War Lands of Arhosa Page 8

  Bwyell convinced Sawwaed to spar, and the others gathered round, watching the two men flourish and posture as they performed an act more akin to dance than fighting. Strikes were exaggerated, the barest hint of a touch would send a man sprawling across the snow, and soon the four onlookers were chuckling and grinning and calling for more. When the end came, Sawwaed and Bwyell each took a bow, with Sawwaed quickly rising to shove Bwyell into a snow bank. More laughter ensued as Bwyell tackled Sawwaed to the ground, and a wrestling match broke out that lasted for some minutes.

  Even that came to an end, and tired but cheered, the two combatants took a second set of bows, this time further apart, and settled in for a late afternoon meal. With little to distract the travellers, their beds called to them, and they slipped away one by one, until only Atyniadol was awake, watching the still form of Fynyddwr, who had begun to snore.

  The sun set, and the sky went dark, and still Atyniadol maintained her watch. Eventually her eyes began to drop, and she began to drift in and out, until a hand upon her shoulder startled her awake. Ceinder thanked Atyniadol, and sent her to her bed. Atyniadol nodded, and told Ceinder of Fynyddwr’s sleep before she left. The change done, the stonemage settled in, using her senses to explore the mountaineer’s skeleton. The bones were healing, although there was still weakness to be found. Despite the application of the cold compresses, bruises had mushroomed all over his body, and much of his skin was a dark purple. Even one of his eyes had been affected and was crimson, the white completely obscured.

  Ceinder maintained her vigil until dawn, when Tarranau joined her with breakfast. She ate in silence, her body tired, and she was grateful when her husband offered to take the responsibility from her. Ceinder made her way to their tent, and was asleep within moments. Little happened that day until the mid-morning, when there was a shout from Fynyddwr’s tent. The others came running to find Fynyddwr propped up on his bag, looking about and chatting with Tarranau.

  “How long have I been out, lad?”

  Tarranau deferred the question to Ceinder and Atyniadol, who had just entered the tent. “Two days, you’ve been out. That fall broke half the bones in your body.”

  Fynyddwr looked down at his arms, purple from wrist to shoulder. “I think half was an understatement. I ache so much I can barely move. Each breath hurts. But I’m starving. You have any real food?”

  Heartened at his hunger, Atyniadol handed over a cold chunk of meat. The mountaineer tore into it, soon slowing as his exhaustion overcame his need for sustenance. He continued to nibble, but soon dropped away into a drowsy sleep.

  Seeing him rest, and knowing him out of danger, the remaining six gathered outside.

  “Another day or two before he can move?”

  “Probably the case, and he’ll be slow for a week afterwards. We’ll have to take it gently.”

  “If we don’t move soon, our supplies could run out before we make it beyond the snow. Especially if a storm comes through.”

  “I know, it’s a problem we’ll have to face. We can give Fyn one more day of rest, but after that, we’ll have to get him moving. Sawwaed, Bwyell, could you help support his weight when we march?”

  “We could, aye. Will slow us down though.” Sawwaed nodded as well.

  “I can live with slow. Slow is better than not moving at all, which is where we are now.”

  “Then we’re settled. I’ll keep an eye on him for now. You ladies can get some rest, since you missed a great deal of sleep last night.” That last was from Ddifeddianedig, who disappeared into Fyn’s tent.

  Ceinder and Atyniadol departed soon after, each intent on recovering the sleep they had lost. Sawwaed looked thoughtful for a moment, then flipped Tarranau the spare warhammer the warrior carried. Tarranau looked at it, then up at Sawwaed, puzzled.

  “What am I going to do with this?”

  “What do you think, dummy? Train!”

  Tarranau shook his head, hard. “Oh no, I’m not letting you hit me with your hammer because you’re bored. You’ve got armour and a shield, I’ve got clothes.” The armour that Tarranau had once worn had been gifted to him by the military of Tri-Hauwcerton, and was returned following the announcement of war between Tri-Hauwcerton and Bhreac Veryan, Sawwaed’s homeland.

