by Jacky Gray
‘Not so clever now without your witch helping, are you? We all know she did some magic to make you win the fight. That hunting knife should have been mine, and you know it.’
Keeping an impassive expression, Geraint concentrated on his task, hoping the bully would soon tire of the torment and make his move. But he’d miscalculated badly, forgetting how resilient Siany was, as she assumed a haughty tone.
‘Geraint is honest and brave, he would not have cheated.’
‘I’m getting fed up with your whining, wench. Can’t see what he sees in a dumpy thing like you, not even very pretty.’ Laughing at her horrified expression, Manfrid turned to see the effect and was angry when his victim didn’t even bother to look. With a fluid move, he grabbed Geraint’s stick from one of his minions and brandished it at him. ‘What kind of spineless coward doesn’t even defend his girlfriend’s honour?’
‘She’s not my girlfriend.’
‘No? So you won’t mind if I do this then.’ He strode back and tried to kiss her, an impossible task with her twisting and pulling away. ‘Hold her still boys so she gets the full benefit.’ Manfrid couldn’t resist a glance in Geraint’s direction and was furious at the grin on his opponent’s face. ‘What a chicken. You stand there grinning while I kiss your girl …’
‘I told you, she’s not my girlfriend, although she’d like to be. You kiss away, if you don’t mind catching something.’ As the boys stared at her plain face, an ugly sore appeared on the side of her mouth. Keeping his tone neutral, Geraint continued. ‘And then there’s the beating her father will give you; he’s the chief of the marshals around here. I’m sure Hereward will be pleased to have the whole of the Oxford militia out looking for the band of Renegates who dared to lay a finger on his precious daughter.’
The two boys holding Siany dropped her arms as though she was on fire. Her eyes bright with angry tears, she walked calmly up and slapped Geraint’s face. ‘I hate you. He’s right, you’re a coward.’
‘Yes, but cowards live to fight another day. You’d better run home before your father sends out a search party.’ The look she gave him nearly broke his resolve and he almost blurted out the whole scheme, but it was more important she got home safely than knew the sacrifice he was making.
Manfrid’s henchmen stepped aside to let her pass, her shoulders stiff and her head held high. They watched as she stepped off the end of the bridge, then ran like the wind, leaving Geraint to face his tormentors alone.
18 Six onto One
The amount of concentrated thought power needed to persuade Manfrid that Siany was fat and ugly was much more than Geraint predicted, leaving him weak and light-headed. A few minutes of peace and quiet to draw in the earth’s energy would have restored most of his equilibrium, but he had no chance of that happening. Instead, he had to contend with the negative thoughts and energy of five thugs and their extremely angry leader.
‘Probably best the girl disappeared; we don’t want any witnesses.’ The tallest boy of the group had a livid scar across his cheek, marring what would otherwise have been an extremely handsome face.
‘Yeah, you’re right, Tamas. She wasn’t any fun anyway, ugly little thing.’ He shuddered. ‘To think I nearly kissed that. Must have been out of my mind.’
‘Do you think her father really is the chief marshal?’ A timid-looking boy voiced a doubt several of them had.
‘Even if he isn’t, we should scarper. She’ll tell someone and they’ll be back for ’im.’ Geraint recognised the boy who’d won the first bout at the trials; he seemed to be looking out for his own skin.
‘Are you stupid? Didn’t you see the way she slapped his face? You heard her say he was a coward and she hated him. Do you think she gives a damn what we do to him?’ Manfrid oozed scorn.
‘No, I guess you’re right, it’s just …’
‘Just nothing, Nestor. You think you’re so damn clever because you beat Georgios. Well, you’re not, so shut your mouth.’
Keeping his head down, Geraint got a powerful sense the angry boy wanted to kick something and knew he was the likely candidate.
Georgios, the second-in-command, seemed to swell with pride. ‘Manfrid’s right, we’ve got all the time in the world to teach this little runt a lesson he’ll never forget.’
