A Blink of an Eye

by Troy A Hill

  “There shall be no peace, Witch!” he said, his face red. “Your death shall prove your nature, and that of the girl.”

  A fire still flickered behind Emlyn’s eyes. He was ready to step in front of me and take the challenge. But what if Osbert proved to be the superior swordsman? I could survive whatever damage he did. I was already dead. Emlyn, however, was mortal. I held Emlyn’s eyes and gave the tiniest shake of my head. He sighed and made one short nod.

  “You heard him,” Emlyn said. “No peace.”

  Sawyl searched among the prisoners' packs. He retrieved what I assumed where the Witch Hunter’s own blades—an impressive collection—and presented them to Osbert for his selection. Each of Osbert’s hands grabbed a hilt. Deodamnatus! I forgot he carried two swords.

  “He jerked both blades out of the scabbards and lunged towards me. I flicked Soul out of her scabbard. With only one sword to his two, my hand worked fast to parry his blows. But I didn’t draw from my demon. Not yet. I worked my way around the courtyard as I got used to Osbert’s aggressive style. He, on the other hand, didn’t seek to find my skill level. He was going for the kill.

  I had to be careful. I didn’t want to take a wound that didn’t bleed as a mortal’s should. I needed to remain unscathed in this battle. I needed another blade to counter Osbert’s two.

  I slowly worked us around the courtyard, back towards where we had started, to where Emlyn stood. Osbert read my retreat as weakness. He growled a grin, sweat pouring past his brows, and pressed the attack harder. I couldn’t risk taking my eyes from my opponent to steal a glance at Emlyn, to tell him what I needed. But he had eyes. He could read the situation. I hoped he could read my intent.

  As I came close to where he stood, I shifted from the two handed grip I had on Soul to a one-handed grip. I parried Osbert’s first strike of the sequence and spun away from the second.

  My off-hand reached back as I rotated full-circle. If I was wrong about Emlyn’s intuition, I might finish my turn and plunge straight into a waiting blade, with nothing to parry it. If this didn’t work, I’d have to take Osbert’s sword from him. With his skill, I’d probably have to risk showing my undead speed. That I couldn’t afford with Seeker Bechard watching.

  My hand found the pommel of the weapon Emlyn thrust towards me. He stepped back and took the scabbard with him. I turned to face the Witch Hunter with Soul in one hand and Emlyn’s blade Medwyll in the other.

  I smiled at Osbert.

  “Last chance,” I said, and dropped into my ready position, one blade in front, the other behind and overhead. “You may ask for ‘peace’ at any time.”

  Come at me, witch,” he sneered, and launched another blow. His offensive drive lasted two seconds. I shrugged aside his blows, then began a series of counterstrikes. It was my turn to see how he parried, where he kept his balance. His blocks were all half a beat behind. He put too much weight on his heels, not enough on his toes. This man lived in the offensive. Put on the defensive, he was no better than students on the practice field.

  Seeing his position, he tried to force my blades out of line and launch a kick at my legs. I slid out of its way easily. Even without my undead speed, I was quicker than he. This would be my battle. The witch hunters would be banished and Penllyn would live.

  Surprise at my skill crept into his face. He smashed another overhead blow at me. I caught his blade with Medwyll. Growling, he pushed down with brute strength. I strained so hard against his weight, I almost forgot to breathe heavily, like a mortal.

  His second blade stabbed towards my side. I parried it with Soul and bound it against the guard. Both our swords were tied together. He was close enough I could hear his breath wheeze as he panted. Trying to force my arms down with his brute force. I had to be careful, I could easily add strength from my demon. But that would be obvious to someone like a Seeker. So I didn’t do any more than hold him at bay. This damn fight was drawing enough attention to me.

  “Witch!” Osbert grunted in my face. He kicked out again to get me to disengage, then launched a series of quick strikes with both blades. I parried each. “Vile Witch!” he cried again with each blow he tried to land. “Child of the devil! You shall not rob me of my chance to clear your filth from the face of the earth.”

  I remembered the screams of Seren as she suffered under the witch hunter’s torture. I hissed, quiet, just for his ears, “You already passed on your last chance.”