  “That’s why I’m not going to hit you.”

  “Then what are you going to do?” Tarranau was still confused.

  “I’m going to see how long it takes you to hit me.”

  Tarranau groaned. “Do you have a week?”

  Sawwaed laughed. “A day, at least.”

  “Lovely.”

  They went to the cleared ground where Bwyell and Sawwaed had fought yesterday, and Sawwaed positioned himself at one end, gesturing for Tarranau to take the other. “One more thing. No strikes to the head. They’re too risky, given that’s not a training hammer.”

  “Hammers are designed to defeat armour. Wouldn’t hitting you elsewhere be just as risky?”

  “Ah, but you’ll have to hit me.”

  Glaring, Tarranau charged forward, the warhammer coming around in a two-handed sweep aimed at Sawwaed’s knees. Sawwaed grinned, and dropped his shield into the path. The hammer clanged away, sending a jolt up Tarranau’s arms as it did so. A few thrusting attacks followed, the angles poor, and Sawwaed batted them past with ease, going so far as to drop his own warhammer and use his hand to slap aside the head of Tarranau’s.

  Seeing the lack of effort with which Sawwaed was defending, Tarranau swung hard from his left, aiming for the side unprotected by the warrior’s shield. Sawwaed stepped forward, into the blow, and caught the shaft of the hammer in his right hand. At that, Tarranau threw the weapon to the ground in disgust, and stalked away. Bwyell, who had been looking on, shook his head at Sawwaed when the Veryan man glanced over.

  Sawwaed let the watermage go, then followed a few minutes later, sitting down next to the sullen form on an outcropping of rock. The silence persisted, until Tarranau finally broke it.

  “Was there something to that beyond humiliating me? You know I’ve never trained a day in my life with a weapon.”

  “Which is why I asked you to. I know you’re good with your talents, I’ve seen the carnage that can result.”

  Tarranau shot Sawwaed an angry glare. “As if I want to be reminded. I have a hard enough time sleeping already.”

  I’m sorry.” Sawwaed had a sheepish look on his face. “I don’t always remember that. But I was trying to say you should be good with armour and a weapon too, in case you find a situation where your talent doesn’t work. And before you say that won’t happen, look around.”

  Tarranau appeared slightly mollified. “I can understand the thought, but not the presentation. It felt like you were setting me up for a laugh at my expense.”

  “Okay, so I didn’t go about it in the best way. But will you at least credit that you need to do some training with weapons and armour?”

  “Not just me, but Ceinder and Atyniadol as well. I know Atyniadol has started, but she’ll need to learn more than just throwing knives. And Ceinder… well, she’ll only learn to defend herself.”

  Sawwaed shook his head. “No defence is perfect.”

  “I know. Means it falls on me to take care of that.”

  “And suffer the consequences.”

  “That too.” Tarranau’s face looked strained.

  “I noticed you didn’t mention Ddifeddianedig. You think he doesn’t need any help?”

  “He’s an Enaid Brudiwr, a spiritmage. You think he doesn’t have anyone in his back pocket for when times get rough?”

  Sawwaed chuckled. “Right, silly of me to ask. I remember when he called up that spirit when it looked like you and I were getting too angry with him.”

  “Exactly. I’m sure he’ll be just fine. I think there are a few tales lurking under there he doesn’t tell anyone, and I’m sure he’s been on adventures before.”

  “So when should I start training you and the girls seriously?”

&
nbsp; “Wait till we get off Gysegar Fynadid. Up here, it’s too cold and too little food if anything goes wrong. Down there,” Tarranau gestured at the forests far below. “There’s food and shelter and warmth. We get delayed up here again, we’re done for.”

  “Agreed. Now let’s go see how they’re doing.” Sawwaed offered his hand to Tarranau, who shook it and then followed his friend back to the camp.

