The Swans' War 3 - The Shadow Roads (35 page)

Menwyn kept his hands clasped behind his back lest their trem-bling betray his fear. As the night deepened, his anxieties intensified. The call of an owl seemed a bad omen to him, and the relentless creaking of the crickets was a torment almost beyond enduring.

"Is there no sign of the Renne?" he asked his lieutenant for the hundredth time.

"None, sir."

Menwyn glanced up at the sky. Dawn could not be far off. "Could the Renne have been warned?""There is still time," one of the noblemen said.

A rider came thundering up the valley in defiance of all orders.

"Who is that blunderer?" Menwyn snapped.

"I don't know, your grace," a junior officer responded. "But we'll find out." He ran to intercept the rider,and in a moment brought the man, flushed and gasping, back to Lord Menwyn.

"Well?" Menwyn said, trying to keep his voice low despite his anger.

"Your grace…" the man managed between gasps. "A com-ean Russell pany of riders comes down the valley." He pointed back the way he had come. "Black-clad riders. It is Sir Eremon, and he is gathering companies to him as he nears."There was no hope now of keeping his hands still. They flew up like fluttering birds. "Is no one resisting?"The man shook his head. "As he comes he is calling out that the Renne are behind him, that we must form up and turn to fight.""It is a lie! A ruse to frighten the men-at-arms into joining him.""Your grace…" the man said softly. "There is a large force coming down the valley not far behind Sir Eremon.""No," Menwyn said stupidly. "Vast told us they would be land-ing here. Here…at the mouth of the Llynyth."The sounds of horses reached him then.

"Form a mounted company!" Menwyn shouted. "Hafydd must be met on the field! Did you hear?"But no one moved to deliver his order. A dozen men broke and ran for their horses—officers and noblemen.

"Cut them down!" Menwyn ordered. "No one deserts his post on pain of death!"Chaos erupted around him, men running this way and that, scuffling over horses. Swords were drawn,and fighting broke out.

"Your grace!" It was Menwyn's equerry, holding the reins of a horse, blood running down his face. "You must go to Prince Michael. He's our only hope." Menwyn hesitated, unable to believe what happened around him. Men were killing each other over mounts. He caught sight of the approaching riders then—torches bobbing in the darkness illuminating the black horsemen.

Death himself would appear so, Menwyn thought.

He snatched the reins from his equerry, vaulted into the saddle, and, drawing his sword, rode off into the darkness.

Another company of riders could be heard far up the valley. This second force was much larger than the first they had seen, passing like shadows.

"Why is Menwyn moving riders into the draw now?" the Prince whispered to those around him. He looked up at the sky which he thought showed some sign of growing light. "The Renne can't help but hear all this. They will know we're here.""This is a very large company," Pwyll said turning his head to listen. "Has Menwyn been hiding cavalry from us?"Four horsemen loomed out of the dark and spoke the passwords to Prince Michael's guards.

"Ah," the prince said. "Now we'll learn what goes on."One of his guards ran up. "Your grace," he said. "Lord Menwyn."Michael glanced over at Pwyll, who seemed as surprised as he. Lord Menwyn was led quickly through the circle of guards.

The Wills nobleman ignored all polite convention, striding up to Michael. "Hafydd has returned!" he hissed. "Returned and seized control of my army. Vast betrayed us…" Menwyn gestured wildly up the valley. "The Renne are at our backs."No one responded, or even moved. Menwyn stepped closer to Prince Michael.

"You must attack Hafydd, Prince Michael. If he survives this night there is no place where we can hide from him.""But this army wants revenge upon the Renne," T'oldor protested.

"The desire for revenge has led us to this pass!" Michael said angrily. "No plague has ever caused more suffering or spread its contagion more easily." He turned to his officers. "I will go from company to company. The men must understand that we take up arms against a sorcerer to preserve more than our lives. It is to pre-serve the world we know."A great echoing clash resounded down the valley as the Renne army met Hafydd's force.

