“I always am,” the faerie warrior replied. But she shifted her grip on the reins so that she had better access to her spears.
Elhonna stood easily in her chariot, beautiful and regal in the morning light. The Pen Bardd and Dershal, Prince of Duvnecht occupied the other two, each with a driver that Cricket did not recognize. “Well, Cricket, we meet again,” she said.
“Each time is worse than the last,” he said.
Glancing at his silver hands, she said, “You seem to have recovered nicely.”
“I have friends.”
“So you do.” Elhonna turned her attention to Mannath and said, “Lord Dyfed, why do you pursue this course of folly?”
“I must defend what I know is right,” he answered. “You have proven yourself a tyrant and a traitor, and therefore I will fight you with all that I have.”
“You are building your own cairn.”
“Perhaps. But I have fought for everything that I have ever loved, and I don’t intend to change now.” He looked at the Prince of Duvnecht. “I thought you were interested in seeing a wrong righted.”
“I chose to honor my oaths.”
“And your loyalty to the queen takes precedence over your loyalty to Glencairck? It seems a bit backward to me.”
Dershal drew breath to answer, but the queen cut him off with a glance. “All of this is very interesting,” she said, “But I don’t believe that I know the third member of your party.”
“I don’t know why not,” Kai said. “You destroyed my dun and drove my people to Dyfed for no other reason than because Cricket was born on my lands.”
“The chieftain of Dun Aillel? And this is your champion, Lord Dyfed?”
“He has proven himself worthy,” Mannath said.
“In that case, why not have the champions battle?”
“For the entire war?” Cricket asked.
“Of course.”
“And if Kai wins, you will abdicate?”
“Yes.” Elhonna smiled wickedly. “But if Dershal wins, I get to finish what I started doing to you a fortnight ago.”
“My lady,” Cricket said, “Your confidence, though admirable, is a bit unfounded.”
“We shall see.”
The two parties pulled back to their lines and informed the armies of what had happened. On the Dyfedian side, Brigit gave Kai several last minute instructions as Fergal, his driver, finished checking the horses.
“Don’t forget to jump clear if your chariot so much as falters,” she said.
“I know,” he replied, tightening his shield on his arm.
“And when you cast a spear, put your whole body into it.”
“I will.” He pulled her close and kissed her soundly, then jumped in his chariot. Fergal whipped the horses into action before Brigit could recover.
As he drove to the middle of the field, the faerie woman spluttered, “Well I never—” Her eyes narrowed, even as she grinned. “I’ll get him for that.”
Kai shifted his grip on his spear as his chariot thundered to meet Dershal’s. He felt calm, although his heart raced with adrenaline. He watched his opponent, noting how he held his spear, how he talked to his driver, everything.
“Fergal,” he said, “When I cast my first spear, make as tight a turn as you can. I want to be back on top of him before he can recover.”
“Aye, chieftain,” the driver said.
Kai lifted his spear to his shoulder. “Make it a right hand turn, in towards him.”
“Aye, chieftain.”
The chariots sped closer together, and both warriors released their first cast within seconds of each other. Dershal’s spear clattered harmlessly off of Kai’s shield, but Kai had judged his throw just right: it glanced off of the prince’s shield and hit his driver.
The horses faltered without a guiding hand. “Turn!” Kai shouted. “Tighter!”
Fergal pulled on the reins, leaning into the turn, fighting the forces that threatened to pull the chariot over. Dershal had gained control of his own vehicle, and managed to start a turn as Kai came up on him. The chieftain cast one more spear, more as a distraction then anything, and then leapt from one chariot to the other.
Dershal, stunned by the maneuver, had just enough presence of mind to fling up his arm. Kai grabbed and flipped both of them onto the ground. They rolled apart, and regained their feet, drawing swords and circling each other.
Having learned caution, Dershal feinted several times to draw his opponent out. Kai made a few sloppy moves, and a few clumsy swipes, and Dershal’s confidence increased with every misstep. The swords they used, long and heavy, had both men perspiring within moments.
Dershal slashed for the legs, and Kai hopped over it. He slashed for the head, forcing Kai to duck. Each blow drove the chieftain backwards, and made the prince smile.
