by John Lenahan
‘Boys,’ Mom said in a reproachful tone.
‘Tell this old man to drop his weapon. His clumsy reconnaissance has been exposed,’ Spideog said.
‘First of all,’ Dahy replied, ‘I am younger than you.’
‘In age maybe, but not in spirit.’
‘Boys,’ Mom said again. This time she sounded impatient.
‘Secondly,’ Dahy continued, ignoring the interruption, ‘I have a Brownie crossbow aimed at your head. I’ll drop you before you can even let go of that string.’
‘Would you like to put that to the test, Old Man?’
Mom dismounted and walked between the two Masters. No matter how much they wanted to kill each other (and it sure looked like they did) their duty kicked in as soon as the Queen of Duir stepped into the line of fire. They immediately lowered their weapons.
‘Now that is better,’ Mom said in an overly calm tone. ‘I’m going to return to my mount. I shall assume you two will not again raise your weapons to eac other after I leave.’ When she got no response, she said, ‘Master Spideog?’
‘Yes, my lady,’ Spideog said, replacing his arrow in his quiver.
‘Master Dahy?’
‘Of course, Lady Deirdre,’ Dahy replied, removing the bolt from his crossbow.
I don’t know how many years those two had between them, probably thousands, but at that moment they sounded like eight-year-olds.
‘Master Spideog, you are with me,’ Mom commanded. ‘Master Dahy, I have royal bodyguard duty for you. He is over there hiding behind that wall – I think you may have met.’
I stuck my nose around the building and waved.
‘Conor!’ Dahy said as he approached and placed his arms on my shoulders. ‘When did you get back?’
‘About a week ago; I would have thought someone would have told you.’
‘News is slow around here. I don’t have an emain slate. The Leprechaun who made them was killed when Cialtie blew out the east wing. The new ones don’t work very well. I’ve had to rely on couriers. Tell me, how is your father?’
We mounted up and I told him what Mom and Fand had done to Dad and about Mom’s magic Shadowbook paperclip. He took it all in without surprise like I was telling him the latest football scores. I guess if you’re as old as Dahy and have lived all of that time with witches and oracles, it’s easy to take news like this in your stride.
‘So you are going to be with us for a while then?’ Dahy asked.
‘As long as it takes.’
‘Good, I can use you.’
‘Use me for what?’ I asked suspiciously.
We passed one of the Hall’s outbuildings; I recognised it as the one where Lorcan clothes-lined me so long ago. Just past that we rounded a bend and I saw a large group of soldiers standing around a pair of duelling banta fighters in full protective gear.
‘You finally got your security force for the Hall of Knowledge,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Dahy replied, ‘I imagine even your grandfather wouldn’t have minded, given the circumstances. I wanted a more ecumenical group but they are mostly Imps, Leprechauns and Faeries.’
‘Faeries?’
‘Of course. There are a few Banshees but I couldn’t get any Elves or Brownies to join and nobody has spotted a Pooka in ages. This lot are all very green. I could use your help to train them.’
I was just about to ask what a Faerie looked like when the banta stick duel captured my attention. The one guy wasn’t doing very well. Every time he mounted an attack his opponent seemed to know in advance exactly where it was going to come from. His opponent’s parries and counter-attacks were minimal and effective to the point of perfection. But what really caught my attention was the posture and footwork. There was only one person that moved like that and it made my heart race even before she took off her head protector and shook even youavy black hair over her shoulders like a model in a shampoo commercial. Essa turned and our eyes locked. She was definitely surprised to see me but, as usual with that girl, I wasn’t sure if she was happy about it or not.
All eyes turned to Dahy and me as we approached. Essa’s duelling partner took off his headpiece and for a moment I was hit with déjà vu. As he revealed his black hair with a white tuft in the front, I momentarily thought it was Fergal but then the Banshee’s sharp facial lines and broad chin broke the illusion.
‘Attention, Soldiers of the Red Hand,’ Dahy shouted.
