Fire Arrow

EIGHTEEN

Bren-huan

As she made her way back through Ardara, Brie spotted Lorn.

"How was Sago?" he asked as they fell into step together.

Brie shook her head. "He says he will journey north with us."

"He has not the strength."

Brie nodded her agreement absently. Then she cleared her throat. "Uh, thank you for sending me Araf. I am afraid she ran off."

"She found her way back to Ardara."

Brie looked surprised.

"Yes, somewhat of a miracle. But Araf is smarter than she appears to be." They exchanged a smile.

Brie took a breath. "Lom, I..."

"No," Lom interrupted, raising a hand. "I know. I knew when you left Ardara. Your way lies somewhere other than a small Dungal fishing village."

Brie was silent for a moment, then, "I wish it were not so."

"I know that as well." He smiled at her. "Perhaps I am like the horse Araf in that way."

Brie laughed with Lom, then her smile faded. "Will they come? The Ardarans?"

Lom shook his head. "I do not know. Some, but there are many who are afraid. And the innkeeper's words will give them a reason to stay."

"The innkeeper serves the sorcerer Balor. He helped to plant the stonefish that sickened Sago."

"I see." Lom looked grim. "Well, there is still time before dawn. I will do what I can do."

***

Brie slept poorly that night. By the time dawn came she had been awake for some time, having brewed a pan of cyffroi, given both Fiain and Ciaran thorough rubdowns, as well as a hearty breakfast of oats, and even begun work on new arrows for her quiver.

Collun joined her at the fire, and she handed him a cup of cyffroi. He drank it quickly, expressing doubt that he could ever get used to the taste. Veena Creek was low, showing signs of the drought.

Lom was the first to come, with Jacan, Ferg, Hyslin, and Gwil not far behind. Lom told Brie that his father, Farmer Garmon, had wished to come, but Lotte had begged and pleaded with him to stay, until, unwilling, he capitulated. Hyslin was there to see Gwil off. A large farmer named Huld arrived at the creek, followed by two brothers, both fishermen, who looked alike, lean and small. A boy named Marc, brother to the girl Beith, who loved to tease Ferg, came. Beith was there, too, to see her brother off. There was no laughter in her snapping black eyes this morning. Dil, the boy to whom Brie had given archery lessons, rode up on a dappled pony. He grinned at Brie, holding up his homemade bow. Then a young fisherman with thick eyebrows called Clun came, accompanied by his younger sister, at whom he frequently scowled for coming against his wishes. She was Maire, a tall girl with a stubborn chin. Then Henle arrived, accompanied by five other fishermen.

And after that no one came.

The moments stretched out, taut/and uncomfortable; the sun rose higher in the sky. There was little talk. One horse whickered loudly, while another stamped its hoof against the ground. One of the fishermen coughed. Hanna's dog Jip got into a friendly, but vocal, skirmish with another of the villager's dogs. Finally Brie, numb, said, "It appears our..."—she paused—"um, army is complete." They numbered twenty. "There may be more as we head north, but ... At any rate, it is not too late to change your mind."

There was an uneasy silence. Brie avoided looking anyone in the eye. The silence remained unbroken. "Very well then." She mounted Ciaran, looking to Lom or Jacan to take the lead.

"Lead us, Biri," came Hanna's voice. Brie thought she heard a muffled "Aye." She hesitated, but then awkwardly moved Ciaran forward, heading north along the creek. Hyslin and Beith stood together forlornly, watching them go.

Brie had not gone more than a hundred yards when she heard Lom's voice call out, "Hold!"

Brie turned to see a lone straggler riding up behind them. It was Sago.

He had found a pony somewhere—an odd-looking beast, tan with a black patch on its forehead and a short white tail that splayed out from the horse's broad hindquarters, almost like the tail feathers of ¡a seabird. Still, it was a solid, sturdy-looking animal, though Sago must have been no more burden than a feather resting atop the pony's saddle.

***

That night as they made camp Brie noticed Collun and Lom talking together amicably.

