by Duncan Lay
Training started almost immediately, with normal village life suspended while the men worked. Crude wooden swords were quickly fashioned by Kelyn and his carpenters, basically just branches cut to the right size and rough shape. The real swords, the ones seized from the dead Forlish raiders, were kept hidden away, for fear of the villagers doing more damage to themselves.
The men were all excited. The tale of how Sendatsu had taken on five raiders had been told and retold and even grown in its retelling, to the point where there were now almost a dozen of them falling to the elven blade. The older boys were all running around, pretending to be elves and slaughtering Forlish warriors by the hundred. Something of that was within their fathers, who lined up, crude wooden swords in hands, ready to listen to Sendatsu.
But instead of making them duel each other, he formed them into three lines and spent the whole day drilling them, teaching the three basic blocks and six sword strokes, from the double-strike to the figure-eight, and making them practise these over and over, until even their work-toughened hands were blistered and muscles aching and they were cursing both their own enthusiasm and, quietly, the elf himself.
‘You must do that every day, until you can do them in your sleep. In battle, your mind will be swamped by fear, by the thoughts of what you have to do. You must know those strokes so you can make them without thinking,’ Sendatsu finally explained. ‘That is the only way you will survive.’
Huw watched Sendatsu for a while. He thought about learning himself, but he worried it would affect his lyre playing — his hands had only just recovered from all the digging. More importantly, he knew he would look clumsy and foolish compared to Sendatsu if he tried to use a sword. It was stupid, particularly as Rhiannon had already made her choice.
Instead, he worked with Kelyn for the day, preparing a series of models to show how the elven crossbow could be built, so that — in Kelyn’s words — any half-sober carpenter with more than one hand could make them. With them went a huge bag of the bolts, as well as three working crossbows — one each for Huw and Rhiannon and one to use as an example as they travelled around. He started to understand how the crossbow worked, watched Kelyn make one from scratch and felt much happier about going out to a strange village and telling them how these would save them.
He also practised with the crossbows. Holding them at the hip made it almost impossible to aim but he persevered, loosing an endless stream of bolts, and began to feel he could direct them with some confidence. Of course, the fact they were only useful within twenty yards meant the target had to be close anyway, so it made accuracy possible.
Finally, he also found a couple of teenagers, sons of older farmers, and used some of the gold he had brought back from Ward’s court to make sure his father’s farming strip and various animals would be looked after and run well, in his absence. Truth be told, he had never been good with crops, much less animals. A pair of young farmers’ sons, both of them a year past their manhood of sixteen, would do a far better job than he ever could.
It was warm in Kelyn’s workshop and, even better, Rhiannon was nowhere in sight. He could not bear the thought of seeing her with Sendatsu but, equally, he could not think of leaving her behind.
Rhiannon could not stop thinking about going to Dokuzen, about showing the elves how she could dance and hearing their applause. None of her dances seemed to be good enough, so she spent the time working on new ones, trying to outdo what she had already achieved at the court of King Ward. She also worked on a song for Sendatsu and, when she took a break, more practically made sure they had plenty of twice-baked bread, salted meat, dried oats and dried fruit to take with them. The villages would feed them, she was sure, but there would also be nights when they would have to make camp.
She also decided to repair her relationship with Huw.
After extracting the promise from Sendatsu, the rest of the night had been somewhat uncomfortable, with nobody speaking much. Huw had finished a bowl of porridge, then disappeared into his room. Rhiannon had wanted to speak to him but he had been quick to make his excuses. Strangely, Sendatsu was much the same with his behaviour, curling himself into a blanket by the fire. She glanced over at Sendatsu — and saw him tucking something away in his belt pouch, the pouch he had been careful to hide from her when she had been treating his wound. She thought about asking him but his eyes were now closed and he seemed to be asleep.
The next morning, when she walked out, it was to find the pair of them had already vanished, leaving her alone with the dirty plates and the bowls.
‘Do they think I am some sort of servant?’ she muttered.
She found herself some bread and cheese before working on her dancing, but thoughts of Huw nagged at her and she finally went to find him. She had to ask around before finally discovering him in Kelyn’s workshop.
‘Hello Huw,’ she had greeted cheerfully. ‘Greetings Kelyn!’
‘And a good afternoon to you,’ Kelyn had responded warmly. He had been smiling since Huw told the village Kelyn was just as much the hero of the battle as Sendatsu, for designing and building so many crossbows in so quick a time.
Huw just grunted.
Kelyn chattered about the weather and the villages they would need to visit but gradually the awkward atmosphere reached even him and he found an excuse to be elsewhere.
‘I thought we should talk,’ Rhiannon said immediately.
‘About what?’ Huw replied surlily. Seeing her was tearing him in two.
‘Last night should change nothing between us. We are still friends.’
Huw held back what was on the tip of his tongue.
‘We have been through too much for this to come between us,’ Rhiannon continued. ‘I shall always be grateful to you for how you saved me from Ward, after he killed my father.’
As usual, mention of her gratitude for his lies silenced him, even more effectively than fear of driving her away.