The group snapped to attention. I smiled. Dahy had held onto the same name as the army that last occupied the Hazellands.
‘I give you Conor, Prince of Duir!’
Everybody dropped to one knee and bowed their heads, except, I noticed, Essa and her Banshee-duelling partner.
I dismounted. ‘Hi, folks. Look, I’m gonna be around here for a while so you don’t have to do that – OK?’
‘As you were,’ Dahy ordered and everybody relaxed as a buzz went through the crowd.
Essa gave a loud theatrical cough and thankfully the hundreds of eyes left me and turned to her. ‘If our regal visitor doesn’t mind, shall we continue with our training?’
Her troops straightened up and quieted down. She was more beautiful than I had even remembered. What kind of idiot was I, leaving a woman like this behind? She finished by staring at me with a question on her face and I realised she actually wanted me to answer her question.
‘No, no,’ I stammered, ‘by all means continue.’
She seemed to smile at me but only from one side of her mouth. ‘We have been working all day on banta fighting. Excellent for helping improve footwork and winning competitions, but in battle you are most likely to be attacked with a sword. What happens if you only have a banta stick to defend yourself with?’
I came very close to shouting out, ‘You’re screwed,’ but two things stopped me: one was that I had seen Essa fight sword with stick and she was damn good at it; secondly, I instinctively felt that undermining Essa in front of her students would be a bad idea.
‘Our new guest, Prince Conor,’ Essa continued, ‘fancies himself as quite the swordsman. Your Highness,’ she said with just enough sarcasm that only I heard it, ‘would you like to help me with this demonstration?’
‘How about we nip off and spend a little alone time,’ is what I really wanted to say. Instead I answered, ‘Sure.’
I walked to the midst of about a hundred young eager eyes. Essa and I squared off in the centre and slowly circled each other. For the first time a proper smile crossed her face. Gods, she was stunning. I drew my sword and her smile vanished. She backed into the crowd and threw her banta stick to a soldier and took a training stick from another. She returned back to the centre.
‘Conor is wielding a very good sword indeed. Does anyone recognise it?’ A few hands went up. ‘It is the Sword of Duir.’
A murmur shot through the group. Men and women strained to get a look at the Lawnmower as I held it aloft.
‘The difficulty with fighting a sword, especially one as good as this one, is that you must not make direct contact. When wood meets steel head on – it is usually wood that loses.’
Essa was holding her stick straight out in a pre-duel position with her head turned to face her pupils. I swung the Lawnmower high and sliced about a foot off the top of her banta stick. It was like knife through butter. The crowd laughed. Essa turned and even though she had a smile on her face for the crowd, her eyes had a look I didn’t like. She inspected the stick and then threw it into the audience. A replacement sailed back immediately. Dahy stepped into the circle holding a dulled training sword. I reluctantly swapped the Lawnmower for it.
‘Thank you, Prince Conor, for that demonstration,’ she said as she refaced her class. It was probably a good thing Dahy changed my sword ’cause I’m sure I would have done the same thing again. I think stuff like that a second time is even funnier than the first but some people don’t agree and I knew Essa was definitely one of them. ‘A sword is obviously the stronger weapon,’ she continued, ‘but it i
s inferior in length. You must use your superior reach to set the rhythm and tempo of the fight – directing the battle to your terms.’
She faced me directly and stood at attention, so I did too. We both bowed at the waist with our eyes locked. Our faces were inches away – I whispered, ‘Miss me?’
She stood erect, assumed a fighting stance and said, ‘En garde.’
I raised my sword, adjusted my footing and asked, ‘Is that a yes, or a no?’
Chapter Eleven
Essa
Essa and I circled to the right. This time, as she addressed her class, she never took her eyes off me.
‘You will probably have almost double the reach of anyone wielding a sword. If your opponent sets up too close …’ Essa nodded, inviting me closer, ‘then give him a reminder that you are carrying a long stick.’ With the quickest of clicks she tapped my blade out of its position and poked me hard in the chest with her stick.
