Age of Iron

by Angus Watson

  “There’s no time for sass, Spring. Zadar’s here. Get out now. Get in the water. Swim to the reeds and stay there until I come to get you. If I don’t, you’re on your own.”

  Spring looked at Lowa. “He wants me to swim to the reeds.”

  “Do it. Hide among them and stay there. If it gets too cold, climb a tree.”

  “Climb a tree? I’m not a squirrel.”

  Lowa bent her bow on the floor and slipped the rawhide loop into place. “Now, Spring.”

  Spring shrugged and skipped out of the hut.

  Bow strung, Lowa followed, Dug on her heels. They were joined by Ragnall, who’d collected King Vole’s sword. Screams, shouts and the sound of iron striking iron came from the other side of Mearhold, interrupted by a splash as Spring jumped into the water.

  Back at the central fire there were dead bodies all around. Some were attackers, most were Mearholders. Drustan was lying motionless. King Vole was standing over him, brandishing a carving knife and a heavy oak ladle at a swordsman. the king lashed out and stumbled. The attacker swung a killing blow at the king, but before it struck, he flew backwards, chest spitted on Lowa’s arrow.

  She drew and loosed twice more. Two more attackers were flung back like flicked woodlice. The advance guard was dealt with. Lowa caught King Vole’s eye, waggled her bow at him and winked.

  The rest of the invaders were advancing in a steady line across the island, large rectangular shields held at a tilt above their heads. She tried an arrow. It glanced off a shield. Shit. Too many, and they knew what they were doing. She’d recognised the two that she’d already killed from the Fifty. If the rest of the Fifty were here, goodbye, Mearhold.

  As she watched, a clutch of Mearholders dashed from between grain stores and attacked the line. Spears flashed out between shields like tongues from a row of lizards and the Mearholders fell. The invaders advanced. She gripped her bow in frustration. Drustan was sitting holding his head, Ragnall tending to him. Dug was heading towards the advancing enemy line, hammer in his hands.

  “Dug!” she shouted.

  The big man turned. “Aye?”

  “Stop. Too many. We have to run.”

  “I was hoping someone was going to say that. Come on then.”

  “You and Ragnall take Drustan. Back to our huts, then into the water, find Spring and hide in the reeds. I’ll cover with the bow. King Vole, go with them.”

  “I will not.” the king turned to Ragnall. “My sword, please.”

  Ragnall looked at Lowa. She nodded. Ragnall handed over the sword.

  “Find me in the Otherworld. I’ll be a king again by the time you get there. That bow of yours might be useful in my Otherworld army, Lowa.” King Vole raised his sword and ran towards the invaders. “For Mearhold!”

  Dug nodded his respect to the king and tossed his hammer to Ragnall, who almost fell under the weight. He heaved Drustan over a shoulder and turned for the huts, then stopped and swung round again.

  “Lowa, can you swim?”

  “Get them to the reeds. I’ll join you there.”

  He held her gaze.

  “I can swim,” she said.

  “Aye, all right.”

  He jogged off, Drustan bouncing on his shoulder.

  “I’ll bring up the rear with you.” Ragnall brandished the hammer, but only just.

  There was a long scream and an angry yell, much closer.

  “No. Go. Protect Drustan and Dug. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Ragnall went. Lowa followed, walking backwards, turning one way then the other, arrow nocked, scanning for any more attackers who’d crept ahead of the main group. Screams of rage and pain and metallic clangs rang from the east of the island. She heard King Vole shout “For Mearhold!” again and saw him throw a burning log onto the wall of shields. A gap opened and he was through, sword swinging. The gap closed, the shield wall came on.

  She was just about to turn and run when she felt a shift in the surface of the island behind her. She dropped into a crouch. A sword swished in an arc where her neck had been an instant before. She launched backwards into a spinning jump and powered the end of her stout bow into the face of the swordsman. He staggered away, blood streaming, jaw hanging by a hinge. Another was coming at her, sword raised. She nocked, drew and loosed. It was only a quarter draw, but the arrow sliced through his soft stomach and crunched into a vertebra. He gasped a short breath like a man waking from a nightmare, dropped his sword and fell.

