Bridge of Swords

by Duncan Lay

  11

  The plan to pull all Elfarans back to Dokuzen, behind the magical barrier, was a delicate and careful operation, requiring plenty of planning and even more diplomacy. There were many of us who did not want to hide behind a barrier. They had lived and worked with the Velsh for many years and were confident their friends and neighbours would not harm them. They did not want to go back to Dokuzen, especially those who knew its meaning. My forefathers had named it — apparently it meant ‘self-righteous’ in the old tongue of Nippon. It was an apt name for such a complacent and self-obsessed nation as we were.

  Getting all the Elfarans out of human lands required plenty of work from the Magic-weavers. They had to transport Border Patrol, as well as guards loyal to me, out to far-flung reaches of Vales, then bring everyone back.

  That was the idea anyway.

  But when most of the forces loyal to me were spread thin and wide across Vales, the Magic-weavers unleashed their plot to destroy me and rule Dokuzen.

  Getting the village together was a challenge for Huw and Rhiannon, and it was only the respect the villagers had for Huw’s father, Earwen, that brought almost all of them out the next morning.

  But they were hardly receptive to Huw’s suggestions. He had to bellow to make himself heard and there was plenty of muttering at the sides and back.

  ‘The raiders that came here and killed my father and five others are just the first of many! King Ward of Forland wants to add Vales to his kingdom. He wants to terrorise us, to raid and rape, burn and kill, until we beg to be put under his protection — and live under his cruel laws and pay his taxes.’

  That had the expected effect — they were listening but it was out of fear, not hope.

  ‘But we can stop him!’

  Huw ignored the ironic laughter and shaking of heads.

  ‘I have here a friend — Sendatsu of Dokuzen. Yes, Dokuzen, the elven homeland. Sendatsu is an elf and he can show us how to protect ourselves. He is the hero we have all hoped for! Not only will we be safe from the raiders but you and your children won’t have to bend the knee to an evil king!’

  Rhiannon applauded loudly but there were just a few scattered hand-claps from the doubtful villagers. Huw gestured to Sendatsu and the elf nervously stepped forwards. He had washed and cleaned his clothes in the chilly stream next to the village — but now he was drenched in nervous sweat.

  He surveyed the sea of villagers staring at him; most of them looked unfriendly, a handful were bored and quite a few were either talking to their partners or trying to chase unruly children.

  ‘Er,’ Sendatsu tried to begin, then had to clear his throat. Panic was gripping him.

  ‘First thing you need to do is build a palisade around the village …’ he began.

  ‘What’s that?’ someone called.

  ‘A big fence, you clod!’ another yelled back.

  ‘And how will we build it? Who will pay for it? Who will work our fields if we work on it? We talked about it and nothing got done!’ Glyn stepped out of the crowd to address the people.

  ‘You have to work together,’ Sendatsu tried.

  ‘Why should we listen to an elf? What do they care about us?’ Glyn shouted.

  ‘Why doesn’t he do it with magic?’ a man up the back offered, to general enthusiasm.

  ‘No, we must do this ourselves — not with magic!’ Huw shouted.

  ‘Well, why should we listen to someone who spends all their time making up poems about autumn leaves then?’ Glyn warmed to the subject.

  ‘Because I was the one who killed the raiders who struck here, and because I was the one who saved the women they took with them!’ Sendatsu roared back, anger swamping his doubt and fear.

  He glared out across the village and suddenly realised he had their full attention.

  ‘Come forwards, the women I rescued!’ he barked. ‘Delia, Maegen and her friends!’

  There was some shuffling among the crowd and then four women pushed forwards, or were urged forwards, all of them holding young children either in their arms or by the hand, until they were in a line. All four were wearing black hoods and three of their children were snivelling at the fuss being made. Sendatsu could see they were looking at him without any warmth and he hoped they were not going to start complaining again.

