Bridge of Swords

by Duncan Lay

  ‘So what do we do?’ Huw asked Sendatsu.

  Sendatsu could see not just Huw, not just Rhiannon, but all the villagers were waiting for his answer. The temptation to leave now was strong. Then he looked around at the crowd. Women and children had joined the men and they were all staring at him mutely, desperate hope in their eyes. They were all depending on him. He could not stand to think of these children, of these people, being slaughtered by Forlish raiders. He cursed himself. He had told himself not to become involved with the humans, reminded himself not to fall into the trap of caring for them. But it was too late. He could not leave them. He longed to have Mai and Cheijun run into his arms, ached to hold them close. But to sacrifice these families to get that was too high a price to pay. ‘We need to get ready for them,’ he said grimly.

  13

  The Magic-weavers’ attack on myself and the other clan leaders was well planned and carefully thought out. It would have succeeded — and I would not be writing this now — had it not been for my wife, who was also a Magic-weaver. Unsurprisingly she knew almost nothing of the Magic-weavers’ plans — especially as she was spending almost all her time by my side. It was sheer chance she chose that morning to visit her sensei and discovered their plan of co-ordinated attack. On such things do kingdoms rise and fall.

  There was not enough time to return to our villa but she was able to send word to me through the birds. I received the warning, but it cost her life, for her companions turned on her. Outnumbered ten to one, she was no match for them, talented as she was.

  I did not know what had happened and barely had time to warn half the other Council members before Magic-weavers attacked us, teams of them striking at our villas. Forewarned, we were able to muster enough clan members to frustrate them. Luckily the magic was still strong in all of my people then. Even the lowliest Elfaran could do much. While the Magic-weavers were truly gifted with magic, they were also few in number — and while it cost many lives, we exhausted them, drained their powers and then killed them.

  Their attempt to overthrow me and rule Dokuzen was finished and I made sure all of the people knew about their treachery. I broke their power, made the survivors swear magical oaths of loyalty to me, to ensure they would never rise again.

  That was a success but I had no heart to tackle all the problems still ahead of me. My wife had died to save me and I was more interested in grieving than anything else. Instead, I handed many of the tasks over to my best friend, closer to me than a brother.

  It proved to be a fatal mistake.

  Broyle of Readingum was an angry man. He wanted to be back down south, smashing the Balians and bringing glory to his king, fighting a war he knew and understood. Losing Cenred and nearly half his men had been a bitter blow. The fact he had not been able to find those responsible was nearly as bad. Rain the day after had washed away the tracks, and he had wasted days searching the surrounding country for some sign of a large band of Velsh, carrying wounded with them. He could not imagine Cenred and his men being killed without exacting a high price in return.

  But he could find nothing.

  Of course he was still there to strike fear into any Velsh he found, and his anger made him vicious. He slaughtered a family in an isolated farmhouse in their sleep, leaving the bodies for their neighbours to find. Fear was a powerful weapon and Broyle planned to use it as often as possible.

  On he rode, striking at a farm here, a traveller there. Each time they were killed swiftly and their bodies left for friends and neighbours to find. Finally he found himself approaching Patcham again. He expected to ride in, find the women he had taken the first time and get answers from them, one way or another. But, unlike last time, he was surprised to see young scouts spot his approach from far away and race off to deliver a warning.

  Normally he would have ducked away, changed his route, but he had unfinished business with this village.

  He was doubly surprised to see a palisade around the village, as well as the evidence that it had just been built — but this was replaced by fury when an arrow was sent arching down at him. He thought it a crossbow at first but the missile had not looked anything like a crossbow bolt. His first impression was it could be instant death for any of his men it struck, for he had not brought armour and shields, as that would have given away their cover as simple bandits. He also thought armour pointless, as the Velsh were basically unarmed peasants. Obviously this had been proved wrong. But, more importantly, it looked like a weapon that would inflict wounds just like the ones he had found on Cenred’s squad.

