The Endless Knot (46 page)
The wounded gunman was not so fortunate. The spear had done its work. The man lay silent now, and quite still.
I detailed my war band to dispose of the enemy guns. “Gather their weapons,” I told the warriors. “Cast them into the lake.”
Scatha and Cynan had lined up the twelve remaining gumen in a row. “Where is Weston?” I demanded, using their own speech.
No one made bold to answer. I nodded to Cynan. He stepped swiftly forward, striking the nearest man in the center of the chest with the butt of his spear. The man dropped like a stone to the ground, eyes bulging with pain, mouth agape, unable to breathe.
“I ask you again: where is the man called Weston?”
The prisoners glanced anxiously at one another, but made no reply. Cynan moved along the line. He stopped and raised his spear again. The man cringed. “Wait! Wait!” he screamed, waving his hands.
Cynan paused, his spear still hovering.
“Well?” I demanded. “Speak.”
“Weston is at the mill,” the man sputtered, gesturing wildly in the direction of the smokestack behind him. “They are guarding the mill.”
“How many are with him?” I asked.
“Three or four, I think,” the man replied. “That's all.”
“Is there anyone else?”
The man grew reticent. Cynan aimed the butt of his spear once more.
“No!” he replied quickly. “No one else. I swear it!”
I looked toward the cluster of buildings below the dam. Weston with three or four gunmen holed up in the mill. Rooting them out could prove a difficult and costly undertaking. I raised my silver hand, summoning four warriors to take the gunmen away. “Bind them fast,” I ordered. “Guard them well. See that they do not escape.”
I summoned Scatha and Cynan to join me and related what I had learned. “What do you suggest?” I asked.
Cynan spoke first. “The lives of these strangers are not worth the risk of noble warriors,” he said with arch disdain.
“Even so, we have taken the men: we cannot allow their leader to go free.” I turned to Scatha. “What say you, Pen-y-Cat?”
Scatha was gazing thoughtfully at the smoking chimney. “Smoke will cure fish. It may also cure these foemen.”
It was a simple matter to scale the chimney and stuff down a few cloaks to block the flue. Before long, smoke was pouring from every crack in the crudely constructed building.
We advanced, crossing the compound warily. As we neared, I heard a door slam and a motor sputter to life, and a moment later a van broke from hiding behind the building and flew past us. The startled warriors stared aghast as the yellow vehicle, wheels churning up dust and gravel, sped away. Some of the closer warriors heaved stones as it passed, breaking two side windows, but the van gained the road, turned, and raced away, climbing from the valley by another route.
“We will never catch them on foot,” I observed, watching the vehicle disappear into the hills. Turning to Cynan, I ordered, “Send men to bring the horses.” To Scatha, I said, “We will follow them. If Nettles is right, they will lead us to Siawn Hy and Paladyr.”
We hurried on, following the vehicle's trail. It soon became apparent that it was a well-used track. Wary of ambush, I sent scouts ahead on either side of the advancing war band. We hastened along the ascending track, which soon turned away from Cwm Gwaed and began climbing into the mountains once more.
I called a halt at the crest of a hill near a small stream. “We will rest here and wait for the horses,” I told them.
As we made to leave the valley, I turned and looked back one last time. “Where is Bran?” I wondered aloud. “What can have happened to him?”
“You need have no worry for Bran,” Scatha said. “He will be where he is most needed.”
“You are right, Pen-y-Cat,” I agreed. “But I would that my War Leader rode with me.”
The words were scarcely out of my mouth when we heard the sound of gunfire coming from the other side of the hill. Flying to the hilltop, we looked down to see the yellow van trapped in a narrow defile and stranded halfway across a shallow, rock-filled stream. Circling the stalled vehicle were Bran and the Ravens on horseback, shouting and flourishing their spears. Two men were firing indiscriminately from the broken windows of the vehicle.
We hastened to their aid, calling on the Ravens to retreat. The four in the van would be easy to deal with, and I did not want any of my warriors hit by a stray shot. Leaving the vehicle, they came to where we had taken up position, just outside the rifle's lethal range.
The gunfire continued for a few moments and then stopped.