"There is no time!" Lord Menwyn protested, grabbing the Prince's arm.

Michael shook him off. "There is no other way." He snatched a newly lit torch away from a guard, but before he'd gone many steps he stopped. Turning back to the others, he pointed at Men-

wyn. "Put this man in the forefront of the cavalry and be sure he has a sword.""But I am Menwyn Wills—""Yes, and you are as responsible as any for the plight we find ourselves in this night. All the suffering your conspiracies have caused, and you thought never to pay the cost."Vast rode in the center of a small company of Renne guards. They'd taken his sword, stripped him of his mail, and tied him to his saddle, leaving his hands free. He was wearing a surcoat of Renne blue so that his own allies would kill him. The Duke found himself wondering how long he would last in battle. Per-haps the Renne had laid bets. Certainly a few moments would see his end. He thought tenderly of his wife then. Of their palace and gardens. Of the fields where he liked to ride and see the grains grow.

Torches appeared ahead. A bit of light made shadows out of darkness. And then a line of horsemen loomed out of the night. The Renne let out a great shout, and the two lines of cavalry struck like a hammer to an anvil.

There was fighting all around. Vast ducked his head and wheeled his horse. He saw a man in a Wills surcoat raise his sword to deliver a stroke to a Renne and he tore the blade from the man's hand, knocking him from the saddle with a blow to his helm.

He turned his horse in time to parry a slash from another Wills rider. In desperation he cut the man down. The irony was not lost on him. He was fighting for the Renne whom he had tried to be-tray. Fondor wasn't such a ponderous fool after all.

Michael of Innes rode down into the valley at the head of his re-luctant army. No one knew if they would engage the enemy or turn and flee the field. Perhaps the men-at-arms didn't know them-selves. Michael found air came into his lungs in shallow gasps. If the army would not fight he would be left alone on the field with a handful of loyal men, all of whom would soon be dead.

I survived the servants of Death, he told himself. Armed men can-not frighten me. But he was frightened all the same. Frightened of the darkness, of sorcery, of the shadow land that lay just out of sight of the living.

Down the valley, a terrible battle was being fought. At this dis-tance, in the poor light, it was difficult to be sure what went on, but the battle was moving away from the river, and he was sure that wasn't a good sign. The Renne were being driven back, slowly, re-lentlessly, despite having the element of surprise and superior numbers. In the thick of the battle, what had at first appeared to be a waving torch, the prince now realized, was a flaming sword, cut-ting this way and that. Hafydd.

Bodies began to appear on the ground, their limbs twisted, as though they had been thrown down from the sky. Riderless horses galloped among the dead, frightened and lost. Little knots of wounded staggered past, bearing each other up, and the clash of arms could be felt now, like blows to the chest.

Michael raised his sword and glanced to his left, where Carl A'denne did the same. To his right, Pwyll took up their cry, lower-ing a lance. They spurred their horses forward, and behind he heard their cry echoed. It seemed to carry him forward, almost lift-ing him from the saddle. And they were upon the rear of Hafydd's army. The Renne line had broken, and they fought in isolated com-panies, the sky-blue of the Renne surrounded and assailed by evening blue.

The army of Innes fell upon the forces of evening and the small companies of black clad guards. The Prince cut down his first man, throwing him from the saddle, then caused his horse to kick an-other, the shod hooves snapping a rider's leg. A black guard ap-peared before him, and the Prince's guard divided before him, the fear of Hafydd's magic clinging even to his servants.

The rider fell upon the Prince, strong and skilled. Michael was driven back, parrying each stroke, the sword almost flung from his hand. He quickly realized that he'd met a superior swordsman and rider when a second black guard appeared and attacked him from the other side. The Prince spun his horse and slashed this way and that, looking for a chance to flee, for these two would kill him in a moment. But then a horseman of Innes appeared, and one black guard was thrown down and trampled. It was Pwyll, Michael real-ized, as the knight engaged the second rider, forcing him back, countering every trick the man used. In a moment the second guard was lying on the ground, bleeding, unable to rise.

