A Whisper of Darkness

by Troy A Hill

  “Those witnesses will be dead,” I said. “I saw their methods in Europe. The guilders train their men in how to inflict pain and torture.”

  I scooted away and looked at Thea.

  “Bleddyn sent Penda a report this winter about the Battle at the Abbey,” I said. “We were careful about what it said. We didn’t want to accuse when we didn’t have proof we could deliver.”

  “No evidence?”

  “We burned the skeletons and corpses so they couldn’t rise again.”

  “Wait?” Thea stood, her hand going to her mouth. “You mean you really fought the dead?”

  “Lord Chamberlain might have met the supposed leader of the Witch Hunters, Seeker Bechard,” I said.

  “I remember him, and his toady of an old assistant,” Thea said, scrunching her face in disgust. “They sent all women from their sight while here.”

  “The old toady was the real power,” I said. “Lecerf was a wizard, one who could raise the dead and make them walk again.”

  Thea’s eyes went wide.

  “They wanted a sword, one given to Bleddyn’s son on his wedding day. Lady Gwen called the blessings of the goddess upon it, and it glowed and banished the ghosts that attacked his wedding feast. Bechard and Lecerf were there. Only…” I paused. Until now, Bleddyn’s only concern in not sharing more was to protect my secrets. If the Witch Hunters were still active, we needed to shut them down, and fast. I would gamble that Penda would help. He needed information to understand why he should.

  “Bechard was also a wizard,” I explained. “He created the illusion of spectres that terrorised the guests in our caer that night. Instead of stopping them, the Witch Hunters used magic to create them.”

  “Why the army, then?” Thea asked. She seemed to be taking my tale in stride.

  “They wanted Cadoc’s sword. They thought it was Arthur’s special sword.” I had to be careful here. “They staged a raid on our caer with their ally, Lord Fadog. It was an excuse to capture Lord Cadoc’s new wife. They knew he’d trade the sword for her. Only I interrupted their plans.”

  “You freed her!”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  Another turning point of incredible tales where I had to be very careful. I was too skilled with blades. How would I explain that they captured me? I couldn’t reveal that Lecerf had controlled me because I was undead too.

  “Do you know what a shifter is?”

  “Like a man that turns into a beast?” Thea smiled. “The old grans tell tales of them to scare the youngsters.”

  “Lecerf had a pet shifter, a tall Norseman, who could shift into bear form.”

  Thea gasped, then looked off to the side. “Wassa…” she whispered. Thea wrapped her arms across her chest. “She was assigned to the Norseman. He was the only one of their party who wanted a woman. She went with them the next day when they left.”

  “She never returned,” I ventured. It wasn’t a question.

  “Penda sent men to find them and caught up to them at an abandoned farmhouse. The blond one, he claimed she ran off the first night. But… the men stayed after the guilders moved on. They said they found blood between the floorboards. The soil under that room’s floor smelled of death. They found no corpse when they dug it up.”

  Thea shook for a moment. I wrapped my arms around her.

  “We would have heard of her if she lived,” Thea said and buried her face in my shoulder.

  “I’m sorry for your friend,” I said.

  “Can’t you show Penda the bodies of those wizards? I mean… I don’t know magic, but…”

  I shook my head. “Remember the staff the old one carried? It was full of magic.”

  “Show Penda that!” she said, straightening up. “Help us put that priest to the question and learn what happened to Wassa!”

  “That staff broke,” I said. “Or rather, I smashed my sword into it and broke it. The magic charred the battlefield and stripped the flesh from the wizards’ bones.”

  “But yet you lived? When you broke the staff?”

  “I’ve got a goddess and Lady Gwen watching my back,” I said.

  Thea leaned into me. I slid an arm around her again in comfort as she stared at the shuttered window. “Wassa…”

  I gave her another comforting squeeze.

  “Never had a goddess watching my back,” Thea whispered. “Why is she watching yours?”

  “If I knew that,” I said with a shrug, “I’d know who to slide a sword into and end the war that is coming.”

