“ Get after him.” Annar called out and two men at the rear flank of his men gave chase. The young boy was fast but the size of the Poles meant they strides were not that far short of a horse and it was not long before they were on him like a pair of wild dogs. Annar had to admit using the bottle neck entrance was a clever plan to make the most of Sir Dean’s limited men. But it would not work. Sir Dean may have hoped to be able to hold the raging Poles at bay now with little more than a handful of men. It could have worked too. The narrow alley made it almost impossible for the Poles to swing their weapons and they soon started to falter. As they died they clogged the alley further and made it harder for the next wave to breach the gateway. Things had started to look good for Sir Deans army and it almost looked like they might be able to thin the Poles numbers enough to win the battle if there little envoy had made it but Annar was not an easy foe. No for he was a man born for the sole purpose of war, much like Sir Dean but without the worthless need for mortality or a falsehood of chivalry. If there was a war to be found then Annar would be at its head grinning with a face full of blood and the hair of another man in his teeth.
“ You know what to do, take those men and go now. I’ll hold these spineless mice here.” Annar said before pushing to the front of his men. His eyes wide he roared and plunged his spear deep into the chest of the first unfortunate knight to cross his path. A small group of warriors from the Poles dropped down over the walls, while Sir Dean’s army had been focused on the madman pressing into the fort at its front. Annar had issued his best to scale the walls at the rear of the keep. They had made light work of the few archers that guarded the top and his men dropped down behind Sir Dean. Suddenly the few knights that had held the courtyard were being pressed from both sides, they soon lost their grip at the forts front and the Poles poured in and flooded the courtyard. They had lost a lot of men but still numbered fifty or sixty strong compared to the rapidly falling numbers of the forts own. Most commanders would have surrendered but Sir Dean had not got his reputation for nothing. He screamed until his lungs were sore gathering his men to him. They fought their way inside the small hut hoping to make another bottle neck but they numbered too few for it to work now. Sir Dean hoped in earnest that the knights from the town would return in time to win the battle for he did not know the brutal way his envoy had been cleaved in two. With their backs to the hut and standing beneath the faded coat of arms they fought. The battle inside the keep raged on for over an hour, steel crashed against steel. Fist, teeth and sweat swarmed around as swords fell and bodies dropped. There were heavy losses on both sides but the last of the forts men fell dead collapsing against the rear wall of the cabin. Sir Dean had been ran through in the battle and died swiftly from the blow. A fortune that was far luckier than it had seemed. The Poles had planned a far worse fate for him to send a message to the Handson Kingdom but it seemed the gods had opted to give him and easy end. He had not been the last brave man standing as a legend might tell. He had not held back the Pole army on his own nor had he made some final words that would be retold in the history books for years to come. No Sir Dean died the way he had always lived, as a knight and one of his men, sword in hand. As more clouds filled the sky the night grew darker, the surviving Poles dug through the mounds of dead bodies looking for the weeping and screaming bodies of their wounded, those that could stand with aid would be taken home, and those that could not were killed as failures. The few unfortunate survivors’ from Sir Dean’s men they found had their throats slit and their heads removed. Several of the Poles had dug their long spear like weapons into the earth at the front of the keep and each one was slowly being loaded up with the heads of the fallen, turning the ghoulish scene into a macabre kebab. The army would rest and treat its wounds then make its way into town. The few knights that would be there would share the same fate as the fort. Briers Hill was to remain standing but under a new flag.
