Sword in the Storm

  Fiallach was surprised at his opponent's strength. Connavar was a shade under six feet tall, six inches smaller than Fiallach and at least thirty pounds lighter. But he punched above his weight, the blows perfectly timed and accurately placed. He was a thinker, whose mind remained cool during combat. He did not strike out blindly, nor allow his rage to make him reckless. Fiallach admired that.

  Connavar stepped inside, hammering blow after blow into Fiallach's belly. Grabbing Connavar's hair with his left hand Fiallach forced back his head, then hit him with a short chopping right. Connavar's knees buckled. Fiallach let go of the hair and steadied himself for another right. Connavar leapt forward, head-butting Fiallach in the chin. Stars exploded inside Fiallach's head and he took a backward step. Two hard, straight lefts from Connavar forced him back again, but Fiallach countered, blocking with his right arm then sending a left hook that exploded against Connavar's cheekbone, splitting the skin.

  The fight went on. For every blow Fiallach landed, two came back from the smaller man. But the strength was leaching away from Connavar. Fiallach could sense it. The weight of his blows was beginning to sap Connavar's strength. But Connavar was game and continued to attack. Blood was streaming down his cheek, and one eye was almost closed. Fiallach moved in for the kill, but he was too anxious, and too early. Connavar smashed a hard right to Fiallach's nose, breaking it. Blood stained the giant's moustache and, with the early part of the fight over, he began to feel pain.

  Both fighters were moving more slowly now, manoeuvring for an opening. Conn hit Fiallach twice more on his broken nose, Fiallach replying by aiming at the swollen eye. The fight could only have one conclusion, Fiallach knew. A good big man will always beat a good little man. It was writ in stone. He was getting his second wind now, and the punches from Connavar were no more than bee stings. Fiallach only needed one good right hand. Connavar attacked, smashing three good lefts and an overhand right to his opponent's face. As the right landed Fiallach saw his opening and thundered a right cross to Connavar's chin. The smaller man hit the ground hard, rolled, came to his feet, stumbled twice, then charged in. Fiallach hit him again. This time it should have been over, but Connavar forced himself to his feet and advanced unsteadily.

  Fiallach let him come, then hit him with a left hook and a right uppercut. Connavar hit the ground on his back, grunted, rolled over and pushed himself to his knees, then to his feet. He brought up his fists, and advanced.

  Despite his dislike Fiallach was impressed by Connavar's courage. On another day he would have stepped in and beaten him mercilessly, but he had already sated his fury in torturing to death the traitor, Phaeton. There was no more anger in him now and he realized he had no desire to continue this fight. Moving in, he put his arms around his opponent. 'Enough, little man,' he said. 'The fight is over.'

  'You hit hard,' mumbled Connavar. 'For a little while there I thought you had me.' He grinned suddenly and Fiallach laughed.

  'I'll admit you are the best of men,' he said, with a wry smile. The smile faded. 'You look after Tae. Treat her well. I will be watching. If you ever betray her I will hunt you down and watch you die.'

  'Always nice to finish a fight with a happy thought,' said Connavar.

  The two men made their way to the settlement well. Fiallach drew up a bucket of cold water. Conn doused his face, and Fiallach wiped away the blood from his swollen nose.

  'If you are truly going to watch me,' said Connavar, 'you will need to be close by. Come to Three Streams on Samain night.'

  'There is nothing there for me.'

  'I think you will find there is. I have a gift for you, Fiallach.'

  'What kind of gift?'

  'Come to Three Streams and find out.'

  The fires were lit, the feasting pits packed, the music from pipe and drum in full and raucous flow, as the sun died in glory and Samain Night began. Hundreds of Rigante from neighbouring settlements descended on Three Streams, to watch the wedding and savour the fine roast meat supplied by Ruathain.

  Winter was coming, and the Rigante faced lean and hungry times. This night was a time for excess, for gorging and dancing and singing. A time of drunkenness and joy, a shining hour before the bleak bitterness of winter.

  The Long Laird sat at the high table, Connavar on his right, Tae on his left, Ruathain and Meria close by. The Laird's First Counsel, Maccus, sat beside Meria. A calm and quiet man of middle years, his black and silver hair receding, his eyes bright with intelligence, he listened more than he spoke. Meria liked him, but then, as she was the first to admit, she preferred talking to listening.

