The Prize in the Game (15 page)

The fight seemed to last forever. The farmers and the raiders fought each other. Conal and Emer and the chariot moved among them like one creature, scattering the raiders where they could, avoiding places where the raiders tried to trap and slow them, trying to stop them finding time to close up. A spear from behind narrowly missed Whitenose, and another stuck in the chariot beside Emer. Conal pulled it out and returned it to its owner or one of his friends.

Emer's arms began to ache badly as they turned again. A moment later, Conal put back his head, threw up his arms, gave a great shout, and the black bull came running down the hill, head lowered. The bellowing of the cows redoubled as the whole herd began to move, trampling enemies and the occasional badly placed friend alike. Then Conal had her drive along the edge of the stampeding herd as he leaned over, calling all the time to the bull, forcing the cattle to go where he wanted them, out along the shore, away from the ships and the raiders.

By the time they came back the raiders were scattered, some of them making for the ships with blue-painted farmers running after them. There seemed to be only one knot of organization.

"Atha," Conal said, then gave a rallying battle cry again. Emer drove her tiring horses straight toward the knot of raiders.

She went right at them. They had been leaping out of her way all morning, though she could not tell whether they had been fighting for minutes or hours. Behind them, in the distance, on the road to Ardma-chan, she could see a cloud of dust that might have been Meithin going for help, or help coming back already. Then

Whitenose stumbled and before she could right him Crabfoot fell, leg broken, tangling the traces. Conal drew his sword as he vaulted neatly over the wheel on his side. Slingshots, Emer thought, ducking as she hacked at the traces; she had given them time for slings and the horses at least would die for it. White-nose was still dragging the chariot and his fallen companion forward in lurches. If she survived she swore she would practice cutting traces. The leather was tough and the knife was not sharp enough. Her fingers were clumsy in her gloves. Everyone said how important it was, and made sure charioteers had a knife for it, but nobody practiced doing it. She was half sobbing for breath as she hacked at the leather.

"Jump!" Conal shouted from somewhere off behind her. She jumped and rolled without thought. Almost as soon as she was free of it the chariot and horses went down together with a crunch and squeals. Whitenose must have been hit again.

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As she started to straighten to her feet she saw a huge grinning raider right in front of her.

His spear was coming down toward her. There was no time to draw her sword. She leaped at him, inside the arc of his spear, and thrust the little knife upwards into his belly as hard as she could. He looked completely dumbfounded. Then she leaped away as fast as she could, leaving the knife buried to the hilt. The raider toppled slowly sideways. Stupid knife might be useless for its purpose, but it could kill, she thought, and giggled. She reached for her sword, and Conal was there protecting her back.

For a moment, it was even more like hurley, the two of them against everyone, except that the enemy wanted to kill them. They could only move together, and the enemy could move as much as they wanted. Then some more of their side came up, the steward and a handful of others, and it was more even. Emer wondered if they might make a song of it if she and Conal died together in their first battle.

There was a woman with limed hair, fighting with a long knife in each hand. Emer couldn't get near her, but she managed to keep her away for a little while, because her sword had more reach.

Then she parried one of the knives hard and her sword shattered. One of the fragments bit into her leg and another struck the raider on the shoulder. Emer stared at the useless hilt for a moment, then looked around for another weapon. As she did, the woman slashed at her face and cut it open.

For the first moment, she did not feel pain, only the wetness of blood, and then she felt the cut and clapped her hand to it. Her cheek was hanging by a flap of skin. If the knife had been a breath farther to the left, it would have taken her in the throat and she would be dead already.

She had been wounded and could have been killed, could still be killed, she, Emer ap Allel of Connat, now, today.

She lay on the ground, not quite sure how she had got there, struggling to get up. Conal stood over her, and

as he fought he gave a great battle cry again.

"Who are you to come marked for victory?" the woman with the knives asked.

"Don't you know me, Atha?" Conal replied.

Emer pulled herself to her knees, one hand still holding her face together. She looked around for a weapon.

