Bridge of Swords (4 page)

‘They look like they are ready to strike first and ask questions afterwards,’ Asami muttered as they crept behind bushes, watching a trio of guards screaming at a young elf.

Sendatsu said nothing but there was still one ray of hope among the fear. His father could sort out anything. He just had to pay his father’s price.

Finally they reached Asami’s house.

‘Where is Gaibun?’

‘He has probably been summoned, along with other Border Patrol.’ Asami opened the door and waved him inside.

‘Curse it! He would be the best one to take a message to my father. That is the only way out of this mess,’ Sendatsu decided.

‘Well, sit down and write your message, while I try and find Gaibun.’

Sendatsu grabbed parchment and pen but found time to smile at her.

‘Asami, thank you. I can’t tell you how much it means to have you here at this time.’

‘I thought you would be angry with me — if I had not brought Sumiko to your house then none of this would have happened.’ She smiled.

Sendatsu sighed. ‘The fault was not yours. I agreed to give you the scroll if my father refused to act on it. And then my father gave Hanto outrageous orders — and he exceeded even those. There are many people to blame but you are not one of them.’

For a moment it looked as though she would say something more, then she ducked out of Gaibun’s office, leaving Sendatsu to stare at the blank parchment and wonder what he could say to his father. It was hard to talk to him at the best of times — and this was certainly not the best of times.

Then Asami burst back through the door.

‘Gaibun is here!’

‘I haven’t written my message yet …’

‘He’s at the head of a hundred soldiers — including that Hanto!’

Sendatsu surged to his feet but before he could reach her side, someone beat on the front door.

‘Sendatsu! It is Gaibun! Open up!’

Sendatsu’s childhood friend, and Asami’s husband, was a tall elf with a burning gaze and a long moustache. Like Sendatsu, he had powerful arms and chest, a legacy of so much work with the bow but, with his extra height, he seemed to carry it better. Normally he was smiling but his face was grim, his eyes sad as he embraced Sendatsu.

‘My friend, I told them I was coming to persuade you to surrender without more bloodshed. But I am here to tell you to flee,’ he said urgently.

‘Flee? What do you mean?’

‘Your father received your message …’

‘I haven’t sent him my message yet!’

Gaibun looked taken aback. ‘He received something that drove him mad. I have never seen him like that. He was raving that you threatened not just him but Dokuzen when you declared you would reveal your secrets if taken to trial.’

‘What?’ Sendatsu spat. The right to trial was only available to elves of noble birth, of course. The lower classes had to accept whatever justice the Council was prepared to give. But elves such as Sendatsu could have their case heard before the full Council, with anyone able to go along to watch.

‘Apparently you have threatened to bring down the Council and destroy Dokuzen with some great secret if you are taken to trial,’ Gaibun insisted.

‘I would never say that!’

‘Well, your father believes you did. And the fact you slaughtered a squad of Council Guards is hardly in your favour. Everyone is screaming for your head and your father has signed orders saying you are to be killed.’

‘No! That cannot be true!’

‘I have seen it myself. Hanto has been telling everyone how you murdered his men with sword and magic — that you have gone mad and will not stop until every last elf is dead.’

‘Gaibun, I need you to take a message to my father, a real message, which will explain everything,’ Sendatsu said urgently.

Gaibun reached out and grasped his shoulder. ‘Of course I would do that for you, my friend — but I fear it will do nothing. Words will not stop the desire for your head. You need to flee somewhere, let all this die down and then perhaps you can try again.’

‘Flee? Where? I don’t know anyone outside Dokuzen! Should I try and hide in some fishing shack up north? I would stand out like a fire in the night. Besides, if I run, they think me guilty. Take a message to my father. That is the only way out of this mess.’

‘Of course, brother. I will do anything — but I warn you to be ready to flee. Asami can send you somewhere north, somewhere safe. I ordered my warriors to wait for my return but your father
could get here at any moment and send them swarming over the walls.’

Sendatsu grabbed quill and ink and wrote feverishly, gabbling out a declaration of innocence, a plea to solve this without further bloodshed and a promise to do whatever necessary to make amends.

‘I shall take this to your father. But be prepared for warriors to attack if I come out without you,’ Gaibun warned.

‘I will take that chance. It is the best one …’

A noise outside the room made them all turn, made Sendatsu reach for his sword — but it was not a Council Guard.

‘No, there is another choice,’ Sumiko announced as she walked in.

‘Sensei — how did you get here?’ Asami gasped.