  ‘Look at them! They are your friends and relatives and they are only here because I took them from the bastards who attacked you. I killed every last man that rode into your village. Just one warrior. Me!’ Sendatsu found himself boasting.

  ‘Only half,’ Delia called.

  Sendatsu saw her staring coldly at him.

  ‘Half?’ he asked.

  ‘Half of them rode off somewhere. You only killed half.’

  Sendatsu was thrown for a moment, while Huw felt a surge of anger. Half of them still lived? Was his father’s killer among them?

  ‘I killed half of them by myself.’ Sendatsu recovered himself. ‘While the rest of you did nothing.’

  ‘And then after you killed them? What do you say about then?’ Delia challenged.

  Sendatsu had taken enough of this. Either they would listen to him, or not.

  ‘I am sorry you don’t understand the way magic works. But I swear to you now that I do not have the power to bring back the dead. No elf does! But these women are alive because of me. They are back with their children because of me. Now, if anyone here thinks they could have done that, let them step forwards.’

  He looked wildly around, but could find not one. Even Glyn was silent, standing just behind the widows in black.

  ‘Our time is wasting! Now, you need to work on the wall — unless you know something about magic, Aroaril or why the elves left …’

  Huw stepped in front of him. ‘Maybe leave that until they are working. Best not to confuse people,’ he suggested, then turned back to the village.

  ‘Those raiders, or ones like it, will be back. We have to make our village safe. We cannot live in fear. We have an elf to help us, something no other village has. Are we going to listen to him, get his help and ensure the children can grow up without losing any more fathers?’ he said passionately, looking around at the many familiar faces.

  While many of them had mocked Huw behind his back — some even to his face — they had all respected Earwen and were all mourning the loss of friends and family in the last attack.

  ‘Aye, we are,’ Glyn spoke for the village’s mood.

  ‘Then we need to begin right away. There is no time to lose,’ Huw called.

  Slowly, but not reluctantly, the villagers began organising themselves.

  ‘You were so inspiring,’ Rhiannon whispered to Sendatsu. ‘We all trust in you!’

  Sendatsu had been looking around at the young faces of the village children, imagining he saw his own two among them; Huw’s line about children growing up without their father had struck deep. Watching the Velsh playing with their children made him ache. He had to tell himself not to get too attached to these humans, nor forget why he was here. It was not to save the Velsh, it was to save himself.

  ‘Where is the young bard, Hugh?’ Hector demanded.

  The village headman at Browns Brook looked baffled. ‘I do not know who you mean,’ he protested.

  ‘Don’t lie to me! If you are hiding him, I shall personally have the skin off your back — and take what remains to King Ward!’ Hector snarled.

  His journey south to Browns Brook had been swift, fuelled by his anger and need for vengeance. How could the stupid bitch have been so foolish? Hadn’t he told her often enough men were not to be trusted, they only wanted one thing from her? She had nearly ruined everything and he knew he would have to work extra hard with her on the return journey, if he was to win back favour with the king.

  He had destroyed his first chance at power and glory. After winning the king’s coin, he had been sure fame and fortune were his. But it had gone to his head and he had used his position of favour to entertain the court ladies, in more ways th
an one. He had carved a swath through them, wooing, bedding and then moving on, leaving behind broken hearts. It had all gone to plan until he seduced the younger daughter of a minor noble, who happened to be one of Ward’s former war captains. He had been about to leave when the little cow had got herself pregnant and ruined everything. Her father gave him a choice — marry his daughter and leave the king’s service to live with her in a small village, where the family’s shame could be hidden, or face him over blades. The noble might have been nearly forty but Hector knew he stood no chance of beating the ex-warrior. He had to take the first option, as well as a large bag of gold to ensure they could at least live comfortably. The only concession he won was the promise he could return the following year.

