Shard

by Wayne Mee

  Nothing. Nothing. RED!!

  The crowd exploded! Hats flew into the air and stately maids and maidens, dressed in their finery, found themselves swept up into the air as excited males twirled them around!

  Then a hush descended as the swarthy Chin stepped up. Erin's lips moved silently. Thorn strained to see the blurred target impossibly far away. Timin stood with eyes closed and fingers crossed --- while Mithdar continued to lean on his staff.

  The deep, relaxing breath. The inner mantra centering his 'wa'. The swift, steady pull. The almost casual release --- and the black-shafted, eighteen-fisted arrow burst free like a loosed falcon. Just then a vagrant little breeze suddenly sighed through the treetops at the far end of the field. No-one noticed it except Kel and perhaps the old tinker. Up, up and up still more the arrow soared, until, lost in the golden rays of the morning, it vanished into the fiery eye of the sun.

  Time passed. Scores of eyes strained towards the far end of the field. Lungs held in air from hearts too spellbound to breathe, held it in till pain and dizziness made heads swim --- and still nothing.

  Then a flag --- a white one. A miss!

  The gathered crowd gasped like a giant suddenly freed from a stranglehold. Shouts and hoots of joy filled the air and once again the fairer sex were swirled about and hats were tossed. Silver coins, rings and other costly dainties were exchanged, and a host of would-be-winners began to converged on Erin.

  "Wait!", Flynnial's clear voice ran out as he held is bow above his head. "I would see this for myself, for something seems not right." He motioned for Kel to join him and the two archers started towards the distant target.

  As they strode down the field the crowd fell in behind them like an army of gaily dressed peacocks. The two tiny Kirkwean found themselves carried along with the tide, while Erin and Mithdar rode the swell at the rear.

  Thorn could make out the target clearly now; one lone, green arrow resting squarely in the red circle. Kel's black shaft was nowhere to be seen. Yet The Narthrond barely gave it a glance, but continued marching past the target to the very limit of the field.

  A quaint, tiny building lay nestled under a towering oak some twenty-five vels beyond the field. It was a replica of the Zorka's Great Hall, used by the children of the silv as a play-house. Indeed, Zoean herself had passed many a 'queenly-hour' there in the past, 'lording' it over her other Nim-Lothian playmates.

  Carved in the center of the round door was a red bull's face. The crowd looked on in awe at the long black shaft embedded deep in the painted bull's eye.

  Then the shouting began. Silver coins and golden rings once again changed hands. Through it all the Narthrond remained silent. Then, turning to Kel, he smiled and bowed. "It puzzled me that you aimed so high. Now I understand. It has been an honour to shoot against you, stranger." He grasped Kel's forearm in the universal gesture of warriors. "And now, to the victor go the spoils."

  ***

  Chapter 20:THE NORLABRIN

  It was nearly three handspans past noon. The fresh breeze that had sprung up just after the archery contest ended had long since blown away, leaving in its stead an uncommonly warm spring afternoon. The sixth swordmatch had just ended and both the crowd and the various contestants were taking a well deserved rest.

  Erin had won both his matches, the last one being against the tall, bear-like Cal Gwailith. Erin had met the towering, tawny-maned officer the night before at the local tavern. The two of them had struck up a fast friendship and, just before dawn, both had come rolling into the 'guest cottage' arm-in-arm and more than a little drunk. Despite this, and the fact that all contestants were using heavy wooden practice swords, their 'battle' had been a fierce one. Erin had bested Gwailith not so much with his skill as with his guile. Pinning the Cal's weapon to the ground with his foot, Erin had slammed the rim of his small shield into the side of Gwailith's head. This had drawn mixed reactions from the crowd, a frown from the bright-eyed Lady Zoean and a piercing glare from her brother, Prince or 'Zor' Arthdain.

  "He's a right cold one!", Timin said to Thorn as the golden haired 'Zor' strode back to the viewing stand.

  Mithdar smiled down at the frowning Kirkwean. "Arthdain has little love for strangers, Timin, but he is a just and fair leader, and will make a good Zorka whenever his father steps down."

  Timin muttered to himself and moved over towards Erin. Thorn was handing the tall mercenary a drink while Kel silently inspected Erin's armour, tightening straps and looking for weakened links.

