Bridge of Swords (31 page)

‘I hope Sendatsu will be all right,’ she worried.

‘He’ll be fine — the Forlish have never fought anyone like him before. I’m more worried about us.’

‘We shall work together. You begin first — loose a few bolts quickly, then I shall begin as well. That way we shall not run out together. We’ll tell each other when we are reloading, so we can cover each other,’ Rhiannon suggested.

Huw thought about it and liked the idea. They both had makeshift quivers, cloth bags really, tied around their waists, each filled with the short, wicked bolts. Each elven crossbow could take about a dozen of them, and they had filled the hoppers and had at least another hundred bolts apiece in the bags. He hoped it was enough.

Naibun took it to the next level when he began systematically killing humans — those with magic, priests of Aroaril and human leaders who had worked with us in the past. He had captured the lists from the Magic-weavers and now used them as they had planned.

Unsurprisingly some humans fought back — and Naibun was able to bring reports of dead elves before a Council meeting I missed. Coming from my most loyal supporter, he was able to win support to punish any humans who came close to the barrier — and he stretched that definition as far as it could go, pushing the Border Patrol far out beyond Dokuzen.

Gareth finally raised an arm to call a halt a good ten yards from the start of the woods. For a moment Sendatsu thought the man had lost his courage, for the woods were silent, ominously so, and while he had not seen anything, he could feel eyes on him. But then he realised Gareth just wanted everyone to catch up.

‘Hurry! They will get away!’ Gareth boomed.

Sendatsu doubted the Forlish wanted to go anywhere, although it was a different story with the Velsh.

‘Are they going to be able to fight?’ he asked Gareth.

‘Oh, they will fight,’ Gareth promised.

By the time there was a solid group of Velsh standing there,
all peering nervously at the woods, Sendatsu seriously doubted it, although Gareth was confident enough.

‘When I give the order, we shall all rush in together. Stay close and kill any Forlishman you see!’ Gareth told them. ‘They will learn the strength of Vales today!’

That raised a ragged cheer, so Gareth turned and waved his axe.

‘Follow me!’

It was less a determined charge and more of a cautious trot, but the Velsh broke into a run and, led by Gareth, plunged into the woods.

Sendatsu made sure he was just behind the lead group of Gareth and his cronies, ones who had been passing around the skins of mead on the walk from the village. He put away his arrow and slipped his bow into a holder across his back. In here, the sword was going to be the better weapon.

The trail led across flattened bushes, to a small clearing where a fire burned, around which three lifeless, naked women were tied to stakes.

It all reeked of a trap but, before Sendatsu could shout a useless warning, Gareth bellowed with rage and raced into the clearing, heading right for the stakes, his men close behind him.

Sendatsu immediately scanned the undergrowth, searching for the Forlish he knew must be hidden, allowing more Velsh to slip past him, men carrying hoes and scythes that bumped on low-hanging tree branches and got in each other’s way.

By now Gareth had reached the first of the women, lifted the head and roared with fury as he looked into dead eyes. Even from where he stood, Sendatsu could see their throats had been cut. The Velsh were now milling around the stakes, with Gareth trying to cut the bodies free of their bonds with his axe.

‘Watch the trees!’ Sendatsu ordered but, even as the first of the Velsh reacted sluggishly to his call, the Forlish struck.

Sendatsu reluctantly had to admire it. The timing was perfect. The Velsh rush had lost all momentum, the ones eager to fight were standing around uselessly, while the rest were tangled with each other and the trees as well.

Forlish warriors raced in from all directions, picking their targets, crashing home with devastating force. Velshmen swung axes or poked spears or hoes and had their crude weapons swept aside by veteran soldiers, who got close and cut and thrust viciously with their wicked swords.

Gareth swung his axe in huge arcs, forcing back a pair of Forlish, while a few of the others were clever enough to stand together, holding out their spears to keep the Forlish at a distance. But a dozen others fell in a matter of moments, alcohol-inspired bravery and farm-bred strength no match for training and discipline.

Sendatsu raced forwards, to where the Forlish trap was about to close and cut off Gareth’s group, eager to pay these Forlish back for what they had done.

To his left a warrior lunged at him but Sendatsu just slipped past the point and delivered a short slash to the neck, sending the man backwards. On his right another cut at his head but he blocked that easily and used the momentum from his first blow to send his blade deep into the man’s chest. His sword caught on ribs and he cursed, brought up his foot and tried to kick the gasping man off his blade.

