Bridge of Swords (11 page)

He found himself a hiding place, between two fallen tree trunks, and settled there to allow his eyes to adjust to the gathering darkness.

Cenred ordered two of his men to gather firewood, the others to start building shelters. They were old soldiers, and moved to their tasks swiftly, their enthusiasm for what was going to happen afterwards making the routine move even faster.

Cenred stood and supervised, watching their four sobbing captives at the same time. Not that they were likely to run, given they were all tied together, but he was not about to take the chance. He had learned as much from his sergeant.

He was pleased with the day’s work. He guessed they would probably have to kill more at the start, when the Velsh were more likely to fight back. Once the braver ones had been culled, like the older man that morning, the others would fall into place like the sheep they were.

Then he drew his sword and whistled sharply.

Instantly all work on the camp stopped and men raced for swords.

‘I smell smoke. There’s another camp nearby. Two to guard the horses — and women — the rest of you with me,’ Cenred ordered.

Moving quickly and silently, with the ease of long practice, they slipped through the trees.

It was not long before they found the remains of a fire, a trickle of smoke easing out from where someone had tried to cover it with dirt.

‘Single campfire. Probably a traveller.’

‘Just one man,’ Cenred agreed with his scout’s prediction. ‘We must find him and silence him. None can know we are here! Spread out!’

Sendatsu was close enough to hear them, and by now could glimpse them, shapes against the darkening sky. They looked and acted differently from the Velsh. The story that elves shut themselves away from the human world was probably false but now, seeing these men spread out, swords in hands, he had a
sense of the sort of humans Dokuzen mothers used to describe to terrify their children.

For a moment he thought about fading away into the trees, sure they could not find him in the gathering gloom. After all, there were plenty of them and he had too much to lose to get involved in some scrappy fight in this nowhere woods.

‘Find him! Those women we took from the village have been tormenting us all day and I’m not going to wait much longer!’ someone shouted.

Sendatsu’s face tightened in anger. So they were rapists as well as killers? He could not walk away, even though it was the smart thing to do. He could not leave women to the mercy of these men. That would haunt him for ever more.

‘Come on! Find him! Kill him!’

That gave him a moment’s fear. Then it was replaced with a surge of anger. They thought to hunt him? He would show them he was the superior being, they were just crude men. He had been trained in woodcraft for years, had worked with both the sword and the bow. They could not hope to match him. Swiftly he strung his bow and checked his arrow bag. He only had a dozen arrows and barely half were useable. The heads on the others were facing the same way as the bow, so they could slice through the ribs of an animal that walked on four legs, like a deer. He needed arrows with the sharp metal head at right angles to the bow, so they could pass between the ribs of a standing animal, like a man.

He moved with purpose, an arrow held lightly across his bow, at the ready. The longbow was not ideal for this sort of country, for there were too many bushes and hanging branches to offer a clear shot at any distance. It meant he had to get close. But he was willing to do that.

They were searching carefully, holding up torches to help them look. They obviously thought he had gone to ground, for the torches made a perfect aiming point, he thought with satisfaction.

Sighting on one man, he drew back the string, feeling the strain, and focused on what he could see in the flickering torchlight. This man was scarred and hard-looking, with big
shoulders. The way he held the sword suggested he knew exactly how to handle it.

He raised his bow and released in one movement, not pulling it back to the full draw, the arrow whispering out. He heard the solid thunk as it struck but the man stood for a long moment and he began to doubt, wondered if he had missed — then the man toppled forwards silently, his torch falling with him.

The sight of the man falling gave Sendatsu a feeling of power and he felt his senses come fully alive again. All his fear for Mai and Cheijun, his anger at what was happening, hurt and frustration had been looking for an outlet — and now it had found one.

‘What’s going on over there?’

The shout brought a smile to Sendatsu’s face and he circled out to his left, searching for a new target, picking his way carefully over the fallen leaves and twigs on the ground.