‘As long as you don’t mind doing it in the dark.’
Manfrid didn’t seem too happy about Tamas’s dry comment, but he declared a little thing like darkness wouldn’t stop him having his revenge and sent two boys into the trees to get wood for torches. In the meantime, he gestured for the other three boys to move their prisoner across the bridge toward Tol’s cart.
Geraint wasn’t about to make it easy for them. As soon as they pulled him away from the wooden railing he’d been resting against, he pretended his leg had given way and collapsed with a grunt.
They hauled him up and Tamas shouted across. ‘Hey Manfrid, there’s something wrong with him, look at the way his leg’s all strapped up.’ They’d obviously been too intent on watching their leader’s little drama with Siany to notice his leg brace.
Stomping back to see it for himself, Manfrid prodded it with the toe of his boot. ‘What’s that for?’
‘My leg’s broken.’
‘Horseshit. If your leg was broken, you’d be in bed.’
‘I have been for the last six weeks. This is the first time I’ve been out of it.’
‘It’s just another trick. Take no notice of him boys.’
‘If his leg was broken you could tell. When my cousin broke his leg it got all shrivelled where he couldn’t use it.’
‘Well if you want to waste time looking at his legs, go ahead. I’m not falling for it.’ Manfrid looked annoyed by the delay and the way Tamas questioned his authority, but the scarred boy continued.
‘A broken leg takes twelve weeks to mend; he was laid up from Herfest until the week before Yule.’
‘That’s because your cousin’s a lazy article. But you’re right, if it was broken after our fight, it wouldn’t have had time to heal enough for him to be standing on it.’
‘Unless he had a really good reason.’ Tamas shrugged as though Manfrid’s opinion held no importance for him.
‘Quite. What would bring him away from his sickbed?’ Manfrid looked over at Geraint’s overly innocent expression. ‘He’s too much of a girl to disobey the healer for something trivial.’
Georgios seemed a lot smarter. ‘But if he thought his girlfriend was at risk, he’d do anything to protect her.’
Try as he might, Geraint could not suppress the smug grin which affirmed it. Manfrid turned red with anger. ‘I knew he was lying. You two, get after her.’
Letting a hint of concern creep onto his face, Geraint secretly congratulated himself. His plan to divide and rule had worked. But his victory was short-lived as Manfrid did some quick calculations. ‘No wait, it’s too late. She’ll be home by the time you reach her; it’s a waste of time. Forget her, we’ll do it now.’
The other two returned with the torches, removing Geraint’s best chance of any kind of escape.
‘Good. He has to learn his lesson. You don’t cheat in contests and you don’t mess with Hereward’s clan.’
‘What are you going to do?’ Tamas was obviously not happy about this turn of events as he eyed the leg brace.
‘Re-run the contest. He won’t be able to cheat this time.’
‘But you can’t fight a cripple.’ Tamas looked aghast at the idea.
‘I told you, I don’t believe his leg’s broken. If you don’t want to watch, you know what you can do.’
‘But what about the marshals?’
Manfrid turned on Nestor. ‘I’m fed up with you and Tamas. Nothing but whining.’
‘Geraint’s right, if we hang around here after sun down with torches blazing, they’ll come.’ Tamas was the voice of reason and Manfrid had no choice but to re-think his plan.
‘Right, put him in the cart, we’ll take him back to camp and do
it there. The marshals are all afraid to come too close.’
‘But what about Hereward? He won’t be impressed if you draw the marshals …’
‘After the way Rattrick crowed at the feast, he’ll be happy to see the son of his rival given the pasting he deserves.’
As they argued the sense of pursuing Manfrid’s plan, Geraint tried to think through his options. He figured Siany had been too deeply hurt by what he’d said to do anything other than run home and never see him again. Which left him on his own against six boys, at least three of whom hated him, and one wanted to hurt him. His tormentor was right: The scant chance of a marshal patrol diminished the closer they got to the camp. He had no chance of running with his broken leg, so his only option involved using misdirection to put on a good show. And obstruction; he was no willing victim and saw no point helping them by co-operating.