‘Hey!’ I shouted, stepping back and rubbing my chest. ‘You told me to step in.’
‘And if your opponent is stupid enough to do what you tell him to do – make sure to take advantage of that.’
The crowd laughed. I forced a smile onto my face and stopped rubbing the place she had hit me – even though it still really hurt.
‘Once you have set the proper fighting distance, your opponent will be forced to attack your stick, not you.’
I cld see her point but I wasn’t going to play her game and I certainly didn’t want to stand there and swipe at a stick. I decided to make my first attack a deep body swipe – the kind of advance that would be dangerous to ignore. I bounced backwards and forwards on my toes, made a short backhand fake that brought her stick out of position and then lunged with a full cut to the body. Without seeming to move her legs at all, Essa instantly backed out of reach. I had forgotten just how fast that girl moved. Her stick lightly engaged with the leading edge of my moving sword, circled around it and then pushed it away. By the time I got control my arm was way across my body and my weapon was nowhere near where it should have been. Essa slid one hand to the middle of her stick and swung the base of her banta into my kidney. It dropped me to one knee.
‘Usually I would not have counter-attacked so soon in a match. As you all should know, the golden rule is to parry and retreat until you can ascertain your opponent’s favourite attack. I have an advantage with the Prince – I already know his favourite attack.’ Essa came over to where I was still on one knee. As she helped me to my feet she whispered, ‘Miss me?’
I was still wondering if I would ever be able again to pass water with that kidney when she flowed back into her en garde position and asked, ‘Ready?’
I held up my hand for a time-out and stepped in close to her. ‘Do you think maybe I should have some protective clothing?’
‘Aw come on, Conor, it’s only a stick. You’ve got a great big sword.’
‘You … you could poke my eye out.’
‘I promise I won’t hit you in the head – even though it is such a large target.’
I tried to remember some old saying about a woman scorned but I didn’t have time. She started circling again, this time to my left and she was doing that figure of eight spinning thing with her banta that I had seen Araf do – it made me feel a bit woozy. I decided that maybe Essa’s students shouldn’t be the only ones paying attention to her tutorial, so I attacked the stick. I just stuck my blade into the twirling thing and she flipped it into a counter-attack. Fortunately I was ready for it and brought my sword up into a high backhanded parry. When she saw the steel coming she checked her swing and bounced back in to her home position.
‘Well done, Princess,’ came a shout from one of the people in the crowd.
I took a couple more swipes at the stick and every time pretty much the same thing happened. She would make light contact and attempt to counter but would then pull back at the last second, to avoid her wood being damaged by my steel. Essa’s bravado, the bruises on my chest and side, her cheering peanut gallery and the fact that she was the third best stick fighter I had ever seen had initially made me feel like I was the underdog but I was starting to remember that I had a sword. I had the better weapon.
I took another swipe at her banta but this time when she attempted her counter-attack I stepped in and took a full power cut at her weapon. My sword made hard contact with the top of her stick. If I had been using the Lawnmower I would have sliced that bit clean off – this dulled thing stuck halfway into the wood. As Essa pulled back I felt the tug and quickly twisted my pommel. I heard the crack as about ten inches of her stick spun ink my blair.
Essa backed and circled. The same voice from the crowd called out, ‘Not to worry, Princess.’ As Essa inspected her weapon I stole a quick glance to see who the cheerleader was. It was the Banshee she had been sparring with earlier.
While she was readjusting to the new length of her stick, I moved in a step and began my trademarked low sword attack. That’s where I keep my blade low and then swipe upward using my natural agility to bob and weave my head out of the way. I should note that every fighting teacher has told me that this is a very bad idea but it usually unnerves an opponent the first time they see it and I’m pretty sure I never did it when Essa was around. It worked too. She backed up fast but before she ran out of room, she took a full baseball swing to my head that made me hit the ground with a roll.
‘Hey,’ I shouted as I jumped back to my feet, ‘you promised not to hit me in the head.’
