by Troy A Hill
I took the wooden sword from his grasp. My first strike hit the side of his knee. He howled. My second, with his own weapon, caught his elbow. I swept my leg around and under him. He hit the ground with a loud grunt. Fortunately, the practice field was coated with layers of wood chips. Had his head bounced that hard on solid ground, he wouldn’t have seen straight for several moments.
My wooden sword pressed, point-first, into his throat. “Would you care to do that again, Tomi?”
He had gone pale. His arm slithered across his chest and rubbed his injured elbow. He wouldn’t meet my gaze.
“No, milady,” he whispered. I dropped his practice sword next to him.
“Retrieve your weapon, and honour your instructor. Then find Gerallt. Tell him what you did, and that you owe me two laps right now. And a week of clearing the ditches below the fort.”
“Yes, Milady.” He struggled to his feet. He bent to retrieve his wooden blade and winced. His right hand trembled, but he grasped the hilt. He gave me a short bow and saluted Enid, his face still red. He refused to look at his friends, and limped down the path.
The other recruits stood silent, keeping their eyes anywhere but on me.
“On the field,” I instructed. “Lady Enid, resume the meditations.”
I glanced down the hill after Tomi. To my satisfaction, he was headed for the gate, where Gerallt was stationed. But he cast a dark glare over his shoulder at me.
19
Healing
I was sitting with Bleddyn in the great hall when the kitchen girls began to set out the platters for the evening meal. The great wooden door slammed and I turned to see who it was. Tomi stormed in, panting heavily. He grabbed a pitcher from the table, sloshed ale into a mug, and chugged it down. Sweat drenched the back of his thin tunic and matted his curly hair. When he came up for air, he cast his glance around the room. Seeing me, he jerked his head away and stomped out to the courtyard. He almost knocked Gerallt over on his way out.
“Careful, man!” Gerallt bellowed. “Are you looking for another lap?”
Apparently too tired to speak, Tomi simply shook his head.
“Back to your duty, then,” Gerallt told him gruffly. Tomi was quick to comply.
Gerallt crossed the room and took up a chair next to me. His dark hair and moustache were darker than Emlyn’s. But he kept his hair cropped shorter. He was almost as tall as Cadoc, and thicker than Emlyn.
“Lady Mair, I hope you don’t mind, but I added a lap to the two you gave him. He was insubordinate to Lady Enid. I won’t stand for one of my men, no matter how green, to be disrespectful to our ladies.”
“I only manage the practice field,” I said. “Discipline among your men is your purview.” I shifted an eyebrow. “In fact, I was concerned I had overstepped.”
“Lord Emlyn has always enforced that the trainer on the practice field has authority over what happens on the field,” Gerallt said. “The trainees’ safety is in your hands. Therefore, you set the discipline as you see fit. Though I wasn’t sure at first if Tomi’s limp was one you gave him, or if was acting for sympathy. But the other recruits told me how you thrashed him on the field. Lord Emlyn would have made him get up, then knocked him down a few more times. ”
“Evidently I’m nicer than Emlyn. I’ll remember that for next time.”
Gerallt and Bleddyn chuckled.
“If this Tomi,” Bleddyn said, his voice stern, “doesn’t get his attitude adjusted in the next week or two, cut him loose and send him back to whichever holding he came from. Neither Emlyn nor I want that kind of man in our guard.”
“Of course, milord,” Gerallt replied.
Gwen and Seren walked in. They’d spent the entire day training. As Seren slumped into a chair, I filled a plate of bread and cheese from the supply the serving girls had set nearby, then handed them to the exhausted girl.
She reached for them hungrily. “How did you know?” She lit into the cheese immediately.
I smiled. “After Gwen healed your father and brought four of us back through the mists, she slept hours longer the next three nights, and had an appetite like Ruadh’s.”
“I wasn’t that hungry,” Gwen argued.
I winked at Seren, who had already finished the first hunk of cheese. She reached out, so I handed her a mug I had waiting. “How is training?”
