Fire Arrow

by Edith Pattou

  Though she was still uneasy, Brie managed a smile and, nodding, replied, "That you can never have too many." She reached out and took the shell. She put it in a pocket of her tunic. "Thank you, Sago."

  "Now," said the sorcerer, "I think I will have a spot of sleep. And you shall see; tomorrow this old sorcerer may still have a few fireworks up his raveled sleeve." He stood, gave Brie a wink, and then disappeared into the darkness.

  ***

  Brie lay down, sure that she would not sleep. But she came awake with a start, the taste of stale cyffroi in her mouth. Dawn was almost an hour away, she guessed. She stood, stretching, and sniffed the air. An odd, thick-fingered fog had come up, shrouding their camp, but she could see figures moving about, preparing for the day ahead.

  Collun had brewed a pan of chicory, saying if it was all the same to her he'd rather have it than cyffroi on this particular morning. As they sat together, sharing the chicory, Brie was reminded of another early morning, off the Isle of Thule. In preparation for meeting the Firewurme, Collun had layered himself with padding from head to toe to protect against the corrosive slime that came off the creature's body. He had looked lumpy and faintly absurd, but the padding had saved his life.

  Collun was different now: older, leaner, and taller. And the sword lying across his knees, that was new for him. He was peering down, at some indecipherable hatch marks on the flat of the blade. Then he glanced up at her and smiled, and Brie's heart did a quick flutter kick. Nerves, she thought, blushing slightly. She stood.

  "Shall we to battle?" Her voice was over loud.

  "After you," Collun said politely. He also rose and somehow they managed to bump into each other.

  "Sorry," they both mumbled, stepping apart.

  "Brie," Collun began.

  She turned to him, nervous.

  "Well, uh, good luck," he said, giving her an awkward pat on the back.

  "And you," she replied stiffly, her heart still making that odd flipping movement. She turned away abruptly and adjusted her bow.

  TWENTY

  The Battle

  Brie swung herself onto Ciaran's back. Collun and Fiain came up beside them, and silently they entered the forest, Fara padding alongside. The fog had thickened and it eddied up around Ciaran's chest, making her skittish. The Dungalan army, with its ragtag blend of foot soldiers and those who were mounted, fell in behind them.

  "I wonder if your Sea Dyak sorcerer has woven this mist for us," said Collun.

  "The only weaving Sago is interested in is that little fishing net of his," Brie replied. And indeed she had seen him not long ago perched on his fat pony. The alarming calmness had gone and he was back to his old self, working on the ragged net and singing of oranges and gooseberries. She was glad, at least, to see that he had stayed at the rear of the army. Brie noticed that Monodnock had attached himself to Sago, most certainly because of his position at the back.

  The company made its way through the woods in the predawn darkness. Brie marveled at how quietly this mass of people, horses, and dogs was able to move through the trees.

  When they reached the forest's edge, Brie signaled to the archers to come up along her right side and spread out. Brie could just make out the beginning of the gabha encampment, a cluster of crudely built wooden huts, thatched with straw, scattered among the sedges and shrubs of the fields stretching to the east of Sedd Wydyr. With a satisfied nod, Brie again signaled, this time to the archers who bore the special arrows.

  The incendiary arrows flew high, their arcs wavering slightly because of the wad of oil-soaked hemp lodged next to the arrowhead. Some plunged into the ground, igniting the dry grass and scrub; some plummeted down onto the thatched roofs of the gabha huts; one or two even found a sleeping goat-man. Plumes of smoke rose, mingling with the fog, and bursts of fire flared throughout the camp. The goat-horses began a frenzied braying, and there were guttural shouts from gabha throats.

  Brie signaled to a man from the village Cerriw, and the melodic, high-pitched notes of a Dungalan war horn sounded.

  She and Collun exchanged glances, then Brie laid her hand on Ciaran's neck. They broke forward, the two Ellyl horses neck to neck. Brie could hear the muffled thunder of hooves behind her.

  Ciaran was a nose ahead of Fiain as they burst into the gabha camp, trampling flame and sparks under their hooves. A scattering of goat-men came running with snatched-up weapons.