‘I opened a gateway through the oak tree in your garden. I have told you, many times, to put a ward of warning around it,’ the Magic-weaver said crisply. ‘Sendatsu, you cannot negotiate from weakness. Go out there and you will be lucky to escape with your life. The best you can hope for is to lose your children to your father.’

‘I will not let that happen!’

‘You have no choice. Your father will do whatever he wants. But there is a better way. The knowledge in that scroll terrifies him, as it will all of the Council. Use that knowledge to get what you want.’

‘But I don’t have the scroll — Hanto took it!’ Sendatsu protested.

‘Yes, but we don’t need the scroll. The knowledge within it is just lying out there, ready to be picked up.’

‘What?’ Sendatsu’s head was spinning at this.

‘The human world. Out there is all you need. The truth about why the elves sealed themselves away into Dokuzen — everything. Get the living proof of what is in that scroll and I swear the Magic-weavers will protect you and give you back the peaceful life with your children that you want,’ Sumiko said with a smile.

‘Go into the human world? Are you mad?’ Sendatsu goggled at her. ‘No elf has been through the barrier in three centuries! It would kill me!’

‘No — it is but a shadow of what it was. An elf strong in magic can get through it now. Asami’s studies have proved that.’

Sendatsu knew it was possible to travel great distances, using oak trees, but he had no idea how, nor anything like the magical ability necessary. ‘I don’t have the power!’

‘No, but Asami does. She can send you through,’ Sumiko said complacently.

‘I can? Are you sure it is safe, sensei? Should we not try it on an animal or something first?’

‘I have already done so. It is perfectly safe. And it need not be for long. The alternative is either to flee north into the fishing villages of the coast, or fight here and die.’

‘No,’ Sendatsu declared. ‘Gaibun, take that message to my father. That is still the best way …’

‘I think you need to flee. Sumiko may be right. Perhaps the human world is the best place for you,’ Gaibun offered.

‘Please — the message?’ Sendatsu pleaded.

Gaibun nodded, embraced Sendatsu one more time. ‘If you do go, then know both Asami and I will be doing everything we can to help you get back home, my brother,’ he whispered.

Sendatsu hugged him back, feeling tears prick his eyes at the thought of having such a good friend. Gaibun left, with a nod to Asami, the first time either had acknowledged each other.

‘Put your trust in the Magic-weavers. Get us the evidence we need to show the Council is lying to the people and can no longer be trusted to protect Dokuzen, and everything will go back to the way it was,’ Sumiko promised.

Sendatsu took Asami’s arm and guided her out into the garden.

‘What do you think?’ he asked softly.

Asami looked torn. ‘I do not love Gaibun but I trust his words. If he says your message will not stop those guards outside, then it must be true. But to go into the human world … you’d have to find evidence the Magic-weavers can use to turn the people
against the Council. You need to find humans who know what happened three hundred years ago, why the elves sealed themselves away.’

‘But, even then, can Sumiko overthrow the Council and give me my life back?’

‘Of course. If the people know the barrier is failing and the Council cannot stop it, naturally they will turn to the Magic-weavers to save them. And things will be different with Sumiko in charge. The Magic-weavers are sick of the way the Council rules Dokuzen for the benefit of the nobles, grinding the lower classes down. We would make a better Dokuzen, one where your skills and character are more important than your clan and family. I believe that with all my heart.’

‘Can I trust Sumiko to give me my life back?’ he insisted.

‘You can trust me,’ Asami promised. ‘Get what we need and I will get you back here, get your children and life back.’

Sendatsu felt torn. Even if his father intervened and saved him, life would never be the same. He would be working for his father, doing everything he hated and missing his children. Jaken would use them against him every day. The thought was revolting. But to risk everything on going out into the human world … Sendatsu had never liked making decisions and his mind rebelled at the size of this one.

Unthinking, he reached out and held Asami’s hand, just as he would hold Mai’s and Cheijun’s hands when they were upset or scared. The tension was too much to bear.

‘Where has Gaibun got to?’ he asked the question that was twisting his insides around.

Then Gaibun burst into the garden, waving his arms. ‘Sendatsu! Run! They are coming!’ His bellow confirmed Sendatsu’s worst fears.

It had barely finished echoing around the garden when the first of the guards began dropping over the walls, swords in hands.

‘Wait!’ Sendatsu cried, holding up his hands — but arrows flickered close to his head, forcing him to duck. There was nowhere out of here — he was surrounded.

‘Asami! Get him away!’ Sumiko called.

