to me. The young woman I had rescued sat motionless in the corner of the hut, her knees tucked up under her chin, eyes staring straight ahead. She didn’t even seem to notice my movements.

  There was no way I could leave her here. It wouldn’t be safe. I wasn’t sure taking her with me would be much safer, but I was beginning to feel a strange attachment to her, despite her aloofness, despite the barrier of her alien tongue.

  Gradually, by use of signs, I managed to make her understand that we were departing, that I wanted her to go with me.

  We picked our way through the ruins of her village, past the distended corpses of those that had been her friends and family members. I didn’t wonder at her distance from me. I had saved her life, that much was true—but everything she had ever known had been destroyed by my people.

  The noble warriors of the Aedui.

  I spat bitterly into the dust. There was nothing noble about this, any more than the fight at Ictis. Slaughter. Massacre. We had been in the position of might, and we had never even stopped to question the justice of our deeds.

  The two of us caught up with the column just as it was marching out. I spotted several of the men leering at the girl as we hurried past them to where Cavarillos was marching. Clearly Tancogeistla was not the only one drunk on this morning.

  Our guide, as Cavarillos had sarcastically termed the prisoner, was mounted on a horse up with the brihetin. Maybe he knew the way, maybe he was just trying to save his own life. An atmosphere of butchery is a strange one in which to accurately judge a man’s motives.

  We marched for several hours, each step carrying us farther into country covered with rolling meadows of tall grass bordered by dense woods. The girl kept pace at my side, her face stoic. Each step carrying her farther from what she had known as her home…

  Milk-white clouds drifted lazily across the sky, sunshine peeking between them. There was a slight chill in the air, but we hadn’t yet seen snow. And it was quiet. Almost too quiet, the silence broken only by the step of marching feet. And Tancogeistla’s drunken singing.

  All at once the girl plucked at my arm. I turned suddenly, having almost forgotten that she was there. She was gesturing wildly, apparently trying make me understand something. A stream of unintelligible words came rushing from her mouth. I grasped her by both shoulders and tried to settle her down. Cavarillos had fallen out of column beside me.

  “If she does not keep up, you will have to kill her,” he stated coldly. “We cannot leave her to give word of our presence to the Dumnones. And we can’t slow down the march just so you can have the pleasure of her company, Cadwalador.”

  I turned, angry, but the words died on my lips. I looked forward to Tancogeistla and the brihetin, saw the prisoner suddenly jerk his bridle from the grasp of one of the nobles, digging his heels into the side of his mount. The horse leaped forward, carrying him away from his captors with a single bound. It was a signal. Men emerged from the woods on our left, from the tall grass on our right.

  The girl had been trying to warn me, something she had seen, something she had known. Cavarillos let out an angry curse, seeing the same thing I had seen. The battle standards of the Dumnones.

  Our pursuers had caught up with us.

  “What now?” I asked. Even with my recent mistrust of Cavarillos, he was a veteran. I would follow his advice. In this.

  He snorted, calling to his fellow mercenaries. “Now, Cadwalador, we do what we should have done in the beginnin
g at Ictis. We run.” He sensed my hesitation and struck me angrily, shouting, “Leave the wench and run, brother! Now!”

  I ignored him, reaching out as she took my hand. I had risked my life for her already. What was once more?

  Our enemy was closing in on us from three sides. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Tancogeistla charge into the midst of the Dumnones, leading the brihetin in a display of foolhardy bravery. I didn’t stay to watch the results, I had too many problems of my own to worry about. The path Cavarillos had taken was the only left to me. I took my javelins in my hand, leading her toward the gap.

  Several of the Dumnones rushed towards me in an attempt to cut us off. I let go of her hand, drawing back the javelin until it was well back of my head, balanced in my hand.

  Now! The shaft flew from my hand, flying straight as an arrow. It caught the enemy spearman in the left thigh, sinking deep into his flesh and twisting. He screamed in pain and went down. My second javelin found a resting place in the belly of his comrade. There was one more.

