Usher shivered, sneezed and then wiped a long smear of snot on the grass beside
him before returning his attention to the hawthorn branch.
'It's going to rain again,' observed Cal, his voice as gloomy as the weather.
'Do you think we have enough dry wood for the fire later?'
'Wood we have. All we need is to catch something to cook over it and we'll
be sorted for tonight.' Meryn pulled his line in, inspected the offered worm, and
then cast it out into the pond again. Thunder rumbled in the distance and a
breeze chased ripples across the surface of the pond.
'I don't remember the last time that I wasn't miserable,' said Cal, then sniffed
loudly, 'my fingers are too cold to tie this stupid thing. Usher…'
'In a minute, I'm nearly done.' Usher sneezed again then dragged his sleeve
across his nose.
'What are you messing about with, boy, didn't you ever fish before?'
Usher glanced up at the grinning face of Meryn Link and decided to ignore
him. The knack of tying a hawthorn hook was firstly to cut the thorn from the
branch properly, which he had now carefully done, and then to make sure that
you tied not one, but two parts of the thorn securely, that way the fish wouldn't
be able to pull free of the line when it was snagged. It wasn't easy, especially
when the line you were using was a strip of thin bark plaited patiently by the
light of a campfire. Of course, Meryn had produced a carefully rolled line of
plaited horsehair for his own use, along with some well-carved bone hooks,
which was the reason he was putting on that superior air. It was really beginning
to annoy Usher.
'Pass me a worm,' he said, still concentrating on flattening his final knot.
Cal poked about in the muddy clay bowl and produced a fat worm that
curled and rolled lazily in his fingers.
Usher glanced over. 'Do you have a smaller one, one of those red ones? They
move a lot better.'
Cal sorted through; inspecting the various worms they had found and finally
saw what Usher was looking for. He passed it over then returned to setting up his
own line. The hawthorn kept pricking his fingers as he tried to tie it but his
hands were so cold he couldn't feel a thing, anyway.
'You two really think you'll catch anything? I would have lent you one of my
good bone hooks, but…'
'We'll be fine,' interrupted Usher. 'Why don't you just concentrate on your
own line?' Satisfied the worm was firmly lodged on his thorn; he hefted the
rolled line and swung the wriggling offering close to a patch of ragged lily pads,
close to where a stream of bubbles had just broken the surface.
'You'll be into a tench if you put your worm there. Nasty taste, all mud 'n
slime they are.'
Usher glanced across at Meryn, and then back at where his line was slowly
disappearing below the cold green surface of the pond. He was too cold and
despondent to answer.
'I'm so hungry,' muttered Cal, 'I'm sick of porridge and dry old oat cakes. We
have to catch a fish.' He shivered and blew on his hands trying to revive some
feeling so he could tie his line round the fiddly thorn.
'Don't eat them worms, boy.'
'I won't eat the worms, Meryn, but I'll eat a tench if Usher catches one.'
'Nasty muddy things, tench. They're a summer fish, sit at the bottom eating
all the stuff other fish drop or can't get hold of… and they eat the stuff the other
fish…'
'Well then catch something else. We've not eaten anything decent in days. If
we catch a tench then Usher and I can…' Cal jumped up. 'Usher, your line!'
Usher's line pulled tight against his fingers and quickly began moving round
to the left. He yanked it hard and felt the satisfying pumping of a fish fighting
for its life on the other end. It was trying to get back into the lilies and he knew
he had to turn it. Ignoring the pain as the line bit into his hand, he concentrated
on trying to coax it out into open water.
'Don't let it get caught up.' Cal flung himself down flat in the mud and hung
over the edge of the pond ready to help get the fish out.
'It'll only be a tench,' muttered Meryn. Usher continued to ignore him.
'Here it comes, Cal, get it,' cried Usher. He stood, careful not to slip down
the bank into the icy water and drew more line in. With a flap that sent a spray of
water up onto Meryn, the fish broke surface and rolled on its side; green, slimy
and exhausted, one beady red eye looking up at him.
'Get it, Cal.'