Chapter seven – setting sail Dawn came to the Mindmon the seventh of Nylar but it brought no planting sun as it should have. Instead storm clouds had made their way in from the mainland and coated the forest in Darkness. The small collection of huts that made up the Alienage sat like grumpy frogs in the darkness, there sad little faces made up of clattering shutters and rocking lanterns. Leafs whipped past and branches fell ripped out of the tree by the power of the wind and rain. Inside one of these windswept houses Fintan awoke and wished he hadn’t. His dreams had been filled with visions of flying high over Neeska as an eagle, the sun on his feathers and the breeze beneath his wings. The pain had faded but reality was thrust on him as his eyes opened. Fintan went to pull himself up in the small cot like bed he had been cradled in while he slept. It was made from a fallen tree hollowed out and filled with blossom. A typical bed for the people of the Alienage who used only things that were cast off from nature but in Fintan’s case it could have been made from sharp spikes and vinegar as although they had used wooden swords in the ritual last evening, he still hurt all over. His mind wandered back to the evening’s sunset. Some of the other competitors had been so quick to act. Fintan didn’t remember all that much of the fight. He remembered watching as the sun vanished. His heart had been pounding so hard he had felt the beat all the way at the tip of his pointed ears. Someone close to him had moved so quickly. Fintan remembered the wooden sword slipping so close to his face it had left a pretty pencil shaped rash on him and a splintery reminder of how close he had been to being put out of the running right at the start. Fintan’s arms were covered in scratches and his chest was bruised from several blows he had taken. They had turned a nasty black and yellow color and felt raised. His nose still had crusted blood beneath it. His long blond hair was matted with blood from a head wound. It had been a lucky blow that had sent Fintan to his knees with blurred vision. Fintan had trained so hard for the last few years but he was useless compared to the skill of the others, he had been an outside bet at best but the fight had been humiliating. It had been a close one between two of the bigger Elves. Fintan had been knocked to his knees and was waiting for a blow to the back of his head to finish him off by Brantley, a small but surprisingly strong bard. The blow did not come. Fintan had prayed that he would be able to take the blow. He prayed to the Earth Mother that he might win this fight. He so wanted a chance to leave the island to find adventure and this might be his only chance to do it. It was then it happened. Fintan had managed to summon up thick roots from the ground. He was as shocked as the crowd watching. The huge roots tore through the soil with such speed that no one could avoid them. They had knocked competitors to the ground and wrapped around everyone, including the assembly of watchers. It was as if the trees themselves had picked Fintan for the journey. The courtyard was filled with the roots like a giant’s spaghetti bowl and at its centre completely unshaved was Fintan. He remembered pulling himself to his feet and looking at the damage the roots had done. They had burrowed through the walls of close by huts. Behind the thicker sections of roots Fintan could just see arms stuck out struggling to be free. It took three hours for the few villagers that had not been involved in the battle to cut the trapped Elves out. Thankfully no one had been seriously hurt. Fintan pushed himself up in bed and sighed as he remembered the look everybody had given him. He physically hurt but that was not what bothered him the most. Fintan had trained to put pain behind him. He had spent years as a child working on pushing agony to the back of his mind. He had always wanted to be a warrior. The thing that he just couldn’t shift was the annoyance of the truth of the matter. Druids were not allowed to the mainland. Diadan had dictated that at the end of the blight all druids had to stay and tend to the forest. It had been Diadan’s plan to make the Alienage as beautiful as the sacred forest of old. An idea Fintan was all for during most of his life. You see he had never had any connection to the forest like the druids. So it was easy for him to have grand dreams of adventure and let someone else stay home and tend the rosebushes so to speak, but now it was him who might end up being a d
ruid. Fintan paused in bed, there really wasn’t a might to it. No one who wasn’t a druid could control the life-force in that way. Not even the human mages. Some of the elder druids could speak to the animals, or make plants grow. The most powerful could shape the trees like Fintan had the night before but it took years of training and then only a handful could manage to summon roots for a short time which would soon fade back down below the ground leaving nothing but muddy memories. Fintan hadn’t even been very good at maintaining his garden outside his hut, that was before he fell to his knees and then he summoned something so powerful he could still see the blasted thing from his window. It was the morning of the seventh and the roots were still poking out from the centre of the clearing. The only creatures that were not disturbed by them seemed to be the squirrels that had their own carriageway through the Alienage now. Not to mention hundreds of new and exciting places to bury their nuts. Fintan had fought so hard for the chance to see the world outside of the Alienage, it had been his dream for most of his life, when he was younger he had played make-believe that he was off on some adventure for king Diadan and while the other children learned what herbs from the forest made the best salves, Fintan was climbing trees and in his mind he was at the top of a mountain fighting ogres. Now because of something he had never wanted he would not get to go. Fintan’s peace and quiet was interrupted by a knock at the door. He ignored it to start with thinking it was another falling branch but the second time it came with more of a rat a tat-tat Fintan pulled himself to his aching feet. He wrapped himself in a pale cream colored Tapa cloth gown made from the bark of the Mulberry trees that grew at the forests edge, and made his way towards the door. Most of the trees in the forest were oaks grown from the seeds of the Earth Mother but when they had started to get taller and more birds had flocked to the island they had brought seeds themselves in their excrement and these had since grown in sporadic locations around the island. Some of these trees had been a blessing from nature when the trade with the mainland had ended and with it the influx of usable wool or cottons. Without the Tapa the Alienage would have had to have found new ways to clothe themselves. When Fintan opened the door and saw Cadeyrn stood on his doorstep he suddenly wished he had worn something a little less loose as the wind lifted the bottom up just far enough to make things embarrassing. Either Cadeyrn didn’t notice or didn’t care.