‘Come on! Fight!’ he roared at the Velsh, ripping his sword free and shoving the dying Forlishman towards his advancing comrades.

But the mass of Velsh was collapsing in on itself as the Forlish pressed in from all sides. Everywhere he looked, men were dying. He raced to help a young Velshman who was prodding desperately with his pitchfork, trying to keep a swordsman at bay. As the Forlishman pushed the rusty tines away and drew back his sword for the killing thrust, Sendatsu jumped in and cut off his head with a huge dragon-tail stroke.

That got the attention of other Forlish and a pair changed direction and pressed in on him.

Sendatsu shoved the Velshman he had saved towards a fallen sword.

‘Pick it up! Fight!’ he ordered.

Instead, the Velshman raced away. Sendatsu could not do more, for the Forlish sliced and cut at him from opposite directions. But this was no more than an exercise to Sendatsu, a drill he had practised scores of times, and a chance to use the floating cloud style. He jumped towards one man, forcing him back, then turned swiftly to block a blow from the other, rolling his wrists and chopping over the top. Before that Forlishman had collapsed, he had spun again, to parry another lunge. He cut off the Forlishman’s hand, then sliced his throat as he screamed in pain, silencing him in mid-cry.

‘Stay together, use your spears!’ he shouted again, wiping blood off his face and trying to see what Gareth and the other Velsh were doing.

Behind him, the nervous fighters, led by the man he had saved, were flooding back down the trail, running for their lives. In front of him, Gareth and a dozen men stood, surrounded by the bodies of a score of others, while Forlish pressed in from three sides, tightening the noose around them. Sendatsu could see they had no idea how to fight.

‘To me!’ Sendatsu bellowed.

At last they heeded his words, hearing them over the screams of the wounded and dying and the war cries of the Forlish. Sendatsu counted swiftly — there were more than forty Forlishmen and each was the equal of three or four Velsh.

The Velsh were running towards Sendatsu. Only Gareth remained, his feet planted solidly, swinging his axe wildly from side to side, as though he was chopping at a tree. It only took moments — one Forlishman waited until the axe had swung past, then stepped in and thrust his sword into Gareth’s belly. The big Velshman dropped his axe and grabbed his killer around the throat but, before he could crush the life out of him, other Forlish stepped in and their swords sank deeply into Gareth, who toppled over.

‘Stay with me!’ Sendatsu tried to slow them down but, once they began running, it was hard to stop. They raced for the village and the Forlish flooded after them in pursuit. Sendatsu
had to back away himself, wondering where Huw and Rhiannon had gone.

Then the Forlish raced in, and he had no more time to worry about them.

‘Come on! Stick together! Get those spears out!’ He tried to hold the last of the frightened Velsh together as the Forlish pressed in, eager to finish this slaughter.

Huw and Rhiannon had been caught at the back, slowed down by the stragglers, who had been caught up in the trees and with each other. When the fighting began, the first they heard of it was the screaming of men dying on steel blades. Almost immediately, men began pushing backwards, heading for the sunlight and the village. One man dropped his scythe and ran, next moment a dozen of them were pushing and shoving to get clear, everyone getting tangled up with each other.

‘Come on — let’s get around them!’ Rhiannon shouted. She was frightened, but not just for herself. Sendatsu was up there somewhere, near where all the screaming was happening. She knew he could handle himself but he was relying on them to help.

Huw did not want to go near the fighting. Every instinct told him to turn around, let the tide of frightened men carry him out in the sun once more. But he could not leave Rhiannon. He jumped over a low bush and hurried after her.

More and more men were now running backwards down the trail, while the screams and the shouts were louder up ahead. They could hear Sendatsu bellowing for men to stay with him and looked at each other.

‘Come on then.’ Huw waved and they pushed through the bushes, until they could see Sendatsu fighting furiously. Few Velsh were helping him and plenty of Forlish were trying to kill him.

‘Do it! Quick!’ Rhiannon cried and Huw levelled his crossbow in response.