Braving the cold water, Cal scooped the slippery green fish up and it flopped
and flapped in his hands. For a moment, it looked like he was going to drop it,
but then he turned away from the water hugging it to his chest and grinned up at
Usher. Meryn peered across and shook his head. 'Tis a tench'
'We eat!' exclaimed Cal, smiling up at Usher.
'We eat, but maybe Meryn would rather eat more stone-hard oatcakes? Come
on, Meryn, catch us something else.'
'I will boy, I'm not beaten yet.'
Sometime later, as the setting sun was making a brief appearance below
gathering clouds, a tench stew was cooking over the fire. Three tench had been
caught, two by Usher, the other by Cal. They had washed them of slime and then
cleaned the flesh thoroughly before putting them in the pot. No other fish had
been caught, and for once, Meryn had to grudgingly admit defeat, the stew was
delicious.
It rained in the night but beneath a shelter of reeds, Usher slept with a full
stomach and woke with enough energy to meet the day, even if it was a day that
started with weapons training.
* * *
'Ouch!' Usher dropped the spear and brought his hands up, covering the
sudden pain that had exploded on his head.
'Well look at me then, not the spear, you stupid boy.' Meryn tapped the spot
between his eyes. 'Here. Keep your attention here and watch all of me at the
same time. If you keep staring at the end of the spear, I'll just thump you on the
head with the other end again! Your eyes are floating about like a bee searching
for honey flowers.'
Usher stopped rubbing his head and picked up the spear, studying the archer
intently as he did, lest the old man try to trick him as he had done several times
before. Still glowering, he carefully assumed the guard position and watched as
Meryn narrowed his eyes and smiled through his scraggy beard. His leg still hurt
from the wolf bite, but it was healing and with Meryn insisting he clean and
change the dressing every few days, it would be completely healed soon. Right
now however, it was aching and making him limp. He wanted to rest, but when
fighting Meryn, that wasn't an option. Breathing deeply to calm his emotions, he
fixed his attention on the spot between Meryn's eyes, and tried to anticipate any
movement his opponent might make. With only the slightest of warnings, the
spear slashed round with a whoosh that Usher blocked successfully, the heavy
clunk jarring through his arms.
'Better, boy, better, but pick up your feet; don't go tripping over yourself.'
The spear flew around again, first on the left side, then quickly to the right and
then with a flourish, it came back on the left side once more with Usher blocking
each blow. 'Getting the hang of it?' questioned Meryn, dropping his stance to a
more relaxed pose. Usher nodded, but as he let down his guard, the bottom of
Meryn's spear came up from where it had rested against the floor, only narrowly
missing his chin as he jumped back. The next few moments became a blur as
Meryn pushed him with a flurry of heavy knocks and blows that jarred through
him. 'Good, boy, good, keep your eyes focused on my whole body. It's an ability
you'll have to develop quickly if you hope to survive long in battle. Only the best
can do it, but then it's only the best that survive when the world turns to
madness. Are you beginning to see the strikes coming before they land?' Usher
nodded, then seeing an opening, tried a strike of his own. Meryn blocked it
easily and then called a halt. Usher watched for a moment, unsure if it was just
another trick.
Throwing back his head, Meryn's laughter exploded as he pointed to the
expression on Usher's face. 'You look like you've been kissed by a fish… a tench
at that, but we may make you a warrior yet. Take a rest, boy.' He turned to Cal
who had been sitting cross-legged following the whole exchange. 'Swords, I
think, Calvador.' Tossing the spear to the ground, Meryn unrolled the three
wooden practice swords and Cal leaped in, snatching one up before Meryn could
catch him out with a sneak attack. Meryn grinned. 'Very good, Calvador, don't
ever trust me when we're practising and you need never trust an enemy.' He took
up a sword and stepped back. 'There are no rules when two warriors face each
other. One will live and, if he's lucky, the other may die. If he's unlucky, then he
may live long enough to wish he were dead with some deep and 'orrible wound
to remind him of his mistakes.' Then, with a two-handed grip, Meryn attacked.
The practice sessions had taken place first thing every morning, and then last
thing every night while the porridge or stew was bubbling over the cooking fire.