  They arrived to find Ddifeddianedig standing in front of everyone, his face grim. Tarranau and Sawwaed both glanced worriedly at the tent where Fynyddwr lay, but the spiritmage shook his head to tell them not to worry. “No, it is not towards him that your worry should be directed. He roused himself enough to sup a second time, and has since departed to the realm of the sleeping once more. No, there is something more grave that demands your attention, for I have received a message from Farw Ddyn Yn Cerdded, one most troubling. War has shattered the lands to the south, and although we knew this might come, it has proven far worse than expected. The coming of spring saw Tri-Hauwcerton march upon Bhreac Veryan, as we knew they would. As we left at the same moment, we have long since been uninformed about the happenings of Bedwar Barthu Dirio. It appears that little has been going well in that troubled land, for Tri-Hauwcerton was routed by the Veryan army, and forced to flee back to the safety of their mountain fastness. The Veryan army pursued hot on their heels, and invested the city, threatening to break the defences several times, as waves of fire and siege engines crashed against the city walls. Twice, they placed men on top of the walls, and were thrown back.

  “Then the Veryan army departed in the night, leaving a single messenger holding a white flag for the coming of the dawn. At that time, it was discovered that Niam Liad had sent their forces in a great flotilla to Fal Skiddy, and marched across the trading route to attack the city of Bhreac Veryan. There they were met in a great clash with by the Veryan army, and that struggle has yet to be decided.

  “For my home of Tri-Hauwcerton, life has become uncomfortable, for another enemy has appeared out of the depths of the western tundra. The Fferedig Ddynion, a nomadic set of tribes, has descended en masse against the farmland south of the city, unprotected by the wall. The army was called to respond, and managed to push the tribesmen back into the tundra, but at great cost to themselves. Now, the army has turned south, looking to reap the reward of Lianese treachery and capture the city of Falna. I think life will prove uncomfortable for them yet, although I wish them well with their intentions for Falna.”

  Tarranau looked intent. “What of my home? What of Bohortha Eilan?”

  Ddifeddianedig thought for a moment. “Of them, there was but little word. They allowed the armada of Niam Liad to pass unhindered, but they have closed their borders to ships from any foreign land, and rumour passes word that they arm for war, although whether for offence or defence, none has yet discovered. I fear the greed of men will soon draw them into the conflict.”

  “Wait, you said Niam Liad attacked Bhreac Veryan. They had been peaceful until now.”

  “Apparently not. It appears they had been training their army in secret, and shifted it onto their ships in many different cities.” Ddifeddianedig looked sour. “There was one other item of information I was remiss in not passing on. The riots in Tri-Hauwcerton last winter were not caused by Veryan agents, but by Lianese. They were planning to take advantage of the confusion thus caused for quite some time. Vicious rulers, and possessed of no morals what-so-ever.”

  “Wait…” Sawwaed appeared puzzled. “The men who came after Tarranau and I were Brawdoliaeth chan Danio, and some were even spiritmages. Are you saying they had nothing to do with the riots?”

  “From all the information Farw sent me, that is so. They were sent for the dual purpose of slaying you and gathering stonemages for the waiting plotters in Bhreac Veryan. The riots were incidental to their presence, but I am sure they found the cover provided most useful.”

  Atyniadol spoke up. “So we are heading to the north to disrupt an agreement between an unknown land and the rulers of Bhreac Veryan, who are kidnapping mages from other countries, while Niam Liad is stabbing Bhreac Veryan in the back, and now Tri-Hauwcerton has decided to go after Niam Liad as recompense for the riots.”

  “Your brevity and summation is breathtaking, my dear. However, I am at a loss as to whether the sudden interposition of Niam Liad is a benefit or a hindrance. It will cause the Veryan rulers much heartache, but the Lianese seem to be intent on reconstructing Hymerodraeth Heula, the Empire of the Sun, as Hymerodraeth Am-dro, the Empire of the Wind, and I very much doubt that Tri-Hauwcerton is not within their plans. Otherwise, they would have had little reason to cause such extensive rioting in our city. I am somewhat surprised they did not try a tactic of similar provenance in Bohortha Eilan, but it appears they have not, as of this moment.” Ddifeddianedig’s long-winded speech came to an end.

  Bwyell scratched his head before speaking. “Does this change what we’re doing one whit?”