Back on the hill, Cricket said, “What is he doing? He’s better than that.”
Brigit smiled fiercely. “He’s showing me how good he is, and giving that cocky lordling just enough rope to hang himself. Every attack is wearing him out, while Kai is conserving energy. Be careful you dolt!” she called suddenly.
“What was it?” Mannath asked. “I missed it.”
“He took a nick on the shoulder. Lucky he didn’t lose the whole damn arm.” She scowled, and called out, “Enough already!”
Kai cocked his head at her cry, and at Dershal’s next lunge, he did not step back as the prince expected. Instead, the chieftain stepped in and aimed an upper cut at Dershal’s chin with his free hand. The blow connected, driving the Duvnecht warrior back.
The tide turned. Dershal, suddenly on the defensive, found himself without any reserve energy to call on, while Kai rained blows on top of him. He bled from dozens of cuts, and one last attack left him weaponless and down on one knee.
“Mercy,” the Prince of Duvnecht croaked.
“I’m sorry, my lord,” Kai said. “But the terms were to the death.” He let his sword fall once more, and lifted Dershal’s head high for both armies to see.
The Dyfedians cheered, and Cricket started to relax, but he saw the crows again, thicker than before. He shook his head to clear his sight, and heard Brigit called out, “Kai! Behind you! Treachery!”
The chieftain, only seeing the change in her face, turned around to find Elhonna’s chariots bearing down on him.
Chapter 30: Chords
“Hee-iah!” Brigit yelled, and Cricket almost lost his balance as the chariot shot forward. Widening his stance and bending his knees as the faerie woman had taught him, he began to play, a rapid sword dance that stirred the powers of war.
Arrows and slung stones whistled overhead. In the middle of the field, Fergal pulled up beside the Kai; and the chieftain stepped aboard calmly, selecting a spear and waiting for the first of the enemy to reach him. Looking more like a scholar than a warrior, he lined up his cast, and released it with a vigorous twist of his torso. His target, who wore the colors of the queen, went down with a cry. Kai let go two more spears, each finding an enemy, before the armies slammed together.
With Brigit driving, Cricket found himself in the middle of the chaos, and his stomach turned at the destruction around him; the battle quickly disintegrated into confusion, with men hacking away at each other, some from chariot, some from horseback, and some from where they lay bleeding on the ground. He saw the eyes, friendly or filled with hate, all dimming into death. And then he became almost numb, playing to survive, and trying to ignore the death screams all around.
Cricket’s song gave courage to those around him. The Dyfedians rallied around his chariot, guarding him even as he strengthened them. He could see Kai cutting a swath of destruction, and Mannath, solid as an oak, advancing slowly forward. Elhonna commanded her chariot like a fiery goddess out of a poet’s dream, and Ewan kept close beside her, his fingers strong and sure on his harp. Cricket caught glimpses of others he knew, both friend and foe. He tried to find Asael, but the red-headed fiddler was lost among the chaos.
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The battle line shifted back and forth, but the Dyfedian army took more steps forward and the queen’s army took more back. Cricket began to hope for a speedy resolution; then the fire began to rain down.
Spears and sheets of it, incinerating friend and foe alike, arced from the queen’s bivouac. Black smoke rolled across the field, making everyone cough. “Bael fire,” Brigit hissed. The Dyfedians began to fall back. “Who’s doing it?” she yelled.
“It looks like Fairlin,” Cricket answered, trying not to be sick from the smell of burning flesh.
Brigit’s eyes narrowed. “She goes too far.” She dispatched an enemy soldier almost instinctively, craning her neck to see beyond the battle line. “Can you see her?”
“Only with my second sight,” Cricket said. “She seems to be shifting in and out of the pale. I think she’s dodging spears.”
“Oh she is, is she?” Brigit pulled the horses up sharply, making them sit back on their heels. “She should know better than to battle magically when I’m around.” She shaped a spear from the air, a spear that hummed and bucked in her hand.
“What is that?” Cricket asked. He could feel the heat radiating from it, and a space cleared suddenly around their chariot.