  Broyle wanted to know what was inside that palisade. He wanted revenge but he needed more men — so he went looking for them.

  It took him two days to find another band, a bigger one this time, more than thirty men, under the command of a man he did not know, a lean, tall man who introduced himself as Oswald of Eoferwic. He and his men had heard of Broyle — or rather of his reputation among the veterans of the Balian fighting. But while they had heard of Broyle, the greater numbers meant that Oswald appointed himself as the overall leader.

  ‘A Velsh village has been fortified? And you think they are using it as a base to attack our men — and might even have elven archers inside it?’ Oswald had been unable to keep the disbelief out of his voice.

  ‘At least one person, elf or man, using an elven-style bow,’ Broyle said softly. ‘Maybe more. Maybe a dozen. We need to find the truth of this. I have seen no other Velsh village so protected. They had scouts out, and they definitely loosed an arrow near two hundred paces at us. We shall need to be careful. This Patcham is no ordinary village.’

  ‘I think you are seeing dangers where there are none,’ Oswald snorted. ‘We have been here for a quarter-moon and have not seen any evidence the Velsh will even fight.’

  ‘Look at this then.’ Broyle handed Oswald the arrow he had picked up from the road.

  ‘This means nothing,’ Oswald dismissed. ‘One arrow does not mean a pack of elves — it does not even mean one! Skies above, we haven’t seen hide nor ear of an elf in hundreds of years!’

  Broyle ground his teeth at the disbelieving expression on Oswald’s face.

  ‘They’re Velsh peasants, man! They might have a bit of a fence around them but we’ll just ride in and smash the place up,’ Oswald insisted.

  ‘It’s not going to be that easy …’ Broyle tried one last time but Oswald cut him off.

  ‘You might think this is Balia all over again but the most danger we’ve been in is catching some skin disease off the women! Now, if you want to join my men in attacking this village, you will follow me — or we shall ride away and you can tackle it by yourself.’

  Broyle hesitated. All his instincts told him this was a bad idea, but the longer he left that village, the more prepared they were going to become. Besides, there were nearly fifty Forlish veterans here. No one archer could stop them.

  And Oswald knew his business, at least. He, Broyle and a pair of scouts eased forwards to check out the village before attacking.

  ‘There’re no farmers out in the fields, and it looks like their flocks must have been driven to safer pastures. They have a fence around them, true enough, but it’s not very high — and it’s just tree trunks, all cut to different sizes,’ Oswald mused. ‘That spiked thing across the gate area looks formidable and no doubt they are massed behind there, ready to slaughter any of our men who try and get past it.’

  Broyle nodded agreement. Oswald might not take advice well but you did not reach sergeant in the Forlish army without demonstrating cunning and intelligence.

  ‘So we do the unexpected. Your men, and a squad of mine, go up the front to draw their attention, then I’ll lead the rest around the side. We’ll loop ropes across the top of the fence posts and use the horses to pull several sections of it down. Then the two of us will meet in the middle.’

  ‘And if the place is full of elven archers?’ Broyle asked sourly. He did not really think that, but could see his men were more
likely to suffer and die by the gate than Oswald’s flank attack.

  Oswald laughed. ‘With an imagination like that, you should go and tell tales for the king’s amusement! Elven archers!’

  Broyle took control of a small group of sullen men, bringing his numbers up to twenty, while the rest of Oswald’s men massed behind them.

  ‘Charge at the gate — we’ll swing out to the right. You’ll know we’re inside when the gate defenders start running. Don’t kill everyone. Keep the women alive, at least. But once we have the village we shall burn it, as a lesson to any others who might be thinking of protecting themselves,’ Oswald ordered.

  Broyle agreed with that — it was exactly what he would have done. But he would have liked to take a few men in tonight, have a really good look at the fence. From this distance it looked as though it could be ripped down with a little work — there were no bracers on the outside, so a team of horses, pulling together, should be able to haul down a section. But it just felt too easy, although Oswald would not listen to him.

