DAVID A. GEMMEL. SWORD IN THE STORM

A spattering of rain fell on the clearing, and the workers around them took a break. Braefar felt his irritation rise. Had he been able to last for a few more heartbeats no-one would have seen him fail.

On the hillside below he saw the village girls climbing towards them, carrying wicker baskets of food and jugs of apple juice. Conn’s fingers slowed still further, the kneading becoming distracted. Braefar glanced up. His brother was staring down at the girls. Braefar’s eyesight was not strong and he could make out no individual faces. ‘Is she there?’ he asked.

‘Aye, she’s there,’ whispered Conn, sitting down alongside him. As the girls approached Braefar saw her. Arian was talking to her dark-haired sister Gwydia, and both girls were laughing. The rain ceased, the sun breaking through the clouds. Arian’s yellow hair shone suddenly gold in the sunlight. It was like magic.

‘She is so beautiful,’ said Conn. Some of the girls moved to their brothers, others to sweethearts. The remainder gathered at the centre of the clearing, laying down their baskets. Arian glanced coolly around the clearing, her gaze drifting over the two boys. Conn cursed. ‘She is still ignoring me.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘I was supposed to meet her three days ago, but the Big Man heard there was wolf sign in the high pasture and we rode out to check. I was only an hour late but she was not where we agreed to meet. Since then she has avoided me.’

‘Shall we get some food?’ asked Braefar, anxious to change the subject.

‘No. I am not hungry.’ Conn rose and wandered to the spring. As soon as he had gone Arian and Gwydia strolled over.

‘Your hand is bleeding,’ said Gwydia, sitting down on the fallen trunk.

‘It will heal,’ Braefar told her. A swift shadow swept across the clearing. Braefar glanced up to see a crow swooping overhead.

Opening its wings the bird slowed its flight, settling on a high branch at the edge of the trees.

‘It is waiting for discarded crumbs,’ said Arian. Lifting the linen cover from the basket she took out a slice of apple cake and handed it to Braefar.

‘That should be mine,’ said Govannan, striding across the clearing. ‘Why are you giving away my food?’ He was a tall, wide-shouldered, square-jawed young man with deep-set dark eyes that always looked angry.

‘Gwydia has your food,’ said Arian. ‘Meria asked me to carry this basket for Connavar and Wing.’

‘Then my food should have been brought first,’ said Govannan, snatching the basket from Gwydia. ‘Men should be fed before children. Is that not so, little Wing?’

Braefar tried a conciliatory smile. Govannan was two years older, and considerably larger. He was also notoriously quick tempered.

‘Leave him alone,’ said Gwydia, which made Braefar’s heart sink. Why did girls never understand? Govannan would have left him alone, but now a female had intervened and he was obliged to continue.

‘What have I said?’ asked Govannan. ‘Was it anything but the truth? Look at him. He looks like a girl, and his poor little hand is bleeding.’

‘Which shows how hard he has worked,’ said Arian, her pale blue eyes growing angry.

Please be quiet, thought Braefar. You’re making everything worse!

‘Perhaps I have wronged him,’ said Govannan. ‘Perhaps he really is a little girl.’

Grabbing Braefar he hauled him upright. His hands grabbed the waistband of Braefar’s leggings and dragged them down. Govannan laughed cruelly. ‘No, he is not a girl, but he has no man’s hair either.’ At that moment Govannan was spun around and Conn’s fist smashed into his face. Blood exploded from a cut on the cheekbone. Govannan was hurled from his feet. He rolled on the grass and pushed himself upright, fists clenched.

Then he charged. Conn side-stepped and sent a powerful left cross into his chin. Govannan went down again. He rose more slowly and advanced cautiously. Braefar, full of shame, hauled up his leggings and walked away. Gwydia ran alongside him.

‘I apologize for my brother,’ she said. ‘He really is an idiot sometimes.’

‘You caused this, you fool!’ stormed Braefar. ‘Now leave me alone.’

Back in the clearing Govannan had been knocked down four times, but still he came back. One eye was swollen almost shut and his lips were bleeding. So far he had not landed a single blow. Conn hit him again, a straight left that jarred him to his boot heels. He swayed but did not fall. As suddenly as it had come, Conn’s anger evaporated. He stepped in, throwing his arms around his opponent. ‘This is enough, Van,’ he said. ‘Give it up.’

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