“Very good,” Gwen said. No one was close enough to overhear us, but she still kept her voice low. “Seren has been able to mind-speak without a physical touch. Her range is growing. But the use of magic still tires her easily.”
“She’ll learn,” Bleddyn said with confidence. “She has the best teacher. Actually, you’re the only teacher I know of for that set of skills.” As he set aside his own mug, a ripple of pain darted into his face.
Seren glanced towards Gwen. “Is it possible to heal his wounds faster?”
“I’m not sure…” Gwen replied. “I was very weak after I first cleansed the curse and never closed the wounds as well as I would have liked. I’ve never tried to heal the same wound a second time. And shifter wounds are much harder.” She shifted her gaze back to Seren. “If he’s willing, we could try later this evening. After you’ve had time to recover your strength.”
Rhian stepped up to our circle and laid her hands on Bleddyn’s shoulders. Her gaze darted between Gwen and her daughter. “What is this about healing?” she asked with a smile. “What have I not heard yet?”
Seren’s cheeks reddened and she shifted her eyes down like a child who’s been caught at mischief.
“Seren has an aptitude for healing,” Gwen said. “We visited Nant Bywyd and The Lady’s Lake today in search of injured animals. She healed a bird and a rabbit who had survived tangles with predators.”
“I didn’t feel tired,” Seren said. “The other…” she glanced around to make sure no one else would overhear. “The other magic seems to drain me quickly, but not healing. I’d like to look at father’s wounds. I think I can make them a little better.”
“If we can do something that stinks less,” Bleddyn said, “than the cream the herb women rub on my side, I’m all for it. I might even share my next loaf of sweetbread with you,” he said.
After the evening meal was cleared, Bleddyn headed to his rooms with Rhian, Seren, and Gwen. I took the time to fold my sewing and store it. By the time I made it into the lord’s chamber at the top of the stairs, Bleddyn was sitting on his bed in trousers and boots. Gwen unwound the wrappings from his chest. I frowned when I saw the wounds.
“If you think they look bad, you should get some of your own.” Bleddyn said.
I shrugged. “Already did.”
“Sorry, Mair. I forgot about that,” he said. “I would have loved to witness that fight. Unfortunately, I was trying to die right then. We don’t all have your special abilities.” He winced as the last of the cloth pulled free from the scabs and ointment.
A few drops of blood leaked from the cuts. They were healing, but slowly. Where the herb women had stitched them together was red and ugly.
“Do shifter wounds always heal so slow?” Gwen asked with a glance at me.
I shrugged. “Probably only when the curse doesn’t get passed along,” I suggested. “Shifters heal fast. Perhaps it’s good that the wounds are slow to heal?”
Bleddyn grunted. He wasn’t happy with the injuries either way.
“I try to keep him stationary as much as possible,” Rhian said. “But if we locked him here in his room, he’d just holler out the window until his men helped him escape.”
Gwen had him lay on his good side and slid his trousers down slightly to see the full extent of the lowest claw slice. It was the shortest, but the one most aggravated by his movement.
“I will try the first pass,” Gwen said to Seren. “Lay your hand on mine and watch with your mind.”
Seren placed her hand on Gwen’s. The white light of The Lady’s magic glowed from their fingers.
“First we clean the wound,” Gwen recite
d, and Seren nodded. Their hands shifted back and forth. “And now I’ll try to heal, but only a small amount. I’m afraid to close the wound too much in one pass, since it’s so deep.”
Again, light spilled across Bleddyn’s wounds. He caught my eye and made a face that was both a laugh and a wince.
“Tickles?” I asked.
“And hurts,” Bleddyn said. “A little. I didn’t think magic was supposed to hurt.”
“That’s why we’re going slow,” Gwen explained.
Seren frowned. “I feel as though we’re pushing against something to get to the wound itself. Magic…?”
Gwen nodded. “Shifter wounds. Nasty things to heal.”
“Make me feel better, why don’t you?” Bleddyn jibed.