The men gathered around their fallen comrade, one of them inspecting the long arrow and in particular the arrowhead protruding out of his back.

‘What in the name of all that’s holy is that?’ one man shouted.

‘It’s an arrow, idiot,’ someone answered him.

‘Arrowheads don’t look like that — they don’t stick two feet out of your bloody back!’ the first voice cried.

The torches were giving Sendatsu a good look at them and he tried to spot the leader, although he was probably the one on his knees, inspecting the fallen man, making him an impossible target. No matter, there were far easier ones. Sendatsu drew and loosed, sending a shaft into the back of the closest. He lingered long enough to see the spray of blood blast into the faces of two men opposite as the sharpened head tore out the other side, then he ducked and ran, circling around still further.

‘Drop those torches! Stay together! He’s only one man!’

Sendatsu heard the shouts and almost laughed. He was more than just one man. He found another likely place for an ambush and stopped, standing behind a huge tree. The woods were darker now, but hardly quiet — the dying cries of the second man
Sendatsu had picked off still echoed but, in between, Sendatsu could hear a pair of men walking cautiously towards him. A pair was better than one, for they made a bigger target, walking one behind the other, the second a little to the left. Moving slowly, for fast motion was easier to see in low light, he drew back the bow and sighted on the lead man. He let them get close, barely ten paces away, before loosing.

The power of the full draw at that distance picked the man up and threw him to the ground, knocking the second one back at the same time. As the second one struggled to regain his balance, and his wits, Sendatsu snatched up another arrow, drew and loosed.

‘He’s over …’ the man began, but then all breath was punched out of him as the arrow slammed through his throat.

Before the screams and gurgles had barely started, Sendatsu cut to his right, running hard then ducking down.

‘He’s got Redwald and Uffa!’ someone shouted, and Sendatsu could tell the confident calls of earlier were all gone. In their place was fear, even a little panic.

‘Let’s get out of here! He’s picking us off, one by one!’

‘It’s only one man!’ the one who was obviously the leader shouted. ‘Remember your training. Work together!’

Sendatsu decided to silence that voice. He crawled carefully through the bushes towards where it was yelling instructions, and away from where the other men were gathering around two more of their fallen friends.

‘This is no normal bow,’ someone cried. ‘This arrow went right through Uffa and buried the head into the tree behind — I’ve never seen a bow with enough power to do that before!’

Sendatsu silently acknowledged the man’s comment, while wriggling closer to his target.

‘Stop talking! We are giving away our positions. Sit tight and wait for him to make a mistake,’ the leader called.

Sendatsu thanked him for giving away his own position like that and drew his sword as quietly as possible. Their leader was tucked in between two trees, making him a difficult target for an
arrow at any time but near impossible in the little light available. Leaving his bow on the ground, Sendatsu eased himself close, then jumped to his feet and thrust his sword forwards.

The man reacted like a cat, spinning and blocking with his own blade.

‘I have you now, you bastard!’ he cried. ‘He’s over here!’

Sendatsu pressed in, knowing he had to finish this fast. All those years of training, of being beaten and hit by his father, took over and he parried one high blow, locking the two swords together. The man was a head taller than he was, and broad across the shoulders, but he had not been trained to the bow and Sendatsu’s archer strength was more than enough to allow him to twist the swords aside. The man gasped as he felt the power opposing him, then Sendatsu’s blade flashed like lightning away from the locked blade and through his lungs, using the reverse side stroke.

Sendatsu ripped out his sword and did not stay to clean it, for he could hear the other men running closer. It took him a moment or two of fumbling to find his bow once more on the ground, then he was off and running too, blood sticky on his hand.

‘Cenred is dead! Let’s get out of here!’

The shouts and cries as thoughts of revenge and duty were replaced by self-preservation were sweet music to Sendatsu’s ears.

As they blundered back through the bushes, heading towards where they had left their horses and gear, he kept pace with them. There were only four left and they kept looking back over their shoulders, as if they expected him to appear out of the darkness behind them. So he sped up, outpacing them easily and letting their clumsy, crashing run through the bushes cover the noises he was making.