  A woman with a spear was on her before she could reach back to her quiver. Lowa parried with her bow. She recognised this one from the elite cavalry. Tillyanna. She’d been a farm girl near Maidun. One of Zadar’s riders had noticed her speed and agility while she was playing with her friends and trained her to be a Warrior. Lowa had sparred with her a couple of times. She’d liked her.

  Tillyanna jabbed with her spear again. Lowa batted it away with her bow, two-handed.

  “Tillyanna, what’s this about?”

  “What’s what about?”

  “What do you think? Your hairstyle? This attack.”

  “I don’t know. I never know. I just do what I’m told. Like you used to.”

  “These people have done nothing to Maidun.”

  “Right. And the hundreds of people you killed for Zadar were all guilty of horrible crimes?”

  “Pfft. OK. Keep coming and I’ll kill you. Before I do, do you know why Zadar killed Aithne and my archers?”

  “I don’t know. Nobody seems to. But everyone’s pretty sure it was your fault.” Tillyanna jabbed the spear again. Lowa flicked it away and whipped her bow tip onto Tillyanna’s bicep. The young Warrior screwed her eyes up in pain.

  “Why no armour?” said Lowa, stepping back.

  “We swam across.”

  “But the weapons?”

  “On wooden floats buoyed by inflated bladders.”

  “The shields…”

  “Floats became shields. Felix’s idea. He knew that your bow would be the only real danger here. Doesn’t work so well up close though, does it?”

  Tillyanna edged forward. Lowa took two steps back and found the hard clay of an island path under her feet. Tillyanna was still on the unstable straw and wood.

  “I don’t want to kill you, Tillyanna.”

  “That suits me.” Tillyanna thrust, much faster than before. She’d been holding back. But so had Lowa. She swung the bow underarm, knocking the spear clear and throwing Tillyanna off balance. Lowa reached back to her quiver, grabbed an arrow, lunged forward and rammed it into Tillyanna’s eye.

  She eased the dead woman to the ground, pressed her bow against her forehead and pulled at the arrow. The bodkin tip was lodged in the inside of her skull and needed some wiggling.

  She heard someone clapping behind her.

  “Good. Very good,” said a mocking, Iberian voice.

  Chamanca.

  Lowa twisted the shaft and felt something give inside Tillyanna’s head. She pulled the arrow out in a gush of gore and whipped round. Chamanca caught her wrist and darted in with her head. Lowa turned and the headbutt whacked into her cheek. She wrenched at her trapped wrist, but Chamanca’s grip was too strong. Chamanca grinned her spike-toothed grin and squeezed. Lowa fingers opened and the arrow dropped. She swung the bow. Chamanca’s spare hand shot up in a blur and grabbed her other wrist. Lowa was caught. Chamanca pulled her head back to butt her again. Lowa twisted, but not far enough. The Iberian’s forehead crunched into her face. Sparks burst behind her eyes. The next butt smashed into her nose and the world heaved in sickening circles. She felt her bow being twisted from her hand. She was spun around. Something crashed into her back and she fell. She lay, face forward on the reed floor, brain whirling. She choked cider-flavoured vomit into her mouth and swallowed it. This was not good. She had to ignore her spinning head and act quickly or it would be over.

  She flipped around onto her back and swung her legs over her head in a retreating backward somersault. Her opponent read h
er. As she came up, Chamanca grabbed her by the hair and drove a knee into the side of her head. Lowa collapsed onto her back.

  Dug stood on the soggy edge of the man-made island and lowered Drustan into the water, hands under his armpits.

  The cold water shocked the old man into consciousness. “Stop. Pull me out.”

  “There’s no time for arsing about.”

  “Pull me out. Now.”

  Dug did as he was bid. The old man sat. Ragnall gripped his shoulder.

  “Drustan, we have to go now.”

  “You do. I don’t.”

  “They’ll kill you.”

  “They will not kill a druid.”

  “These are Zadar’s troops. They’ll kill anyone.”

  “Not a druid.”

  “Dug?” said Ragnall.

  The sounds of battle were getting closer. There was no sign of Lowa. Ragnall was staring at him imploringly. “You’re not meant to kill druids,” agreed Dug, but he doubted that Zadar’s lot cared much for not meant to.

  “Go on.” Drustan’s voice was weak. “If I am submerged in that cold water my lung disease will recur and this time I will die. Moreover a decrepit old man will hamper your chances of escape. In summation, leave me here and I will probably be fine. Take me with you and I will definitely die and you probably will too. So go.”