Before arriving in Ardara, Brie had told Collun of her friendship with Lom and even of dancing with him on the deck of the Storm Petrel. Collun had listened, saying nothing. But when she first introduced the two, Brie's stomach had been knotted tighter than one of Jacan's halyards. They shook hands and smiled genially, then someone called out to Lom and he left them. Brie had waited, tense.

"Seems a decent fellow," was all Collun said. He had started to walk away, then stopped, adding, "D'you think he'd be willing to teach me to dance as well? Talisen was always telling me I had two left feet, but since it looks as though you'll be leading the next Beltaine dances..." He had grinned at her and Brie grinned back, realizing again how little she knew of this new Collun.

At each village and farmhold the army came to, they told of the attack on Prince Durwydd's dun and of the enemy who gathered a war host in the north. And at each village they were greeted with a mixture of fear and disbelief. They fared best with the fishing villages, hard hit by the blight of sumog, but still their army remained modest. By the time they had reached the beginning of northern Dungal, they numbered no more than eighty.

It was a small, motley army, but Brie was humbled by them, astonished by their courage and their loyalty. In their turn, the army seemed to regard Brie with an affectionate sort of respect, even awe, that embarrassed her. They had taken to calling her "Bren," which meant "little queen" in Dungalan. Sometimes they added "huan," the Dungal word for sunlight, because of the times the sun reflected off her hair, a blur of gold at the head of the ragtag army. "Bren-huan," they would say, "you shall lead us to victory like our queen Fionna."

Brie demurred with a laugh. "The color of my hair is the only thing I have in common with your queen."

If Brie was the army's "little queen," Lom quickly became the one they turned to when a problem arose, such as when a harness needing mending or for advice on saddle sores or to grumble about empty stomachs. Though the army was not large, it still needed to be fed every day, and Lom was the expert on foraging for food and other supplies. /Foraging grew increasingly difficult as they journeyed farther north, where there were fewer villages, but Lom somehow managed. He also, along with Jacan, Hanna, and one of the fishermen, led the army in various training exercises and war games.

Brie usually rode at the head of the army, with Collun at her side. He had refused to let Brie tell the Dungalans that he was Wurme-killer. They had a quarrel about it, Brie arguing that it would do much for the army's morale and Collun adamantly refusing to go along with her wishes.

Collun often slipped to the rear to check on Sago. He and Hanna were using all their combined herb lore in an attempt to boost the sorcerer's failing health. Brie was impressed by Collun's ministrations to the sorcerer, and wondered if perhaps he did it partly because of a certain wizard of the trees whose death he yet felt the sting of.

And, indeed, Sago showed some small improvement. The Sea Dyak sorcerer had brought his amhantar. In it he carried a sliver of wood he said was from his boat, Gor-gwynt, something prickly he told Brie was a dead ghost anemone, a moon shell that he said he'd found on his last treasure hunt, and another small dead fish that looked familiar to Brie, though she could not recall its name. Sago took the moon shell out frequently, running his fingers over the whorled, gleaming surface. The Sea Dyak sorcerer had also brought along some rope and string, and he began fiddling around with the making of a small fishing net. As he rode, his fingers were constantly tying, knotting, and weaving. He was a comical sight, the Sea Dyak sorcerer, bringing up the rear of the army, sitting on his fat little pony, weaving nets and singing nonsense songs.

After several days they came to the town of Cerriw, which Brie remembered as the home place of Aelwyn, the wyll. Aelwyn was at the center of the village, waiting for them. She told Brie that after safely delivering her friend's healthy baby boy, she had made her way, without incident, through the Blue Stacks, reaching home in time for the harvest festival, Cynheafu. The Dungalan army received a warm welcome in Aelwyn's village. Not only were they supplied with fresh provisions, but also a cohort of recruits, twenty strong, including Aelwyn herself.

Brie thanked the wyll, who replied with a shrug, "A favor for a favor." Brie noticed Aelwyn's eyes stray to Collun as he helped a villager load provisions into his saddlebags, and the corners of the wyll's mouth went up, cadike.

Its ranks having swelled to more than a hundred, the army rode north.

