“Oh Gods no!” Bleddyn growled worryingly
and they all moved back to the treeline but Cadwy beat them to it.
A sliding feeling of horror gripped
him as he parted the branches and looked down the hill to the lake again, this
time with the glare of a goshawk. He and all these men saw what had distressed
Bleddyn and they instantly shared his concerns, as two young girls had been led
out of the fortress below by a big armed warrior. He led them at sword-point to
a big gap in the palisade adjacent to the causeway, and to where a number of
old men had fished from that morning with little success. Cadwy’s panic died
quickly but looking at the two diminutive figures below, his spirit took a
sickening lurch as he knew in his cold heart what was about to happen.
The one forlorn figure which had made
that same heavy heart jump initially, had looked fleetingly like Eirwen until
she was revealed in the torchlight as her courageous intended substitute. It
was the other, the tiny one alongside her who made these hardened men groan in
powerless anguish and Cadwy hang his head. Brave and bright little Princess Rèdan, granddaughter of King Muirin of the Fír-Damnonia stood miniscule beside the huge Epidian swordsman,
and these deeply honourable men of Prydein were forced to witness the most unthinking
butchery of two young innocents, as they were both slaughtered like goats and
with as little compunction. That pitiless Epidian Gŵyr identified as one Drywaen
by an intensely murderous Bleddyn, blithely took his sword and pushed it slowly
through the screaming girls one at a time. The man then threw each of their broken
and bleeding carcasses into the lake, with a carelessness reserved for
discarding refuse and it infuriated these hidden, dangerous men beyond measure.
Far below them, Drywaen then wiped his long blade and re-sheathed it before
hitching aside his bracs and pissing into the lake, taking great amusement in fouling
the floating corpses of the two little girls he had just brutally murdered. Cadwy
could feel the rage of these men around him building, along with his own and it
was obvious the game was up.
“We go now gentlemen.” He growled,
and every man moved forward as one.
As the moon slid obediently behind a
dark cloud, they pushed through the undergrowth and cleared the treeline
together. This silent, shadowy group of elite hunter-killers hugged the earth in
the darkness and began to trot down the snow-covered, grassy slope from this
forest, heading almost invisibly toward the outer gates and the two sleepy
guards, their eyes shining terribly with the impending and longed-for slaughter.
The
ripples on the surface of the black water destroyed the glittering image of the
heavens above, as Olwydd Hîr and Gŵyr Brith Fawr silently waded into the freezing
cold water of this foreign, enemy lake. The fringes had attained that fleeting
and gelid quality which precedes
freezing solid, but these dauntless men pushed-on up to their necks regardless and
began swimming soundlessly away like a pair of otters. Only their heads were visible,
and they cleaved two expanding ‘V’ shaped ripples in the glittering water, as
they forged out into the centre and toward the palisaded fortress with its
forest of supporting legs.
At
the same moment, the two guards at the head of the causeway died with barely a
gurgle, as two invisible men had appeared like magic beside them and their
bodies had vanished into the trees in a flash, without even hitting the ground.
These two blooded ghost-warriors now suppressed their smiles and assumed the
guards’ positions at the outer gates, whilst their two indomitable leaders swam
out to the fortress at this lake’s dark heart. Those two unmatched warriors had
gone to take care of the dogs in the fortress with trickery and poisoned game,
before proceeding to remove the guards on the ringed outer palisade without
raising an alarm, a feat none of their subordinates had found appealing.
The
tension mounted in these men as they waited with their breath pluming, crouched
before the hawthorn hedgerow leading to the causeway entrance. Cadwy felt the
blessed juice of action coursing through his veins, as he crouched with them
and watched the two deadly otters swim out into the freezing waters. They curved
behind the clamour of timber posts emerging from the black water and which
supported that edifice, before the pair then rose dripping into view from the cold
rippling surface. Infinitely slowly, Olwydd and Brith climbed up a boatman’s ladder
at the back of the fortress and vanished from view.
The
men watching doubted if there were two other men in the world who could carry
out such a daring feat in virtual silence and with no alarm being raised, as it
was almost beyond comprehension to mere mortals. These men knew however, that
it was Olwydd Hîr and Gŵyr Brith Fawr who had crawled into that enemy
stronghold and so it was the people within who should fear for their lives. Their
awaiting combrogi had to wait for the all-clear from those two stalwarts before
attempting to traverse the long causeway, which to a man they were sure was
coming.
It
seemed as if the earth had suddenly stopped turning, as even the slow
revolution of the stars above had paused. Cadwy held his breath, expecting to
hear the sound of furious barking and pandemonium at any second and he prepared
himself to rush across in support. Every man around him did the same with the
tension mounting in each of them, as if they were all bound by the same
vibrating bowstring held fraught on the very point of release. The seconds
trudged into agonising minutes and it felt as though their lifetimes were being
washed into the cold and eerie vacuum around them, before a creditable owl hoot
informed them that all was ready and only then did Cadwy and all these animated
warriors breathe again. A moment later, these killers of men arose from the
shadows with the most terrible expressions contorting their features and they surged
forwards, like a dark Brythonic curse from Lug Ddu himself.