“I did not see you ride from the valley,” I told Bran. “I wondered what had become of you.”
“Paladyr attacked the camp as soon as we left,” the Raven Chief informed me. “We rode to Tegid's aid and drove the enemy away. We pursued, but lost them in these hills. When we saw the
tuthóg-ar-rhodau
fleeing I thought to prevent their escape.”
The van's engine whined, there came the sheering whir of grinding gears, and the vehicle jounced across the stream, wheels spinning, and fled the valley.
“Follow,” I told Bran, “and keep them in sight, but do not try to stop them and do not go too near. Their trail is clear; they cannot escape. I have sent men for the horses; we will join you as soon as they arrive.”
The Raven Flight flew off in pursuit, and as we made our way back to the hill to await the arrival of our horses, we were greeted by the dull drumming of hoofbeats, coming from the other side of the hill. “Tegid is here with the horses,” I told Cynan, and a moment later the first rider appeared over the crest of the hill directly above us.
But it was not Tegid who appeared, lofting a spear as he crested the hill, and the warriors mounted on horses behind him were strangers.
We had blundered into a trap.
P
aladyr!” I shouted, halting in midstep.
The enemy hesitated, hovering on the crest of the hill. There came the clear call of the battle horn, loud and strong. And then they plummeted down the hillside in an avalanche of pounding hooves and whirring blades. We had only an instant to raise our weapons and they were on us. Scatha took measure of the situation at once. “We cannot fight them here!” she cried, whirling away. She dashed toward the stream: “Follow me!”
Cynan, spear lofted high, bellowed at his warriors to join him as he followed Scatha's lead. I did the same, and we ran for high ground on the other side of the stream, the battle horn blaring loud in our ears and the dull thunder of hooves shaking the ground beneath our feet. Two of our warriors were ridden down from behind, and we lost another to an enemy spear. But our feinting flight had not been anticipated, and we succeeded in gaining the high ground before Paladyr, overeager for an easy victory, could stop us.
Though we were on foot against a larger force of mounted warriors, we now held a superior position: the horsemen would have to fight uphill on steep and treacherous terrain. Scatha's unfailing battle sense had not only saved us, but given us a slight advantage.
“They are hungry for it!” shouted Cynan, watching the horses struggle up the loose scree of the mountainside. “Come, brother, let us feed our impetuous guests!”
Ducking under his upraised shield, he darted forward, slashing a wide swath before him with the blade of his spear, cutting the legs from under the nearest horse. The beast screamed, plunged, and spilled its hapless rider on the ground. Cynan struck down swiftly with his spear before the foeman could roll free of his thrashing mount.
Cynan threw back his head and loosed a wild war whoop of terrible delight. Two more enemy riders fell to his swift spear before they could turn aside. I dispatched another using Cynan's trick, and when I looked around I saw that Scatha had succeeded in unseating three of the foemen in as many swift forays.
The first clash lasted but a few heartbeats. Gaining no clear benefit for his efforts, Paladyr soon signaled his men to break off the attack. They withdrew to the far side of the stream to regroup.
“This Paladyr is no fool,” observed Cynan. “He knows when to retreat, at least.”
Looking across the stream, I saw Paladyr, naked to the waist, face and chest daubed with blue war paint, the muscles of his back and arms gleaming with sweat. He clutched a bronze spear and shield and was shouting at his men, upbraiding them for their carelessness and incompetence. There was no sign of Siawn Hy among them, but this did not surprise me.
“He is not a fool,” I agreed, “but he is impulsive. That may prove his undoing.”
“Who is with him?” wondered Cynan.
I studied Paladyr's war band. They were a raw-looking crowd, armed with ancient bronze weapons like those we had seen in the ruined tower. Their shields were small and heavy, their spears short, with blunt heads. Some wore helmets, but most did not. And only a few carried swords as well as spears. They moved awkwardlyâas if they were unused to riding and uncertain of themselves. No doubt they had expected to overwhelm us in the first rush, and now they faced a more determined adversary than anticipated.