When Collun was at the back of the group with Sago and Hanna (and frequently, Brie noticed, Aelwyn as well), Brie usually found herself riding with Maire, the tall girl with the stubborn chin. She was almost the same age as Brie and idolized her, which embarrassed Brie. Maire had snuck off to join the army to get away from an over strict father, who believed a girl's place was in the home. "He thinks we are good for nothing more than cooking and cleaning and minding children," Maire said, outraged. "I have long begged him to give me a chance on the fishing boat, but he has always refused. Each time I saw you go out on Jacan's boat, I envied you so," the girl confided.

Brie told Maire that her own father had been the opposite, demanding as much from her, or more, as from the boy he wished he had had.

Maire was silent, compassion in her eyes. "Then," she said with a sudden smile, "let us be to each other what our fathers were not. When we return to Ardara I will loan you all my cooking pots."

"Thank you just the same," Brie laughed, "but, if Jacan is willing, you shall have my place on the Storm Petrel."

"Agreed!" Maire replied with enthusiasm.

Brie looked up at the night sky, instinctively seeking the Bootes, seven stars making up a wheel of light. The farther north they went, the clearer and brighter was the wheel. They had left Ardara half a moon cycle ago and were camped by the Burren—a pair of graceful stone bridges beneath which the Tyfed River ran.

Hanna estimated they were a day and a half from Sedd Wydyr, so Brie formed a scouting party, resolving to lead it herself. Hanna and Collun would go with her, as well as Maire and her brother, Clun. Aelwyn, too, had volunteered, with a sideways glance at Collun. Lom would be in charge of the army, and Brie told him that if her party did not return in three days to move ahead without them.

As Brie stared up at the stars, Collun came to sit beside her. He offered a small skin bag. Brie took it and drank; the liquid lit the back of her throat and she began to cough. Collun patted her on the back.

"Sorry. I guess I should have warned you."

"What is it?" Brie sputtered.

"Aelwyn calls it neno. They make it in her village. Have another sip; it grows on you."

Brie tried another, and this time the drink was smoother, though still fiery going down her throat.

"Brie, may I ask you something?"

"Of course."

Collun took the skin bag and swallowed some neno. He cleared his throat. "Do you journey to face the man Balor so that you may complete your revenge?"

Brie was silent. She gazed down at her hands. The silence grew long.

"Brie," Collun commanded.

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze directly. "No."

Collun searched her face

"In the bog..." She halted a moment, then went on. "Well, after the bog I realized it was gone—the hatred—all of it had drained away, like pus from a wound, as if the bog itself swallowed it."

"Then why?" Collun asked simply.

"Why do I journey with the Dungalan army? I have told myself it is^ because Eirren is in as much danger from Balor as Dungal. But it is not enough. Perhaps it is the arrow that has ensorcelled me or whatever you call it..." She smiled. "Or because of my great-grandmother ... It was she who gave my mother the arrow to give to me. Perhaps I am doing Seila's will. I only know it is something I must do."

At dawn, before the scouting party was to depart, Brie went to find Sago. He was sitting peacefully by the river's edge. She was pleased to see a faint color in the sorcerer's cheeks. When he had first ridden up on his fat pony, he had looked more of death than of life, like a horse that had been ridden too long by too harsh a master.

Sago had made a rough fishing pole out of a length of rope attached to a stick. He had caught nothing with his makeshift pole, but there was peace in his face. And, for once, he did not burst into rhyme when Brie sat beside him.

"Look what I found today," he said, setting down his pole. Out of his amhantar he pulled a buckleberry nut, which gleamed a warm brown in his palm. Then he held out his other hand, and nestled in that palm was the moon shell.

"Not so very different after all," he said, tracing the whorls on the surface of each with his finger.

"No," Brie agreed.

"I have missed much," Sago spoke pensively, "being so much of the sea. Now I see why Yldir chose to live out his life in the bog. Oh, yes, I am enjoying this." He gestured at the trees, the river, the grass.

"I am glad, Sago," Brie responded, then added, "I take a scouting party north, but will return soon."

"And then it is off to battle-o, with a hey ho and a nonny nonny no!" He gave her a wink, then picked up his fishing stick and expertly cast the line.