  ‘Attack!’ Broyle called. He signalled and led them forwards at the trot. He rarely felt fear these days, he liked to inspire fear in his enemies instead. But he could feel it stirring in his stomach now as they emerged from among the trees and rode up the rough dirt road at Patcham.

  ‘Charge!’ He pumped his arm and then spurred his horse, making sure to let Oswald’s men among his group get to the front. No sense in risking his men unnecessarily.

  There was no reaction from the village. Oswald waved his arm and led the bulk of his men out in a wide sweep to the right. They were close enough now that Broyle could see the massed men behind the spiked gate and he actually began to relax a little, to wonder if this might just be as easy as Oswald had predicted.

  Then it all went horribly wrong.

  Huw called the villagers to an assembly again.

  ‘Should we not just leave? Take the children and get to safety?’ someone asked the obvious question.

  ‘Run where? Where is safe? The raiders are arriving here now, more and more of them. Soon every village will face the terror they bring — they have to, if all are to agree to become part of Forland,’ Huw declared. ‘And if we leave, we shall only be able to carry a few things. Remember, they all have horses, so they shall be able to follow our trail and catch us if we try to take too much. And that means they will burn the village. Your homes, your possessions, the fence we all worked so hard on. Gone. Your animals. Gone. Your lives, everything you worked for and your parents and grandparents left to you. Gone. Or we can stay here, and teach them to leave Patcham alone.’

  ‘Can we hold them off? Running and being alive with nothing is better than staying and being dead among all your possessions,’ Glyn pointed out.

  Huw turned to Sendatsu.

  The elf felt a moment’s fear again. This was not like taking on a couple of bandits out in the woods, or even tackling an unsuspecting group in a dark forest, where he could split them up. This was beyond his skills alone. He would have to do something special. Why are you all looking to me for help? Don’t you know how useless I am? He wanted to run and hide from their belief that he was their saviour, the elf from magical Dokuzen, come to rescue them. He took a deep breath. They had all the advantages here. The fence was strong and they had plenty of men inside it. From his lessons he knew a properly defended stronghold could hold off an attack from a force at least three times its size — and there would not be hundreds of Forlish coming here — more like fifty, at the most.

  ‘We can hold them off. Kelyn has managed to make elven crossbows, which can loose a dozen bolts in the time it takes to say that. And we have the time for the rest of us to prepare. Huw is right. If you run, you only put off the day when you must face the raiders. But if you fight them off, they will go looking for easier targets. They will leave Patcham alone.’

  The villagers looked at each other, waiting for someone to take the lead.

  ‘I shall stay and fight. Who’s with me?’ Huw stepped forwards.

  ‘I shall!’ Rhiannon joined him instantly.

  ‘We all shall,’ Glyn judged.

  There was no cheering.

  The village was a hive of activity over the next two days.

  Kelyn and the other carpenters were kept busy churning out every crossbow they could make, as well as stacks of the simple bolts. Once the design had been perfected, it was relatively easy for a man with tool skills to recreate Kelyn’s work, while the bolts were just stout straight sticks with sharpened ends. Even the older children were making them. Looking at them compared to one of his arrows, Sendatsu knew just one could not kill a man — and would not be able to penetrate armour — but the way they could be pumped out in a cloud of missiles was fearsome enough and any man or horse with a couple of those stuck in them would quickly lose interest in trying to sack the village. They were also almost impossible to aim, requiring the arbalester to press the butt of the stock into their hip for support but, again, the sheer volume would make up for that.

