A Painted Winter

by H. Barnard

  Serenn shoved Sorsha away. “You’ll pay for this. I know how to give a Healer the permanent death. Not just for you. For your little Maetae girl as well, what’s her name?”

  “Nyfain,” Eluned said.

  Sorsha stepped backwards, her hands shaking.

  “Run,” Arian mouthed.

  Sorsha stumbled out of the cairn and ran through the forest. She reached the frozen stream and skidded across the ice. Her hands and face landed in the snowy bank on the other side. I need to reach Nyfain before they do. She heaved herself up and sprinted down across the thick snow, back towards the standing stone alignment. The stones flashed past her. Cutting through the forest, she jumped over fallen logs and ducked under low branches. The walls of Caercaled glowed in the moonlight. She followed them through the forest north until she reached the roundhouse in the clearing. Throwing herself at the door, Sorsha wrenched it open with such force it tore off its hinges.

  “Nyfain!”

  The girl stood in the middle of the roundhouse holding a dagger. A strange warmth spread across Sorsha’s chest when she saw the dagger. Good girl.

  “What’s happened?” Nyfain asked, wide-eyed.

  “Get dressed, forget everything but that dagger and meet me in the stable.”

  On a beam of the sloping roof, Sorsha extracted her leather scabbard belt and long sword. The metal pin of the belt buckle stuck in the leather hole, and she fumbled with it, her ears ringing until she managed to jam it through. Sorsha walked to the door, dangling on its hinges. “Grab my bow and quiver of arrows. Hurry, Nyfain.”

  Sorsha ran to the stable, where Nema’s black face was poking out. “I need you to ride hard tonight,” Sorsha said as she threw a padded saddle blanket onto Nema’s back. Nema tossed his head and snorted. “You’ll get over it, I promise.” She lowered the leather saddle onto his back. Nema exhaled and held his breath as she pulled the girth strap under him. “Don’t push your stomach out, Nema!” Sorsha hissed. “We have to go!” Her hands trembled as she fitted the end of the girth strap into the metal belt clasp and waited for his stomach to contract with the next breath in. The wind gusted, blowing hair across her face. She looked up as Nyfain ran to the stable.

  “Warriors are coming, Sorsha.”

  “Fuck. How did Serenn get back so fast?” Sorsha handed Nyfain the reins. “Get on Nema now.”

  Nyfain wore a thick woollen cape and the quiver of arrows on her back. When Nyfain had mounted, Sorsha led them forwards to the stable door, and she peered around the corner. Four warriors, wrapped in furs with swords drawn, emerged from the trees into the clearing.

  Sorsha unsheathed her sword. “I don’t want to kill them.”

  “You just need to wound them enough to get away.”

  “Right.” Sorsha nodded. “I can do that…I think.” She reached up for Nyfain’s hand and squeezed it. “As soon as there is an opportunity, I want you to gallop to the Shining Lakes. Hide in the wood by the lake’s edge. Don’t come out until you see me. If I don’t return in an hour, ride east to the coast and then follow the road all the way north till you reach Caertarwos. There are Healers there. Tell them what happened.”

  Nyfain nodded and squeezed back. “Don’t worry about me.”

  Sorsha stepped out into the moonlight and pulled Nema’s bridle behind her. “Let us go and I will not harm you,” Sorsha called to the warriors. She recognised Owain, Brin, and Deryn but did not know the fourth man.

  Owain shook his head. “I have orders from Serenn to arrest you for the murder of King Gartnait. If you put up a fight, I will kill you and the girl.”

  Sorsha gripped the metal hilt tighter. “Do you really believe that, Owain? I’ve not seen the king since my return in autumn.”

  “Serenn says you used black magic to curse him because you are a witch.”

  Sorsha twirled her sword in her left hand. “Just let us go. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

  Brin and Deryn glanced at Owain. His red hair shimmered in the moonlight, but his eyes remained fixed on Sorsha. “Surrender, then.”

  “Owain, please be reasonable. There’s hardly any garrison left to protect Caercaled. Do you really want to risk fighting me?”

  “Enough!” Owain spat on the ground and strode towards her. Brin, Deryn, and the other warrior seemed to hesitate and clung to the edges of the clearing.

  “Are you ready?” Sorsha asked Nyfain in Latin.

  Nyfain nodded.