  Only he had caught that infection, which ruined his voice and killed his new wife, although leaving the baby girl alive. So there he was, with plenty of gold to live on thanks to his dead wife’s family, but no voice and no future. Until he had seen the possibilities in the little girl, and vowed to restore his fortune …

  Now, thanks to the idiot girl and the bard, it was all in jeopardy. He could not wait to be revenged upon the little bastard. He found himself dreaming up ever-more fanciful ways of making him scream on the long journey back to Cridianton. And it would be a long journey, for their horses were exhausted. But it would give the king’s anger time to cool down, and Hector more time to work his revenge on Hugh. If he could just find the man!

  ‘I am not lying,’ the headman insisted. ‘There has been nobody called Hugh in this village for two generations!’

  ‘Then he must have used a false name. A young bard who went to Cridianton to perform for the king. You must know him.’

  The headman looked into Hector’s burning eyes and shuddered. ‘Only one person from Browns Brook went to Cridianton — a juggler called Bertwald, who returned after being flogged for insulting the king with his lack of talent.’

  ‘Well, where is he?’ Hector demanded.

  Bertwald was found, although he was less than keen to come and talk to armed guards wearing the king’s livery.

  ‘Tell me the truth, or the last flogging you had will seem like a hug from your sweetheart,’ Hector threatened.

  ‘What do you want to know?’

  ‘There was a bard at the king’s auditions, a man named Hugh, who claimed he was from Browns Brook. Did you know him?’

  He could see the fear on Bertwald’s face. ‘There were no bards from the village — I was the only one who went there — it is the truth, sir, I beg you!’

  Hector signalled to his guards.

  ‘Give him twenty lashes, see if that helps his memory,’ he ordered.

  ‘Wait! I’m telling the truth!’ Bertwald wailed.

  ‘Then tell me more! A man does not just pluck a name out of the air — Browns Brook is not so well known that its fame would reach the capital! Did you speak with anyone, did you see any you recognised from other villages?’

  Suddenly Bertwald was nodding. ‘Hugh, you say?’

  ‘Aye. What do you know?’

  ‘I met a Velshman on the day before the auditions, who said his name was Hugh, although I think they say it differently — they can’t speak their words properly and …’

  ‘A Velshman? What did he look like?’ Hector snapped.

  ‘Average height, dark hair, no beard like you’d normally see on the Velsh, lyre over the shoulder …’

  Hector sighed. ‘How did you meet him?’

  ‘He talked to me, tried to give me advice about performing to the crowd. It sounded good but then he said he was Velsh so I told him to rut off and not come near me again. Pity, maybe if I’d done what he said, then the king wouldn’t have flogged me …’

  Hector waved the fool to silence. He needed to think. Could they be the same person? Could this foul Velshman have come south, met this idiot and pretended to be from an honest Forlish village to disguise his upbringing? That would be evidence of intelligence far beyond what he expected from those northern barbarians. Telling Ward the object of his desire was probably being defiled by a pack of hairy Velshmen was a sure way to disgrace — or worse. He had to get Rhiannon back and capture Hugh and have the king think the couple had been hiding out in some remote part of Forland. That was if this story was true … Hector struggled to come to a decision. Chasing all the way into Vales would take time, and they might just run into some of the king’s soldiers, sent to bring those lawless lands under Forlish control. Things could get confusing and nasty. Luckily he had the king’s seal to help ease the way. But what if this was a wild goose chase?

  ‘Give this fool twenty lashes and see if his story remains the same,’ Hector said harshly, to give himself time to think. ‘While you are at it, let the headman watch and tell him he is next unless his memory improves.’

  Patcham was a swarm of activity. It had begun well enough. Sendatsu supplied the orders and Huw organised the people to make it happen. Six boys, all still a few years from manhood, were sent out on ponies to keep watch while each night, men with dogs patrolled the village. Half the men were felling and splitting trees; they had plenty of wood from the old animal fence but that needed to be pulled apart and fitted together as something far bigger. The rest of the men and all the women and children were digging around the village, making a deep ditch. Some were shown where to dig small holes outside of that, which could trap a horse’s hoof.