He waited for them, an arrow on his string and his last useable one plunged into the earth at his feet.

‘See anything?’ he heard one cry, listened to the harsh breathing of frightened running men and drew back the cord.

The leading man was running on rubbery legs, fear had lent him speed but had also robbed him of strength. They were like bullies, Sendatsu decided. They did not know what to do when
somebody stood up to them. They had been so used to things going their way, they could not handle defeat.

He let the leading man get five paces away and then he loosed, the power of the strike picking the man up and throwing him backwards, where he brought down a second man and made a third stumble. The last of the quartet swerved around his friends instinctively — and realised he should have dived for cover. Too late, as another arrow slashed through his chest.

Sendatsu dropped his bow again and drew his sword. He was almost tempted to let the two humans recover, regain their feet and draw their swords. But his father spoke to him across the years.

‘Never give an enemy a chance. No mercy!’

Sendatsu sprang out of the bushes like something from a nightmare. The fallen man looked up in time to have the dragon-tail stroke take his head, while the last man tried a feeble thrust before the figure-eight swept it aside and opened his chest to the night air.

The dying moans of the men with arrows in them floated across the woods as Sendatsu gathered his bow and worked his way back towards the men’s camp. There would be a couple more guarding their prisoners and horses, he guessed.

The pair of them were standing close to a fire, swords out but talking to each other, rather than looking for trouble. Sendatsu nodded to himself. They obviously expected their friends to return, rather than be picked off one by one and killed. Behind them, four women were slumped together, but he did not spare them a second glance.

He checked his arrow bag. He had no arrows with man-killing heads left, only deer-killers. He was tempted to use them anyway, but then put down both his arrow bag and bow. Using the sword would be more honourable. ‘Are you ready to die?’ he asked as he stepped out of the shadows into the firelight.

The two humans reacted instantly, dropping into a crouch.

Sendatsu imagined he must make quite a sight, spattered with the blood of their comrades, his blade stained almost its entire length.

‘Who are you?’

‘Sendatsu of Dokuzen. And I have killed every last one of your friends. As I shall kill you, and rescue those women you hold.’

The two humans looked at each other, then back at the bloodied Sendatsu. He half expected them to keep talking but instead they split apart and raced at him.

He reacted immediately, moving to his left and driving the human there back and across to his right with a series of figure-eight strikes. None pierced the man’s guard but it still forced the human to retreat to Sendatsu’s right, where he blocked the approach of the second man. The humans tried to split apart again, to come at Sendatsu from opposite sides, but he moved back to his right, driving the humans back and keeping them entangled in each other’s way, so they could not get to his flanks. It was an exercise he had practised scores of times before and, just when he could see the frustration on the humans’ faces, he changed his tactics. Now he sprang to the attack as they tried to sweep back and around. Caught by surprise, he cornered one man and cut high and low, using the floating cloud style, too fast for the man to keep up. His third blow ripped open the man’s throat and he pivoted smoothly to block the last man’s approach.

The man backed away as Sendatsu advanced, raining blows from all directions, before sweeping low in the dragon-tail stroke to take the man’s leg off above the knee. Screaming horribly, the man collapsed, clutching at his spurting stump, before Sendatsu finished him off with a swift cut to the throat.

As the man fell he could not restrain himself and had to roar his triumph to the skies. The women all shrieked and clutched each other as he strode around the clearing, shouting out his victory. As he came close to them they wailed in terror and he stopped. The four of them clung together, some turning tear-streaked faces away from him as he walked over to them. He also noticed how much food was piled up near the fire. His stomach growled and he hoped he would get a decent meal out of this, at least.

‘Your ordeal is over. You are free. Your captors are all dead.’ He smiled at them through the mask of blood. He kneeled down
and used one of the human swords to cut the ropes — no sense in blunting his own blade.