  At Brie's unspoken command, Ciaran halted and, digging her knees into the Ellyl horse's back, Brie shot off several arrows in quick succession. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Collun meet the charge of a large goat-man swinging a thick club. And Fara was a whirling mass of claws and teeth and fur.

  Brie rained arrows on any goat-man who staggered out of the smoke. Ill-organized and dazed, the creatures were easy targets. Backed up by the Dungalan archers, Brie struck again, and then again. Sweat trickled into her eyes, and her arm began to ache. From beside her, around her, and over her head, arrows flew. Any goat-men that the archers missed were met by Dungalan soldiers with swords and spears.

  Bodies lay thick on the ground. Then Brie heard the strident note of another horn; it made a sound different than the Dungalan horn—a raw, jarring series of notes. Ahead of her, a stone's throw away, she saw what looked like two large white corkscrews, spiraling up, splitting the smoke. It was the gabha leader, Cernu. The gabha horn sounded again, and the goat-men fell back, answering the call of their leader.

  Dismounting, Brie found Collun in the fog and smoke. He, too, had dismounted. The Ellyl horses were, on their own, doing considerable damage with hooves and teeth to the gabha they met. Collun's sword blade was bloody and he looked pale, but he managed a grin of sorts when he caught sight of Brie. Brie felt something rub against her legs and looked down to see Fara, whose white coat bore streaks of blood.

  Before Brie and Collun could exchange a word, the goat-men surged forward. Cernu had organized his forces and they were attacking. Brie and Collun advanced to meet them. The Dungalan horn sounded again, and from then on Brie was surrounded by the feral, snarling faces of goat-men. Her ears rang with a fearful noise—swords clanging, screams of the injured and dying, and the braying of the gabha. She swung her small sword, her mind gone somewhere else. She killed, over and over again, but it did not seem real.

  There were only a handful of moments that pierced through the numbness, an occasional vivid glimpse of something familiar and startling, such as Collun's pale set jaw as he wielded the sword he had found in the passage grave; Aelwyn the wyll, small and fierce, her colorful layers of clothing swirling as she laid about her with a shining sharp knife, jewels sparkling in its handle; Silien, the Ellyl prince, nimble and deft, his silver eyes gleaming and the blue-tinged sword he held in his hand flashing; Maire, her face shining with fierce courage, fighting alongside her brother. Brie caught sight of the confused, tremulous look on the boy Dil's face when he felled his first goat-man with an arrow. And Brie saw flames reflected on Jacan's sword and on the swinging blade of a goat-man's ax as the fisherman thrust his blade into the creature's side. She had a moment of horrified disbelief as she saw the Ardaran fisherman Henle fall, his chest slit open by a gabha spear.

  Then the goat-men were falling back, and Brie had a brief, flaring sense of hope, but it flickered out when she saw the leader, Cernu, marshaling a fresh legion of gabha troops, directing them to circle the eastern flank of the Dungalan army.

  The right side of the company turned to face the onslaught, and once more Brie was pulled into the vortex of straining bodies and plunging weapons. Her sword was knocked out of her hands by a goat-man with a spiked club. Her wrist went numb and she fumbled for her dagger, ducking the creature's next swing. She darted under his arm and plunged her dagger into the top of his stomach. He fell heavily, blood flowing over Brie's numb wrist. She peered and groped around on the ground, but could not find her sword.

  Suddenly she saw Dil. A goat-man twice his size had pinned him to the ground, his fur-
matted hands encircling the boy's throat. Like lightning Brie sheathed her dagger and reached for an arrow, but found that her quiver was empty, except for the fire arrow.

  For a split second she hesitated, then realized she would not be able to get a clear shot; too many were lurching in and out of the arrow's path. Brie drew her dagger, muttered a curse under her breath, and ran at the goat-man.

  She was lipon him before he saw her and she sank her knife into his neck. He let out a bray and jerked backward, surprising her. The dagger fell from her hand and she was thrown to the ground, the breath knocked out of her.