  I began another set of blows, pushing his skills to the edge. Fear crept into in his gaze. He realised he was in trouble. His approach shifted from dominance to survival. I almost felt sorry for him. He dodged a blow and twisted too far, leaving his back open. His flesh glistened with both sweat and crimson. The blood that oozed from his welts smelled sour to me. Even my demon shrank back in disgust. I had no desire to feed from him. As he returned to the fight, I pushed my main blade towards his shoulder. Osbert dropped below my thrust at the last second and landed on his knee. I twisted one blade out of his hand. It spun away, metal singing through the air, and embedded itself point-down in the mud.

  I crossed both my blades at his throat.

  Thick silence enshrouded the courtyard. I swore I could hear the mist swirl.

  “Will you have peace?” I demanded.

  “Who are you?” he croaked out, sweat trickling past his brow and down his nose.

  I remembered Seren, lying on the table, hands bound, eyes staring up at me. “Are you an angel?” The memory of her whisper flashed across my mind.

  “An angel,” I hissed at him. “The angel of death, here to protect Penllyn and her people.”

  Osbert sucked in a heavy breath. The rising and falling of his shoulders scraped the edges of my swords against each other. “Penllyn shall have no peace, witch!” he screamed.

  He swung his remaining sword at my side.

  I slid my crossed blades down and out, slicing the guilder’s throat wide open. He yelled one more time, but his breath gurgled through a fountain of blood across his neck. His lips formed the word “Witch” as life faded from his eyes. I kicked his chest. His body dropped back and he died leaking his sour blood into the mud of Caer Penllyn. I’d have to apologise to Bleddyn for spoiling that patch of ground.

  I held Medwyll in low guard, with Soul back and overhead, and rotated to face the Seeker and his old toady with the staff.

  “Does anyone else here feel the need to prove the guilt of Lady Seren or myself against my steel?”

  Bechard closed his eyes and swallowed, his face as colourless as the grey sky. The corner of my mouth twitched into half a smile.

  11

  Pain of death

  Emlyn offered me Osbert’s tunic. I wiped the blades on the cloth, then he tossed it towards Osbert’s head. It fluttered down across the wound in the dead man’s neck.

  “Thank you,” I said as I handed Medwyll back to him.

  He nodded curtly, and I thought his expression was colder than usual.

  Bleddyn addressed the remaining prisoners. “Do any of you wish trial by combat?” he asked. His voice was cold, stern. The two Guilders on their knees kept their eyes on the mud in front of them.

  Mikkel stepped forward a pace.

  “I accept the punishment you have decreed, Milord Penllyn, and beg forgiveness,” he said.

  “Mikkel of Elfael,” Bleddyn said, “for your honesty, your sentence is reduced to only one year’s service to Penllyn.” He shifted his attention to Bechard. “Seeker of the guild, do you have anything to say on behalf of the other two?”

  Bechard jiggled a leather purse that hung from his belt. He wore a look of grim determination. He jerked the purse from his belt and threw it towards Emlyn, who snatched it out of the air.

  “That should be more than enough silver to pay their fines and ransom,” he said and pointed at Mikkel. “The other one you may keep. He is not worth our coin.”

  Emlyn opened the purse and spilled the coins into his hand. He gave a curt nod to his lord. Lord Pe
nllyn turned to his daughter for her opinion. She sat with her back straight and glanced at the body of the man who had tortured her. Seren shut her eyes tight and fought to control another shiver, then nodded. Finally, Bleddyn looked at me.

  I didn’t want the Guild left anywhere in the cantref. Mikkel’s presence was concern enough. We now had a former Guild member tied to the cantref for the next year. I weighed the options: keep two more in the caer, or let them be ransomed?

  I nodded my approval. Release the others.

  “Take your men,” Bleddyn said and motioned to the guards. He shifted his gaze back to Bechard, eyes narrowed. “You and your Guild are no longer welcome in the cantref under any circumstances.” His voice carried the weight of an exasperated lord. “All Guild activities are to cease immediately in Penllyn. Any person connected to the Guild is hereby expelled and is to be gone from our lands by sunrise tomorrow. The penalty if you return to Penllyn, or interfere with our people, is death.”