It came to me that this was not so much a trained war band as a gang of ill-disciplined cutthroats. They were mercenaries, chosen perhaps from among the laborers slogging through the mud in the valley beyond.
Though they had horses, it was obvious that they were not accustomed to fighting on horseback: their first disastrous sally proved as much.
“Llew!” shouted Scatha, hastening toward me. “Did you see him?”
“No,” I replied. “Siawn Hy was not with them. But what do you make of the rest?”
“It seems to me that Paladyr has tried to stitch himself a war band from very poor cloth,” she replied.
“That is just what I was thinking,” I told her. “And it will soon unravel in his hands.”
“A boast? From Llew?” crowed Cynan, scrambling back up the hillside. “Brother, are you feeling well?”
“Never better,” I told him.
The blare of the carynx signaled a second attack, and the enemy clattered across the stream once more. This time Paladyr ranged his men along a line, and they advanced together, hoping to spread our thin defense and separate us.
Scatha had other ideas. She called the war bands together and formed them into a narrow-pointed wedge. Unable to climb the steep mountainside and strike at us from the flank, the horsemen had no choice but to meet the point of the wedge head-on.
They rode at us yelling and screaming, trying their best to frighten and scatter us. But we stood firm and hewed them from their saddles as quickly as they came within striking distance. Eight enemy riders went down before they could even wheel their horses to retreat. And Paladyr was forced to break off the attack once more.
As the enemy turned tail and fled back across the stream, I summoned the battle chiefs to me. “It seems they lack the will to press the attack.”
“
Clamna na cù
, what a poor foray,” Cynan sneered, thrusting out his chin. “I would be shamed to lead such ill-suited warriors.”
“Yes, and Paladyr is a better war leader than thisâor once was. I do not understand it.”
“Their inexperience is against them,” I observed. “They dare not challenge us, so they seek to harry us and wear us down.”
“Then they will be disappointed,” Scatha said, quickly scanning the hillside. “If they offer no better assault than we have seen, we can stand against them all day.”
“We would not have to stand here at all if we had our horses,” Cynan said.
“Then let us take theirs,” Scatha suggested. “We would make better use of them than they do.”
Swiftly we devised a plan to liberate as many of the foemen's horses as possible in the next clash. And it might have worked. But, just as Paladyr's war band crossed the stream and started to the hillside to engage us once more, the Ravens arrived. One fleeting glimpse of the Raven Flight swooping in full cry down the mountainside, and the cowardly enemy scattered. They splashed across the stream to disappear around the far side of the slope. Bran would have offered pursuit, but I called him back.
“I would rather you stayed with us,” I told him. “What did you find ahead?”
A strange expression flitted across the Chief Raven's face. “There is a settlement, lord,” he said. “But unlike any I have seen before.”
“Is it safe?” wondered Cynan. “It could be another trap.”
“Perhaps,” the Raven Chief allowed. “But I think not.”
“Why do you say that?” asked Scatha.
By way of reply Bran said, “I will show you. It is not far.”
Calling to Drustwn and Garanaw, I commanded, “Tegid and the horses should have been here by now. Ride to meet them, and bring the horses to us at the settlement. We will await you there.” To Bran, I said, “Show us this place you have found.”
“It is this way,” Bran said, wheeling his horse, and began to lead us up the mountainside and along a ridgeway. The remaining Ravens took up a position well behind, guarding the rear, lest Paladyr and his band return and try to take us unawares. But the enemy did not return.
A short distance along the ridge, the trail turned and began descending toward a steep-sided valley. A muddy river wound its slow way along the floor of the valley, and at the nearer end, hard against the ridge, a crude holding had been erected. The few larger, more substantial structures were made from rough timber: the rest appeared cobbled together, a patchwork of bits and pieces. A small distance beyond the settlement, a narrow lake gleamed dully in the foul light.
We descended into the valley and entered the town on the single street of hard-packed earth, passing between the patched-together, tumbledown shanties jammed one on top of the other and leaning at all angles. At a wide place before one of the larger dwellings, we halted. A row of rickety stalls had been thrown up along the side of the street facing the building, and a mud-caked stone well stood between them. We stopped here to wait for Tegid and the horses.