So when Manfrid told him to get into the cart, he refused. ‘I can’t.’
‘What do you mean you can’t? You got in it to drive here.’
I had my stick and used the steps. And Siany helped.’
‘You must think I came down with yesterday’s rain if you think I’m going to give you a weapon you can use to bash my brains in.’
‘The thought had crossed my mind.’ Geraint’s impudence earned him a slap.
‘We’re not standing here all night. Give him a boost up, lads.’
No-one moved. It was one thing for three of them to grab him from behind, but they had the advantage of the narrow bridge and an element of surprise. Now, with his back to the pony, he bristled like a cornered animal and they’d all seen how easily he’d bested Manfrid. Nobody wanted to be the first to risk getting too close and ending up flat on their back.
‘Come on you girls. Just grab an arm or a leg and haul him up into the cart, he’s no danger to you in that state.’
‘Why don’t you do it if it’s so easy?’
‘Because I need to stay in charge. I’ve had enough of this.’ He charged in, swinging the stick low, obviously intending to knock his prey’s legs out from under him, but his body had unknowingly announced his plan as sure as if he’d said it out loud.
Geraint grabbed his stick and used his tormentor’s momentum to force him to the ground, giving a perfect platform for easy access into the cart’s driving seat. While they plotted, he’d been silently communicating to Dapple, getting her ready to go at a moment’s notice. As soon as he sat, she jerked forward and the cart leapt away, the big wheel missing Manfrid’s head by a few inches. It happened in the blink of an eye and the other boys were stunned into inactivity, watching as he pulled away at speed.
Risking a glance back, he saw the chaos as their leader floundered on the muddy ground, shouting at them to stop gawking and get after him. More shouts came from the direction of the bridge and he turned to see torches glowing there. As he rode past he saw some burly marshals, riding fast. The Renegate boys scattered like autumn leaves in a gust of wind.
19 Separate Ways
During the ride back to Tol’s, Geraint’s mind went over the events of the evening, wondering if he could have done or said anything differently, something which meant he might not lose Siany’s friendship. He’d denied she was his girlfriend; not once, but twice. And he’d not lifted a finger to try and defend her honour, let alone save her. As far as she could see.
Geraint’s main concern was she’d returned home safely. When he got back, Tol borrowed his neighbour’s horse and rode straight over to her house. He returned a while later with a grave face, accompanied by Darryn.
The angry magi said she’d locked herself in her room and refused to say anything to anyone. He demanded to know exactly what had happened, starting off terse and accusatory. Geraint answered his questions honestly, playing down his part. The man was a skilled interrogator, and when he established how Geraint had sacrificed himself to secure Siany’s safety, he calmed down. He left with the grateful promise to ensure she knew exactly why Geraint acted the way he had.
But she never returned, so either Darryn kept the truth from his daughter, or she refused to believe it, preferring to see Geraint as a cowardly wimp. The lack of her cheerful company made his last few weeks of convalescence at Tol and Janna’s miserable.
Returning to the Renegate camp in time for the Yule festivities, he became occupied with the myriad tasks required to celebrate the season. Although most of the work involved preparations for the long hard winter, many of the women liked to maintain the traditions of the old religion, celebrating the birth of the young Sun God and the fight for supremacy between the Oak King and Holly King.
A different family provided food for the whole camp on each of the twelve days of the celebration. The men hunted for meat which could be dried or salted for the winter, while their women gathered nuts and berries, and pickled or dried fruit and vegetables. Each family created a special dish for the communal meal on Yule Eve.
