Tuck

CHAPTER 35

Amad scramble through the forest brought them to a tiny clearing where Bran and his men paused to regroup. "We had the devils trapped and trussed," Brocmael said, breathing hard from his run. "We could have defeated them."

"There are too many," Rhoddi countered. "We dare not stay in one place very long or they'll surround us and drag us under."

"Like crossing a mud flat," said Tuck, hands on knees, his lungs burning. "The longer you stand… the deeper you sink." He shook his head. "Ah, bless me, I am too old and fat for this."

"Will they come in after us, do you think?" wondered Geronwy, leaning on his longbow.

"Oh, aye," answered Rhoddi. "Count on it."

There was a clatter in the wood behind them just then, and Scarlet, followed by Llwyd and Beli, tumbled into the clearing. The two farm lads were looking hollow-eyed and a little green. Clearly, for all their skill with the bow, they had never killed before-at least, thought Tuck, not living men. While Bran and the others exchanged battle reports, Tuck undertook to gentle the skittish newcomers. Putting a hand on each of their shoulders, he said, "Defending your people against the cruel invader is a good and laudable thing, my friends. This is not a war of your making, God knows-does He not?"

The two glanced at one another, and one of them, Llwyd, found his voice. "We never killed before."

"Not like that," added Beli.

"If there is sin in it," Tuck told them, "then there is also grace enough to cover it. You have done well this day. See you remember your countrymen whose lives depend on you and let your souls be at peace."

Overhearing this, Bran turned to address the newest members of his tiny war band. "To me, everyone," he said. "Believe me when I say that I wish no one had to learn this cruel craft within the borders of my realm. But the world is not of our choosing. We have many battles to fight before this war is through, and your lives may be required long since." He spoke softly, but in grim earnest. "You are men now. Warriors. And part of my Grellon. So grasp your courage and bind it to your hearts with bands of steel." His twisted smile flashed with sudden warmth. "And I will pray with every shaft I loose that all will yet be well and you will live to see Elfael at peace."

"My lord," said Llwyd, bending his head.

Beli went one better and bent the knee as well. "Your servant," he said.

Then Bran addressed those who had come with Brocmael. "Greetings, friends, and if you've come to stay, then welcome. But if now that you've had a taste of this fight and find it bitter in your mouth, then I bid you farewell and God go with you."

"We came to help you fight the Ffreinc, my lord," said Brocmael. "As you know me, know my cousins. This is Geronwy." He put out a hand to a slender, sandy-haired youth holding a fine bow of polished red rowan.

"My lord Rhi Bran," said Geronwy, "we have heard how you bested Earl Hugh and would pledge our aid to such a king as could humble that mangy old badger in his den."

The other, not waiting to be presented, spoke up, saying, "I am Idris, and I am glad to lend my bow to your cause, my lord. It seems to me that either we fight the Ffreinc with you here and now-or we will fight them by ourselves later." A stocky lad with a thick, tight-knit frame, he seemed rough-carved of the same yew as the sturdy bow in his hand.

Scarlet, listening to the sounds echoing up from the road and forest behind them, called, "We must fly if we are to stay ahead of the chase. This way!"

"Our horses are back there." Brocmael jerked a thumb in the direction of the road.

"Leave them," Bran said, hurrying after Scarlet. "Horses are a hindrance in the forest. Anyway, it isn't far."

The archers started away again, disappearing into the close-grown trees and bramble and hawthorn undergrowth. It soon became clear that Bran was leading them along a stony trail up the long slope of the ridge where, in no more than a few hundred paces, the path suddenly erupted in outsized stones and boulders big as houses, all tumbled together to form a sizeable cairn-a natural fortress of stone. In the gaps and crevices between the rocks grew holly and briar, into which had been driven stakes of ash whose ends were sharpened to narrow spear points.

"Find a place to hide and wait for my signal," called Bran, disappearing into a holly hedge at the base of the cairn.