“May I entre or shall we speak in this lovely breeze ?” She said with the wind blowing through her short hair. That was an idiosyncrasy in the Elfish community, long hair and pointy ears seemed to go hand in hand but Cadeyrn had always been a little odd. It was a trait of her father that would probably be a family trait for centauries’ to come. She did not have long flowing locks of hair; instead she kept her blond hair short in comparison just above her shoulders. Cadeyrn was slender and beautiful, well normally, for now her hair was flat against the side of her face wet with rain and it was only the gust of wind that gave it any life.
“ I’m sorry, come in come in.” Fintan said trying desperately to hold the gown down. He closed the small door behind Cadeyrn and watched nervously as she looked around his home. Fintan wished he’d cleaned up more. The Aga sat ash filled and cold. The last fire had not been emptied out for a few days and a couple of dirty plates rested on its top. His wardrobe was still open from when he grabbed the Tapa gown and was filled with ruffled up clothes that looked more like rags. His bed was unmade and Fintan himself suddenly remembered he had not bathed after the trial the night before. There was little he could do now but try to hide the dried blood in his hair and pretend he didn’t smell like a wet dog.
“ You might try to guess why I’m here Fintan but I doubt you will.” Cadeyrn said as she lifted herself onto the table resting her bum down gently to a seated position. “Now if you would stay quiet. I do not have long to talk and you have even less time to listen. That is if you plan to catch the boat.” She continued smiling. Cadeyrn had a smile that could melt ice and it seemed to bring warmth to the cold morning. Her looks were similar to her mother’s an Elf women who could bring men to her knees and even wetthrough and windswept Cadeyrn was still enticing to look at. To concerned however with his own deranged look Fintan pressed back away against the closed door.
“ Boat, but you saw what happened.” Fintan said half expecting this to be some kind of twisted joke but the look on Cadeyrn face showed just how serious she was.
“ Normally anyone that showed the kind of skills in druidism as you did last night would never get to leave this island and that is exactly why you will be.” Cadeyrn slipped back to her feet. “I will be telling everyone that you have been sent out into the forest to learn your new skills and find a spirit guide.” Cadeyrn said pointing out the window to the tree line that surrounded the village. “But the truth is you’ll be catching a boat in one hour from the harbor and racing the storm to Port Lust.”
“ What? I don’t get it.” Fintan said totally confused and he was pretty sure it wasn’t just that he was tired or distracted by the fact he was all but naked in front of his queen. No he had a feeling it was because what the queen had just said made no bloody sense. He half expected to wake up any second and this too have all been a concoction of his concussed mind.
“ They say beauty and brains don’t go together and you prove them right Fintan. You will go because I asked you to and because I know you’ve been training for this since we were little. I remember watching you in the forest when mother took me out for walks. You were quite a cute young thing, all scrawny like a gazelle” Cadeyrn smiled as she remembered back. “ However it is mainly because it’s the best plan of action. You have probably seen the humans that sneak to the edge of the forest by town and so have I. I don’t think for a second it is only us that know what our enemy is planning.” Cadeyrn turned to face the window overlooking the town.
“ You mean spies don’t you?” Fintan said weakly. The pain washing over him more and more the longer he was awake pushed out any hopes of this all being a dream. The grogginess of sleep had started to fall away from him and he had started to get an understanding of what Cadeyrn might be hinting at.
“ Exactly, now hurry and get dressed Fintan.” Cadeyrn said turning to look out the window with her back to him. Fintan complied, if not slowly at first. He was not sure what made him more uncomfortable. The fact it felt like a bear was chewing at his ribs every time he tried to lift his arms or that Cadeyrn might turn around at any moment and see him nude but the prospect that he would still be getting to leave the island made him push through it. “I want you to go in secret as just as we have sympathetic people in Neeskmouth, there are Elves here that feel the humans have the right to our forest as much as we do.” Cadeyrn paused dropping her head to look at the floor.
Dragons Blight (Valadfar Book 1) Page 10
