The Ealdspell Awaefe

Chapter Two

The tumbled down old fort was the perfect venue for their war games. Half ruined walls provided hiding places, cover from enemy archer fire, and a place to rest between bouts; crumbling steps and what was left of the old towers gave the archers a perfect vantage point to fire from; while the courtyard provided a wide open tournament ground for combat. Rooks wheeled and cawed overhead, frightened from their nests high up on the walls by the sounds of clashing swords and shouting from the humans below.
Lady Fyn Lle’Os Dancy had so far remained on the sidelines, biding her time. Guin had lost seven soldiers in the first half hour, in an ill-advised attack on Ryland’s main stronghold; Ryland subsequently losing two in skirmishes. Guin may have been the elder of the two brothers, and physically stronger, but Ryland was the better strategist and in the end that would win him the game. Unless she found a way to turn the tide, that is.

Skirting the edges of the fort, Fyn used the broken walls as cover to reach the northern-most tower. She kept her head down and an eye out for scouts from either side patrolling between pillars. On occasion she was forced to scrabble over the heaps of rubble which littered the courtyard, to clear brambles growing over the outer walls, and this slowed her progress. But at last she reached her target. Once a tall, proud structure, time and the elements had gradually reduced it to a heap of bricks little more than three storeys tall. It was highly unstable, and her brothers and their soldiers would be reluctant to climb it and risk collapse. A great oak tree had begun to creep grey fingers between the stones, to lean heavy branches against it. Tying her sword to her back, Fyr gritted her teeth and began to climb.
This was the riskiest part of her plan. She was relying on none of the soldiers suspecting an attack from this direction, and so allowing her to reach the top unheeded. The first part of the climb was simple, with an abundance of foot and hand holds. The further up she went however, the weight of her sword and the armour lay heavy on her shoulders and her hands became slippery with sweat, the stones were softer and crumbled easily under her slight weight. When she reached the top and pulled herself over the ledge, it was with a heartfelt sigh of relief.

Looking down on the battle, she could see that Guin’s army had taken heavy casualties. He was backed against the wall, five soldiers gathered around him, and Ryland’s army was twice as strong and circling. Loosing her sword, she lowered it gently to her feet and reached for her bow. She had the element of surprise and she knew exactly how to use it. Ryland’s army had their back to her; she only needed to take out four or five to give Guin the advantage.
Striking her flint, she put the spark to some dry sticks left behind by the rooks, breathing on them hastily to create a small fire. The smoke would draw attention in a matter of minutes, but she only needed a very little time for her plan to work. Her arrows were wrapped in strips of paraffin soaked cloth and they caught instantly. She worked quickly, lighting the arrows and firing them into Ryland’s army. Two of his soldiers were hit, the rest panicked and the courtyard was soon filled with men running to take cover; she took down two more in the confusion. It didn’t take long for Ryland to rally though, and his archers to begin directing their arrows at the north tower. She fired one more volley, taking out another soldier, before retreating behind the wall. Meanwhile, Guin’s men had realised their advantage and weren’t slow to capitalise on it.
While the soldiers fought below, Fyn collected herself and began to tie the end of her shawl around the tree branches within reach. She kept her head down; archers were still firing at the tower. The shawl was several feet in length, and while she knew it wouldn’t reach quite to the ground, it would get her most of the way. If she climbed down, the archers couldn’t miss. The only way was to be quicker than they could fire; abseil. This was dangerous: the tree branches could snap, the rocks could give way, she could be hit and fall, but if she didn’t try then she may as well surrender because she would be hit for sure.

Taking a deep breath, in one quick movement she jumped to her feet, threw the fabric over the edge of the wall, and swung herself over with it. It had to be smooth, it had to happen before the archers had a chance to react. So far so good. With one hand on her sword, Fyr used the other to slide down the rope, steading herself with her feet on the wall. The fabric swung a few feet from the floor. She knew she couldn’t look at the distance, she just had to do it. Reaching the bottom, she kicked the wall, swung and jumped, landing on bent knees and rolling away to cover behind some rocks. The impact knocked the wind out of her, it hurt, and she lay for several seconds trying to get her breath back.

She made her way back to the courtyard and the main fight by darting between the pillars. She’d bet the archers would still be looking for her by the tower, and the rest were heavily engaged in the skirmish. No-one would think to look for her so close behind them. When she reached the courtyard she had a wide open space to traverse; she needed to be right behind Guin. Clutching her sword to her with her heart pounding, she ran straight across, rolling to cover. Waiting with bated breath. But no arrows came, no footsteps, no-one shouting her name; she was safe.
Guin had destroyed Ryland’s remaining warriors, she saw him stride toward Ryland, who, knowing he was no match for her brother in close combat, submitted. It was her moment. She stood, making herself visible, a target for the archers, but a contender to win and they wouldn’t shoot; they’d want to see what happened. She flung a stone, catching Guin on the back of the neck. He spun around, furious, to see where the challenge had come from.
“What about me, Guin. Or do you not think you can best a girl?” She called, taunting, mocking.
Guin smiled, “Come now, Fyn, this is no place for a little girl. Have you not embroidery or flower arranging? We will come and praise them once we have finished here. Run along now.” As he spoke he advanced towards her. She held her sword in readiness.
“Perhaps, when I have beaten you, father will suggest you might do better to stay your hand at flower arranging?” She said with a smile, as he roared in anger and charged her.