  My shield was still strapped to my back. I had no time to remove it, but instead jerked my longsword from its scabbard with a quick motion, confronting the warrior. He feinted toward me with his spear, drawing blood before I could knock the shaft away. He countered my blow with his shield, nearly trapping my blade as it bit deep into the wood.

  He hit me a glancing blow with the edge of his shield, taking me off-balance. His spear gouged a path along my ribs and I went down to the ground, hard, losing my grip on the sword.

  I saw the same look in his eyes I had seen at Ictis. That look of triumph the moment before a kill. I rolled over on the ground, reaching for my lost sword, knowing in my heart I could never reach it in time.

  I heard a scream at that moment, a woman’s high-pitched scream resounding loud above the sounds of death all around me. My fingers closed around the hilt of the longsword and I looked back towards my antagonist.

  He was holding his shield up to protect his face and as I looked beyond him, I saw the reason why. The girl stood not five feet from us, holding one of my javelins in her hand. She had screamed to get his attention.

  The weapon looked strangely out of place in her small hands, but I didn’t stop to think about it. I rolled to my feet, the blade in my hand. He heard me coming, started to turn…

  I didn’t give him a chance. All was fair now. It was a fight for survival. My blade sank into his side between his second and third ribs, driving into his body up to the hilt. He screamed, life leaving him as he crumpled into the tall grass.

  I wiped the bloody blade on my trousers, motioning for the girl to join me. There was no time to thank her for saving my life. The Dumnones were closing in on all sides.

  All around me our men were fleeing. Men once so brave in the slaughter of the villagers, now fleeing like rabbits. The brihetin had been massacred, pinned in after Tancogeistla’s reckless, drunken charge.

  We were defeated, not by our enemy solely, but by our own general. Wine was a mocker. And perhaps Cavarillos was right…

  We ran for hours. It was becoming a way of life for me. Once I would have considered it shameful. The dead feel no shame.

  The girl hurried along at my side, still carrying my javelins. Something had changed between us, something I couldn’t place my finger on. She seemed less distant than she had been, as though the struggle had brought us closer to one another somehow. I was grateful to her for saving my life, but I knew no way of expressing my gratitude.

  Night fell, and with it came the chill of the coming season. Ogrosan. Once, I would have prayed the gods that we reach our kinsmen before we were hindered by snows, but I had long ago lost faith in their power to save. The heavens were silent, deaf to our pleas.

  I paused to strip off my cloak and give it to the girl, draping it over her shoulders to ward off the cold. She looked up at me in the darkness and whispered a word in her native tongue. It sounded like thanks, but I had no way of knowing. I smiled at her and pushed onward.

  A chill breeze rustled through the trees surrounding us, raising gooseflesh on my bare chest. I forced myself to ignore it, as I had in the days of my boyhood, when I had bathed naked in the icy mountain streams of my homeland. It had been meant to harden me. Perhaps it had succeeded.

  Ahead of us, I spotted the light of a small fire, flickering up from the mouth of a cave in the hillside. Something told me the Dumnones would not bother making such a small fire. Something told me that our men should not be so careless.

  That left one option: Tancogeistla. I moved ahead of the girl, drawing my sword as a precaution.

  The general lay with his back against a smooth rock, with several of the brihetin attending to him. I had no idea how many of Tancogeistla’s bodyguards had survived. Not enough.

  One of them glimpsed our movement in the darkness and called out. “Who goes there?”

  “Cadwalador, son of the Wolf,” I replied, advancing into the small circle of firelight, my hands empty. “From the army of Tancogeistla am I come.”

  The noble attending Tancogeistla rose to greet me. “Another sword is always welcome,” he said, clasping me by the shoulders. “Only seven of us survived.”

  “None of you will be alive much longer if you keep that fire burning,” I replied bluntly, surprising myself with my own boldness. “The girl and I were guided to you by its light.”