‘What is happening between Sendatsu and me … it might bring our two races closer together! We could be the start of a new relationship with the elves. And he has promised to take me to Dokuzen! I shall meet his friends and family, dance and sing for the elves — and you can visit us whenever you want …’
‘Oh yes? And was this before or after he rutted with you?’ Huw asked nastily, unable to help himself.
Rhiannon flushed and this time he was afraid he had gone too far. ‘Now that is not something a friend would say,’ she told him stiffly.
‘I’m sorry — it is just because I care for you, am worried about you,’ he said quickly. ‘After saving you from Ward, I do not want to see you hurt by Sendatsu. He might intend to take you back to Dokuzen but what if the other elves disagree? What if he really has an elven girl promised to him back there, waiting for his return? I’m sure he did not come to our world thinking to fall in love.’
Rhiannon paused and he kept his face still, just a hint of honest concern there. Referring to Ward was a risk but he had thought hard last night — sleep being difficult — and come to the conclusion Rhiannon was going to end up in tears, her heart broken. And who better to pick up the pieces and provide the shoulder to cry upon than her only friend?
‘I know you only want the best for me, that you’re trying to do what my father would, if only he was here …’ Rhiannon said slowly.
More likely he would be offering to sell you to the elf for a sack of gold and a pledge the elves would recommend his performing academy to the boys and girls of Forland, Huw thought cynically.
‘But I ask you, as a friend, to be happy for me and to trust me — I know what I am doing.’
Huw bit his tongue once more and merely nodded his head.
‘Of course I trust you!’ he lied.
‘Then we are friends still?’ she asked, a little nervously.
‘We are friends still,’ Huw confirmed.
So they worked a little on Sendatsu’s song but mainly on a new dance for her, Huw coming up with music for her new moves. I
t had been hard for him to watch her — since last night, she seemed to have acquired a new grace, a new fluidity to her movements. What had occasionally seemed awkward or uncomfortable now flowed together and had him struggling to keep his mind on the music and off her lithe body.
All he could do was curse himself for not acting sooner — and curse the elf. If only the Velsh did not need a hero so much — and if only there was a better one than Sendatsu.
‘You know, I saw him putting something back into his pouch last night,’ she said.
‘Did you see what?’
‘No, but I shall ask him.’ She smiled.
Broyle watched three riders leave Patcham, heading west towards the twin village that waited just a few miles away. The pair riding with the elf looked strangely familiar. He stared at them and then remembered — it was the dancer and the bard from Cridianton! They had been there when King Ward explained his plan for Vales. That made them traitors and Broyle burned for revenge.
‘Do we take them, sarge?’ Ricbert asked hoarsely.
‘Not yet,’ Broyle said scornfully.
He only had a dozen men — several of the wounded had died, for he had no way to treat them, while most of Oswald’s surviving men had all left, heading back south to their homes or their units — Broyle did not care which. The men he had left were all battle-hardened but he was not going to rush in again. Not after the disaster last time. He could still hear the screams as men died — and could remember only too clearly how the elven warrior had sliced apart his warriors. There was something going on here — something the king needed to know about. But not yet. Broyle knew better than to return with just bad news. He had to return with this elf and those two traitors in ropes — and those crossbows as well. If word of these weapons reached down south, it would be a disaster. The Balians and Landish had learned not to face the Forlish armies in battle. They had been defeated too many times by the implacable shield wall that turned their best warriors into so much carrion for the birds. Now they skulked behind walls and tried to hold their cities. And they even failed there, for the Forlish armies were used to breaking down tall stone walls and taking their swords to the terrified people inside. But if the walls were packed with men and women using those crossbows … Broyle could see the enormous cloud of shafts that would cover any Forlish attack, dooming it to failure. This could change the course of the wars, could even see the king’s armies forced to retreat. Bringing both the elf and the crossbow back to the king would get Broyle his own company of men.
But, above all else, Broyle wanted revenge. He hated losing his men — and he hated being beaten even more. Seizing those three was more important than the king’s praise.
‘We follow them. We have to attack where they can’t escape — and where we won’t be followed. They’ve got horses, remember, and we have none. We’ll strike when they least expect it,’ he vowed.
Huw had never been to Crumlin. For one they were rivals for grazing land and, in times of drought, for water. They were like brothers, always squabbling. Patcham was definitely the younger brother in the relationship. While Patcham had been founded barely a century ago, Crumlin dated back before the time of the elves and elves had actually lived there once. Several former elf-built buildings still stood at the centre of the village. A hall, a villa and three outbuildings had, over the years, been turned into the heart of Crumlin. All had brick walls, tiled roofs and light, spacious rooms. All were home to several families, the richest and the oldest in the area.
As ever when he found examples of previous elven life in this part of the world, Sendatsu was fascinated. How had these elves and humans lived together? Had the Velsh been the servants, even the slaves of the elves? Or had they been neighbours, working together? Had a Velsh rebellion seen the elves draw back into the forest, hide behind their magic barrier and their bows? The Velsh had tried to preserve the buildings as best they could but, as always, it was obvious they lacked the knowledge to do so properly. He stretched. His side was healing well, although the stitches Rhiannon had put in were pulling when he rode.