Seren used a wet cloth to clean away the blood that seeped out. “Ah, I see,” she said. “The shifter magic is still there. But what you did blocked it from affecting him with your ward. As long as the wounds are open, the magic of the curse is trying to take hold. Because the curse and the ward are fighting, his body isn’t being allowed to heal at its normal rate. The only way to make them heal any quicker is to push good magic past the curse.”
“Is there any way to break the curse loose from his flesh?” Gwen asked. Her eyes were probing, locked on Seren’s face as she traced a finger along Bleddyn’s wounds.
“Break the curse? No. But what we are doing tonight is having an effect on father’s wounds. I’d like to make one more pass,” she said. “The scabs are loose now, and we might get it connected enough to get him past the worst of the discomfort. If I spend time each evening pushing past the curse, we should be able to negate it in a fortnight.”
Gwen nodded. “You have a good sense about this,” she told Seren. “Do you want to do it by yourself?”
Seren was already tracing her finger along the gash on her father’s hip. He winced as her hand slid along. Once she finished the pass, she wet the cloth again, and dabbed the wound.
“Let me do the next one as well,” she said, and moved her hand up his side.
“Good, you remembered the cleaning pass,” Gwen said. This time Bleddyn didn’t wince, but, from his expression I could tell it tickled.
Seren worked on the worst of his wounds and by the end, three of them had begun to close.
“That’s enough for now.” Gwen touched Seren’s arm. “Rest.”
“I feel fine,” she said. But she could see Gwen was not to be argued with and took a seat near her father’s bed.
Bleddyn sat up and gently touched his wounds.
“Better?” I asked.
“They don’t pull as much when I move,” he said. “Thank you, dear. You’ve earned a slice of sweetbread. But first,” Bleddyn added, “you and Gwen have to figure out how to get the bees to deliver their honey to Haf without complaining. I always get nervous around bees.”
We chuckled at Bleddyn’s fixation on bees. As Rhian and Gwen re-wrapped the bandages around his chest, I smiled at Seren, happy that she was finding her skills in The Lady’s service. Whatever battles lay ahead of us, we were in good hands.
Bleddyn was happy when Gwen said they didn’t need to reapply the herb cream.
20
Dreams
While we listened for news from Nant Bywyd of further attacks by the dead, the next few days remained quiet and we all settled into a relieved but uneasy routine. Gwen and Seren went each morning to The Lady’s Lake for more training, then returned to the caer in the evening, where Seren made slow progress against the magic embedded in her father’s wounds.
On the third morning since Emlyn had left, I was eager for news from the northern border and whether Emlyn had evidence that Fadog was up to no good. Hopefully, our Penteulu would be home soon. I finished my lesson with Enid, then turned and headed up to the grove of ancient oaks at the top of the hill. It was one of the few places in the Caer I could use my magic to sink into the earth, avoid the sun, and take an undead nap.
Even in my slumber I sensed my connection to The Lady. My mind flowed about the countryside, as if I were a bird in flight, soaring above village and farm, shepherd and townsfolk.
I swooped above the tree line. Something glinted below me. Sunlight on metal. Men with helm and shield, perhaps two score strong, rode along the edge of a gully.
The land fell away from me as my mind drifted higher and higher. I circled down and found myself above the abbey. I saw the monks as they worked in their fields and tended their crops.
After many visions of my various friends below, from Emlyn to Ruadh, from Llinos and Afon, to even people out in the countryside whom I had never met, something drew me into the mists of The Lady’s Otherworld.
A golden glow formed before me. I plummeted to land on my feet on a familiar setting: The same Gwyddbwyll board I had dreamed of before.
I stood in the centre of the board, surrounded by silver pawns and led by two silver queens. Amongst our ranks stood taller figures, fighters by their look. I’d never seen such pieces. The squares beneath their feet shimmered gold. I was a member of their force, though I wore a black dress. Two swords were belted to my sides, just as I had in the dreams before. The Lady, the goddess herself used these dreams to impart information. Why? Some rule of whatever game she played with her adversary?
Across from me stood a horde of reddish-gold pawns, backed by more imposing fighters. Where they stood, they discoloured the board. The colour of rot and death. A sickly brown hue that absorbed light instead of reflecting it. Dread crept over me.