All eyes were stark and trained on the outer
walkway as these men moved up the long timber Sarn in a crouch, moving
stealthily toward the huge main gates. Two muscular Gadwyr took the positions
of the guards Olwydd and Brith had just silently killed, at either side of the big
gates to the fortress within, and this pair of monstrous Gadwyr obeyed their
leader instantly. Facing inwards they brandished both battle axes and as the
rest of their comrades came sneaking up the long torchlit causeway to join them,
the two warriors made a daunting gate-guard, but set up to keep people inside rather than out. The rest of these
men split up then as planned into two uneven groups, peeling apart to creep
around the flanks of the now silent and deserted perimeter palisade.
Cadwy led his smaller group of men around the
western curve of this ramshackle palisade, thankful that the dogs and guards had
been dealt with. He pushed on quietly, seeking the small wharf where the
coracles were tethered and where a doorway had been spied. Knowing that Olwydd and
Brith were leading the larger part of this band of brothers around the curving
eastern palisade to the rear, it gave them no time to pause. The Galedonians
were heading for another big doorway, leading into the fortress from this
orbital pathway at the back of the Dun and they had also noted well who it was,
who used that big doorway regularly.
Hefin, Bleddyn and Brast ap Bwlch were
crouched behind Cadwy to the west, their long daggers drawn and their serious
faces revealing the determination that burned within them all this night. They
were a small chosen band deep in enemy territory, tasked with the most incisive
action but their drawn faces showed too that this was no standard military
operation, this was entirely personal, and their very lives were invested.
They had a rough idea of the layout inside due
to their lost and lamented little ally, who’s torn and tiny body still floated
barely twenty reeds from where Cadwy crouched. They had all cast a forlorn
glance her way and offered a silent prayer as they had ghosted past the
fishing-break in the palisade, stepping over sleeping dogs and dead guards. Cadwy
tried hard to recall the drawing the little girl had scratched out in the mud
of the forest floor that morning, attempting to put the hurried stick marks
into some kind of perspective as they moved to the door.
It was no oak bastion that much was instantly
clear, and it was a relief, as the door was merely a collection of planks
knocked-up with dowels to fill the void, and it’s rope hinges looked frayed and
worn out. Two swift cuts with a sharp blade and the door was soundlessly put to
one side, and Cadwy was the first in, stooping under the thatch and peering
into the gloom of a long and untidy looking corridor ahead. The door was replaced
behind them, as a cold draught quickly got people’s attention and the darkness
condensed, forcing them to crouch silently and wait for their night-sight to
clear. The shapes ahead of them firmed and their vision improved quickly, as
there was some glimmer of light ahead but from around a far corner.
The walls which emerged from the gloom at
either side were poorly plastered wattle and daub constructions but large
chunks of the crumbling, whitewashed wattle had fallen away like broken teeth
and what remained, was stained and spore-blackened from the damp. The roof had
been constructed of split pine trees and these too had seen better days, many
being cracked or broken. This whole fortress seemed to be slowly sinking and falling
apart and it was clearly some years since any effort had been expended on its continued
elevation and existence. Cadwy’s attention was focused on the second door to
the right, hoping it was the correct one and he rose silently, creeping toward
it and his men followed him, alarmed at the creaking and shifting underfoot.
Olwydd, Brith and the larger force had managed
to gain entry through the big rear door, which also came handily off its
ancient leather-strap hinges in a flash. They were busy almost immediately, as
they had entered the long barrack room at the back of this fortress and it was
full of enemy soldiers in varying states of readiness, but none were ready for
these deadly men, who flowed into their barracks like a deadly black swarm.
Many were asleep on their bracken cots, whilst
other off-duty comrades wandered about unarmed, undressed and completely
unprepared for what assaulted them this night. As hung-over, owl-eyed men sat
up in their beds and their half-dressed compatriots rushed about in panic,
falling over each other to arm themselves, they died in moments. This elite
group of Galedon killers moved like the highly-trained company of men they were
and there was no stumbling, none got in the way of another, being Gadwyr or
Ghost-Warrior. They moved like a troupe of savage, sure-footed dancers between
the beds, their Brythonic steel flashing accurately with unfailing certainty
and the bloodshed was swift and immense.
*
* * * *
Eirwen awoke with a start at the clamour and
she knew immediately what those sounds conveyed, as she had personal experience
of battle arriving unannounced on her doorstep. This fortress was being
attacked that much was obvious, as there was a terrific commotion coming from
where the soldiers were billeted from guesswork. The fingers of Eirwen’s right
hand found her mouth without thought, just as her maternal left hand found her protruding
belly. Her fears rose alarmingly, as there was no way of knowing what was going
on and she found that the hardest thing to bear, being forced to sit here in
chains whilst the place was being attacked and by who, only the Gods knew.
‘Could it possibly be some kind of rescue attempt?’ She quashed this flash of glorious hope in an instant, as it was far more likely to be some form of internecine tribal conflict, which would likely put her in far more danger than she was already in. Her frown deepened, as over the sounds of clashing steel and the screaming of men coming from the back of the fortress somewhere, and the general din of alarm being raised throughout, she heard a much closer, creeping noise outside her door and her heart-beat soared.
‘Could it possibly be some kind of rescue attempt?’ She quashed this flash of glorious hope in an instant, as it was far more likely to be some form of internecine tribal conflict, which would likely put her in far more danger than she was already in. Her frown deepened, as over the sounds of clashing steel and the screaming of men coming from the back of the fortress somewhere, and the general din of alarm being raised throughout, she heard a much closer, creeping noise outside her door and her heart-beat soared.
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