  Dewi rose from his chair on the porch. The stare he gave Bechard was beyond hard. His right hand drifted across his belly and flexed open, then almost shut, as though he was about to grab a sword hilt.

  “Your men did intentional harm to my wife,” he said through clenched teeth. “Neither my father Lord Mechain nor I will tolerate your guild’s presence in our lands, upon pain of death.” At least he was willing to protect his wife. Up till now, I had the sense she disappointed him and was barely worth his notice.

  Bechard opened his mouth to speak, but Enid rose as well.

  “I speak for my father, Lord Meirionnydd,” Enid said. “He, too, has banished your Guild from his lands.”

  “Seeker Bechard,” Heilyn’s stern and commanding voice cut in right as Enid finished.

  Bechard raised a hand. “The church cannot banish me. I am sanctified by Rome herself.”

  Heilyn grinned. “As a matter of fact, I was about to speak on behalf of my brother, Lord Rhos. He, too, prohibits any future presence of the Guild in his cantref.”

  Bechard’s lips went tight and his face reddened.

  The bishop stepped forward, right to the edge of the porch. “And now I speak as one of the Bishops of Cymru. Your Guild has violated the sanctity and teachings of the church…”

  “We have done no such…” the seeker sputtered.

  The bishop raised a hand. “Your Guild has attacked an innocent girl, who was acting under accepted doctrine to protect church members.” He passed his bishop’s staff to his other hand to punctuate his authority. “Your Guild is to remove itself from my See. You will conduct no further activities, and have no contact with any church members in the area. Take yourself and your Guild to the pagan lands if you wish to conduct your illicit witch hunts. You shall not do so in my See.”

  Outmanoeuvred, and undone by his own people, Bechard fumed in silence. His face went deep red. I could hear his pulse pounding despite the two dozen paces between us. After a moment of stony silence, he bowed stiffly in his saddle.

  Bleddyn pointed at Osbert. “Take your rubbish with you and do not bury him in Penllyn soil.” The seeker, his face grim, motioned to his two men, newly freed of their bonds. They each grabbed an arm and carried Osbert’s corpse out face-down. His body left a dark trail of blood all the way to the gate. The Seeker and his aid wheeled their horses and trotted down the hill and out the gate. A chorus of jeers followed them.

  “So, Mikkel of Elfael,” Bleddyn said when the noise had died down, “What skills do you offer Penllyn?”

  The man, his good arm now free, stood straight.

  “I am good with horses, milord.” He raised his injured arm. “Or whatever I can do until I heal up.”

  Cadoc pointed towards Penllyn’s young groom. “Parry will show you around the keep and introduce you to the stable master.”

  “Yes, milord. And…” He turned towards Seren. His lips quivered as he bowed to her again. “Milady, I apologise for my actions, or lack of them. I should not have allowed hurt to come to you.”

  “Mikkel of Elfael,” Seren replied. “We saw today the type of men you fell in with. You know that had you stood against them, you would have given them two victims instead of one.”

  “That may be, your ladyship,” he said as he raised his eyes to hers. “But I hear your screams in my sleep at night, and I cannot forgive myself.” He shuddered.

  “Then serve out your year with honour, and with the honesty you have shown today, and I will forgive you,” Seren said.

  As Bleddyn and Rhian led those on the deck back inside, Emlyn stepped beside me again. The people of Caer Penllyn drifted back to their tasks, now that the excitement of the day was over.

  Emlyn’s expression was cross.

  “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  “I’m concerned my men will look to you instead of me as their leader,” he said, his arms folded over his chest.

  I sighed. The thought did not surprise me. “Afon told me almost as much at Nant Bywyd,” I said. Emlyn raised an eyebrow. “He said that he was sworn to Penllyn, but if I needed him, he and his men would have my back all the way to the gates of Hell.”

  “That’s both a blessing and a curse,” he said. “If I need them for Penllyn, but you’re in jeopardy, will they make the correct choice?”

  “You’ve missed the obvious question,” I said, my tone snippy. “Will I make the correct choice and send them where they should be?”

  Emlyn considered my words.