Conary said that everything could be a weapon to someone who truly knew how to fight. Could that really be

Atha? She looked just like anyone else.

"I thought I knew all the champions of Oriel," Atha said. "But I don't know you."

There was a thundering sound. "Run!" Emer heard the steward shout, sounding far away. Somehow she couldn't get any further up, however much she tried. Everyone seemed to be running, except Atha and Conal, who were still engaged.

"I am Conal ap Amagien of Edar," Conal said. "You have hurt what I love best in the world, but give me your knife and I will spare your life."

Atha laughed and attacked again. "You were a child when I was here.

I am famous among champions. You have done very well, but it is I who am going to kill you."

"Listen," Conal said, blocking her. "Drop your knife, or you will die."

"Never," Atha said, her eyes on his.

"Look, then," Conal said. "If you do not drop your knife, we will all die together, but I can stop them."

Atha laughed again, spun around, weapons ready, not dropping her guard for a moment, and then, amazingly, as she spun back, instead of attacking again, she dropped one of her knives onto Emer's lap.

"Get down," Conal said, and he called out and raised his arms.

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In one smooth movement, Atha crouched beside Emer, and then the herd was there all around them, parting around Conal's spread hands.

There was a long, hot moment as the herd ran past. Even half-dazed, Emer was aware how large and fierce and close the cattle were and how strong their smell was. Then they were past, and Conal was on one knee beside her, holding the knife to her cheek and singing a healing charm, weaving her name into it.

"Don't forget the charm against weapon rot," Atha said.

Emer could not move her head but she moved her eyes. Atha was standing watching, holding her other knife.

Conal sang on, the charms against weapon rot and blood loss. When it came to the charm for strength, Emer felt well enough to join in. She ran her fingers over her cheek. There was a ridged seam of scar that felt years old already. She pulled herself to her feet, feeling as if she had just woken from a dream. Conal put his arm around her and she leaned on him gratefully. It hardly seemed strange that Conary and Finca should be there in the king's chariot.

"So, Atha?"

"So, Conary?"

"So you are defeated by the cows you came to steal?"

"So the battle was won by the courage and leadership of Conal ap Amagien of Edar. Conal the Victor I call him now, for he painted for victory and victory on the field is his. Nobody has defeated me in personal combat."

Finca smiled a little at her son.

"Even the youngest of my champions can win a battle against the best the Isles can send,"

Conary said and glanced approvingly at Conal and Emer. "Is this an invasion from the Isles?"

"No," Atha said quickly. "This is a cattle raid only. My mother knows nothing of it. There is no feud between your people and mine."

"There is no feud, only a cattle raid," Conary agreed. "It seems we have much to discuss. Will you accept my hospitality at Ardmachan?"

Atha turned her head. Emer followed her gaze. The ships of the Isles were rowing away. There were a straggle of raiders left on the shore. Between them and Atha was the herd of cows, now placidly grazing, and

the assembled might of the champions of Oriel. Darag and Laig were in the front row.

"It seems I will," Atha said and bowed.

It seemed that Conal wanted to speak to every surviving farmer of Edar, and every champion of Oriel wanted to speak to him. Emer was happy enough to sit quietly and drink water and eat some bread and honey ap

Anla brought her. She still felt far away from ordinary concerns. It wasn't until Conary suggested she ride back to Ardmachan that she woke up properly.

"I will drive Conal," she said.

"I don't mind if you want to rest," Conal said. Now that the battle was over, he looked exhausted.

"I want to drive you," she repeated. "I know we wrecked the chariot, but there must be another we can use."

"The horses will be eaten at the victory feast," the steward assured her. His arm was bound up.

She hoped they could find the weapon and heal him properly. "We will all honor them, and you. We also honor the generosity of King Conary for leaving the captives with us."

Emer smiled at him, and he bowed. She could see the straggle of leftover raiders being brought into the dun.

They looked sullen and resigned. Serving at Edar for the season was not at all what they had expected when they had left home. It was so near the beginning of the season, too; it would be
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months before they got back to the Isles.