He wanted to ride across, talk to the oldest Velsh and find out more about them. Could he find the answers here that would lead him home and let him escape his foolish promises? Then he glanced across at Huw, saw the bard watching him closely.
‘Don’t try and speak to them. I shall do it for you. Remember our deal,’ Huw told him and Sendatsu had to grit his teeth and nod reluctantly.
Rhiannon began singing, telling the villagers how wonderful Sendatsu was, how a hero had arrived to save them. It was enjoyable to listen to, although Huw’s playing seemed less than enthusiastic. But she did not get the chance to reach the best bit, about him being an elf, before they found themselves surrounded by villagers.
‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’ someone accused, and Rhiannon stopped singing as she looked around at a small crowd of partly angry, partly nervous Crumliners.
‘I am Huw the bard, son of Earwen of Patcham,’ Huw called out. ‘These are my friends, here to help you!’
There was a short discussion, while several of the men peered uncertainly at Huw and then whispered to each other.
‘We do know of Earwen, and that he had a crazy son, who sang to the sheep!’ an older man declared.
‘That is me,’ Huw admitted.
‘So what are you doing here? You know Patchamers are not welcome here,’ the man cried. ‘Are you spies for the raiders?’
‘If we were Forlish raiders, we’d have ridden in here with swords in hands, not sat and introduced ourselves. And we’d have cut you down while you talked,’ Huw told him. ‘Gather up the people so we can tell them why we have come …’
‘Why should we listen to a Patchamer?’
Huw pointed at Sendatsu. ‘Because we have brought an elf to help you!’ he shouted.
‘An elf? Where?’
‘We have an elf here!’
Almost immediately the crowd began pushing forwards and Sendatsu felt like turning his horse and galloping out of there. This was exactly like the other villages …
‘Stand back! Calm down!’ Huw used his horse to push people back. ‘Do you want to listen to what he says or drive him away?’
For a long moment, nobody moved, then Sendatsu relaxed as the people eased back.
‘I am Dafyd, and my family has lived in this village for ten generations. We shall listen to the elf’s words.’ The older Velshman stepped forwards.
Huw forced a smile. He nodded at Rhiannon, who began singing again, all about the wonder of Sendatsu.
Sendatsu breathed again as the people kept their distance, although all watched him. The bard had proved his worth there.
Sendatsu had half expected everyone to crowd into the old elven hall to listen to his words and he thought it would be the perfect venue. But, apparently, it was home to Dafyd and his extended family, so the village merely stood outside in a rough semicircle to hear Huw — and especially Sendatsu — speak.
The story of the attack on Patcham had reached them and left them fearful, so they actually cheered the news the Forlish had been defeated and sent running for their lives.
‘We have been seeing smoke on the horizon for the last few days — in all directions,’ Dafyd explained. ‘Everyone is wondering what is going on.’
They accepted news of the Forlish raiders, and how they were trying to force the Velsh to submit to King Ward’s rule — but it was Sendatsu they wanted to see, they wanted to talk about.
Huw seethed at the way they fawned over Sendatsu, falling in love with him even faster than Rhiannon had. But he hid it and helped Sendatsu explain why magic was not the best way to keep the village safe.
‘You must do the work yourself, in order to be truly protected,’ Huw said and they nodded solemnly.
Within a turn of the hourglass of the three of them riding in, a pair of carpenters and six other helpers were poring over the elven crossbows, while the rest of the village was harnessing hor
ses and dragging both rocks and trees to begin a palisade for the village. Unlike Patcham, Crumlin fields were full of stones and rocks, which made them harder to plough and prepare for planting. It was just one of the little differences that had provided much of the rivalry between the two villages. More importantly, it provided plenty of material that could be used as a crude wall to protect the village. Meanwhile, Dafyd and his son Edwin had climbed onto the roof of the hall that was their home and the heart of the village and were building a crude lookout platform, to give the people warning of approaching raiders.
‘If they see Patcham protected, they will come here next — and we don’t want that,’ Huw told Dafyd.
‘Really? A Patchamer caring about us?’ Dafyd sniffed.
‘We like to see you look foolish — we don’t want you dead. Besides, if the Forlish burned you out, who would we have for rivals then?’ Huw smiled.
Dafyd’s laugh boomed out and the Crumliner invited the three of them to eat with him that night.
‘Who is the girl?’ he asked. ‘Yours?’
‘No, she is with the elf. She’s Forlish but no friend of Ward — he killed her father and she only escaped with my help,’ he explained, the effort of keeping his thoughts hidden making his eyes water.
‘There are many like that in Vales now. Forlish who are afraid of their own king; who fled his guards and his taxes for a taste of freedom in Vales. A man should not have to bend the knee or hand over his goods to make rich men even richer,’ Dafyd declared.
‘But if the alternative is having your home burned out and your children killed …’ Huw pointed out.
‘I would have agreed, if it meant the village was safe,’ Dafyd admitted. ‘We wouldn’t have liked it but we would have still done it.’
‘This way is better,’ Huw agreed, hoping Dafyd would not take it a step further and ask what the plan was when Forlish raiders were beaten back and Ward turned to his regular army.