“The Rinnlugh.” The cords on her neck stood out, as she struggled to retain control of the spear. “Where is she?”
“Just left of that flag,” Cricket said, pointing.
“The green and gold one?”
“Yes.”
“Good enough.” Lifting the Rinnlugh over her head, she released it.
The spear hung in the air for a moment, quivering. Then it shot away with a thunderclap, distorting air and light into waves of shimmering color.
Kerns and charioteers dove out of the way. Fairlin saw it coming and stepped back into faerie, but the Rinnlugh did not even slow, cutting through the pale and catching her in the chest. Her scream made the entire battle field pause, echoing among the worlds. Her crumpled body, still transfixed by the trembling spear, was thrown back into Glencairck, and then both spear and corpse faded from sight.
In the sudden silence, Ewan cried, “For the queen!” Both sides stirred at the sound, and returned to killing each other with increased vigor.
The Pen Bardd and the ollam with him tried their best to break through the magical shields that the Dyfedian bards had erected. Cricket kept his song going strong, and used magic to spread the sound of it to the others, seeing their faces light up and their playing become more sure. Ewan scowled and began a new song.
The magic slammed into Cricket like a fist, but his shields held. “Are you okay?” Brigit yelled above the din.
“Bardic magic,” Cricket explained, even as he began weaving the sub-harmonies tighter.
“Can I help?”
Cricket almost told her to start killing bards, but he decided against it; so far, the bards on both sides had been mostly left alone, and he did not want to encourage anyone to break the law that held their lives sacrosanct.
On the left flank, Cricket felt a weakening, and then he heard Arcath scream. He sent his perceptions out, and saw the harper just before Ewan’s magic consumed him. A blue flame had engulfed him, and warriors scattered away from the writhing inferno. Cricket could not save him, and he felt something die inside as well, realizing that Ewan had broken one of the bards oldest rules.
The queen’s ollam seemed shocked as well. They turned towards their leader, whose face had twisted beyond anything human. Foam flecked his cheeks, and just as the other bards began to try and contain him, he created a song that sapped their will and forced them to turn back toward the Dyfedian line.
Cricket could feel the queen behind the Pen Bardd, and knew that her magic had supplemented his. He spread his own shield to cover more of the bards fighting with him, but not before two more had died. The magic, thick around him, felt oddly familiar, as though someone was calling his name.
The battle slowed, and both sides began breaking apart to let the bards have room to fight. Emerain and Serca, feeling Cricket protecting them, turned their songs towards him, and gave him the extra strength he needed to continue. He also felt Brigit’s arm around his shoulder, supporting him upright.
The sound of wings filled the air, and Cricket felt the ravens alight on his shoulders. His sight shifted again, and he saw another battle taking place in the same valley, with bards on each side. He suddenly remembered the history of the Second Bardic War, and how Cathbar had conquered the bards as well as the nation. He saw the ghost of the ancient evil standing within Ewan. “She’s going to kill us all,” he cried.
“What? What do you see?” Brigit asked.
“She’s dragging the past into this! That’s why she wanted to fight here!” Working instinctively, he sent his new found knowledge to the rest of the bards, who looked at him in amazement. He could here them all talking in his head.
“Quiet!” he ordered. “The queen is siphoning Cathbar’s power through the Pen Bardd,” he explained. Terror and disbelief clamored at him. “I know, I know! But Glyn Rhosyn was the seat of his power, and she’s found a way to use it somehow.”
Emerain’s voice cut through the rest. “How can we help you?”
Cricket almost sobbed in relief. “I was afraid to ask. I need all of you to just play, but don’t be surprised by what I do, because I’m going to use your sub-harmonies.” And I hope it works, he added in the part of his mind that they couldn’t hear.
The music almost overwhelmed him at first, and it took all of his concentration to weave together the various tunes. Elhonna spurred her army to engage Mannath’s, and the death cries added another music. Cricket saw the sky turn red, and the ground black, as the spirit crows gorged. In the distance, he could see Morrigu, laughing and dancing on the ridge beyond. Other gods ringed the valley, some without names, watching as the children of men destroyed each other; some rejoiced, but many watched with sorrow. And all were beyond Cricket’s power to compel.