  “You speak the Roman language like a traitor. I remember your trial. They should have executed you. But perhaps I will have the pleasure now.”

  “Why do you hate me, Owain? I have done nothing but help the people of Caledon.”

  Owain stopped within two yards of her and braced his sword in front of his face. “Tagging along with the Bandruwydds doesn’t count as helping people. And in the absence of a king, Serenn commands me, and I have orders to kill you.”

  Sorsha gazed at the three warriors hovering by the trees. “Once I’ve killed Owain, I will spare the three of you if you do not avenge him. He’s been warned.”

  Owain roared as he swung his sword at her. Sorsha danced to the left, and he skidded in the snow, trying to turn.

  “Now!” Sorsha yelled in Latin.

  Nyfain spurred Nema into a gallop. Owain’s eyes widened, and he lunged for the horse. Stepping forwards, Sorsha swung her sword behind her shoulder and slashed into Owain’s neck. Snow flung in every direction as Nema galloped through the clearing and disappeared into the forest. Sorsha looked down at Owain. Blood seeped into the snow around Owain’s body, as he lay on the ground clutching his neck.

  Brin and Deryn stepped forwards.

  “Wait!” Sorsha gasped as the empathy pulled her towards Owain. “I will save him if you stay back and let me go.”

  “Do it,” Brin grunted, and they stopped walking.

  Owain’s hand dropped away, and blood spurted from his neck. Sorsha’s chest lurched, and she staggered to her knees. The heat burned through her veins as she pressed her hands into the bloody wound.

  Owain gasped, and his eyes rolled around in his head until they focused on her. “You!”

  Before he could grab her, she jumped up and stepped out of his reach. “Let me leave,” Sorsha croaked. “Please, Owain, just let me go. I won’t ever come back to Caledon. I promise.”

  Owain turned to the other men and nodded. “Go. But if I see you in Caledon, I will kill you. Orders or not.”

  Sorsha sheathed her sword and ran from the clearing. Through the snowy forest she sprinted, heading east until the trees parted and the Shining Lakes appeared. Sorsha reached the edge of the lake and fell to her knees. She grasped a handful of snow and shovelled it into her mouth. The burning ice melted on her tongue and bathed her parched throat. As Sorsha drank, Nyfain emerged from the wood. Sorsha wiped her mouth, pushed herself up, and walked towards Nyfain’s outstretched hand.

  “Which way?” Nyfain asked as she pulled Sorsha onto the saddle behind her.

  “We head east through the valley of the lakes and then–”

  “Sorsha!”

  Sorsha turned behind her and squinted at a blur in the distance. At the base of the hill below the cairn, something limped towards them.

  “What is it?” Nyfain asked. “I can’t see who it is.”

  “It’s Arian! We have to take her with us.”

  Nyfain turned Nema’s head around and spurred him into a gallop towards the hills.

  Grasping Nyfain’s waist, Sorsha watched as Arian struggled across the snow, dragging her stump through the snow. The stump caught in a drift, and Arian fell headfirst into the snow.

  Nyfain grabbed Sorsha’s arm. “Sorsha! Over there!” A line of riders in the distance galloped from the city walls.

  “Keep going!” Sorsha squeezed Nema’s stomach with her boots. Rhiannon, Goddess of Horses, give Nema the speed of Tirscath.

  Nema’s hooves thundered beneath them, furiously kicking up snow. Arian pushed herself up an
d staggered towards them, her stump abandoned in the snow. As they reached her, Sorsha leapt from Nema and ran to Arian, hobbling on one leg and clearly in agony. Empathy flooded into Sorsha’s chest as Arian fell into her arms.

  “Arian, what happened?” Sorsha whispered.

  Her face was mottled red and white, and the sleeves of her robes had burnt away. “Serenn took the torch when you left.” Arian was trembling. “She held it against my face and…and she said I was going to die like my parents did.”

  Sorsha pressed her hands against Arian’s delicate face. “Shh. It’s okay. Serenn is never going to hurt you again.” Heat flowed from her heart, and Arian’s shoulders relaxed. Sorsha brushed a strand of silvery hair from Arian’s forehead. “You’re safe now.”

  The ground shook beneath them as the warriors closed in. More men had joined the pursuit, and now twenty riders bore down on them.