Brie smiled and left him by the river.

The scouting party departed soon after and traveled through the day, moving stealthily and keeping watch for any sign of gabha patrols. They stopped late at night for rest and food, though they did not light a campfire. The others slept, but Brie was restless.

She had been avoiding the fire arrow for the past several days. She did not know if it was her imagination, but lately when she touched the arrow, the fire in her veins raged stronger and her eyesight blurred. And the effects seemed to linger longer. It made her feel more than ever as if the arrow was taking hold of her.

But tonight the urge to hold it was strong. She picked up her quiver and moved away from the campsite. The surface of the arrow was warm, hot even, the heat pulsing against her skin and traveling up her arm. She shut her eyelids against the heat.

Goat-men, a hundred of them, maybe more, marching through the mountains: the Mountains of Marwol, between Scath and Dungal. And just beyond the mountain pass they approached was the descent into Dungal, the sea glittering beyond. On the edge of the white shoreline lay a lovely sparkling jewel of a fortress. Sedd Wydyr. The crystal castle. Just beyond the bluff on which the fortress stood stretched the line of rocks that looked like a sea serpent.

To the north and the east of the castle was arrayed an army of goat-men, perhaps three times the size of the reinforcements marching toward them.

The pictures faded and Brie slumped against a tree, resting her flaming cheek against the rough bark.

So much for scouting parties, Brie thought dully, the fire still thrumming along her veins. She tried opening her eyes, but as had happened before, her vision was blurred. Breathing deeply, she blindly guided the now-cool fire arrow back into her quiver.

Balor has laid his plans nicely, Brie thought: sending sumog and the dry wind to break the back of the Dungalans' livelihood; then a murderous assault on the royal dun to remove the country's leaders; and finally a large army of killers to overrun the country. What kind of fight would there be left in the people of Dungal after a harsh winter and a summer of starvation and fear, especially with no ruler to rally them? Balor's army would sweep through Dungal like a deadly plague, picking off villages one by one.

And what have we to counter it, she thought, but this tiny patchwork army? It was like constructing a fence of straws to stop a rampaging herd of bulls.

Suddenly she saw him. Balor was seated at a table in a room high up in his crystal castle, looking out over the sea and drinking a liquid the color of rubies from a frosted goblet.

There was a knock, and Balor serenely lowered his glass, welcoming into the room a large goat-man with matted white hair and bulging eyes. The goat-man's face had more of man in it than the other gabha Brie had- seen, but he had grotesque corkscrew horns spiraling out of his forehead.

Balor led the goat-man, whom he called Cernu, to a white marble table covered with a map of Dungal. With his finger, Balor traced a route through Dungal. The goat-man listened intently, nodding several times. They spoke for several more minutes, then the goat-man left the room, carrying the map.

Balor strode to the window. Gazing out at the sea, he smiled and lifted the glass to his lips. But suddenly his eyes narrowed and his movement was arrested. He turned his head and seemed to look directly at Brie, an intent, listening expression on his handsome face. He reached up and lifted the eye-patch from his white eye. Brie's breath stopped. Had he seen her? She did not know how these seeings or visions worked. Was it like a mirror that suddenly became a window? Because she saw him, could he now see her? She reached out her hands as if to somehow close the shutters of the window between them.

Balor shook his head with a puzzled frown, replaced his eye-patch, and turned to look back out the window of his crystal castle. Once again he raised the glass to his lips. Then the picture was gone.

In a haze Brie realized the picture had come without her holding the arrow, like the time in the tower when she had seen Collun. Only this picture had been clearer; this time she had even been able to hear the voices, though she could make out only a word here and there. The draoicht the arrow had been kindling in her was strong now. But had Balor seen her?

"Brie?"

She blinked. She could not see.

Collun sat beside her. "What is wrong?"

"The arrow. It, um, does something to my eyes..." She trailed off, then said loudly, "I saw them, Collun. Hundreds of them, goat-men at Sedd Wydyr. And more soon to come, through a mountain pass. We have three days, at most, before they reach Balor's stronghold. And when they do, his army will begin its march."