He worked the crossbow’s lever, sending a steady stream of bolts at the Forlish to Sendatsu’s left side. Men stopped, ducked
and covered up as wicked bolts sunk into flesh. Rhiannon added hers and that whole side backed away, collapsing in on itself. Sendatsu used the respite to turn on those in front of him. He deflected a wild swing and cut viciously, sending the Forlishman screaming back into his fellows, then he danced clear of the pursuit, encouraging a few of the slightly more sober Velsh to stand with him, to use their hunting spears to hold back the Forlish. Now the narrowness of the path worked to the favour of the Velsh, for it was the Forlish advance that was being held back, compressed by the path and the crossbow bolts slicing in from the flank. These bolts rarely took a man down with just one. But they rarely hit with just one. The narrowness of the Forlish advance allowed Huw and Rhiannon to concentrate their bolts on a small space. One was a painful annoyance, two slowed a man down, three or more and that Forlishman was out of the battle.

‘Keep going! Stay together!’ Sendatsu urged the Velsh, trying to get them to hold together and walk backwards at the same time.

It was almost impossible.

One by one, the Velsh disappeared down the trail.

‘Take your friends!’ Sendatsu darted from left to right, his sword cutting down Forlish who pressed too close, trying to give the wounded a chance to be dragged to safety.

The Forlish used short swords, ideal for close work and the shield wall — and more than enough to deal with the untrained Velsh. But Sendatsu’s blade was considerably longer, giving him more reach — and he had far more skill as well. The Forlish held their swords in their right hands, used their whole arms to stab or swing fiercely, yet wildly. Sendatsu had two hands on his hilt and used wrists and forearms to move the sword too swiftly for them to follow. He dazzled them with a variety of styles — using the cross, the dragon-tail, the wagonwheel, the eight-side, tiger-claw and thunder-strike. They raised their swords to block a blow heading for their necks, only for Sendatsu to subtly change direction and slice off an arm, or cut open chests or stomachs. They were brave men and pressed in — but seeing their comrades fall to this blade naturally slowed them down a little, and they
were content to push the elf back, rather than try to bring him down.

He beckoned them forwards, lost in the moment, his whole body alight. The fury that had filled him in Rheged had found an outlet. He was painted from head to foot in blood and the sight of him, wild eyes glaring from a red mask, was enough to give the Forlish reason to hesitate.

Huw and Rhiannon backed away as well, although few Forlish were going near them — they preferred to try to hide behind trees, duck away from the swarm of vicious little bolts hurtling in. The pair of them worked together as if they had practised this for months, instead of talked about it once.

‘I’m out! Loading!’ Huw called.

As he burrowed in his pouch and fed the bolts into the hopper on the top of the crossbow, Rhiannon slowed her rate of fire slightly, watching her targets and making sure nobody tried to rush in.

‘I’m here again!’ Huw cycled the crossbow through, sending his first bolt into a man’s thigh.

‘Sendatsu’s falling back!’ Rhiannon cried, unable to keep stealing glances over to where the elf dared the Forlish to come near.

‘Pull back ten yards! You go and I’ll cover you! Call me when you’re ready!’

Rhiannon did not argue, turning and racing back, jumping over small bushes and dodging trees.

‘Huw! Now!’ she called, aiming her crossbow up a little to get more range as she loosed bolts.

Huw spun and ran, his back itching as he went. It was an effort to stop, to turn and use the crossbow again, but having Rhiannon beside him made it easier.

‘I’m out! Cover me!’ Rhiannon called.

As she reloaded, a Forlishman crashed through bushes at them. Perhaps he had seen Huw turn and run, perhaps the lack of bolts made him bold. Whatever, he raced at them, sword raised high, lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl.

Time seemed to slow for Huw and he could see every detail. The fresh blood on the Forlish blade, the dried blood on his tunic and trews, the hatred in his eyes and the anger on his face. He could see the small bushes, beginning to flower, leaves broken and torn by the heavy feet of running men. Run! Every instinct told him to turn but he knew Rhiannon stood beside him, so he braced himself and levelled the elven crossbow. Until now he had been aiming at groups of men, not one individually. He had been able to loose bolts without looking into the eyes of the men he was trying to hurt and kill. But there was no such luxury here. He had to stop the man, or the Forlish warrior would cut him down and then get his hands on Rhiannon …

Huw loosed his first bolt, teeth gritted to stop himself from crying out, watched it flicker past the Forlishman’s right shoulder. He adjusted left and loosed again, saw it sink into the man’s chest, high up, watched his foe grimace in pain but keep going. Again he loosed, struck in the middle of the chest this time, but the Forlishman kept coming, eating up the distance between them a yard at a time with each stride. Again and again Huw loosed, watching the man check slightly with each strike, the shafts of the bolts bristling from his chest. Blood was now spilling out of the man’s mouth but he still ran on, sword held high.