Competition to provide a spread of the tastiest delicacies was immense, and ancient recipes for breads and puddings handed down through generations were jealously guarded. Because Rattrick had no woman, Geraint was seen as an extra pair of hands to help out running errands: Chopping wood the younger children had gathered and supervising the little ones as they foraged for funghi and berries. After several moons cooped up inside, he was glad to get out in the fresh air and use muscles which had become slack due to inactivity. The women were grateful for his help and vied with each other, tempting him with all manner of tasty treats in return for his efforts, but he tried to deal fairly with all of them.
The combination of good food, fresh air and exercise meant he grew several inches in height and his slight frame filled out with hard muscles. One of the women decided his thin, unkempt hair would benefit from a shorter cut and some of her special herbal rinse which left it thicker, lighter and with a healthy shine.
Rattrick never missed the opportunity to tease, sniffing the air every time he came close and muttering comments about never wanting a daughter. The old Geraint would have been wounded, but during their informal training sessions, Savannah frequently passed on Rattrick’s comments about his pride in the fine young man his son was growing into.
He watched with interest the bond between them, wondering what it would be like to have her as a mother. At his clumsy broaching of the subject, she smiled mysteriously and directed the topic of conversation onto other matters.
The next few moons passed in much the same manner, with his services in demand now the families had seen his readiness to help and support. The mothers trusted him to take their younger ones out foraging and, as it warmed up after Ostara, his training sessions for the stealth trial were the most popular. As the Herfest champion, his warrior skills were sought after, but the two contenders had witnessed the Lughnasadh armed combat trial and were more interested in practising with knives. Eventually, he got Darrack to intervene.
The training was interrupted by another gathering of the two tribes for the sporting contest at Beltane. Hereward played host this time and, as they travelled to his camp, it brought back many memories, mostly bad.
20 Beltane Sports
Geraint dreaded the festival of the May, not just because of his natural dislike of sporting events, but mainly because of the expectations of the whole camp who saw him as some kind of champion after the Herfest trial. It would be the first time since the bridge incident he would be anywhere near Manfrid and he knew the rat would have a few more tricks to play and a huge grudge to redress. His attempts to convince Rattrick fell on deaf ears.
‘The answer is still no. Let that be the last time you ask, or I will think you do not respect my decision which would disappoint me.’
There was no valid response to that. If his father had got angry or threatened violence, it would have been easier for Geraint to try one last time to explain his point of view, but the disappointment card was a low blow. He didn’t want to risk destroying the repairs to the delicate connection between the
m. Instead, he turned his frustration into a protective shield. This stiffened his spine against the rejection which wanted to lure him back into the familiar comfort of self-pity.
Nodding to his father, Geraint turned away sharply, tripping over Ciria who was uncharacteristically slow in anticipating his move. The shield did its job, stopping him from taking his anger out on her, but it reminded that concern for her was the main reason he didn’t want to take part in the games. He’d noticed her behaviour getting increasingly erratic, especially around crowds of people, where she became easily disoriented and confused. The idea of Manfrid taking his revenge out on a defenceless animal sickened Geraint, and there would be plenty of opportunity if he got caught up in the activities as his father requested. The instinct to obey was too strong, so he did what any dutiful son would do and co-operated. In the grand scheme of things, he got a huge reward, gaining an unexpected ally who turned into a good friend.
As they pulled into the camp, Geraint felt a malevolent energy directed at him, poking him in the shoulder as hard as any stick. Instead of turning to face the source of pain with an angry expression, he followed his training. Concentrating on his breathing, he dug deep into the earth energy and combined this with the pure white light from above to form a powerful shield around his body. Despite Savannah’s constant assurances this would protect him from any negative psychic attack, he’d never felt it in action before. The throbbing in his shoulder ceased instantly and he turned in time to see Manfrid stumble backward as the jolt of negativity rebounded straight back at him. Suppressing the grin, his eyes were drawn to the caravan behind where Savannah’s lips twitched; she’d obviously witnessed it all. ‘Good form.’ Her voice sounded inside his head – their strengthening link from the training meant she was able to send thoughts into his head and, he suspected, read his thoughts.