  “Sounds like impeccable reasoning to me. Come on, Ragnall. And give me that hammer.”

  Ragnall looked at his tutor.

  “Go, Ragnall. You know I am not lying. They will not kill me. I will catch up with you.”

  Ragnall nodded.

  Drustan smiled weakly. “Take this purse. You will need it more than me.”

  Ragnall handed the hammer to Dug and took the purse from Drustan. “But what about Lowa?”

  The two men looked back across the island. Still no sign of her.

  “She can look after herself. Come on.” Dug lowered himself in and waded off towards the darkness.

  Ragnall looked down at his tutor.

  “Go. I will be fine. As will Lowa.”

  The young man followed Dug into the water.

  Lowa shook her head and propped herself up on shaky elbows. Chamanca stood over her, holding her longbow, one eyebrow raised in disdain. Her sleek black hair was scraped back into a ponytail and she was clad in leather shorts and chest armour that had troubled a cow for even less of its pelt than her usual skimpy garb. The fires glowed orangely off her tanned skin. She bent the bow easily, one-handed against the clay ground, to unstring it. She seemed to hum with energy and strength, ready for anything. Lowa felt exhausted and weak, with nothing to offer.

  “Lowa. Little Lo-wa. I’ve looked forward to this since we met.” Chamanca grinned and moved her hips from side to side in a supple, sultry dance. Lowa didn’t know if she had the strength to even stand.

  “Hello, Chamanca.” Lowa managed a small smile. “Still dressing like a blind whore, I see.”

  Chamanca stroked a hand over her stomach and onto her chest. “If you looked this good, you’d dress like this too.”

  Lowa touched her nose and felt wetness. Chamanca watched her. Lowa’s mind raced. The Iberian would be on her before she could do anything. Maybe if she could goad her into a rage …

  “I’ve always thought it’s like polishing a turd,” she said, feeling about on the ground for something to throw, “when someone as ugly as you spends so much time worrying about—”

  Chamanca flicked the end of the bow into Lowa’s temple. Multicoloured lights danced and convulsed in her eyes.

  “You’re not going to sweet-talk your way out of this one. I’ve always been better than you, Lowa. Much better. Only your bow made you Zadar’s favourite.”

  Chamanca strode around her, tapping Lowa’s bow into her palm. Lowa groaned and leaned her head back as if fainting, then darted a hand at Chamanca’s ankle. The bow came down on her knuckles and a bolt of agony shot up Lowa’s arm. Chamanca laughed.

  “A new feeling for you, I think, defeat?”

  Lowa shrugged. “There’s always a bigger fish.”

  “Yes, there is. Now close your eyes.”

  Lowa kept her eyes open. Chamanca unhitched her mace from her belt and dangled the small but heavy iron ball on the end of its chain as if taunting a child. Before Lowa saw what she was doing, there was a whoosh of air. Chamanca had swung the mace, missing her face by a finger’s breadth. Lowa jerked her head back involuntarily, knowing it would have been too late if Chamanca had meant to hit her.

  “Close your eyes and keep them closed, or it ends now.”

  Lowa closed her eyes. She felt the knitted reed ground shift as Chamanca walked around her. Something gripped her hair and pulled.

  “Up, onto your knees. Keep your eyes shut.”

  Lowa did as she was told and climbed up into a kneel, half-pulled by her hair. The hand let go. Lowa kept her eyes shut, boiling with desperation and utterly out of ideas.

  Chamanca was in front of her again. “Push your hands into the back of your belt. Good, that’s it. Bit further. Good. Now keep them there. I see them move, you die. Got it?” Lowa nodded. “Good girl.”

  Lowa felt the end of her bow tickle her face.

  “Now, keep your hands where they are and open your eyes.”

  Lowa blinked. Chamanca was three paces away, one knee on the ground, one pointing towards Lowa. She took the bow in both hands and pressed it across her thigh. “Remove the bow, and what do you have? Just a girl. A weak little girl.”

  Chamanca pushed the thick yew stave down onto her leg. The muscles in her chest, shoulders and arms swelled and stiffened.