  Ruathain had told her of Maccus, and the fact that though shy and gentle in peaceful company he was a battle-hardened commander who fought like a cornered wolf. That Ruathain admired him was obvious.

  'It is said,' whispered Meria, 'that the Laird is to make an announcement tonight.'

  'Indeed, lady,' said Maccus.

  'What is it?'

  'It would be presumptuous of me to say.' He smiled. 'Your gown is very beautiful. I have rarely seen a more bewitching shade of green.'

  'Banouin - a friend of ours - brought it with him on his last trip. It is satin, and was made two thousand miles to the east. It is my favourite gown, though I fear it is growing a little tight these days.'

  'The best of cloths shrink a little with age,' he said, gallantly.

  Braefar sat alongside Govannan at the far end of the table, his brother, the twelve-year-old Bendegit Bran, sitting alongside Conn. The seating arrangements irritated Braefar. He was the second eldest. It was wrong to promote the youngster. Not that he envied Bran. The boy was enjoying himself enormously and Braefar was pleased for him, but it was a slight that should not have been made. He glanced at Tae. She was looking exquisitely beautiful in a white gown decorated with creamy pearls, and wore a silver circlet on her brow, inset with three opals. Every now and again her eyes would be drawn to Conn, who was talking with the Long Laird.

  The conquering hero! He must have been blessed at birth, thought Braefar. The Boy who Fought the Bear, the Man who Killed the King. Now the rescuer of the fair Tae. Ten years with no trouble, but upon Conn's arrival Seven Willows is sacked and Conn finds himself with yet more heroism to add to his overblown legend.

  'Have you found the answer yet?' asked Govannan.

  'What?'

  'Creating a better saddle for the new warhorses.'

  'Oh that. I am working on a number of plans,' said Braefar, airily. 'Perhaps stronger wooden cross-pieces at the rear, and a higher pommel.'

  'Might work,' said Van. 'It still means the rider must grip them, thus losing the use of the shield arm.'

  Conn had set Braefar a difficult task: finding a way of creating greater stability for mounted warriors. The Rigante saddle was a simple piece of moulded leather. The rider held himself in place during battle by applying pressure with the thighs to the barrel of the pony's belly. This meant that during a battle a rider could be easily unhorsed by a blow, or a push, or a pull from a foot soldier. Braefar wanted to refuse. He had no interest in saddles. Until Conn had pointed out that Braefar was the only man he knew with a mind sharp enough and brilliant enough to supply an answer. Braefar had been so pleased to have his talent acknowledged that he had agreed immediately.

  He had been thinking about the problem, on and off, for six weeks, and was no closer to a solution. Perhaps that was what Conn wanted, he thought suddenly. Perhaps he was looking forward to the day when Braefar would have to tell him he did not have the sharpness of mind, nor the brilliance required.

  Yet another stab of irritation pricked him.

  His hunger deserted him and he left the table and began to wander around the festivities. He saw Gwydia sitting with the huge warrior Fiallach. She was playing with her hair, her head tilted seductively. It was a dreadful closing of the circle, for it was after his humiliation on that night, when Fiallach had struck him, that Gwydia had told him she did not want to walk the tree with him. He had tried to
explain that, had Conn not intervened, he would have stood up to Fiallach; that he was not frightened by the man. Gwydia had told him she did not doubt that was true, but that it had nothing to do with her decision. In truth, she told him, it was just that she saw him more as a good friend than as a lover.

  Lying cow! She thought he was a coward. That was why she broke their engagement.

  Out on the pasture field young children were playing on the spinning pole. Nanncumal had designed it some years before. It was a clever piece. Ropes were attached to the top of the pole, and six children at a time sat in nooses at the base. Nanncumal would then take hold of spokes set in the pole and turn them. As the pole spun the ropes stretched and the children flew high and higher around the pole. They were squealing with delight and hanging on for dear life. Braefar smiled at their joy, remembering the blessed innocence of his own childhood, when the world had seemed a bright and beautiful place. His father was king, his brother a prince. He had adored them both.