  "Baa!", grumbled Erin, spitting out the water Thorn had given him. "I want a 'drink', not a 'bath'! T'is ale I'm needin', lad!" Erin tossed down his cracked wooden practice sword and pulled away as Kel tried to tighten a loose buckle. "Qwent's thatch! Will the lot o' ye ever leave go?!"

  As Kel shrugged and backed away, Erin moved suddenly closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Tell me, laddie, did you TRY to hit that bloody wooden bull in the eye or were you just quiffin' lucky?"

  Kel's eyebrow shot up, then a flicker of a smile cracked the edge of his cool manner. "Perhaps it is better, Shawma, that you never know."

  Erin frowned, uncomfortable whenever Kel addressed him using the Chin word for 'master'. "Well, want to or no, you hit the quiffer n' that be what counts!"

  Together the two men shared another mug of ale. Just then Mithdar arrived with a wide eyed young page in tow. The sometimes tinker eyed the two men sideways, then motioned for the lad to step forward. "I took the liberty of acquiring you a new shield and practice sword," the old man said; "since yours suffered rather badly during that last little set-to."

  Erin drained his second horn. "That's mighty decent o' ye, wizard. You couldn't 'zap-up' a cuttin' edge on this one now, could ye?"

  Mithdar shook his head and Erin took the weapon from the page. The boy was trembling so much at being close to the tall 'manling' that he almost dropped the new shield. Erin gave him a wink, then tossled the lad's corn colored hair. A quivering lip transformed into a beaming smile.

  "Be ye in truth a barbarian?", whispered the page.

  Erin turned and grinned down at the lad. "Some have called me that. Others have called me worse names. In truth I'm just a simple weapons man."

  The page moved closer, casting a quick look around. "Lord Gildar, the Norlabrin, tends to favor his right side. He had several ribs cracked last winter in a fight with the skulking Glamroth."

  Erin's wolf-grey eyes narrowed. " N' why be you tellin' me this, lad? A 'barbarian' might usin' such news to his own advantage."

  Again the boy glanced quickly around. "My sister's husband was in the Lake Warder's squad. Lord Gildar had him punished for leaving his post to go to her when she gave birth to their first child."

  "'Duty is duty', boy-o. Your brother-in-law should have known that."

  The lad's blue eyes turned cold. "For 'punishment' Lord Gildar sent him into the Tarn alone to spy on the Glamroth. 'Karns' ye outsiders name them. He never came back."

  Erin remained silent for some time, then sighed. "His right side ye say? I'll be rememberin' that, lad. My thanks, 'n be lookin' after your sister."

  The page bowed. "I will, lord." As he turned to leave, he spoke again. "And lord, I don't believe that ye are a barbarian ---or if ye are, then being one is not such a bad thing after all."

  ***

  The blaring of the horns hadn't yet died away before Gildar moved in to attack. In his shining scale mail and plumed helmet he looked like an avenging god come to 'smite the wicked'. And 'smite' he did! Erin managed to block his first three strokes, but the fourth was delivered with such force that the tall mercenary was driven back against the rope ring. Gildar, instead of pressing his sudden attack, backed off and leaned on his blunted sword, his cold eyes mocking through the twin slits of his faceguard.

  "Well, 'manling', have you no fine 'tricks' left for me? Or did that clumsy ox Gwailith so exhaust you that you've no strength left?" Gildar's voice dripped sarcasm. "This little bout could be 'put off' a bit if
needed". He made an exaggerated attempt to seem concerned. "Perhaps if you 'swilled more ale' you might find the courage to fight me?"

  Erin flexed his tightening muscles and went into a defensive crouch. Shield high and sword low, his eyes locked on his adversary. Over the long years as a mercenary he had found that braggarts like Gildar often became enraged when faced with stony silence. Erin gritted his teeth and began to circle left, forcing Gildar to guard his right.

  The next two rushes by the Norlabrin were more easily parried by the manling from Loamin, though Erin pressed only enough to make Gildar go into a defensive position of his own before he himself backed away.

  "What? No fire?", Gildar taunted. "No blood-curdling war-cry? Where is the infamous 'beserker rage' that all you barbarians are famous for?" He turned and shrugged at the spellbound crowd. "Perhaps it is all a sham; the 'terrible terror that is Man' is in truth only a hairy 'grubber in the dirt'."