  Ddifeddianedig gathered himself for a response. “It does not yet change…”

  “Right, that’s all I need to know.” Bwyell interrupted the spiritmage, scratched his head one final time, then wandered away.

  The others had to suppress chuckles as Ddif stared at the retreating back of the warrior he had hired. “What a rude interjection.” At that, Tarranau lost control, and began laughing loud and long. Soon the others joined him, and Ddifeddianedig stared at them in confusion, his back drawn straight and proud, until he swept away, his face the perfect description of a huff.

  They returned to the camp to find Ceinder feeding Fynyddwr yet more meat, and explained to them what had been happening in their homeland. The mountaineer looked sour at the thought of Tri-Hauwcerton without its army, but his continued recovery cheered him, as did the news the travellers would have to depart tomorrow. For a man who spent so much time outdoors, being cooped in a tent was taking its toll, and he felt a need to get out into the open spaces once more.

  The rest of the day passed in quiet contemplation and conversation, and it was with eager hearts that the seven fell asleep that night, for all looked forward to departing this cliff on the morrow, and following their steps towards the summit of Gysegar Fynadid. Silence descended over the tents, to be broken with the coming of the sun the next morning, as first Sawwaed, then Ceinder, then the others rose and set about preparing themselves for the day’s march.

  Fynyddwr grumbled and swore when Bwyell and Sawwaed took the heavy items from his pack, but the look of pain that flashed across his face when he lifted the lightened load told the men they had done the right thing. Despite the bruises and aches still impeding him, the mountaineer was the first up the ladder Bwyell had hammered into the mountain, and began whistling down from the top, occasionally tossing a snowball onto those still below.

  “I’m so glad he’s got his humour back.” Tarranau glared up at the mountaineer, who responded with a wave and another snowball. “He better be in good shape, because I’ll be chasing him all morning long.”

  Sawwaed chuckled, then took a snowball to the ear. “That’s it, I’m getting him too.” The two men headed for the ladder, and above them, Fynyddwr scampered off, heading in the direction of the summit. When they arrived at the top of the cliff, they found no sign of him, aside from a set of tracks that disappeared towards the peak. Sighing, they waited for their wives to arrive, and helped Bwyell as he laboured to remove the pitons from the wall.

  With all of them atop the cliff, they set off in pursuit of Fynyddwr, who had appeared some distance ahead, waving for them to hurry up. “Can I toss a stone at him, dear? Please?” Ceinder was staring at the distant mountaineer.

  “Only if you want to undo all of your hard work.”

  “Right now, I’d gladly do that.”

  “Then by all means.”

  Ceinder let fly with her talents, steering the stone so that it cracked off a rock peering through the snow next to Fynyddwr’s foot. His yelp carried over the distan
ce, and she grinned savagely. “Cheeky bugger. Got what was coming to him.” The others smiled their amusement, and strode onwards.

  By midday it was clear that despite his early morning antics, Fynyddwr was exhausted. His body was still spending much of its energy on recovering from the hideous fall he had taken, and he could not keep the pace he had set. The mountaineer was apologetic for his actions, although he still chuckled as he described the look on Sawwaed’s face when struck by the snowball.

  The land here was a great ridge, covered in snow and heading towards the summit of Gysegar Fynadid, and unless there was deception in his eye, Tarranau would say they stood at least a third of the way along its length. Tonight, they would need to spend on the ridge, but tomorrow they should reach the summit before midday.

  Rocks pressed through the snow about them, and the clouds swung low, far beneath their feet. At this altitude, the act of breathing was becoming a struggle, and a night upon the ridge thrilled no one, for all thought they would be most uncomfortable, and in dire need of rest. Still, the travellers had decided they would venture the summit, and to turn away so close struck them all as a foolish idea.

  The group of seven stood as if upon the air, higher even than the birds wheeling below them. From this height, the mountains that towered over the valleys seemed but children’s toys, models that could be picked up with a single hand. The awe of it struck even Fynyddwr, for despite his many years traversing the mountains, he had yet to stand atop anything so grand as this massif.