Meryn had pounded them with spears, bruised them with the practice swords,
and made their fingers bleed from pulling back the bowstring, but they were
improving, slowly. They both favoured the sword and Usher was proving to be
more than competent with the bow; taking a rabbit three evenings running, much
to his delight.
The tracks told them they were closing on the Picts and then, late one
afternoon, an old woman gathering firewood at the edge of the forest gave them
their first positive confirmation that they were on the right trail. She claimed a
party of strange warriors had been camped close to an isolated spinney near the
edge of the forest for the last two days. She had seen them coming and going
several times. With a renewed sense of anticipation, they quickened their pace
and as the light was fading towards the end of the day, they had finally seen the
spinney in the distance. Thunder rumbled as they approached, and the rain,
which had been drizzling all day began to fall with greater intensity.
The path quickly turned even muddier and they had to resort to wading
through the long dying grass several times to circumvent especial boggy areas.
By the time they had made it to the trees, the rain had been coming down in
torrents for a while. Daylight dropped quickly as the clouds closed in, covering
them in a chill-soaking blanket as they edged slowly forward. When it
eventually began to ease some time later and the clouds began to part, moonlight
broke through the canopy with a bright silvery light, at once transforming the
freshly fallen raindrops into a myriad of tiny sparkles amid the shadows.
Usher huddled next to Cal on the edge of the spinney and shivered, he was
soaked through and miserable. Cal sneezed and let out a dismal moan, and Usher
laid a hand of comfort on his friend's shoulder. The only benefit of the awful
weather was that it offered cover as they made their way across the moorland
grass and now as they crept along the edge of the forest towards the Picts' camp.
The smell of wood-smoke was the first indication they were getting closer. Thin
ghostly wisps hanging between the trees showing up in the intermittent beams of
moonlight as the clouds parted further and the rain began to ease at last.
Faster-moving clouds occasionally covered the moon, plunging the
woodland back into darkness and it was in these moments that the three
cautiously made their way forward, their feet silent upon the wet leaves. The
boys were both shivering, but the tension of being so close to the Picts' camp
meant they had all but forgotten how uncomfortable they were. At least it had
finally stopped raining, leaving just the slower steady dripping from the trees all
around them.
Meryn moved off, indicating silently that they should keep walking. He had
warned them that the Picts were still a long way from their home and would
have men stationed around the camp, so every shadow and every sound only
increased their fear. Having left a trail of looted villages behind them, the Picts
would no doubt be expecting some sort of attack from the tribes, so approaching
them was never going to be easy.
Usher crouched quickly as an owl hooted, his senses stretching as he
scanned the darkness to his right for some sign of Meryn. The archer had used
the sound before to get their attention, but in the darkness, it was hard to see
anything.
Moonlight broke through the clouds again and briefly lit Meryn as he stood
about ten paces away beside a large tree. He made a quick signal for Usher and
Cal to stay where they were and then melted back into the shadows once more.
Usher turned to make sure his friend had seen and felt Cal move to crouch
beside him. He instantly felt better with him this close as they waited.
A steady drizzle began to fall, caught on an easterly breeze, finding its way
through the trees in a fine mist that coated everything in its path. Usher shivered
again and wiped his hand down his face, then glanced across trying to make out
Cal's features in the darkness. As the moonlight broke through the cloud once
more, he grinned to see his friend wreathed in slowly rising haze and suppressed
a laugh, his breath escaping in a small cloud in front of him.
Cal pushed him and he rolled over soundlessly in the wet leaves. 'I don't
know what you're laughing at. Where's Meryn gone?' Cal's voice came as a
whisper.
Usher sat back up brushing leaves from his tunic and shrugged, then pointed
through the trees towards the faint glow of the Picts' fire, its crackling sounds
just audible over the constant dripping of the wet forest around them.
'Gone to look at the camp, I suppose. I'm frozen, aren't you?'
'Mmm,' muttered Cal. 'I couldn't feel my hands back there so I'm warming
them under my tunic.'
Usher glanced down and saw that Cal had his hands tucked under his arms.
He tried the same thing, and then immediately regretted the sudden chill it
brought to his bare skin.