  18

  A Night of Practice

  I walked with Mihangel through the halls of the large complex that was Penda’s seat of governance. We nodded at the guard by the door to the main courtyard. Even Bleddyn didn’t keep a guard on the door at the keep. But he wasn’t ruling the Midlands of the Anglo side of the island.

  Mihangel led me to a large wooden hall, more of a barn. No animal odours greeted us. Instead the aroma of sweat, oil, steel, and blood leeched out of the wood and soil. Not much blood, but it was there. I knew from my centuries that even blunted training weapons could injure.

  Mihangel carried a candle and used it to light a lamp hanging from a crossbeam below the tall roof.

  Inside, the large practice floor was empty, ringed with a well-worn wooden railing. Weapons racks stood against the outer wall. Pole arms, axes, spears, and shields stood upright in the racks or hung from pegs. They weren’t what brought a smile to my face.

  Talian leaned against the railing, looking out into the darkness. He turned as we entered and lifted a long narrow pack by his feet.

  “Lady Mair,” he said. “Lord Emlyn told me to meet you here our first night. He said you’d want these.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” I said and gave him a hug before I took the bundle. Inside I found the two well-balanced steel practice swords Emlyn had Guto make for me. They were blunts, with rounded edges and tip, so Penda’s guards had let them into the compound.

  “May we do a few meditations?” Talian asked. “I’d rather be here than drinking and gambling with Siors.”

  “Get a practice sword and shield from the racks,” I said. I was happy he was interested enough in continuing when he could be gambling or carousing with the other men.

  I shifted my gaze to where Mihangel was lighting the last few lamps.

  “Care to join us, good brother?” I asked. “Or has the abbey removed all sense of weapons training from your mind?”

  “I not be that old, milady,” he said. He still carried his staff and leaned on it to favour his right leg. “But tonight, I’ll watch. Is this one a student of yours? Or Lord Emlyn’s?”

  “My friend Talian,” I said. “I owe him much, and sword training is the least I can repay him with.”

  That was the most I was willing to say. The dark recesses of the weapons hall gave plenty of room for a set of Lord Chamberlain’s ears to hide. A storeroom in the back held such a person, ready to report back to Lord Chamberlain of all that transpired here.

  “If I may observe,” Mihangel asked, “I’d like to watch some techniques you use.”

  “Please do so, my friend.” I waved him towards a bench and motioned Talian onto the wood chips and sawdust that coated the earthen floor.

  “Do you remember the last set I was teaching you?” I asked.

  Talian nodded. “Most,” he said.

  An hour later, sweat flecked his brow. I had been using both my blunt swords to push him to defend with a single blade and a buckler. He was getting better. Not at Afon’s level yet, but he could hold his own against most of Penllyn’s guard.

  I called a halt. Mihangel brought a bucket of water and a few cups. Talian dipped his cup into the bucket and took a deep drink. I took a cup and only partially filled it. Even water would come back up if I tried to swallow it. Mihangel didn’t know that, so I mimicked taking a long drink and swallowing.

  “I wondered if you’d be here,” a deep voice said from the shadows.

  �
�How long were you watching, Ludló?” I had sensed him enter about halfway through the session. It didn’t hurt to ask.

  “Long enough to see that you have been trained by Lord Emlyn,” he said. His eyes dropped to where I had the second practice weapon slid into my belt.

  “You still don’t believe a woman can be as good as Emlyn?”

  “You were at the abbey, unlike me,” he said. “I’ve fought next to Lord Emlyn. Tonight, I’ve only seen you wave your sword in those slow patterns he likes to play with.”

  “So I have to prove my skill?”

  “You don’t have to,” Ludló said. “Your choice.”

  I already knew what he had in mind.

  “Only you and I on the field?”

  Penda’s large guard captain shook his head. He put his fingers to his lips and whistled. The doors opened, and the men I had sensed outside filed into the weapons hall.

  “Emlyn handled a score of us when he first visited,” Ludló said. “You said you led the charge in the Battle at the Abbey. You should be able to handle half that again.”