  Erin's voice cut through the nervous laughter like an icy wind through a summer tunic. "N' perhaps the title o' 'Norlabrin' be as full o' shite as the one who now bares it."

  Gildar turned around and glared at Erin. "WHAT did you say?!"

  The answer came in an easy tone. "Faith, but you're a sorry excuse for a 'king's champion'. Be ye deaf as well as dumb?" Erin's eyes went the color of slate. "Now, be ye planin' to 'talk' me to death, or have ye somethin' a little more 'manly' in mind?"

  Gildar, caught up now in his own game, rushed at Erin with red rage in his eyes. This, of course, was precisely what Erin had been waiting for. Instead of backing away as he had previously done, the tall mercenary moved in to meet the other's charge. As a result Gildar slammed into Erin's outhrust shield, while at the same time blow after blow rained down all about him, not a few of which struck home against his half-healed ribs.

  Moments later, the battered Norlabrin found himself pressed up against the rope ring. While he panted and fought back the rising pain in his right side, he saw Erin back off and lean casually on his battered wooden sword. A few snickers came from the crowd and the betting doubled. Gildar's gaze shot to the raised viewing stand, seeking Zoean, but the dark haired beauty had eyes only for the tall barbarian. This, more than anything else, caused a black fury to wash over the Lake Warder.

  Twice more he raced forward, only to have his attack beaten back as though he were a child! And all the while the pain in his ribs coursed the length of his right side.

  On the third attack Gildar dropped his battered shield and used two hands to swing his blunted blade. Splinters flew. Then Erin cast aside his own buckler and met the attack with a two-handed counter attack of his own. So dazzling was his display that not only was Gildar forced to give ground, but the crowd involuntarily fell back as well!

  Now a shield is a life saver in more ways than one, and no self-respecting weapons man would venture forth into battle without one; but on the far distant isles of Loamin the combined beauty and daring of a two-handed attack was considered to be almost an art form. Men became living legends who could stride untouched through a host of opponents --- and Erin had been taught by the best. In his younger days, Conn ap Connell, Erin's foster-father, had been such a 'living legend', and he had passed on his knowledge to his wayward son.

  Gildar's usually smug expression faded into something akin to a startled child seeing his worst nightmares come suddenly to life. Eyes wide, his face the color of melted tallow, the Norlabrin of the Ithilian Silv, the Zorka's 'champion', knew that he had met both his match and perhaps even his death. It came in the form of a tall 'manling' barbarian who could weave a sword pattern about him like a spider weaves its web.

  As Erin's swirling blade blurred the air about him, Gildar felt his knees begin to buckle. As he knelt in the dirt before his liege lord, his heart turned to stone. Even the fact that the light of his life, Zoean Ithilian, saw his humiliation, could not reach him. Shame was replaced by a fierce pride as he awaited the final blow.

  When it failed to come he felt profoundly cheated. Rage once again welled up in his chest and he raised his head and howled at the deafening silence: "Kill me, 'manling'! Kill me now! For if you don't, I swear I'll make you curse the black day your sluttish mother ever gave you birth!!"

  In his rage Gildar failed to notice that Erin's splintered, jagged blade now rested not a hair's width from his throat. The crowd leaned closer to see the death that they now knew must come. Erin's lean face, upon hearing Gildar's foul curse, became suddenly distant and cold like the northern sea. Those closest to him would later swear that they saw a slight twitch take his left eye, but others would describe only the blurred movement as he reversed his grip and brought not the point but the heavy round pommel down on Gildar's upturned skull.

  ***

  Once again the horns blew and the herald stepped forth. "Hear ye, good lords and gentle ladies, hear ye the will of our liege lord, Agwain Og Agravain, Zorka of the Ithilian Silv. The games, having come to their conclusions, are declared over and won. Let the two winners now step forth and receive their just reward."

  "That's you two, lads", beamed Mithdar, prodding both Erin and Kel forward with his gnarled staff. "Off you go now, and mind your manners!"

  Erin and the silent Chin strode towards the raised viewing platform. The crowd parted to let them pass. The Royal Family Ithilian could be seen at the far end.

  "Why do I feel like we're walking into a bear's den?", Erin whispered to Kel.