Without warning, something moved in the trees to the side of them, and
Meryn slipped out of the darkness and crouched down.
'There are ten of them, maybe twelve at the most,' said the old archer,
drawing each breath in a suppressed ragged gasp. 'It's hard to see. I already dealt
with the two sentries they had posted on this side, but there may well be more.
They have a cart now and six or seven young captives, your sister may well be
one of them.' He held out a hand to stop them as both boys made to stand up. 'We
have to do this right, my young friends. They'll cut us down before you could
even shout your sister's name if we just go charging in there. You.' He jabbed a
finger at Usher. 'You have to lead as many of them away as you can. If you can
manage that, then the two of us can go in and try to get them youngsters free.
Hopefully, we'll find his sister amongst them.'
'And that's your plan?' Usher scowled at where he thought Meryn was in the
darkness. 'What happens if they catch me?' The clouds parted again revealing
Meryn's grinning face.
'They'll kill you, so don't get caught,' said Meryn, holding Usher's
incredulous gaze until the clouds robbed them of light again.
'Don't get caught!' hissed Usher. 'Well that's good advice, I'll keep thinking
that while…' He felt Cal grab his arm.
'I'll do it, Usher. I'm faster than you are, and you're the better fighter. We've
only one chance to get Nineve away, so I'll get as many of them out of the camp
as I can, I can do that. You go and find her, and get her out. Just don't get
caught… all right?'
Usher nodded. 'Let's be sure none of us gets caught,' he whispered, as Cal
slipped silently away.
Treading as quietly as possible, Cal crept through the wet undergrowth,
keeping the glow of the Picts' fire in sight until he found the well-trodden path
that the warriors had been using. He waited a moment, listening for signs of any
sentries, and then hurried along it until he was well out of sight of the camp, and
set his first trap. At least this was something he knew how to do. He knew he
couldn't chance outrunning his pursuers. However, with a few simple traps he
could lead them far enough away, and then confuse them enough that they lost
him with as little risk to himself as possible… or so he hoped.
Taking a length of platted straw rope from his pack, he tied half of it, kneeheight between two trees, then carefully marked where it was by dragging out a
branch, partway onto the path. Thirty paces further he did the same thing with
the other half length. Then, with his breath rasping and his heart hammering loud
in his ears, he retraced his steps towards the camp.
As Usher followed Meryn forward, he was experiencing similar fingers of
fear creeping up from his stomach. Just a few nights ago, he had been sitting
round the fire in his family home with a full stomach, listening to his parents'
talk of the harvest stores and the upcoming winter solstice celebrations, and
thinking of little more than sleep. Now here he was, cold, hungry, and about to
enter the camp of his parents' murderers. Choking back a sob, he stumbled and
forced himself upright, trying to see something, anything, in the near utter
darkness of the forest. All thoughts of the cold had gone. If anything, he now felt
hot and there was a rising fluttering of panic in his chest as the images of these
same warriors burning his village and murdering the fleeing people came
uncalled from his memory. He thought of his parents, his poor mother…
Something thumped against his chest and he stopped. Meryn had thrust out
an arm to stop him from blundering into a dead body lying against a tree, and his
mind cleared with a jolt. The moon, as if by design, chose that moment to make
its appearance and he stared down into the sightless eyes of a fallen Pict warrior.
Usher felt the sudden jolt of terrible reality, and everything began to spiral out of
control… then Meryn's hand clamped over his mouth and his voice hissed into
his ear.
'He's dead, boy! As dead as the friends and family he killed back in your
village, and there'll be a few more of them before we're done here, so get used to
it.'
Usher felt his cheeks glow as he realised how he must appear to the old
archer. He drew in a deep breath, and then mumbled, 'I'm sorry.'
'Shh,' Meryn silenced him, and then cautiously waved him forward to the
tree line around the camp.
Eight children were huddled close to the wagon with just one Pict warrior
standing guard over them. They looked cold, wet, and bereft of any life; Usher
recognised several. Crouched together, they were silently staring towards the
warmth of the distant fire where the majority of the Picts were eating and
relaxing. Usher counted them, quietly mumbling the numbers, ten. There were
ten of them including the one guarding the children.