  “As long as I don’t have to drop my trousers and compare who has the longest…”

  “Milady,” Brother Mihangel broke in, “you don’t have to take part in this.” The monk straightened and stood in front of Ludló. The guard captain had a hand of height on my friend but took a step back from the monk.

  “Battle Leader, this is my hall,” Ludló said, despite his retreat.

  “The hall belongs to Lady Mair,” Mihangel said. “Or did you forget that the trainer in charge of the floor controls the hall?”

  “My friend,” I asked, “will you marshal the floor for this match?”

  “Thirty against one isn’t a match, milady.”

  “Would you let Emlyn take them on?”

  Mihangel held my eyes and finally gave a nod.

  “I relinquish the floor to Brother Mihangel,” I pronounced as I pulled my leather gloves back on. The guards drifted about the hall, selecting weapons and shields. I did a quick headcount. Either I was off, or…

  I moved to the railing away from Ludló’s men and waved Talian over. After a few words, he retreated into the shadows behind the railing.

  The guard circled around me. Most had a shield and sword. A few had an axe or hammer. I’d need to watch out for the latter two. Even with the padding of layers of coarse cloth wrapped around their weapons, they would hurt if they hit. Since I didn’t bruise like a normal human, that could be problematic in a day or two.

  “No armour, milady?” Mihangel asked.

  “I move faster without it,” I said, raising both of my practice blades to salute him.

  “Blows to the arms or legs mean that appendage is useless,” Mihangel said. “Torso or head blows mean you are out of action. You drop where you are.” He turned and scanned the gathered men. “You will answer to me if any of you don’t respect the rules of the arena.”

  “Yes, Battle Leader,” they all intoned. Their respect for Mihangel impressed me.

  “Ready yourselves,” he commanded. I swooshed my blades out to complete my salute and dropped into my guard stance. I considered raising a wall of “dead” guards around me with the first wave. These men, however, were supposed to be the best. I wanted space to maneuver.

  “Begin!” Mihangel called and thrust his staff down. He back-pedalled out of the ring of fighters closing in around me. I faced Ludló until he was two paces away, then turned and struck fast, crossing my blades at two of the fighters behind me, sliding gut slashes in behind their shields.

  “Dead! Dead!” Mihangel called as my first two opponents hit the floor. I kept my momentum going to get out of the deadly ring they had made around me. A step. A minor shift to dodge, a parry with my blade.

  These men were faster and more skilled than the undead at the abbey. I kept to the upper limits of mortal speed. The best I could get was a finger’s width of space between me and their strikes. But that was enough. A miss was a miss. Two more slashes from my blades and I had a small pocket of peace for half a second.

  More men came at me. No rest for me tonight. I stepped into the mass and locked swords, cross guard to cross guard, to bind one blade with my off-hand weapon. I twisted around that man so he unwittingly blocked my back. A low slice across the thighs of another as his axe blow whistled above me. I made another thrust with my blade.

  “Legs… never mind, dead,” Mihangel called again.

  Another guard closed in quickly, even as the axeman dropped. I brought my off-hand blade out of the bind and into the new man’s side. My blade slid along between his wooden shield and his leather tunic with an almost-silent hiss. I stabbed behind me into the fighter I had bound blades with earlier.

  Another twist through the masses, more calls of “Dead! Dead!” from our marshal. I made it to the edge of the mass and had space behind me. Half the fighters were down for dead or dragging themselves forward without the use of one leg. Ludló still stood. He pointed his sword at me.

  Two of his men charged, two more right behind them. I dodged one swing, deflected the other out of line, and turned to slash the first man in the side.

  “Dead!”

  I dropped low under the third strike and used my momentum to leg-sweep the fourth. I dragged a blade across his neck as I rose and slashed into the fourth man’s side.

  “Dead! Dead!”

  The bowstring twanged even as I dodged sideways. Ludló’s surprise archer in the rafters. The tip of my blade, the fastest part of the sword, knocked the arrow out of line, pulling from my demon to make sure I connected with it.