  “You two ride to Caertarwos, it will be faster without me.” Sorsha scooped Arian into her arms and helped her onto the saddle behind Nyfain.

  “No!” Nyfain screamed as an arrow whisked over Sorsha’s head.

  “Hurry! Don’t wait for me!” Sorsha yelled.

  “Sorsha, behind you!”

  An arrow tore through Sorsha’s stomach. She looked down at the arrowhead sticking through her thick woollen tunic. Blood pooled into her hands, and the wound seared and itched around the arrow.

  “Sorsha! No!” Arian sobbed.

  “Go!” Sorsha slapped Nema’s rump. He leapt into a gallop and sprinted east towards the Shining Lakes as another arrow ripped through Sorsha’s shoulder. She bit her tongue to distract herself from the pain. The warriors bore down on her and she closed her eyes. Dark.

  Arrows whirred past, narrowly missing her. The hooves slowed, and the horses, snorting and squealing, pulled up before her. Men jumped to the ground, and their boots crunched in the snow. She opened her eyes. Light.

  Sorsha rolled on the ground and ducked under the sweaty belly of Owain’s horse. The arrows snapped as she rolled, the movement tearing at her wounds. Nausea from the pain blinded her momentarily. Dazed, she pushed up and sprinted towards the hills. Behind her, she heard the warriors swearing as they scrambled to remount. The arrowheads seared in the wounds as her muscles worked, but she pushed herself to run through the snow until she disappeared into the shadowy forest. Dark.

  Forty-Two

  Winter, 367 C.E., The Great Wall

  A ditch sloped up into a menacing hill crowned with an enormous stone wall. Warriors gathered at the base of the Great Wall that long had haunted their dreams. Thick cloud obscured the moon, but they lit no torches. Rhuad swung his head up and stomped his front hoof. The leather bridle cracked through the silence.

  Brei patted his neck. “Shh.” He glanced up at a stone tower that rose from the wall. Nothing. Brei shivered and pulled his hood down further.

  “What’s taking so long?” Naoise whispered.

  No one answered him.

  Brei cracked his neck from side to side. It’s been hours, the sun will rise soon, and we will be done for.

  A shadow passed across the tower. Brei looked up. A Roman soldier carrying a torch leaned out of the window. The soldier waved the torch from left to right and dropped the flame. It landed in the snow but did not extinguish. Along the wall in the distance, Brei saw another torch fall from the wall. He squinted as a third dropped. King Coel’s bribes worked. Behind the lines of mounted warriors, men on foot pushed to the front with long spears and square shields. Ladders were carried across the ditch and up the hill to the wall. The footmen slowly trudged through the snow to the top of the hill, climbed up the ladders, and disappeared over the wall.

  “Let’s go,” Taran whispered as the last footmen scaled the wall.

  The mounted warriors rode along the base of the hill between the mile castles. The fallen torches flickered against the compacted snow, lighting their path. Before they reached the furthest flaming torch, a warrior rode forwards and extinguished it. They waited again in darkness. A mile along the wall, a large fort was lit with torches. Brei gripped the bow, the nerves in his fingers tingling. This is it.

  A horn blew, low and desolate through the frigid air.

  “That’s Gruffydd,” Taran whispered. “Move out, no noise until you hear my horn. Pass the message along the line and follow.”

  Brei turned to Dylan and repeated the message.

  They walked closer to the fort. Taran pushed up into a trot, and Brei followed. Along the line, hooves crunched through the snow as the rest of the mounted warriors followed towards the formidable wall of stone. They found the fort’s double-breasted gate already opened for them.

  A horn blew close to Brei. A deep note, like the wail of a cow. He turned and saw Taran with the bull horn to his lips. In the distance, he heard other horns left and right in reply. Talorc, Alpin, Derine, Cailtram, and Nechtan. An arrow whirred through the air and narrowly missed Taran’s head. Brei reached behind his back and pulled an arrow from his quiver. He nocked the arrow and shot up onto the rampart. The Roman archer groaned and plummeted over the edge of the wall.

  “Revenge or Tirscath!” Taran cried.

  “Revenge or Tirscath!” echoed along the line. Taran’s horse jumped across the snow and galloped up the hill to the gate. Another volley rained down on them as more archers were roused to the attack. Brei continued to release arrows into the ramparts as the warriors charged up the hill and through the gate. He ducked as another arrow buzzed over his head.