"You saved my life, Pwyll," Michael called out.

"You may not thank me," Pwyll shouted over the din. He pointed with his blade. Among the whirling dust and smoke from torches, Prince Michael saw Hafydd bearing down on them, his sword ablaze. Men fled before him, and a company of black guards rode behind, falling on the fleeing men from behind, slaying all in their path.

A black guard rode at the Prince and Pwyll, perhaps expecting them to turn and run, but Pwyll cut the man from his saddle with three quick strokes, then, using the flat of his blade, he drove the man's horse back into Hafydd. The two animals collided, and as Hafydd tried to control his mount, Pwyll took out its eye with the point of his blade.

The warhorse stumbled and fell, Hafydd going down in a sheet of flame. The sorcerer's guards drove desperately toward Pwyll, but Michael and a handful of other riders pressed forward to meet them. Pwyll tried to ride over the fallen Hafydd, but the sorcerer held the horse back with his flaming sword as he staggered up.

Pwyll would have engaged Hafydd, but his horse kept shying from the flames and the presence of the sorcerer. Pwyll finally leapt down and let the horse run. He strode toward Hafydd with his sword high.

"So there is one man among you," Hafydd called out. "Too bad you fight for the wrong lord." The sorcerer raised his blade and in one quick motion threw flames over Pwyll, setting his surcoat afire.

Hafydd stepped quickly forward to finish the knight, but even aflame Pwyll raised his own blade and turned the blow aside. He staggered back, then desperately tried to wipe flame away from his face. The sorcerer came forward again, watching, awaiting a clear opportunity. Pwyll could no longer see and stumbled back, almost falling.

Michael saw Carl A'denne jump from the saddle and go after Pwyll. Michael spun his horse and made it kick, its hind legs lash-ing out toward Hafydd, the flame hidden from its view. Once, twice the horse kicked, and Lord Carl tore away Pwyll's surcoat and led him, running blind, away. Prince Michael spurred his horse then, out of the reach of Hafydd's sword.

He rode into the darkness and the chaotic fighting and killed a Wills man-at-arms who had engaged one of his own riders. It hardly mattered; if no one could face Hafydd, he would carry the day. Already he could see men breaking and running. Flame caught in the grass and the trees along the valley's edge. A small barn burned not far off, and smoke lay in the valley like morning fog. He realized then that defeat was certain. It was only a matter of when.

Elise held her blade in the water and pointed. The paddlers turned the boat toward the darkened shore. Tarn had no idea where they were. It seemed like they'd been driving the boat forward for half the night, but with Alaan aboard, that effort could have taken them anywhere. They might not even be in the land between the mountains. A wash of gray seeped up from the eastern horizon, staining the sky. Along the near shore, however, night lingered be-neath the trees. A distant din reached them over the waters, and the smell of smoke clung to the air.

"What is that sound?" Fynnol whispered.

"Battle…" A'brgail answered.

"Hafydd is here," Elise said, her voice empty and lifeless. She took her blade, dripping, from the water, and rose to her feet, star-ing off at the shore, not fearfully, but not with hope either.

Alaan pulled his sword from its scabbard and glanced back at the others. Lifting his paddle inboard, Tarn flexed his back and shoulders, trying to work out the knots. The boat came gliding up to the bank, and Elise stepped ashore, Alaan right behind her.

THESHADOW ROADS

"Baore—please," Elise said. "Will you guard these children? I will not fail Eber twice."Baore did not meet her gaze. "There is a battle, my lady. You will need me.""I can't leave the children unprotected. Take them out into the river if you must. Please, Baore… ?""As you wish," he replied softly.

To the others she said. "Come, any who will. Hafydd is here, and despite brave hearts there are none on the field who can stand against him."A narrow band of trees grew at the end of the valley, along the bank of the Wynnd. There it was dark, the damp voice of the river clear and soft, the ground beneath their feet redolent with decay.