  Suddenly the goat-man was on top of her and the smell of him was up her nostrils and in her mouth. Her face was buried in the thick foul hair of his chest and she could not breathe. She screamed soundlessly and pushed at the straining body. Then the goat-man abruptly went limp. With a great effort she heaved the inert body off her and lay still a few moments, gasping for breath. Hanna smiled down at her, a bloody blade in her hand. She offered Brie a hand up, giving her back her own dagger, then turned to meet the charge of yet another goat-man.

  Somehow Cernu and his army had managed to turn the Dungalans around and were pushing them toward the sea, along the southern edge of the fortress Sedd Wydyr. Behind them, not a hundred yards back, was the white beach. The sun had risen and was now shining in the eyes of the Dungalans.

  Then Brie saw Hanna go down, and the goat-man she had been fighting raised his club to crush her head. This time Brie did not hesitate. She quickly reached for the fire arrow. No one was in the way. She nocked the arrow to her bow, but as she pulled it back, the string broke. Brie let out a cry of frustration.

  Hanna twisted away from the goat-man's club just in time, but the creature grabbed her by the hair, unsheathing a knife.

  Brie grasped the arrow in her hand and sprang toward the goat-man. As she ran she realized this was the second time she had used the fire arrow as a knife and irrationally wondered if the arrow minded.

  As if in response the shaft stung her fingers with heat, shocking her a little, but she maintained her grip. The goat-man saw her coming and, still holding Hanna by the hair, threw back his head and brayed.

  Brie slashed at him with the fire arrow.

  There was a smell of scorched hair, a flash of orange and blue, and the goat-man was. looking at his smoldering arm in surprise. He let go of Hanna, who crumpled to the ground, eyes closed. Brie struck again, and again there was the stench of burning animal flesh. The goat-man fell heavily, the hair on his torso aflame, dead before he hit the ground.

  Brie's hand smarted, and she briefly glanced down at the webbing of tiny blisters already appearing on her palm. Then she crouched beside Hanna. The older woman had a knife wound in her side, but she was conscious. Quickly Brie pulled her a short distance from the fighting, to a clearing alongside a clump of sea grass.

  Spotting Collun, Brie called out to him. He ran up and checked Hanna over, binding her wound. Hanna weakly protested that she was fine, ready to return to battle. Brie shook her head decisively.

  Looking out at the ragtag Dungalan army, Brie's heart constricted. They were weakening. Most had borne at least one wound and all were exhausted, their faces pale under the blood and dirt. So far they had lost only a handful of soldiers, but it was only a matter of time, Brie thought, before it would be many more. Her own clothing was soaked with blood, though most of it gabha, and her body ached with fatigue. Ordering the older woman to stay put, she and Collun returned to battle. The sun was directly overhead.

  Ciaran and the faol came to Brie. Wearily the girl mounted the Ellyl horse. Ciaran reared, letting out a whinny that sounded like a war cry. Brie heard the words "fire arrow" burn inside her head, and she was not sure if they came from Ciaran or from the arrow itself, but she drew herself up. She grasped the shaft of. the fire arrow and held it aloft. It still burned against her hand, but as she held it high the fire arrow began to send out a yellow light, like a sort of beacon.

  Then Ciaran plunged into the ranks of the gabha army.

  Brie wielded the arrow with a relentless, stupefied violence. The gabha were living creatures to her no more, merely targets to be burned and obliterated. The arrow was practically fused to her hand under a mat of blisters and oozing flesh. She marveled at the strength of the shaft, like a peerless war blade tempered in the finest forge.

  The gabha were spooked by the arrow and fell away in droves. And the sight of their Bren-huan wielding the fire arrow gave the Dungalans new heart.

  The heat from the arrow seemed to have set Brie's whole body aflame and her arm was desperately tired, yet propelled by flame and pain and sheer stubbornness, she fought on. At one point she remembered dismounting Ciaran, because she noticed a nasty slashing burn across the horse's right flank. Ciaran protested, but Brie ignored her. She sliced and torched with her arrow-sword, while Ciaran and Fara stayed beside her, fighting with their hooves and claws and teeth.

  "Brie," she heard through the searing haze of flame and smoke. It was Lom; he had laid a hand on her arm. Brie stared back at Lom, barely recognizing him. Smoldering bodies lay around her in heaps.

