DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

Two raiders suddenly emerged in front of him. Both stood for a moment, in shock. Then one of them shouted. They’re here!’ Connavar sprang forward, his sword plunging into the belly of the first man. The second, carrying a hand axe, leapt at Connavar, who side-stepped and hammered his left fist into the man’s chin. The raider fell to his knees. Connavar killed him with a downward sweep to the neck.

Unknown to Tae a third raider had emerged from the bushes behind her. ‘Look out!’ shouted Connavar. Tae swivelled and struck out just as the man loomed over her. The dagger blade slid through his mailshirt as if it was made of wool, plunging all the way to the hilt. The raider died instantly. Tae pulled the blade clear and ran to join Connavar. There were sounds now from all around them.

Then the clouds returned, covering the moon. Taking Tae by the arm Connavar led her further into the trees, coming at last to a thick section of bramble bushes. Dropping to their bellies they wormed their way into the thicket. Tae’s heart was beating wildly, and it seemed to her that her breathing was so loud it must be heard. She tried to control it. Raindrops began to fall around them, then lightning flashed to the south. A few seconds later a great roll of thunder burst over the woods, and the rain became a torrent. Partly sheltered in the brambles the two fugitives lay very still.

Time drifted by. Tae slept for a while, and when she woke she saw that Connavar was sleeping beside her. He awoke as she moved, and smiled at her. ‘Have they gone?’ she mouthed.

‘I don’t think so. But they’ll be cold, wet, and very anxious by now. Stay silent.’ He closed his eyes once more, resting his head on his arm.

Moments later, as the rain eased, they heard men moving through the woods, heading back towards the bay. Then a voice called out.

‘I will find out who you are, Rigante. And when I do I will come for you. I swear, by the blood of Wotan, I will not rest until your head sits on a lance outside my brother’s house.’

Tae glanced at Connavar, and saw that he was smiling.

‘What is there to smile about?’ she whispered.

‘A man should always have good enemies. It keeps him strong.’

They hid for another hour; then, just as dawn was tinting the sky, they emerged from the brambles. The woods were silent and they made their way back towards the north.

They were met on the hillside by Fiallach and fifty riders. Parax was with them. Fiallach leapt from his horse and ran to Tae. ‘Did they harm you?’ he asked.

‘They did not have time. Connavar was there. He killed the men who held me.’

‘I am grateful to you, Connavar,’ said the big man, ‘for saving my future wife.’

‘I will not be your wife, Fiallach,’ said Tae, gently. ‘I adore you as my friend and my mentor. But I will not walk the tree with you.’

Fiallach licked his lips and stood silent for a moment. ‘But I love you,’ he said, at last.

When she spoke there was no trace of the girl she had been. Her words carried quiet authority, and even regret. ‘And I love you, my friend. If it was in my power to love you the way you desire I would do so. But it is not. Now I must get back to Seven Willows. There is much work to be done.’ She walked away from him. A rider offered her his pony and she accepted with a smile, vaulting to the saddle and riding down the slope.

Fiallach turned to Conn, and sighed. ‘Should have listened to you,’ he said.

‘It would have changed nothing,’ said Conn. ‘Gate towers cannot be built in a day. The man who caused this was Phaeton.’ Conn told the giant how Parax had found the keel marks and the tracks. Fiallach’s face turned pale with fury.

‘He it was who told us of the lion, which drew me and my men from Seven Willows.’

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