  “You placed yourself in danger three times now for Penllyn.” He shook his head as he worked through the obvious. “Four if you count the fight today.”

  “The only danger from today,” I said, careful to not be overheard by others, “was that I might reveal my nature to the guild’s seeker. Osbert was only an annoyance.”

  “We didn’t know that until you began the fight. Still, you disregarded your own safety for the people of Penllyn,” he said. “Twice for those who have befriended you, and once when you could not have known who was behind the door.”

  I pulled his arms. He let me take each of his hands in one of my own. I raised them to my lips and kissed each in turn.

  “My master... Aemi’s master...” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “He said my only fault was that I loved too deeply.”

  I sighed, but held his gaze.

  “I love this land and her people. Not just you and Gwen,” I said, “but also Enid and Cadoc… Everyone,” I said. “You know how old I am.”

  “I know better than to ask a woman’s age,” he said. A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. He knew. He had studied with my undead sibling, Aemi, who had told him about our nature.

  “My safety means nothing,” I continued, “when faced with the potential harm to someone I love. My life has been long and full. If I have to choose, I’ll choose Penllyn. No hesitation.”

  “To the gates of Hell…” Emlyn said.

  “If I have to go, there will be a bloody path all the way,” I said. “Where Penllyn goes, I go. No questions, no hesitation.”

  He raised my hands to his lips this time.

  “If we do go to the gates of Hell, the body count will be high,” he said. “Can you keep up?”

  I grinned again, then stepped back. Our fingers lingered in each other’s hand.

  “I need to go change my dress before dinner. This one smells of blood.”

  12

  Suspicions

  I was sitting by the hearth with my new family that evening when Parry escorted Mikkel into the great hall. I swivelled to follow them with my eyes. The young groom showed the former Guilder where the stable lads sat. Regardless how I felt about the Witch Hunter, perhaps it was a blessing Parry finally had someone to listen to all his prattle. Most people had long since learned to move away after a simple greeting.

  But I wanted to keep an eye on Caer Penllyn’s newest addition.

  Bleddyn cleared his throat. I glanced back and saw his eyes on me.

  “Don’t trust hi
m?” Bleddyn asked.

  “I never trust Guilders.”

  “Perhaps you’ll soon know if he’s a true Guilder, or if he took an opportunity he now regrets,” Bleddyn said. “You being the older sister in our family, I’ll respect your judgement on the matter.”

  “Be nice, or I’ll tell Haf that I’m tired of sweetbread,” I teased, “and want gruel from now on.”

  “Porridge isn’t bad when we have apples to slice into it. But we are still a month from harvest.” He sighed and gathered slivers of wood from his lap to toss into the fire.

  A thought tickled the back of my mind. I caught Gwen’s eye and leaned forward. “Has anyone thought to put a glyph on the graves here inside the walls?” I asked.

  Bleddyn frowned. “Glyphs? Graves? What are you talking about?”

  “The armies of the dead,” I replied. “They travel through the graves. But Seren’s glyphs have power. I had to channel The Lady to pass by them.”

  Gwen raised a hand to her cheek. “I’d forgotten about the graves in the caer. To think we’ve been vulnerable this whole time!” She tapped a finger to her chin. “If you don’t mind,” she said to Rhian, “I’d like to see if Seren has the talent I believe she might.”

  “Talent?” Lady Penllyn raised an eyebrow.

  “I had forgotten she was interested in warding glyphs,” Gwen explained. “How she set the glyphs indicates she may have a special skill.”

  “By all means, please,” she said. “I’m sure that some positive attention will do her good.”

  When the meal was finished, Gwen and I found Seren and headed to the top of Caer Penllyn’s hill. Gwen asked Seren how much training she’d received from the herb-women.

  “Some,” she said. Her solid yet cautious tone told me she realised there was a point to the conversation. “They were the ones who taught me the glyphs.”

  “You did admirably with the ones you drew in Nant Bywyd,” Gwen said. “Mair realised tonight that we should have one drawn here.” She pointed to the cleft in a rocky ledge, just below top of the cliff. The Penllyn family’s burial crypts were in the old caves below the cliff.