  The bow snapped. Rage exploded and Lowa sprang without thinking. Chamanca fell back. Lowa was above her, then the air was driven from her lungs as Chamanca’s feet smashed into her chest and threw her up and over.

  She thudded down with a choked gasp, flat on her back. By the time she breathed in, Chamanca was astride her, pinning her arms with strong legs. Lowa tried to pull free, but the Iberian’s thighs were immovable. She bucked, then lifted a leg to hook a foot around Chamanca’s neck. Chamanca leaned forward, crushing Lowa’s breasts painfully, and easily avoided her thrashing limb.

  “Your bow is gone. What are you?” she whispered, shifting downwards along Lowa’s body, gripping her arms with her vice-like hands, trapping legs with legs, then lowering her face as if to kiss her. Lowa turned her head. Chamanca licked her neck and cheek with a long, slow lap, then pressed the tip of her tongue into her ear and rotated it slowly. Lowa shivered. Lips brushing her ear, the Iberian whispered, “You taste good, but you are nothing. With no bow, you are a little girl. Not even a girl. You are a shrimp. I am going to eat you like I eat a shrimp. I’m going to bite your head off first.”

  Lowa bucked and strained, but she was powerless. She wasn’t scared of death, but she refused to be killed by this idiot. Especially after the tongue in her ear and that bullshit shrimp spiel.

  She felt Chamanca’s head move away from her ear. She tucked her chin into her chest, but a hand gripped her hair and pulled her head back, exposing her throat. She felt another long lick, then warm wet lips on her neck. She tensed, pulling sinews tight, trying to turn her neck into iron. She felt sharpness bite.

  They were still a good way from the reeds when Spring shouted, “Dug! Is that you? I’m over here!”

  “Shhhh!” said Dug.

  “What?” Spring shouted.

  They found her at the entrance to one of the channels through the reeds and stopped there, watching the island. It was a little too deep for Spring to stand, so Dug crouched in the water with the girl balanced on one knee and his hammer on the other. They could see people running along the paths out to the western marshes. Others were swimming from the island, but none in their direction. They couldn’t see the line of attackers, but they could hear the screams that heralded its advance, and the sky was increasingly orange as more huts were set alight. There was no sign of Lowa.

  “We
should go and look for her,” whispered Ragnall.

  “Aye,” said Dug. “You’d think that, but there’s no point. She’ll be fine. She’ll always be fine. We go back and we’ll die.”

  “We can’t leave her!”

  “We stay here. Every tribe’s got a story about a man who jumps into a swollen river to rescue his dog, right?”

  “I’ve heard that a few times, but—”

  “What always happens?”

  “The man drowns.”

  “Aye, always. And the dog?”

  “The dog lives.”

  “Aye. Every time. We’ve got the same thing here.”

  “I suppose.”

  “So hold tight. Lowa will be here any moment.”

  “I’m not convinced,” said Spring.

  “Shush.”

  “And I’m going to tell Lowa that you called her a dog.”

  Lowa closed her eyes. She felt Chamanca’s teeth pop through the skin on her neck. So this was it. Killed on a stupid floating island by fucking Chamanca of all people.

  The bite released. The weight came off her chest as Chamanca stood, clutching at her neck.

  “That’s right. Over here, my love, bit this way. Up you get, Lowa!” It was Maggot, beams of firelight glancing off his jewellery. He was at one end of a two-pace-long iron pole. The leather noose at the other end was tight around Chamanca’s neck. Lowa recognised it as a dog- or bear-training pole. Ideally, you needed two of them and two of you to fully control a raging animal, but Maggot seemed to be managing. The feral Iberian was ducking and twisting like a hooked shark, but Maggot followed her movements and kept her at pole’s length as easily as a master dancer leading a novice.

  “Let me go!” Her face bulged.

  Maggot flicked his wrists and spun Chamanca off her feet to lie face down on the clay path, iron pole pressing into her neck. She bucked. “Carry on like that and you’ll choke yourself. You can see stars, right? That means you’re about to pass out.” Maggot winked at Lowa. “You’d best go.”

  “In a moment.” Lowa took an arrow from her quiver.

  “You had better kill me.” Chamanca twisted her head round. Her eyes were like a snake’s, pulsing up at Lowa with cold hatred. “If you don’t, I will find you and I will crush you.” Her fingers grappled ineffectively at the leather noose.