  "'Tis time for retreating," Lom said almost gently, his face gaunt with fatigue. "Come." He pulled Brie through the lines, Ciaran following. The sun was low in the gray-orange sky.

  Only then did Brie realize that the gabha had retreated. Cernu was marshaling his troops, to reorganize and to calm the goat-men's fear of the maiden bearing fire in her hand.

  In a daze Brie followed Lom to the shelter of some ruined buildings that lay at the edge of land and shore, perhaps once a small fishing enclave under the royal protection of Sedd Wydyr. Sea grass and reeds sprouted freely among the stones. Curlews circled above, and the air smelled of salt and seawater. Ghostlike, Brie walked among the Dungalans, searching their faces; she spotted Jacan, Ferg, and Gwil, but not Henle. She saw Maire and her brother, Aelwyn, Sago and Monodnock, Silien, the boy Dil, and finally Collun, crouched beside Hanna. They exchanged a few exhausted words. Hanna reassured Brie that the wound to her side was not serious and told her to tend to her own hurts. Brie nodded and, still dazed, walked to the side of a small stream, which meandered through the ruined buildings on its way to the sea. Fara materialized at her side. Brie washed gabha blood and charred flesh off her skin. Fara rubbed against her legs, lapped at the water briefly, then bounded to Silien, who was distributing bars of brisgein. Next Ciaran came up and drank thirstily. The Ellyl horse raised her head, and for a moment horse and girl stood side by side, Brie's shoulder resting against Ciaran's warm neck.

  There is little left in me, Ciaran, Brie thought. She had never been so tired.

  More than you thin, Breo-Saight, came the Ellyl horse's response. And try washing your face. It's a mess, Ciaran added, looking sideways at Brie.

  "Well, pardon me, but you're not exactly spotless yourself," Brie retorted.

  Ciaran flicked her tail and went off in search of some brisgein.

  Brie crouched down to soak her burnt hand in the cool water. Vaguely she was aware of someone—a fisherman, she thought, because of the indigo jersey and the braided criosanna he wore at his waist—coming to the stream near her. He limped and wore a large handkerchief bandage over half his face; Brie wondered if he had had his battle wound looked at. The sun was setting.

  Suddenly the fisherman lunged at her. With a splash, she went sprawling facedown into the water. Before she could react, the man had grabbed the fire arrow out of her quiver. He let out a shriek of pain as the arrow burned his hand, but he was running, desperate, hobbling off on his crippled leg.

  With an astonished sense of déjà vu, Brie scrambled up out of the water and took off after Bricriu. He was heading toward the bluff on which Sedd Wydyr stood. Despite her own fatigue, she had begun to gain on him and was sure she would catch him. But then she saw a small door in the side of the bluff, a thick wooden door striped with iron, no doubt with a lock or an iron bar on the inside. Panic rose in her. S
he did not think she would be able to reach him before he got to the door.

  Then a gray blur swept past her. It was Collun astride the horse Fiain.

  In moments Collun caught the man. He swung off Fiain, and in an instant his sword was at Bricriu's throat.

  "Release the arrow," Collun said. Even from a distance Brie could hear the cold fury in his voice. Bricriu froze.

  Her breath coming in gasps, Brie ran up. Neither Collun nor Bricriu moved as she reached them.

  "There is very little that keeps me from running this sword through your evil neck, Bricriu," Brie heard Collun say. He pressed the tip of his sword deeper into Bricriu's throat.

  The trembling man dropped the arrow onto the ground. Brie darted forward and picked it up. The arrow buzzed against her fingers. But Collun did not lower his sword.

  Bricriu sank to his knees, his hollow eyes wild with fear. Then she saw his glance fall on Collun's sword.

  "I know your sword, Wurme-killer." The words had come from Bricriu. With a shock Brie realized it was the first time she had heard him talk since being entertained by him in his dun, long ago; his voice was grotesque, a wheezing whisper, sounding as if someone on a previous occasion had run a sword through his voice box.

  "My sword?" said Collun, distracted.

  "It is fitting that you carry it," Bricriu croaked. Collun looked blank, and Bricriu's wrecked face shifted into a travesty of a smile. "Surely you know? It is Cuillean's, your father's sword. He has no need of it now. In Scath."