  "Perhaps because we are," came the short reply. "Their 'champion' could have died from that tap you gave him."

  "The quiffer should na' o' spoke foul o' me mother!"

  Suddenly Erin found himself face to face with the Zorka and his smiling Queen, though in truth he only had eyes for the radiant beauty of Agwain's headstrong daughter, Zoean the Wild.

  The Zorka held the two strangers with a penetrating gaze of his own, then motioned for Mithdar to join him as translator. The old wizard bowed graciously to both Agwain and Lady Elandilmir, then stood off to one side.

  "My Lord Agwain wishes to commend both of you for your various, although somewhat surprising, victories. Never had he dreamt that , er, 'strangers' could be so formidable."

  Erin had caught most of what the Zorka had said, and 'strangers' was Mithdar's 'polite translation' of the word' Gorgio', which had several meanings, none of them over flattering.

  Pages brought forth the prizes. Two magnificent horses were led onto the field; a black mare and a white stallion. The black was presented to Kel, along with a small, compact bow of red yew-wood and horn. With this went an elaborately stitched quiver containing a score of swan feathered arrows. The Lady Elandilmir herself had done the delicate embroidery, and as she handed it to the Chin, Kel unexpectedly went down on one knee before the elegant queen.

  A surprised Mithdar translated Kel's courtly words: "In my distant homeland, great lady, a humble gift from one so fair as thee would be considered a thing of rare beauty; but to receive such a prize as this, made by your own hand, is a great honour indeed; one that I will cherish for the rest of my days."

  The queen's smile broadened at this, and she turned to the old wizard. "Be all your manling friends so well spoken, Mythdarian? If so, then my lord and husband is wise indeed to keep them from Gareth Withrin, for surely such silken words would turn many a younger maid's head!"

  Mithdar bowed low. "Mankind, my lady, being a younger race, has both the boldness and the charm of the young --- as well as all it's foolishness."

  Mithdar was about to continue when Kel unexpectedly cut him off. "I fear the lady queen misunderstands my meaning. Her gift shames me for I have nothing of equal value to give to her." While a slightly flustered Mithdar translated, Kel glanced over at the magnificent black mare. "Shawma Mithdar," Kel asked in the Trade Tongue; "be that animal truly mine?"

  Mithdar cocked his head sideways trying to gage the Chin's reasoning. "It is yours, freely given as part of the winning prize."

  Kel's stony face lit up in an decidedl
y uncharacteristic grin. "Then please tell the lady queen that I wish her to have it, as a token of the great honour she has done me."

  When Mithdar explained this to the Zorka and his wife, the Lady Elandilmir returned Kel's bow, while those standing nearby hurriedly passed on the news of this strange turn of events to those behind them. Mithdar translated her reply.

  "Your generosity is surpassed only by your skill, good Archer, but the black mare is yours by right of contest. I cannot accept such a costly gift, however gracious the offer." Zorkana Elandilmir's voice was like the tinkling of water into a forest pool, her green eyes as deep as the pool itself. Kel was reminded of his own mother's gentle voice, lost to him now forever. The Chin drew himself up to his full height, bowed and began to speak. Mithdar stood by his side to translate.

  "My friend from the distant land of Chin says that the mare is far too beautiful a gift for a humble archer, and that the quiver fashioned by your own hand, my lady, is all the treasure he need to remind him of the honour done him this day."

  The Queen smiled and shook her head. "Mythdarian, be so kind as to inform the stranger from distant Chin that I thank him for his noble offer, but that the horse may serve him in many ways; to carry him home again --- and perhaps even to help him return once again to Gareth Withrin."

  After Mithdar translated, Kel spoke quickly to the old mage, who seemed reluctant to convey the Chin's words. The queen noticed this and pressed the wizard. "My lady, my friend says that he has little need for a horse, since he can never return home. Something to do with 'family honour'. He also wishes to say that since the mare in question is his, he may do with it whatever he pleases, and that it 'pleases' him to give it to you."

  The Lady Elandimir's soft features reddened slightly. "How gallant of you, Master Kel," she said in hesitant Common. "In that case, we accept."

  Kel bowed deeply, his heart soaring. First the thrill of matching his skill with the Narthrond, and now receiving from the beautiful Nim-Lothian queen a gift made by her own hand. Never would he forget this day.