  Another bowstring twanged from outside the railing. A man in the rafters cursed as the blunt, padded arrow from Talian’s bow thudded into him.

  “Dead, above!” Mihangel called.

  “She didn’t take him out!” Ludló bellowed.

  “If you can set a sniper,” Mihangel said, flashing me a smile, “so can she.”

  “She’s mine,” Ludló snarled, and moved towards me.

  One on one sounded fine. He had proved deceptive. I couldn’t relax.

  Ludló didn’t go for the kill. He kept his defence solid and tried to force me with his bulk and attack angle to leave my back open. The men behind me were sure to attack. He was slower than his best fighters, however. At least for now. I launched an off-hand strike at him and bound his blade long enough to spin behind him. He twisted to angle his shield edge at me. I had already sidestepped and slashed between two of his men. A slight step, and I faced Ludló again.

  “Dead! Dead!”

  Another step. Deflect a strike, bind a blade. Slash, thrust. My goal was to keep Ludló spinning to keep up with me while I thinned his support. I kept moving while Mihangel kept calling out the dead. Finally, I faced only the guard captain.

  He stepped over his men. Mihangel tapped a few with his staff to move aside and give us room on the floor.

  Ludló had reach on me. His sword, even though it was blunt steel from the practice arena, was long like Sawyl preferred. The tip would move fast. His recovery, however, would be a fraction slower. That should be enough. I wouldn’t underestimate his skill, though.

  Off-hand blade in front of me and my main hand above and back, I launched a main-hand strike to draw his shield, then added an off-hand strike to engage his blade. He read and caught my second main-hand strike by dropping his shield. I let him use his bulk to push me back a step.

  Ludló dropped an overhand blow at me and tried to add a shield punch. He stepped out too far. That extra finger width was all I need to bind his blade against mine, spin out of line of the shield, and slide my blade in against his belly. I jerked it back out as he gasped at the touch.

  Ludló collapsed to his knees, a shocked expression on his face. He fell forward onto his hands and his shoulders shook. I was concerned that I had gotten my weapon in behind his leather tunic and had injured him. Around us, the men began to laugh.

  “Mair! Mair! Mair!” echoed throug
h the hall.

  I was glad they used my Cymry name. With a Witch Hunter in the compound, I didn’t need word of Maria getting around. Several of them carried clay pitchers. Others had mug handles looped in their hands. Each man grabbed a mug and sloshed ale into the vessel. Ludló grabbed two mugs and held them out to be filled. He passed me one.

  “I never thought I’d meet a man who could match or beat Lord Emlyn on this or any field,” he called, holding his mug aloft.

  “You still haven’t,” Mihangel said. He, too, had a mug.

  “No, I haven’t.” Ludló waved his mug and sloshed ale towards me. His face wide with a grin. “Who’d have thought the only man I believe to be his equal would be a woman?”

  “Mair, Mair, Mair!” the men chanted.

  They all raised their mugs. Most tilted back to drain the contents in one long pull. I raised my own enough to wet my lips.

  “At least we know one way to best her,” Ludló quipped. He grabbed my mug and drained it for me. “She can’t keep up with us when it comes to ale.”

  “That is true,” I said.

  The guard captain held his arm out towards me. Warrior to warrior. I took it and let him pull me in for the ritual hug and a pat on the back.

  The other men filed by and repeated the gesture. Thirty hugs later, I had smelled enough Mercian sweat to last me for the next year.

  “It was an honour to be defeated by a warrior of your skill, Lady Mair,” Ludló said. “Those of us without duty this shift will go raise a mug or four to your name.” He looked at me once and laughed. “It’s always the small ones to watch out for. You and the Battle Leader, and your man”—he waved at Talian, who was still sipping from his mug of ale—“are welcome to join us.”

  “Her drink is mead, Captain Ludló,” a voice said from the darkness at the edge of the weapons floor.

  19

  A Walk in the Moonlight

  The men in the hall all bowed as Penda strode into their midst. I glanced at Talian to wave him down, but he had already dropped to a knee. Being of farm stock had given him fast reflexes when a noble was around.