  ‘This is to stop them riding horses right up to the palisade,’ Sendatsu had explained. ‘They will have to approach on foot or, if they want to use the horses, attack the gate.’

  A plan to protect the village was simple enough. He had made something similar when on patrol near the border. A strong wooden fence and a ditch would stop raiders. It would not turn back a real army but, from what Huw said and his own experience had taught him, these Forlish had only light weapons.

  But the pace of the work chafed. He made Huw ask around the villagers, to see if they had talked with Earwen about elven legends or similar — with no luck. Earwen had spent his time with Huw — and almost all the village thought Huw was a lazy wastrel who would ruin his father’s land. With nothing to help him here, he wanted to move on to the next village — except Huw and Rhiannon persuaded him he needed to make sure his ideas worked at one village before taking them around to all the others.

  That the plan might not work was another fear. His father had ridiculed his ideas as a matter of course and although Jaken was Aroaril-knew-how-far away, his presence still lingered. If the villagers found they had put their faith in someone as useless as his father had claimed he was … fear made him quick to anger, while frustration left his temper short.

  It was not helped by the villagers. The women had not been pleased to be told that all but a few must leave their children, the cooking and their homes to dig a ditch. And the men had been angry they could not tend to their livestock and fields while they either split logs or dug instead.

  ‘It is only for a few days,’ Huw tried to explain. ‘Each man can take a couple of turns of the hourglass each day to feed animals or water crops. But we need everyone to work on this. The faster it is done, the safer the village will be and the sooner we can get back to normal life.’

  ‘I thought the elf was going to protect us,’ Glyn summed up the protest. ‘Why do we have to dig holes and fell trees? Why can’t he just do it by magic?’

  ‘Because it doesn’t work like that! You have to do things for yourself. There is a reason humans can’t do magic …’ Huw tried to explain.

  ‘But he can just wave his hands and have it done …’

  ‘How do we learn how to protect ourselves then? It will all depend on the elf — and what if something happens to him, or the magic?’ Huw said reasonably. ‘Besides, magic does not work like that. Sendatsu explained it to us. It would take one Magic-weaver far longer to build a stockade around the village by magic than it would take the whole village to do it by hand …’

  ‘But it would be
so much easier for us!’

  ‘How stupid are you?’ Sendatsu snarled, before Huw could say anything. ‘I thought you were smarter than the sheep you herd, but perhaps I was wrong.’

  ‘Listen here, you pointy-eared bastard …’ Glyn stormed forwards. He was nearly a head taller than Sendatsu and his arms and shoulders were corded with muscle after a life of working on the land.

  But the elf was both stronger and quicker. His right hand was held out, fingers stiffened and pointing like a spear, and he drove that into Glyn’s stomach. As the man folded over he chopped down once with his left and Glyn toppled over, moaning.

  ‘Now, anyone else who is too stupid to understand why we can’t use magic, step forwards and we can discuss it now. Or should I try to explain what I’m doing to the sheep and have them tell you?’

  Everyone looked at him, looked at the groaning Glyn, rolling on the ground holding his stomach, and got back to work.

  Huw and Rhiannon exchanged looks and gently eased Sendatsu away from where a group of women and children were digging feverishly under his angry gaze.

  ‘Sendatsu, we really appreciate what you are doing, but perhaps there is no need to be quite so harsh on the people,’ Huw suggested gently.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Sendatsu felt much better after hitting Glyn.

  ‘They are afraid. The attack has scared them. They are willing to listen, but they need to be led, not pushed,’ Rhiannon agreed.

  ‘But this is not like our agreement. We said it would only be a day or two — this is going to take a quarter-moon at least — and we agreed there was to be no more ridiculous talk of magic,’ Sendatsu snapped.

  ‘We are making great progress. It’s just they are frightened. They will follow you happily if they believe in where they are going but they will dig their heels in if they are unsure,’ Huw tried to explain.