‘She’s right, you have no choice, you have to go!’ Asami cried, dragging him across to the oak tree in the centre of her garden.

‘But how do I get back?’

‘The moon. The tree you come out, return there at each phase of the moon and I shall open a gateway at midday and midnight.’ Asami grabbed the oaken staff that Sumiko had left against the tree, closed her eyes and thrust the staff deep into the trunk.

‘Is it safe? Are you through?’ Sendatsu worried.

‘I am through the barrier!’ she exclaimed, then opened her eyes. ‘It is even weaker than we thought. But you must hurry. Hold onto the staff until you are through.’

Sendatsu could see the guards closing in and, although he did not want to go, did not know what else could be done.

‘Hold!’ Gaibun waved down the archers who had drawn their bows again. ‘My wife is there, he is holding her prisoner! Nobody loose an arrow!’

‘Help me get back. Look after my children,’ he pleaded.

Asami reached up and kissed him, hard, oblivious to her husband just yards away. ‘Come back, for all of us,’ she whispered.

An arrow flew then, just missing his head. Grabbing the staff, Sendatsu raced into the tree like a man running for his life — and Dokuzen vanished behind him.

That was how he left Dokuzen. He did not know when he could return but, finally, his tears dried and he stood up. His children were lost to him but crying would not get them back. He knew what he had to do — find out if humans could do magic, discover what had really happened when the elves had withdrawn into Dokuzen. It was his only chance. He did not want to overthrow the Council but, if that was the price of getting them back, he would destroy his father and the other clan leaders and anyone who got in his way.

He could feel a new determination within him, a grim desire that would not be stopped by anything. He would turn the
human and elven worlds on their heads to hold Mai and Cheijun again.

Down the hill there was a human village, smoke from its fires staining the afternoon sky. It was a place to start. He began to walk towards the village.

Lies will kill me. But the truth must live on. My enemies will find what I have already written and they will either destroy it or lock it away where none can find it. My instructions from the forefathers are written on a scroll, hidden inside an old book. That might survive — or might be burned. But not this. I shall hide it too well — and it will be in the last place they expect to look. I pray the one who finds it can use my tale to change Dokuzen for the better, make it a place where the truth is more valued than lies.

I hate lies. And yet they are so much more powerful than truth, so much easier to believe. The people think we built the magical barrier around Dokuzen to keep the humans out. No, the barrier was built to keep us away from the humans. For our magic was too strong. Elves might have used it wisely, done things to improve the lives of all. But we are human, we just pretend we are elves. We would have used it to rule the other human tribes, turn them into our slaves.

The Elfarans, our forefathers, realised this. They had a plan to give the humans back their future, the future we took away from them. I was the one chosen to make it happen. For a while I dared to dream of success — but then I was betrayed by those I trusted. Friends who I thought protected my back in fact stood behind me because it was easier to plunge the knife home. My dearest friend, who called me brother to my face and held me
close, was the one to bring me down. The leader of the Magic-weavers, who I thought my ally, plotted for herself. So many had their own motives that I stood no chance of success.

Yet I was not a complete failure. I saved the humans from us — for now, at least. We took so much from the human lands we found here. Death would be too bitter for me if I knew we had also taken their freedom. I hope they learn and develop, away from us, so that when we finally meet again, it can be as equals. I hope for many things — but then, hope is all I have in the little time left to me.

Rhiannon screamed.

Huw jumped out of his chair, heart racing, not knowing where he was or what was going on for a moment. He had drifted off to sleep and been in the middle of a dream, where King Ward’s soldiers had been chasing him. In the dream, he had been unable to run away fast enough, his feet seemingly churning through the thickest mud while Ward’s men raced lightly across the ground after him, wicked swords thirsting for his flesh. He had been trying to scream himself when Rhiannon screamed for him.

He looked around, the dream’s fears still holding him, but the room was empty, the door still locked and a chair braced under the handle.

He spun to where Rhiannon was sitting up in bed.

‘What is it?’ he asked, trying to blink open eyes still gritty with sleep.

‘I keep having nightmares about King Ward killing my father,’ she said in a small, choked voice.

She had gone to bed while he had been downstairs seeing to the horses and now he saw she had also taken the time to change into her nightgown. It was impossible to ignore the fact it was far more flimsy than it had seemed to be when he had stuffed it into a bag for her, along with a handful of other clothes.