"Up we go, lads," called Scarlet. "Get snugged in good. There are arrow sheaves in the hidey-holes. Keep 'em close to hand."

Brocmael glanced at his cousins, gave a shrug, and followed the others up into the storied heap of rocks. They picked their way carefully among the thorns and stakes to find that, in amongst the spaces between rocks, small wooden platforms had been prepared where the archers could stand. The warriors found bundles of arrows tied to the timber supports and stuffed into crevices within easy reach. "I told you Rhi Bran was cunning clever," Brocmael declared to his kinsmen. "And here is the proof."

"Did we ever doubt you?" said Idris.

"Shh!" hissed Scarlet, taking his place on a nearby stand. "Sharp and quiet, lads. They'll likely try to come by stealth, so be ready for the signal."

"What is the signal?" wondered Brocmael aloud.

"You'll know it when you hear it," answered Scarlet, "for you've never heard the like in your whole sweet life entire."

"And when you hear it," said Tuck, squirming up onto one of the lower platforms, "be sure you take no fright, for it is only our Bran distracting our foemen from the task at hand."

"If they're about thinking they can run us to ground," added Rhoddi, "they'll soon be thinking twice about chasing blind through the phantom's wood."

"The phantom," said Geronwy. "Rhi Bran y Hud-is that who you mean?"

"One and the same," replied Scarlet. "You've heard of him?"

"Everyone has heard of him," answered the young warrior. "Are you saying he is real?"

"Brace yourself, boyo," said Tuck, "you're about to see for yourself."

Fitting arrows to strings, the Cymry settled down to wait. The sounds of the chase grew louder as the Ffreinc drew nearer until, with a thrashing of branches and bushes, the first wave of armour-clad foot soldiers reached the base of the rock wall. There they paused to determine which way to go and in that briefest of hesitations were doomed. For as they stood looking at the boulders in their path, there arose a thin, bloodless cry-like that of the wind when it moans in the high tree branches, but no kindly breeze lifted the leaves.

The soldiers glanced around furiously, trying to discover the source of the sound. The cry became a shriek, gathering strength, filling the surrounding woodland with a call at once unnatural and unnerving, full of all the mystery of the greenwood-as if the forest itself had taken voice to shout its outrage at the presence of the Ffreinc.

They were still looking for the source of this fearsome cry when there appeared, near the top of the wall of stones, a strange, dark shape that in the green half-light of the forest seemed far more shadow than substance: a great, bird-shaped creature with the body of a man and the wings of a raven, with a naked, round, skull-like head and a long, wickedly sharp beak. This phantom moved with uncanny grace among the rocks, pausing now and again to utter its scream as a challenge to the wary, half-frightened soldiers on the ground.

One of the knights took up the challenge and, rearing back, loosed his spear, lofting it with a mighty heave up at the strange creature sliding among the rocks. The bravely launched spear struck the smooth face of a boulder, and the iron tip sparked. At the same moment, a black arrow sang out from the dark recess of the stones, struck the knight, and with a sound like the crack of a whip, threw him onto his back, dead before his body came to rest in the bracken.

It took a moment for the rest of the knights to realize what had happened, and by then it was too late. Three more arrows sped to their marks with lethal accuracy, dropping the enemy in their tracks.

The phantom of the greenwood gave out a last, triumphant scream and disappeared once more as the arrows began to fly thick and fast, filling the air with their hateful hiss. The Ffreinc fell back and back again, stumbling over one another, over themselves, over the corpses of the dead to escape the feathered death assailing them from the rocks. Those still coming up from behind choked off the escape, holding their unlucky comrades in place, thus sealing their fate.

And then it was over. The last soldier, an arrow in his thigh, pulled himself into the undergrowth, and all that could be heard was the clatter of the Ffreinc knights in full-tilt retreat… and then only the distant croak of gathering crows and the soft, whimpering moans of the dying.