"I still want to drive," Emer said.

"The warriors can make space," Finca said, meaning that some of them could go back three to a chariot.

"You can drive my son if you want to."

Conary looked as if he was about to protest, but bit it back.

Conal and Emer took their place in the array of champions. Not far from them they could see Atha getting in beside Meithin. Emer laughed quietly.

"What?" Conal asked.

"Yesterday I'd have been so proud to be here, but today we are the only ones who have fought.

We won the battle ourselves."

"Along with the farmers and the cows," Conal said. "Twelve farmers were killed, though no cows were either taken or harmed."

"And how many raiders?" Emer asked.

"Around thirty, many of them trampled," Conal said. "Garth brought me eleven heads he says are mine. One of them is yours, the big man you killed with the knife. I told Garth, and he will send it to you when it is ready."

There had not been time in the battle for Emer even to think about taking his head. "How very kind," she said.

"I should have thanked him." She looked around. The steward was over by the gates now.

"It was your kill," Conal said. "And Garth understands that you were recovering from your wound. I thanked him for you. And indeed, he would hardly take a word of thanks. Edar will do well from this raid, when it could have done very badly, and Garth and Anla both know it."

Then Conary came over to them. "You both did very well indeed," he said. "I am proud of you. You did everything you could have, except maybe you could have tried to set fire to the ships to stop them getting away."

"I didn't think of that," Conal said.

"Nobody can think of everything. You might have sent Meithin off and held Atha negotiating and boasting for long enough, but it might not have worked."

"I didn't think Atha would agree to fight me," he said. "She wouldn't fight someone she'd never heard of and when there weren't any other champions present."

"She didn't have a chariot," Emer put in.

Conary looked at her, startled. "I wasn't suggesting that you fight her, just exchanged challenges and boasts to buy time, establishing that it was a raid, not a feud, speaking of a champion who would fight, meaning when we came up."

Emer met his eyes. "Conal held her off for a long time," she said proudly. "They stopped fighting because the herd came back, but he might have won."

"I wouldn't have," Conal said, and shrugged. "She's too good for me yet. But if I keep practicingmdash"

Conary laughed. "You did very well. And what you did with the bull was inspired. It was a great risk, but anything was a risk. You saved the herd and the farm. What you did worked, that's the most important thing."

Conary embraced Conal then, and went to his own chariot.

They set off back to Ardmachan. The fields seemed very brightly green and the hawthorn blossom on the hedgerows almost unnaturally white. Emer felt as if she had run a hundred miles. Conal stood still beside her.

"Conary's really pleased," he said after a while, as if he was turning the thought over in his mind.

"He ought to be," Emer said indignantly. "It's about time people started to appreciate you instead of making a fuss over Darag all the time."

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Conal laughed. "Darag came and congratulated me while you were dozing under the tree. So did Leary. Leary used to be my friend, you know."

"Good for them," Emer said. "And your mother smiled. Maybe even your father will realize you've done something good."

Conal's smile was crooked. "No, I'm fairly sure my father will be angry that I endangered the herd by getting them to stampede and furious that you broke his second-best spare sword."

12

(FERDIA)

"It doesn't matter," Darag said. He threw his last spear at the target and without even looking, flung himself facedown in the grass.

Ferdia had to bite his lip to stop himself from complaining about it again anyway. He wanted to murder Conal.

Everything he had done had been foolhardy at best and outright demented at worst. He had not only got away with it, but had won a praise name and was getting everyone's attention. And the rest of them hadn't even had a chance to fight. By the time they got there, it was all over. But try to suggest that a stampeding herd of cattle wasn't a legitimate weapon of war and not even Atha would agree with you. Even now, a month later, Ferdia couldn't leave it alone. He straightened his own last spear and looked at the target, where Darag's spear quivered a hairsbreadth from his other two spears, right through the throat of the champion-shaped target. One of Ferdia's spears pierced it through the gut, and the other stuck ignominiously in the turf low and to the left of the marked figure. He hadn't done as badly as this for years; it was as if he had completely lost the knack.