He reached out to hold her — then hesitated. Firstly, although he had sworn on the stars above they were just friends and he would never take advantage of her, he had been desperately
in love with her since the first time he saw her in King Ward’s court. Secondly, he had lied and tricked to get her away from Cridianton. Her father was not only alive, but he and Ward were probably plotting a hideous vengeance on Huw right now. Luckily he had also lied to them, so they were probably searching for him hundreds of miles away. They thought he was one of them, a Forlishman. Instead he came from Vales. Ward would certainly never let a Velshman into his court, even a bard as talented as Huw. He had lied to them, said his name was Hugh of Browns Brook so he could make his dream of being a bard come true. He had lied to Rhiannon to save her from King Ward. One lie was already coming back to haunt him. He could only hope the other lie would protect him long enough to make up for it.

‘I too am having bad dreams about escaping from the king’s castle,’ he said softly, sitting on the very edge of her bed and holding her hand. Friends would do that, he told himself. Just try to look at her eyes, not lower down …

‘Just before I open my eyes, I think I will wake up in the king’s palace and imagine that everything is as it was, everyone is waiting for me to sing and dance, so they can cheer for me. Then I remember what really happened …’ She stopped there, tears overtaking her.

‘It’s all right.’ Huw leaned in and she clung to him, crying into his shoulder. He patted her back and tried not to think about how sweet her hair smelled, or how smooth her back was, or how good it felt to hold her. Every night he had been in Ward’s castle, he had dreamed of having her in his arms. But now she was here, he could do nothing. Not until he had admitted the truth, at least.

He told himself he had done the right thing. He had been about to leave anyway, for he had discovered King Ward was planning to bring Vales under his rule. The Forlish had spent the last twenty years slowly crushing every southern country. Vales, to the north, had been no threat, for it had no army and no leaders. But now, with almost nobody to oppose him, Ward was turning his attention north, to complete his conquest of the human lands. Only he was not sending his unstoppable armies north, for they
were still finishing off the Balians and Landish. No, he had a much worse plan for the Velsh. A plan nearly as revolting as the one Ward and Rhiannon’s father, Hector, had for Rhiannon.

He had overheard them discussing the transaction as if Rhiannon had been a favourite horse. The whole court had been captivated by Rhiannon. The way she sang and especially the way she danced would have been enough in themselves. But she was also tall, willowy, with glorious red hair and a face that made every man’s head turn. It was currently snuffling into his shoulder now, blotched and running, but she had sparkling green eyes, a slightly upturned nose, bow-shaped lips and a light dusting of freckles across high cheekbones. In a world where faces were covered in dirt, where hard work and illness ate into every line of your face, she stood out like a star at night.

Everyone coveted her — but her father was always there, always protecting. Until the day Huw had heard him sell Rhiannon to the king, auction her off as if she was some creature. Even without his own desperate love for her, he could not leave her to that fate. To be the plaything of a cruel king, abused and then discarded … it was monstrous. Yet he knew she would never believe the truth, at least until it was too late. So he lied, pretended her father had been killed defending her from Ward, and smuggled her out of the castle and come north. She was the beautiful maiden and he had sung enough legends and sagas to know he had to rescue her. And yet, by doing this, he was lying to her and tormenting her. She would forever have this distorted view of her father as a hero who had laid down his life to save her, when in reality Hector had wanted to lay her down to enrich his own pockets.

Huw made a deal with himself to prove he had really snatched her from Cridianton, her father and all she knew for her own good, not because he was filled with impossible dreams about her. He would be no more than a friend to her until he told the truth. That way she could still make her own decisions. The fact she would only learn the truth when she was alone, in Vales, miles from anything and everyone she knew, was a sticking
point, but he was able to ignore that. It had seemed like the perfect plan in Cridianton, only they were now in Vales, and he still could not bring himself to explain everything to her. It would be more sensible to wait until they were at his village of Patcham, he decided. His conscience protested a little but he was able to push it aside. After all, he had spent the last few moons ignoring it. He had taken on a false name, pretended he was not even Velsh and looked the other way when fresh slaves arrived in the capital, victims of the southern wars. The vicious way Ward and his nobles treated servants, the filth, hunger and despair in the backstreets of Cridianton and the cruelty of slavery, people ripped from their homes and loved ones and made to work and suffer for the glory of the brutal king — he managed to pretend they were not happening. He even stayed in Cridianton for almost half a moon after discovering Ward’s plan for the Velsh, when he should have rushed home immediately, because he had befriended Rhiannon and cherished the mad hope she would want to leave her dream and come home with him. By then his conscience, which had been loud and strident when he left home with his father’s blessing, was but a whisper. Keeping up the lie to Rhiannon seemed easy in comparison.