It suddenly became utterly apparent to Usher, the enormity of the task ahead
of them. Even if they did manage, by some miracle of the spirits, to get the
captives away, how long would they be able to evade the Picts who would be
sure to follow? He glanced at Meryn, sensing he must have come to the same
conclusion long ago, yet here he was still helping them. Usher only hoped he had
a plan. If they survived, then beholden to him they certainly would be.
As he studied the Picts, one of them got to his feet swaying happily, tipped
up a clay jug, and emptied it in a series of greedy gulps. Usher felt a wave of
relief as he realised the man was drunk. The warrior tipped the last of the ale into
his open mouth then hurled the jug into the forest, swaying slightly as he listened
to the sound of it falling through the branches. He belched loudly, and then
shouted something in the Pictish tongue, which brought laughter from the others.
With another happy belch, he turned and started into the forest, probably seeking
a little privacy to relieve himself.
Indicating Usher should stay where he was, Meryn slipped away towards the
disappearing warrior.
Moments later, he returned. 'Nine' was all he said before continuing his vigil
of the camp.
'Will you be able to kill a man?' The question came as a warm breath,
whispered into Usher's ear. It took him with such surprise that he pulled sharply
away; rubbing furiously at the tickle the words had left. Meryn chuckled softly
in the darkness. It was something he had been asking himself since first seeing
the Picts at camp and he honestly didn't know the answer.
Meryn thrust his polished bow into Usher's cold hands. 'Here, when the
shouting starts, kill him first.' He pointed to the guard standing over the children.
'Then turn and kill any of the others that you can.' Wordlessly Usher accepted the
quiver of arrows and, with fumbling fingers, placed one ready against the
bowstring.
It wasn't long before the Picts around the fire were calling out to their
missing friend, his absence finally noticed. The calls quickly went from laughing
taunts to cries of concern and as two warriors stood up to investigate, Meryn
bent to whisper, 'Good luck, my young friend, the game is about to commence.'
He then crept soundlessly away to intercept them. Now alone, Usher watched
and waited for the scene to unfold as the wind whistled through the branches
above him and he tried to ignore the shiver of apprehension that he felt run
through him.
It had taken Cal some time to work out how best to get the warriors angry
enough to follow him. He had skirted the path on either side, gathering moss and
wet leaves until he had a good armful, and then crept as close as he could to the
camp. With a silent prayer to the spirits of the forest, he ran towards the fire and,
dashing between two lounging Picts, dumped the soggy mass into the flames,
plunging the campsite into near darkness. He leaped, cleared a sleeping warrior,
and began hollering and screaming as he ran before stopping at the edge of the
path. Being drunk, the Picts were slow in reacting, but a few well-aimed rocks
brought four of them up on their feet, and they lurched after him while two
others spluttered and cursed as they tried to pull the moss and leaves from the
now heavily smoking fire.
Cal set off, running as fast as he could, with the moon making brief
appearances from its cloak of clouds. Behind him, he could hear the Picts
shouting their challenges already close on his heels. His heart was beating so
hard it felt as if it were a bird trying to burst free from his chest and he had the
insane wish to laugh out loud, which he did, hooting and calling to urge the
angry warriors on.
The first branch marker showed up briefly upon the moonlit path, and then
the clouds shrouded it in darkness once again. Judging where the rope was, he
took the biggest jump he could and prayed he would clear it. He landed, and then
ran on, thanking the spirits for providing the cover of darkness. He was at the
second trip-line when he heard the shouts and curses of the Picts falling heavily
over the first.
He gave a loud laugh and screamed out. 'Come on, you smelly blue pigs, try
and catch me!' Their answer came to him as a renewed chorus of angry yells and,
using this noise to disguise his own flight, Cal made his way off the path into the
trees and doubled back towards the camp.
When Cal came dashing into the camp to dump leaves on the fire, Usher let
the arrow fly. It was something he hadn't wanted to think about too much
beforehand, but when he needed the shot, his instincts took over. The bow came
up, the startled face of the Pict warrior appeared along the arrow, and he let go.