  And then the idea struck him. He almost shivered with pleasure at it. Ropes and nooses. Ropes ending in a noose, attached to each side of the saddle, would give a rider greater stability. No, not a noose. That would tighten around the foot creating difficulty in dismounting. A baked leather ring would be one answer. Almost dizzy from excitement Braefar sat down on the grass, thinking through possible problem areas. The length of leg of different riders meant that the ropes would need to be adjustable. Better to use flat strips of leather, like a buckled belt.

  He was still sitting there when he heard the Long Laird thumping his goblet against the table top for silence. Swiftly Braefar ran back to his place.

  'My friends,' said the Long Laird, his deep, booming voice carrying far beyond the table, 'we are here tonight to celebrate more than Samain. My daughter Tae is to wed Connavar. I bless this union. They are two fine youngsters, strong and proud. I am only sorry that Tae's mother cannot be here to witness her joy.' He fell silent for a moment and sighed. 'I am getting old and tired.' His supporters cried out at this, shouting, 'No, Lord,' but he waved them to silence. 'It is true - though I thank you for your loyalty. In six months' time I shall stand down as your laird. I will return to my father's land on the west coast. I nominate Connavar as my successor, though you will have, as always, the right to vote upon it at the Lything ceremony. Connavar is to be my new son, and I see in him the future well-being of our people. And now let us cheer my children as they walk around the tree.'

  With his one good arm he led Tae to Eldest Tree. There Connavar took her hand and together they made their vows, walking slowly around the old oak. As they completed the circuit Connavar took her in his arms and they kissed as the crowd cheered.

  Braefar stood back. He did not cheer. Conn was to be the new laird - and all because he stabbed a bear.

  Braefar blinked back tears of frustration and anger as he saw Conn and Tae moving towards him. He forced a smile. Tae kissed him on the cheek, and Conn embraced him.

  'This is a wonderful night, Wing,' he said.

  'Yes, wonderful. I hope you will both be very happy. I am sure you will be.'

  'Will you dance with me, Wing?' asked Tae.

  And together, with the music seeming to echo around the stars, Braefar and Tae danced within a circle made by hundreds of tribesmen. Braefar was a good dancer, lithe and supple, and he revelled in the applause as the music ended. Tae hugged him. 'I hope you will be as good a brother to me as you are to Conn,' she said. 'He is always talking of you.'

  Impulsively Braefar kissed her hand. 'I will,' he told her.

  She moved away and danced with Conn. Scores of couples joined in, and Braefar disappeared into the night.

  With the celebrations still in full flow, raucous, wild and joyful, Conn and Tae slipped away to the house they would share. They sat for a while before the fire, holding each other, then Tae rose and began to remove her long white gown. Her movements were nervous and Conn lay back on the hearth rug lost in the beauty of her. Firelight was glinting in the three opals set in the silver circlet at her brow. She slid her gown over her shoulders, down to her waist, and over her hips. Conn could hardly breathe. Her skin was milky white, her breasts larger than they seemed when she was clothed.

  'I think you should take off your clothes,' she said, primly.

  He did so, and when he held her again he found that his hands were trembling. He ran his fingers across the skin of her back, marvelling at the texture and the perfection of her form. It seemed to him then that he had never known such exquisite joy.

  The lovemaking, despite Eriatha's tutoring, was at first clumsy and inept. At one point Tae started to giggle, and Conn found himself laughing with her. It was the release they both needed and for several hours they lay together on the broad bed, sometimes touching, sometimes talking, but mostly just enjoying the harmony and the heady sense of union.

  As the night wore on Conn rose from the bed and dressed.

  'Where are you going?' she asked him, surprise in her voice.

  'To the Wishing Tree woods.'

  'The Seidh woods?'

  'Aye. Do not worry. I am invited there. I am going to see the Thagda.'

  'But he is Demon Seidh. He will kill you.'

  'He did not kill me the last time we met.'

  'Are you mocking me?' she asked him. 'You have truly spoken with the Thagda?'

  'Aye. He appeared to me outside Seven Willows. In fact he berated me for not asking you to walk the tree with me.'

  'And you swear this is true?'