Over the voice of the river, the tumult of battle could be heard. Tam tightened his grip on his sword. In his other hand he held a bow, though only a precious few arrows remained.

Emerging from the trees they saw chaos, riders and men on foot locked in ferocious battle. Tam could see others retreating into the trees, the valley was afire, and men, their clothes burning, came running out of the smoke, screaming.

Horses materialized out of the cloud, blind with fear. Some ran right at them, only turning away at the last second. There in the dust and smoke, barely lit by the still-distant dawn, stood a warrior with a flaming sword.

"You will leave Hafydd to Alaan and me," Elise said, glancing once at Tam, though speaking to all. "Heroism would be foolish here. If we can bring Hafydd down, his army will break and run.""We'll try to keep back his guards," Cynddl said.

As they all set off across the field, Elise reached out and grasped Tarn's arm. "I wish I could have left you safe at the boat," she whis-pered. "You have risked enough in this war.""No more than many others," Tam said. Their fingers found each other and clasped for a second, then they were running, run-ning against a tide of fleeing men, some afire. Hafydd was winning.

Alaan found Tam in the smoke, and shouted, "The men of ￡%(^S>Innes and the Renne are in flight. They are the enemies of Hafydd. The dark surcoats are the Wills, and Hafydd's guards." He slapped Tarn once on the shoulder and was gone, following Elise into the smoke.

Tarn sheathed his sword and drew an arrow. In the smoke and false dawn it was hard to tell friend from foe, but he let fly at a rider clothed in dark and watched him fall, the Fael bow proving stronger than mail at short distance.

He tried to stay close to Fynnol and Cynddl, as they all fol-lowed Elise into the smoke. They were forced to skirt areas of burning grass, the flames in places reaching higher than their heads. Men appeared out of the clouds, some fighting, others looking for their enemies. Tarn fired at any dark surcoats he saw, but the smoke billowed and whirled, revealing men for an instant, then hiding them again a second later. He feared some arrows went into the ground.

A flame appeared in the smoke, then a man wielding it.

"Hafydd!" Alaan shouted to Elise, and pointed with his sword. Heat seemed to emanate from the knight—it seared his face and stung his eyes, forcing him back, looking about madly. Horsemen rode out of the smoke and Tarn would have been cut in two by one, but Alaan took the man from his saddle in one stroke. Elise had an-other, and Cynddl put an arrow in a third, and the rest were gone, devoured by the clouds.

Hafydd saw Elise and came striding toward her, the wave of heat driving Tarn and the others back.

"Fall back to the stream!" Alaan ordered, andTam began a re-treat to where he hoped the creek lay. There was no sound of water to be heard over the din of battle, the cries of men, and the searing crackle of fire.

Alaan and Elise raised their swords and, two-handed, drove the points into the ground. Tarn was thrown onto his back as the ground beneath him heaved, and a deep, rending sound rolled across the valley. He tried to get up but was thrown to his knees. A dark, jagged rift snaked along the ground, which then parted, tear-

ing open like a wound. Alaan and Elise both scrambled to their feet, separated by the opening ground.

Two dozen feet away, Hafydd tumbled into the fissure. Elise and Alaan drove their swords into the ground again, this time to ei-ther side of the crack. Tam braced himself and felt the earth shud-der, grinding as it moved. The crevice stuttered closed, leaving an ugly, dark scar across the ground.

The tremors stopped, and Tam could see Alaan and Elise, both leaning on the pommels of their swords, heads hanging down as they gasped for breath. Alaan forced his head up, spotted Tam and tried to smile.

The sound of battle had ceased, and a strange silence fell over the valley.

"He is dead!" a voice cried in the smoke. "The sorcerer is dead!"Alaan staggered to his feet, but was thrown back as the ground exploded, and a column of fire erupted out of the earth. Cynddl dragged Tam up. His eyes were filled with dirt, and he wiped at them with one hand, his bow still tightly grasped in the other. A fig-ure emerged from the fire: Hafydd, his sword still in flame.