‘If you’re just going to hang your face out there, I can’t resist taking a pop at it.’
‘Good one, Essa,’ the Banshee shouted.
The crowd was getting pretty worked up and from the sounds of it, I wasn’t the hometown team. It’s dangerous when emotions creep into a practice fight and at that moment I wanted to kill the girl of my dreams. From the look in her eyes my love wanted to do the same thing. I should have called it off right then and there – instead I modified my attack. While protecting my face, I succeeded in backing Essa into her cheering section. Just as she was about to run out of room – she did it. I knew she would. I knew she couldn’t resist showing off for her pupils. She launched herself straight up and over my head and attempted to grind her banta into my shoulder as she pole-vaulted over me – but I was ready for it. When she was directly over my head, I dropped to the ground. Her stick made contact with nothing but air. The self-satisfied smile on her face vanished as she realised she didn’t have enough leverage to complete her somersault. She instantly went from a graceful gymnast to a flailing circus clown and landed hard on her back.
I stood up and turned to the silenced audience. ‘I know some of my opponent’s favourite attacks too.’ My line didn’t do as well as when Essa used it. I think it was safe to say they didn’t like me too much.
After rolling over onto all fours and taking a few quick breaths Essa stood and the look on her face made me realise I had gone too far. I lowered my sword and was about to call a stop when that damn Banshee shouted, ‘You’re not going to let him get away with that are you, Princess?’
Essa dropped right back into fighting mode and came at me with a series of short fast swings that got me back-pedalling. I didn’t want this fight any more. I didn’t mean to humiliate her in front of her students. I just wanted to sit with her and ask her how she was and tell her how much I had missed her but that stick just kept on coming. One swipe came so close to my nose I smelled the sap in the timber. I finally parried a cut hard and my sword once again stuck into the wood. As she tried to pull it free I stepped in. She was forced close. I don’t think I had ever seen her this mad before – and I had seen Essa plenty mad.
‘Come on, Princess – you can take this Faerie.’
‘Who, I asked Essa, her face inches from mine, ‘is the Banshee with the big mouth?’
Essa grunted and with all of her strength threw me back, disengaging our weapons. ‘That,’ she said, while assuming a very menacing crouch, ‘wo
uld be my fiancé.’
‘What?’ I stood straight up and dropped my guard. I looked directly into her eyes to see if she was serious. That’s probably why I didn’t spot the stick before it connected with my head.
In movies people wake up from a concussion and then feel their head like the pain comes as a surprise. That’s not how it works. The pain comes way before you open your eyes and if you have had as much experience with involuntary unconsciousness as I have, you delay opening them for as long as possible, ’cause that’s when the second wave of hurt arrives.
So as I lay there the first thing I noticed was the pain. Then I worked on the basics: who was I? – Conor O’Neil. Good, if you don’t know that one you’re in trouble. Where was I? – Scranton? No – Tir na Nog. How did I end up out cold and flat on my back? Essa. Essa hit me – she said she wouldn’t but she did. I had been looking for Essa. Where did I find her? The Hazellands. And she wasn’t as happy to see me as I thought she would be. In fact she seemed downright mad at me.
I felt a cold compress land on my forehead. The blessed cold ratcheted the pain level down a couple of notches.
Well, she couldn’t be that mad at me, I thought, if she was willing to nurse me. She must be feeling bad for hitting me in the head.
I reached up and placed my hand on hers. So why did she hit me? It was an accident – I had dropped my guard. Why did I do that?
I shot straight up in bed and shouted, ‘You’re engaged!’
‘No I am not,’ said the startled and still blurry face in front of me.
Chapter Twelve
The Turlow
The aforementioned second wave of pain hit me like a well-swung mace. I closed my eyes and lay back down. The pain was lessened only by the revelation that Essa wasn’t engaged. I squeezed her hand and she returned the gesture. This time I slowly opened my eyes but as the world became less fuzzy Essa got increasingly uglier. When I came properly to my senses I found myself holding hands with Araf.