Somewhere in the mists beyond the board growl echoed, as it had in my dream before. Was that the rogue shifter? The one who had attacked Bleddyn? Where was he?
The hairs on my neck stood up, as though a hand from the grave had reached out to grab me. Something was behind me. Chills ran along my spine and over my skin. I spun towards it, my blades out. Ready.
But it was one of our own silver pawns. I stared at it, confused, wondering why the little pawn gave me such a sense of foreboding. Then before my eyes, it transformed from silver to red. Two pinpoints like glowing embers lit up its face, looking like eyes.
This pawn hadn’t been captured. It had changed sides. Behind it stood an entire army of red pieces, the board beneath their feet turning brown and dead and licking at the edges of the golden squares. The traitor pawn stepped towards me. Its blade flashed. I blocked the blow. We leaned into each other, straining against each other’s swords. Who was this traitor? My fiends’ faces flashed before my eyes again. Sawyl and Haf. Afon and Llinos. Ruadh, Abbot Heilyn—even Bleddyn, Rhian, and Emlyn. I refused to think of Gwen.
The Lady’s magical light spilled from my blades, and the intensity of the glow increased until it blinded me.
The chill of my dream stayed with me as I arose from the earth. My memory was of those red eyes. They glowed like my own eyes did when my demon took control. Blood-red. I was sure there was a message here—a warning from The Lady. But who in all the hells was the traitor? And why did the eyes glow red?
Several hours had passed while I slept, based on how far the sun had moved across the sky. I stood and checked my clothing. Except for an odd leaf stuck to my dress, I was just as clean as before I began my nap. The undead magic protected me from even the dirt that surrounded me. I took a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.
Below, shouts of greeting rose. Riders were coming in. Emlyn and Sawyl and the men they had brought with them. Thoughts of the potential turncoat drifted away. I wrapped my arms around my chest as my hands itched to touch Emlyn again. I wanted to feel his warmth next to me. I wanted him to hold me for a few moments and comfort me.
Emlyn and Sawyl had time to clean off the trail mud before we all gathered in the great hall to hear their report from the north. Each had a mug of ale, and Haf had brought out a plate of bread and cheese.
“There are signs of riders at the borderlands,” Emlyn said. “Someone has been patrolling that area for some time, perhaps Fadog’s men.”
; “Just a few?” Bleddyn asked.
“Perhaps a score,” Emlyn said. “They appeared to be on set routes. They watched our villages and settlements from the other side of the borderlands.”
“What areas were they in?” Bleddyn asked.
“From Gwyrrd Coedwyg down to Cilfach Mwd,” Sawyl said. “All along the eastern villages on the north side of the cantref. I knew a few of the farmers in the area. We kept watch through most of the first night and saw nothing unusual,” he added. “The second night, we thought we heard some activity.”
“We tried to close in on them, but they must have heard us coming. But we found footprints. Bootless. Boney.”
Bleddyn stroked his moustache, eyes wide and serious. “So the dead haunt our northern border, as well.”
“No signs of battle,” Emlyn said. “And they were not alone. There were riders mixed in with the dead.”
“Did they go close to our villages or farms?” Cadoc asked.
Sawyl shook his head. “No. The tracks started at one area of blight and disappeared at another. But the prints of the riders continued.
“Were you followed?” I asked.
His eyes shot toward me, and the mug of mead hovered in front of his face. “Maybe, but… I couldn’t be sure. Once, when we were in a forested area, I had an eerie feeling down my spine. I handed my reins to Sawyl and pulled myself up into the trees. Sawyl and the other men rode on and I stayed quiet and waited.”
“See anything?” I asked.
He shook his head. “The forest went quiet once the others rode off. No birds, no insects. Nothing. After a moment the forest life seemed to wake up again. I stayed there about an hour, then dropped out of the trees and walked the path to where Sawyl had the men stop and wait.”
He held his mug with both hands and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. His eyes stayed on me for several seconds after he finished. He sensed that I had left something unsaid.