  Other men built crude fighting platforms at different sections around the inside of the palisade, so that could be easily defended, while all had to spend several turns of the hourglass each day practising with weapons. Sendatsu was under no illusions that one of these Velsh farmers was going to be a match for a hardened Forlish warrior, so he did not even attempt to show them swordplay, even if the village blacksmith could have somehow forged enough swords in the limited time. Instead they took long hoes and other farming implements and put crude spearheads on them. At the very least, they might be able to keep the Forlish at a distance. He also organised the men into groups, each with a different task. Some were to man the gate, others be prepared to use the fighting platforms around the wall to push back any Forlish trying to climb over, while a dozen of the crossbowmen were kept back as a floating force, ready to rush to wherever needed.

  ‘How do you think they’ll attack?’ Huw wondered.

  Sendatsu took a small party outside the village palisade to consider the problem.

  ‘They’ll probably come straight at the gate then, when we throw them back, try around the sides,’ he suggested.

  ‘You don’t think they’ll try something smarter than that?’ Rhiannon asked dubiously. ‘I was there for the king’s war meetings and his captains always had plans to take towns and cities protected by high walls.’

  Sendatsu once again swallowed his self-doubt.

  ‘They don’t have armour, or siege equipment. They’ll have to try something direct. Besides, they think us just Velsh peasants, unworthy of a proper invasion,’ Huw said bitterly.

  ‘He’s right,’ Sendatsu agreed thankfully. ‘And they won’t expect the crossbows. Once we surprise them, they’ll probably turn and run.’

  Despite the hard work, it was a nervous wait to see if the raiders would return. Sendatsu suffered in particular, having to put on a brave face at all times. The people were confident because of him. The crossbows helped, of course, but they saw him with his bow, saw him practising with the sword and declared no Forlish warrior could stand against the elf. He had to pretend to be the invincible elf, the hero of their songs and dreams, offer reassurance when he was the one who really needed it.

  The scouts did their job again, galloping back to the village to announce a large party of raiders was coming their way. The men wanted the women and children to lock themselves into houses, to stay safe that way, but Rhiannon suggested at least some of them could carry spare bolts to the crossbowmen — and Sendatsu had agreed, saying every man might be needed to fight off the raiders.

  So while the children and most of the women hurried to safety, Rhiannon and a dozen other women stacked bundles of crossbow bolts and hoped they would not be needed.

  The men tried to cover their fear with jokes and loud laughter but Rhiannon noticed there was a steady stream of them heading over to a dung heap behind a nearby house, then hurrying back, pulling up their trousers. This got worse as the wa
it grew longer.

  ‘Where are they? Surely they should be here by now?’ Huw had managed to get one of the crossbows and he was both afraid, and eager, to use it. Every time he worried about what might happen, he forced himself to remember his father — and then hatred swamped the fear, for a little while.

  ‘They are probably watching us,’ Sendatsu predicted, trying to cover his own fears.

  ‘There!’

  The shout went up from a dozen throats and all craned to see the tight bunch of raiders riding swiftly up the road towards them.

  ‘Get ready!’ Sendatsu licked his dry lips.

  They had built platforms to either side of the gate — although Sendatsu worried about crossbowmen using them as they had to expose the top half of themselves in order to point the crossbow in the right direction. But they had not seen the raiders bring any crossbowmen of their own, so it was a risk that had to be taken.

  Men scrambled into position and Sendatsu strung his bow, succeeding at the second attempt. They had nearly twenty of the crossbows at the gate, with another ten held back, to rush to wherever they might be needed. He hoped that would be enough.

  For now the raiders were doing exactly what he expected, sending their entire force at the main gate. He only had a score of arrows, so he wanted to keep them until they could do the most good. He was just bending the bow, and wondering whether he should aim at horse or man, when more than half of the raiders peeled off from the group and rode to his left, heading for the side of the village.

  ‘Follow them! And get up on the platforms!’ Sendatsu bellowed, and the men held back from the gate obeyed, scampering off to the left, towards where the bulk of the raiders were going.

  He grabbed Glyn. ‘Take five crossbowmen and follow the others — we can handle these at the gate,’ he snapped.