Tam thought Alaan and Elise looked at each other, not so much in surprise but as though Hafydd's return was inevitable, somehow. Tam remembered that Sianon had given her life to destroy Caibre, and he heard himself whisper, "Not this day."Tam nocked an arrow, shouting to Cynddl. "Elise will die to kill him if we can't help."Tam tried to sight Hafydd along the shaft, but he was still half-blind from the explosion. He let the arrow fly, not sure if it was even close to the mark. Smoke and flame surrounded Hafydd, as though he himself were afire, and he was never wholly in view. Tam rubbed at his eyes, backing away as Hafydd came toward them. Even Alaan and Elise were retreating, half-blind.

Cynddl and Fynnol both let arrows fly at Hafydd.

"I swear they burn to ash before they reach him," Fynnol cried.

Tam stepped back, almost falling into the stream. He felt the cool water run down his boot.

"Elise!" he shouted. "The stream!"She turned and ran toward Tarn, leaving Alaan. Tarn could see the traveler stop retreating. He took a fighting stance and raised his sword. Alaan,Tarn knew, was far stronger than he appeared and full of deceptions and guile, but Hafydd appeared so much more pow-erful than he, billowing flame as he stalked the traveler.

"You cannot stand against us both," Alaan cried out. "Better to lay down your sword and go into the river than through the black gate.""The gate will not open for me," Hafydd shouted. He raised his flaming sword and came toward Alaan, who did not recoil.

Elise stumbled down into the river, thrusting her blade into the water. Tarn could hear her mumbling rapidly. In the smoke, Tam saw Hafydd aim a great stroke at Alaan, and though the traveler looked as though he would stand and meet it with his own blade, he dodged aside at the last second and let Hafydd drive his sword into the ground.

Alaan swung at him, his blade arcing into the knight's side. Hafydd was knocked down but rolled to his feet, nimble and ap-parently unharmed, his mail having turned the stroke.

Tam soaked an arrow in the stream and let it fly, watching it bury itself in Hafydd's shoulder. The knight staggered a step, then threw flame at Alaan, and at Tam. The Valeman leapt aside, stum-bling into the water, trying to keep his bowstring dry. He lunged up, and reached for another arrow, but they were gone—spent.

"Fynnol!" he cried. "Cynddl?" He must have more arrows, but his companions were not in sight. Smoke seared his lungs so that a spasm of coughing gripped him. He could see only Alaan, locked in combat with Hafydd. The wander's cloak caught fire, but he tore it off with one hand and threw it aside. It hardly seemed to have touched the ground before it rose, as though caught by a wind, and flew at Hafydd's face.

Alaan ducked low and cut at Hafydd's leg, catching him just below the knee. Hafydd staggered but did not fall, and the cloak was thrown aside. It flared for a second, then whirled away.

"I know all your feints, Brother," Hafydd taunted. "Have you nothing new to show me?"A broad snake of water slithered out of the river, running ankle deep through the blackened grass. It reached Hafydd in a heartbeat and surged up his leg, smothering flame as it went. The knight looked down in surprise, as the tendril of water circled his waist, then ran up his arm and extinguished the flaming sword.

"Only the inside of a grave, Brother," Alaan said, and waded in with his sword, driving the limping Hafydd back. The knight had only one good arm, from Tarn's arrow, and Alaan hewed at him two-handed, the force of his blows almost driving the blade from Hafydd's hands.

Elise leapt from the stream, running toward the two men. She raised her sword, and Tam thought that certainly Hafydd would fall now.

As Elise was about to strike a blow, Hafydd spun in a circle, fire spraying from his blade. He threw a circle of flame around the three of them, and Tam was sure he heard the sorcerer shout in tri-umph. The flames leapt up, and smoke billowed out, driving Tam down onto his haunches on the stream's far shore. He realized that the battle was still being fought, riders clashing furiously, knots of men hewing at each other, screaming in rage and pain. It all seemed so distant.