They circled each other, eyes locked. Guin made the first move, and she parried it easily, though the weight of his blow reverberated up her sword arm and made her shoulder ache. He was far bigger and stronger, had years more training, and she was wearied from her climb; she needed to finish this quickly, if she would do so at all.
He advanced again and again, and she parried and turned to catch his blows. He swung his sword low and she stepped back, feigning a clumsy swing at his chest. He knocked her blade aside and lunged. This time she stepped back more quickly, his blade missing her by barely a centimetre. His balance was caught off guard and she spun, using her legs to sweep his from under him; he fell in a clash of armour with a grunt of surprise. She pressed the blunted point of her sword to the back of his neck.
“Submit?” She asked, breathing heavily. The fight had lasted only minutes, but it had taken the last of her strength.

The courtyard erupted in cheers. A few of the men shook their heads and muttered about girls playing at a man’s game, but the rest were amused and delighted to see Fyn catch her brothers out. They slapped her on the back and shook her hand, and even Guin and Ryland laughed and shook with her.
“We underestimated you, Fyn.” Ryland said, “You’ve become quite the warrior. Father will be handing his armies to you some day.”
“If only you weren’t a girl, you’d make a fine commander.” Guin said with a grimace.
“Being a girl doesn’t seem to have held me back from beating you.” Fyr mocked.
“Indeed. And if you were a boy I should be worried, little sister.” Guin returned, hugging her to him and tousling her hair playfully.
Commander Elric limped over from the ranks to join them, leaning heavily on his staff. While, at first glance, an elder man with an infirmity may not have seemed intimidating, Fyr knew he was a fearless warrior and the finest strategist; you would underestimate him at your cost. Both men stood up straighter as he approached.
“You have been a good student, little one. You did well today, though perhaps tomorrow we should talk about your recklessness, eh?”
“Yes Commander. Thank you.” She said with a grin.
“And Ryland, Guin! Perhaps you will think twice before fighting with your sister in future. She has come some way since the whelp who first begged to play at swords with us, has she not? Now come, these men need their rest if they are to patrol tomorrow and you will be expected at the manor for the evening meal.”
“You won’t join us this evening, sir?” Ryland asked.
“Not this evening, boy. I have arrangements to attend. Tomorrow, perhaps.”

They rode with the men back to the manor, only taking their leave reluctantly. The soldiers were barracked in the old hall at the back of the property and continued on their way merrily, singing songs and jostling with one another, knowing a fire and a good meal awaited them. The siblings were met by servants, who escorted them to the main door and took their horses from them.
Inside, their mother hurried to greet them with her characteristic warmth, kissing them all and holding Fyn to her. She laughed to hear of her daughter’s triumph and chided the boys for underestimating her in the first place, though her eyes would not meet Fyn’s and she seemed distracted. Fyn fancied something in her voice was dull this evening and she seemed out of sorts, but after all, what could be wrong? She pushed it to the back of her mind and hurried upstairs to wash and dress. Her father was tolerant of much, but even he would be displeased if she was late, or came to table in her jodhpurs, smelling of horses and sweat.

Upstairs, her maid was waiting. She had prepared her a bath and Fyn sank gratefully into the warm, rose scented water. While she soaked, her hair was washed and oiled, her nails and skin cleansed. She had to force herself to get out of the water and allow herself to be laced into a restrictive vest, her hair coiled and pinned on top her head, her face painted. The maid had laid out a heavy brocade gown and Fyr shuddered at the thought of its weight, how it would restrict her movements, making them languorous and slow. She gestured for her to take it away and instead slipped on a lighter gold silk over-shift, the hem pooling on the ground at her feet and the raised cowl of the neckline making her face appear even more delicate perched atop.
“Mistress, your father will be displeased if you appear at dinner improperly presented. If you will not wear the dress your mother chose, then please, allow me to find a jacket and some jewels for you,” the maid protested.
Fyr acquiesced with a flick of her hand and the maid hurriedly dressed her in a floor length stiffly embroidered red jacket with a sharp pointed straight collar, twisting a rope of gold and pearls around her neck, putting several sparkling rings on her fingers and pinning pearls in her hair. Fyr then stepped into jewelled slippers and allowed herself to be heavily spritzed with a sweet vanilla scent that made her sneeze.

The family usually dined in a smaller parlour, but tonight the steward escorted Fyr to the main hall; they must have guests, she thought, excitedly. And indeed, she could see three men sat at table with her father as she entered.
The hall was lit by a great central fire, with glittering candelabra at intervals along each table. Several of the local noblemen were present and stood as Fyr entered. She nodded to them and smiled, holding out her hands to her father as she reached the head table. He kissed them, though his mouth was set in a grim line and his expression was wary.
“Come, daughter, you will sit by me.” He said, and gestured for a chair to be pulled out between himself and his wife. Her three brothers sat on the other side of their mother, and their faces too were tense.
When she was seated, he introduced the men who sat on his other side. They had not stood when she entered, so she knew they must be of superior rank.
“May I introduce Lord Lortte and the king’s commanders, Gen and Herothe.” They wore the black uniforms of the king’s guard and the rings on their arms caught and played shadows in the flickering candlelight.
“Pleased to meet you,” she murmured and nodded politely. They made no reply beside a stiff nod in her direction.