Ewan finished enslaving the ollam, and renewed his magical attack, using pointed thrusts of magic to try and break through Cricket’s shield. Cricket used all of his power just to keep the evil out, but he felt some of the weaker bards dropping from exhaustion. Ewan crowed in triumph as one barb leaked through and touched Emerain, stopping the ollave’s heart.
Cricket felt his shield falter, and sorrow threatened to overwhelm him. His head hurt, and he didn’t know what to do. The ravens had no ideas, and the ghost of Cathbar leered at him whether his eyes were open or closed.
“He’s weakening!” Serca shouted. Cricket looked up to see the queen’s bards falling, drained of color. Elhonna saw it, too, and began shouting and waving her arms. Ewan/Cathbar listened to what she was saying, and then smiled in triumph.
Cricket heard the tune change, and giggled in spite of himself before he could release the other bards and draw his shields around himself. He watched the battlefield collapse in merriment as the Chord of Laughter spread through the air. Ewan drooled and gibbered, trying to hold on to the magic that Cathbar and the queen were forcing him to use. Behind his own magic, Cricket almost pitied him.
Then Cricket looked around at the kerns and charioteers around him; Kai and Mannath tried to shout orders, but could barely get out a word. Further on, he saw a fian still trying to swing his sword, despite his guffaws. Cricket also saw a young woman trying to hold a wound closed while blood spurted between her fingers with every laugh. He thought of his own daughters, and his song began to change.
The Chord of Sorrow rippled forth, turning tears of laughter into genuine tears. Kerns who had been fighting fell into each others arms, and the last few duels stopped. Cricket tuned his song to loss and loved ones. Brigit fell to her knees, but he would not stop; he wanted every last warrior to feel as sad as he did. The wailing of the armies echoed between the hills.
Ewan, already stretched beyond his strength, snapped under the strain. He swung his harp like a club, braining his driver, and the horses
panicked, bucking and rearing. Ewan fell out of the chariot and rolled to his knees. Elhonna, the only other person not crying, tried to regain her control of him, but as she approached, he snapped at her like a dog. Swinging his harp at anything that came near, he loped over the hills and out of sight. The ghost of Cathbar bowed low in Cricket’s direction, and disappeared as well.
Elhonna turned back to face Cricket. He could see the rage in her eyes. Her hair stood on end like a bonfire, and he could see blood seeping from her fists, where her fingernails had cut into her palms. She lifted her arms, and the land erupted.
The first shock threw Cricket out of the chariot, and he lost hold of Brenlyn. A pillar of rock shot up just beside him, grazing his side. He scrambled for his harp, the earth heaving underneath him. Kai appeared, scooping up Brenlyn and thrusting the instrument into Cricket’s hands.
“Stop her,” the chieftain pleaded. “You’re our only hope.”
“I don’t know how to fight this!” Cricket cried. “She’s using Glencairck’s own magic against itself!”
“Just play!” the chieftain said. “You’ll figure it out!”
Cricket put his finger’s to the strings, not sure of anything. From the first notes, he could feel the land, tormented and dying. He saw under the soil, where solid rock was starting to split. He tuned the melody to a soft lullaby, trying to soothe the ravaged earth.
The area immediately around him subsided into mere trembling, allowing him to gather his scattered wits. He let his song spread outward, but it wasn’t enough. He saw the three queens standing in the air, weeping. He tried to gain their attention, but they could not hear him. Kai had fallen again, and the dead and living alike were tossed about. Even the ghost crows rose in a cloud to await the outcome.
“Enough,” Cricket said. “Elhonna, that’s enough!”
He did not know if she heard him, and he didn’t care. He took the lullaby he had written for Gerralt, and began feeding power into it. He stripped sub-harmonies from the hills and the sky, from the cries of the crows and the wails of the warriors. He amplified the song beyond the hearing of men, but the number of faces that lifted to the call surprised him. He let the power build like a wall of air, like a wave, and then he let it loose.
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