  I glanced behind me to see her coming into the light, advancing haltingly, as though unsure of herself. There was a haunted look in those beautiful green eyes, the same look I had seen in the wild deer, penned in by hunters.

  I reached out to her, took her hand. She was trembling. The men surrounding us were the same men who had ordered the destruction of her village. I could understand her fright.

  The noble held my gaze for a moment, then nodded. “We thought only of the health of the general. I did not realize.”

  “How is he?” I asked, aware that Tancogeistla was asleep.

  “In no condition for the journey he must make,” was the blunt reply. “His old wounds are bleeding again from his exertions and his shoulder was laid open to the bone. We were trying to keep him warm.”

  He turned away from me and quickly barked an order to the other brihetin, who immediately began to extinguish the fire, sending sparks flying into the night sky as they stamped at the flames with their feet.

  I glanced around into the darkness. Seven men. Tancogeistla. Myself and the girl. Little enough. Danger lurked in the night, danger these men of the nobility knew not of. They thought only of the enemy army, the Dumnones.

  But I knew. Another, a greater danger, was out there somewhere. Cavarillos…

  One of the brihetin took the first watch of the night. I was to follow him, to stay on the alert for any enemies that might approach. I lay down by the smoldering embers of the fire, using the hilt of my sword to scrape out small hollows in the hard ground for my shoulderblades. That was another thing Cavarillos had taught me, in the days of our friendship.

  I did the same thing for the girl and she stretched out beside me, rolled up in my cloak to keep warm.

  I glanced over at her in the darkness, making out her slim silhouette only a few feet away. Stars twinkled through the canopy of trees overhead and she was gazing straight up at them. Stars which had shone down upon her people and mine for hundreds of years. Even for millennia.

  I had a sudden yearning to know her name, a feeling, as though I would never have the opportunity to ask again. I rolled over on my back, longing to know how to ask her. The barrier seemed impenetrable.

  “Cadwalador?” Her soft voice startled me from my reverie. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. I glanced over to her to make sure.

  She was propped up on one elbow, gazing earnestly into my face. A faint smile crossed her face as she pronounced my name again, hesitatingly, as though unsure of herself. She had a beautiful smile.

  I nodded, tapping my finger against my chest, still afraid I was dreaming. Sh
e smiled again and a flood of words came rushing from her mouth. Nothing I could understand. But I had to know.

  I pointed toward her. “What?” I asked, hoping my meaning would get through, that I could break the barrier that separated us. That I would at least know her name.

  “Inyae,” she whispered, smiling once more into my face. “Inyae…”

  I reached over, clasping her small hand in mine and smiling at her through the darkness. It was enough, for now.

  I rolled over on my back and went to sleep, two faces drifting through my mind as I slipped off. The smiling face of a beautiful, green-eyed maiden and the red-bearded countenance of a warrior. Two names: Inyae, and Cavarillos…

  I awoke during the night, something, a noise, a movement in the darkness that surrounded us. Something that didn’t belong. Voices.

  I raised up on one elbow, reaching out to where my javelins lay not a foot away. They were my weapons, fitting my hands far more easily than the still unfamiliar sword. The voices were coming closer, floating through the night. I recognized the voice of the brihetin who was to precede me on the watch. And another…

  Cavarillos.

  The sound of his voice struck a chill through my heart. I knew why he was here, why he had come. One reason and one reason only. Tancogeistla…

  The nobles trusted him, they had no idea of his planned treachery. He would have no trouble. I rolled to one knee, gathering my weapons quickly, buckling the sword-belt around my waist.

  Inyae stirred, throwing back the cloak which covered her. There was a strange look in her eyes, bewilderment not unmixed with fear. I placed my finger against her lips, motioning for her to remain where she was. I could only pray she would obey.

  “You are welcome here,” I heard the brihetin say. “We can use every good sword-arm. There’s not many of us.”

  “How many of you survived?” I heard Cavarillos ask. A necessary question.