Time seemed to slow down as he watched the arrow travel the short distance,
spinning in the air. He saw it connect with the Pict's temple with a hollow thunk,
collapsing him to the floor.
Part of Usher fell with him. He wanted to continue standing in the shadows,
staring at the fallen man surrounded by crying youngsters, now up and
screaming. However, there was another part of his mind that took over, stirring
him into action, forcing him out of the trees towards the now hysterical children.
He deliberately didn't look at the fallen Pict, but concentrated on searching the
grubby familiar faces for Nineve.
Finding her at last, he held his hand out towards her. 'Nin, it's me, Usher.
Come on, we have to leave here. All of you… come on!' He grabbed Nineve by
the hand and herded them all towards the gap in the trees and the path that lay
beyond. As they got there Meryn emerged, blood soaking the sleeve of his tunic
and dripping from his sword. His appearance brought renewed screaming from
the children.
'It's all right, he's with us, just keep going!' insisted Usher. With Meryn's
help, he began shepherding the children into the forest and away from the
madness of the camp.
'There are more of them… we didn't get them all,' hissed Meryn as they
hurried on, scanning the shadows around them. 'Four went after Cal, I killed
three, and you killed one.' He grabbed Usher's arm and spun him around in the
darkness. 'You did kill the one guarding this lot, didn't you?'
'Yes!' said Usher, maybe a little more roughly than he should have. The
moment would live with him for the rest of his life. The drawn bow, the flight of
the arrow, the look on the man's face as he…
Falling to his knees, Usher emptied the contents of his stomach and fought to
bring himself under control. He didn't need Meryn to tell him this wasn't the time
so he pushed himself up onto unsteady legs and ran on to catch the others.
Standing on either side of the four girls and two young boys, they walked
further away towards the edge of the forest. They were quieter now, but were
still sobbing enough to draw attention.
'There are still two around here, someplace,' muttered Meryn, 'I don't like it
when we can't see them. They have the element of surprise and that's not good.'
Without warning, the sound of someone or something crashing through the trees
came from their right and they dropped, pulling the children down with them.
'Shh,' hissed Meryn. 'Be silent now or they'll find us.' The sobbing became
quieter as the noise got nearer. When the clouds parted, the moon shone down
into the wood to reveal Cal standing in front of them gazing about with a look of
fear and panic.
'Whaaa!' he shrieked as he saw them and fell back into a bush.
'Shh,' cautioned Meryn. 'They're still here.' Cal nodded and clambered to his
feet, then smiled as Nineve came running into his arms. As the clouds once more
cloaked their progress, Meryn led them through the trees and away, the sounds
of the Picts searching behind them fading into the night.
* * *
The fire crackled and, for a moment, it was the only sound in the room. 'You
know, I still have a problem with the colour blue,' said Usher Vance, breaking
the silence. 'Sometimes it need only be a clear summer sky, or just the right
shade of blue on a milk jug that brings it all back, and then I feel the weight of
fear descend upon me once again, eating into me like a… like a …' He shook his
head. 'Like I don't know what!'
'Weren't the bad men following you?' Usher stopped his line of thought and
looked down at the boy sitting cross-legged on the floor with two of his friends.
All three had the rapt expression of complete belief in his story that he so often
craved when spinning a tale. He smiled.
'Oh, they came after us, tracking us from the moment we started running
they were. We had a good start, thanks to Calvador here, but they weren't happy
and wanted the children back. What they wanted them for, we didn't know at the
time, but we knew it was for some reason bad enough to burn villages to get
them.' He took the opportunity to have a drink of ale and filled his pipe afresh.
'I remember being scared of the Picts as they hunted us, but I also remember
being mighty scared of the one who hadn't been there that night, the rider… the
man in black.'
'Horsa,' muttered Calvador, scowling into the fire.
'Now, Cal, don't go spoiling my tale. Yes, it was Horsa. We learnt his name
later, but he wasn't in the camp that night, thank the spirits, just the Picts, and
now six of them were hunting us. It was around dawn that we heard them
catching up to us… calling out and shrieking they were, trying to scare us into
running and giving ourselves away .