  Arrows and slingshot stones whooshed down as the horses galloped as fast as they could through the snow. A horse screamed and crashed to the ground as a slingshot stone bore into its shoulder. The warrior leapt from the saddle and continued on foot up the hill. Brei released arrow after arrow into the ramparts as more of his men and horses fell, screaming and groaning in the bloodied snow. Beside him, Naoise and Dylan also fired into the ramparts. One of their arrows struck a Roman, and he fell from the rampart and rolled down the hill towards them.

  Brei reached behind his shoulder, but there were no more arrows in his quiver. Fuck. He bent against Rhuad’s neck and, unsheathing his sword, he pushed the horse into a gallop. “Revenge or Tirscath!” he cried.

  The screams reached Brei’s ears before he was close enough to see. He galloped through the gate and rode past a Roman soldier lying face up, his dark eyes still open. Inside the fort, rows of rectangular buildings were on fire, their roofs glowing in the smoke.

  Warriors were being held back by a large force of over five hundred Romans. The soldiers had formed a wall with their shields, ten soldiers deep and spanning the main road through the fort. Roman archers stood at the back and fired up into the air, slaughtering the warriors that tried to break through the shield wall.

  Taran rode at the helm of the line of men and raised his fist into the air. “Pull back to me!”

  Brei rode to Taran through a carpet of bodies. “What is it?”

  “The footmen haven’t been able to break through the other side of the fort. We’re outnumbered until they can get in, and we’re falling like ashes.”

  “The archers are the problem.”

  Taran nodded. “What if you lead a small group to the back to get the footmen in while I keep pressing at the front?”

  “I thought they were going to burn the doors down… Do you see how the Romans have trapped themselves? If I can get the footmen in, we can attack from both sides. Meet you in the middle?”

  Taran grasped his arm and grinned. “Yes.”

  Taran separated from him and shouted the plan to the men along the line, while Brei called for Naoise and Dylan and led them back to the gate. “We are going to find the footmen and let them in. The fort looks like it is planned in a square.” He scanned the fiery chaos. “We took them by surprise… They wouldn’t have planned to hold men back. They’ve rushed here to the northern side of the fort.”

  “So, if we sneak around the side, we can get to the southern end
and let the footmen in?” Naoise asked.

  Brei nodded and glanced at Dylan. The boy’s face blanched as he watched warriors being torn down by arrows in the lane. Brei grabbed Dylan’s shoulder and smiled. “I know you’re going to make me proud, lad.”

  Tears swam in Dylan’s eyes, but he nodded and clenched his hands into fists around the reins.

  Brei leaned back in the saddle and turned Rhuad’s head around. “Let’s go!”

  Brei, Naoise, and Dylan galloped along the inside of the wall to the eastern edge of the fort. The smog grew thicker as they rode until it blanketed the path, and they stopped. Flames engulfed the building closest to them, and the walls and roof caved in with a thundering bang. Horses were trapped inside the building, and their screams drowned out the clang of metal and the yelling men. Laxsaro reared beneath Dylan, his eyes wide with terror.

  “Grab the reins!” Brei yelled to Naoise, and they pushed their horses towards Laxsaro to prevent him fleeing.

  Dylan clutched the pommel of his saddle, his cheeks glistening with tears.

  “You’re all right, lad,” Brei said. “Keep as close to the wall as you can, in single file behind me.”

  The flames from the burning buildings were hot against his cheeks as he peered through the smog. His eyes burnt, and he choked on the acrid smoke, but they did not come across any Roman soldiers as they followed the outer wall to the southern end of the fort. Naoise jumped up, stood on the saddle, and looked over the wall.

  “Can you see them?” Brei asked as he held Naoise’s horse still.

  “Yeah, they’re pushing each other over the wall a bit further down.” He lifted onto his tiptoes and craned his neck. “But soldiers are slaughtering them as they come over. Shit.”

  “How many?”

  “Thirty? Fifty?”

  Brei ran his hand through his sweaty hair. “Fuck.”

  Naoise crouched and sat back in the saddle. “I’m willing to give it a crack. Revenge or Tirscath, right?”

  “If we can distract them for a bit while more men jump over, we can finish them off.” Brei nodded. “Dylan, jump over the wall and tell the footmen to give it all they’ve got to launch themselves over the wall.”