Elise was blinded by fire and smoke, holding up an arm to protect her face from the heat. Hafydd was lost in the fire, as was Alaan. She had been here before… long ago.

She remembered.

The walls had been thrown down, gates torn from their hinges. He had dammed up the river … with a spell, until the stream bed itself ran dry, and his armies came swarming over what had once been an im-penetrable moat—her great defense. Armies fell upon each other and were consumed in fire and magic.

The memories came back to her, drifting back.

Smoke and flame everywhere, stone burning, exploding from heat. And he had pursued her up into the ruin of a tower, where there was no escape but into the air. Sianon had backed up the broken stair, Caibre in pursuit, hobbling where she'd wounded him—wounded him at great price, for he'd run a sword through her left arm, which hung useless, blood oozing through the rag she'd tied around it.

His helmet was silver, reflecting the fire of his sword: she remembered that—and his face contorted in rage. She shrank away, toward the shat-tered wall, hardly a parapet.

Caibre stopped at the stair head, looking quickly around, realizing then that she was trapped. "Come, Sister" he said, his voice soft and malevolent, "I will send you to join your beloved brother…""A place I would go gladly," she said. "But not alone.…"Dim figures appeared in the smoke; Hafydd and Alaan, locked in battle. She lurched forward to support Alaan, but they were gone, swept away in the whirling smoke.

Caibre used his great sword two-handed, like Slighthand, but she had only one good arm and was forced to rely on quickness and guile. She leapt onto the wall and almost landed behind him, for he was hob-bling and slow—if it wasn't all an act. Caibre was ever cunning and du-plicitous.

A horse and rider, entirely aflame, raced by, and Elise barely jumped clear. The heat was unbearable and she choked and coughed, the smoke burning her throat and lungs, searing her eyes. A black billowing cloud forced her to turn, driving her to her knees.

She had stumbled at last, despite her swiftness, and barely rolled out of the way of Caibre's stroke. His sword rang on the stone beside her head.

The smoke clung to her, as though it had claws, but a small breeze tore it free, and Hafydd stood before her, sword raised. She was about to leap aside when she realized he was turned away from her, and there, barely visible, Alaan braced himself, sword high. Elise did not hesitate, but sprang forward, slashing at the back of Hafydd's knee. But at the last second he moved, and drove the pommel of his sword into her head.

The memories burned inside her…He had trapped her in the tower, and no matter what she did, kept himself between her and the stair. Several times their swords met, and even one-handed she did not falter. She kicked his good foot out from under him, sending Caibre crashing down on the stone, but with only one good arm she could not finish him. He turned her blows aside, ris-ing slowly, finally finding his feet, still limping and slow, but formidable even so. She cut his forearm, and saw him bleed, and he struck her good hand a glancing blow with the flat of his blade, cracking a bone. The af-ternoon bore on to evening, the sorcerers in the tower locked in combat, burning stones tumbling down the walls, where they bounced and rolled into the riverbed and lay hissing in the damp earth.

Elise fell forward, dazed, but some shred of awareness told her hand to hold on to the sword. The world seemed to draw away, the sounds of fire and battle fading. She expected the final blow—the point driven into her heart or the blade slicing through her neck— but it did not come. And then the sounds of battle came drifting back, the blistering heat. She opened her eyes, and saw a hand, bleeding, holding a smoky blade. She forced herself up on one knee, where coughing and nausea stopped her. For a moment she reeled, then forced herself to stagger up. Alaan could not stand against Hafydd alone. She knew.

She tried to turn the blow aside, but it struck her sword full force… shattering the blade, leaving her with afoot of steel. Sianon leapt back, looking desperately around. Caibre lumbered forward, driving her into a corner with his flaming sword, too long to elude.