  'I am not lying, Tae. He asked me to go to the Wishing Tree woods on the night of Samain.'

  'I'll come with you.'

  'That would not be wise,' he said. 'I know little of the ways of gods, but what I do know is that they should not be treated lightly. He told me to come. No other. But I will be back soon.' He kissed her, then threw his cloak about his shoulders and walked out into the night, crossing the field past the few revellers still awake, and on across the meadows towards the distant trees.

  There was a fresh breeze, and the air was cool and clean, filled with the scent of grass and leaf, tinged with wood smoke from the feasting fires below. As he walked, Conn glanced up at the rugged outline of the Druagh mountains and felt a wave of pride ripple across his soul. The land was beautiful and Conn felt privileged to be allowed to live upon it.

  As he approached the woods he saw the Tree man waiting for him, moonlight making his lichen beard glow a strange, luminous green. Without speaking the Tree man turned and walked deeper into the woods, his cloak of leaves rustling in the breeze. Conn followed, and found himself walking down to the bramble thicket where first he saw the fawn.

  'How close to death you were on that first day,' said the Thagda.

  'Instead you rewarded me with a knife.'

  'I have to say that I liked the child, especially when he carried me from the thicket. The touch was gentle. Do you remember checking my body for wounds, before telling me to find my mother?'

  'Yes. Are there any real fawns in the woods?'

  'None. Riamfada sends you his love. He is happy here.'

  'He is Seidh now?' asked Conn.

  'No, not Seidh. You cannot become a Seidh, Connavar. Any more than you can become a dog, or a horse. We are different races. But we have imbued his spirit with some of our powers.'

  'He can walk now?'

  From the Thagda came a deep, rumbling sound Conn took to be laughter. Then he changed the subject. 'Tell me, how is your new bride?'

  'She is beautiful. I thank you for helping me save her.'

  'It was a small matter.'

  'May I ask another favour?'

  'You may ask. I do not say that I will grant it.'

  'Could you give Vorna back her powers?'

  The Thagda was silent for a while. Conn did not disturb him. When at last he spoke his voice had softened even further. 'I liked the child you were,' he said. 'I like the man you have become. You remember your promises. I have known few men
who do. And I have lived a long time. Very well, I will allow your request. Tell me, Connavar, what will you say if I make a request of you?'

  'I will say yes.'

  'Whatever it might be?'

  'Not if I perceive it to be evil. Other than that, yes, anything.'

  'Evil? An interesting concept. When you have walked this world for ten thousand years you begin to see matters differently. The fox eats the partridge chicks. For the fox it is a delightful breakfast. For the mother partridge it is an evil calamity. It all becomes merely a case of which perspective one takes. The partridge or the fox.'

  'More than a thousand children were slaughtered in the Perdii valleys,' said Conn, 'because they had no value in the slave markets of Stone.'

  'In my life,' replied the Thagda, 'I have seen tens of millions die. I will see you die, Connavar, and your sons and their sons. How many men have you killed, and deprived the world of their sons? How many children became orphans because of your blade? You think those children see you as good or evil? It is in my experience that the race of Man does little that is good, and much that is self-serving and, ultimately, evil. But I did not bring you here to debate. Walk with me; there is someone who wishes to speak with you.'

  They walked on, deeper into the wood. There, sitting by a tree, his twisted limbs heavily bound, sat Riamfada, as Conn had last seen him, his face pale and pinched, his eyes large. Conn's heart leapt. He ran forward and dropped to his knees beside his friend. 'Oh, but it is good to see you, little fish. How are you faring?'

  Riamfada gave a happy smile, then reached out and took Conn's hand. Conn was surprised to feel flesh as firm as his own. 'I am well, Conn. Better than I have ever been.' Conn glanced at the ruined legs.

  'I thought you could walk?'

  'I can. I can walk, run, dance. I can soar into the air and see the mountains from below the clouds. I thought it would be more . . . comfortable ... for you to see me as you remembered me.'

  'I have missed you,' said Conn, sitting beside him. 'We all have.'

  'I have not missed you,' said Riamfada, with a shy smile. 'I have been with you. I have watched you. I was there, though you could not see me, when we healed you in the land of the Perdii.'