He realised, with a start, her tears were drying up.

‘The first few days are the hardest. But the pain will always be there. It is difficult but it is also a fitting reminder of your father,’ he said soothingly.

‘I don’t know what I would do without you. You are a true friend,’ she sniffed, sitting up again.

Huw tried to smile, guilt and lust warring within him. ‘Whatever I can do to help,’ he said, trying not to look at the way her nightgown clung to her breasts.

‘I am sorry for falling asleep like that but I am so tired …’

‘Don’t worry. Do you want something to eat?’

‘I’m not really hungry.’

‘But you should eat something, especially as we are going to perform here tonight.’

‘What? Perform? Why?’

Huw smiled carefully. ‘We spoke about this before. We have to let the people know the Forlish are coming. We have to warn them. And this is the best way to do that.’

‘Should we be drawing attention to ourselves by performing? Shouldn’t we just try to hide? After all, King Ward is still after us. If there are any Forlish in the audience tonight, then we can expect to be dragged back to our deaths. Or worse!’

‘Ward’s men might be after us but this is Vales and he does not rule here — yet. We have to warn these people. We both heard what he plans, saw the men he will be sending north. These villages won’t stand a chance unless they know what they are facing.’

‘But what can they do to stop them?’

Huw hesitated. He did not really have an idea, beyond knowing he had to do something. His whole plan was based on going home, telling his father and handing the problem to him. Ward was sending hundreds of his soldiers north, into Vales, disguised as bandits. There they would wreak havoc across the hamlets and villages and isolated farms, until the Velsh begged Ward to come and save them. Even now, thinking about it made his blood boil. Ward wanted the Velsh tin and iron and coal and food to feed his war machine but didn’t want to go to the trouble of another war. And he didn’t really need to. The Velsh had no army, no organisation. Villages traded with each other on occasion but the three Velsh districts of Rheged, Gwent and Powys had little to do with each other. Men could hunt and farm and mine but there were few proper weapons and none trained in their use. This was beyond him. They didn’t need a young bard — they needed a hero.

‘I don’t know what they can do — but we have to give them a chance,’ Huw admitted.

‘Should we not perform under different names, at least?’ Rhiannon pressed.

Huw bit his lip. It seemed like a sensible idea but he had always dreamed of being famous, of having people across Vales point him out when he walked past. It was why he had gone to King
Ward’s court. True, he had pretended to be a Forlishman while he was there but there was no need to mention that and to throw his glory away now seemed unfair. Besides, Ward was not going to hear what was being said in a small Velsh hall. He was looking down south.

‘It will be safe enough. The people here are not going to run south and tell everyone that we are here,’ he dismissed her concern airily.

‘Well, how exactly are we going to perform when my clothes are soaked through, and I have no powders or makeup?’ she demanded.

‘We’ll stick one of your dresses before the fire and then just get out there. When people hear you sing, see you dance, they’ll listen,’ Huw promised. ‘It doesn’t matter how you look, they will all be captivated by you.’

Rhiannon was not so sure. Her father had said it to her again and again: ‘Men are only interested in you if you look good. Talent can only get you so far.’ And she had always listened to him.

He was the centre of her world. She lived to make him smile, to win his approval. Since her mother had died giving birth to her, Hector had devoted himself to her. He explained how he had sacrificed his own skills to help her, how not one father in ten thousand would do all he had for a small girl. He patiently pointed out how lucky she was to have him and how grateful she needed to be for all he was doing.

‘Make your mother’s death mean something!’ he always told her.

With those words in her ears, she threw all her energies into training, working from dawn to dusk.

She had no time for friends, for anything but what he said she must do. As she grew older, she begged him to take her to Cridianton, give her a chance to honour him.

‘When you are ready,’ was all he ever said. ‘If you work harder and listen to what I say.’

And she had. She worked until the sweat poured off her, obeyed not just his every command but his every suggestion as
well — until the moment when he turned around and declared she was ready.

Now he was gone, she had fled Cridianton and her life was in ruins. But she had to cling to something.

‘I’ll dance and sing with you but I have to look the part,’ she insisted.

So Huw spent the best part of a turn of the hourglass going through the village, buying chalk powder and jars of crushed berries to stain her lips and highlight her cheeks.

She was dressed when he returned and happily accepted his trophies. While she peered into a small bronze mirror and tried to do something with her hair, he thought she looked better than she had for days.

‘You’re wearing that ring?’ Huw pointed to the chunky gold ring that sat on her thumb, looking out of place against her slim hand.