The Traveller's Path

Chapter 5

Celyn lost himself to the fight, moving instinctively as he dodged his brother’s blade, striking when he could. They had done this so often, practicing together to hone their skills, that he could almost believe that the years had fallen away and that they were skirmishing again in front of their father’s men at their crenef in Gwynedd.

But instead of the good-natured jeers of an audience, he heard only the caws of the crows. The stings from Griffith’s blade where he had cut through Celyn’s defences were a reminder that this was no practice fight.

Celyn was a better fighter. He always had been. Griffith had stopped their practice fights when Celyn got old enough to beat him. Griffith relied on brute force; Celyn used his lighter size and quickness to his advantage.

And so it was no surprise to find himself in a position to take the killing blow. Griffith had swung with vicious strength at Celyn’s midsection and Celyn had swung around, his sword in a long arc. He could have taken his brother’s head off right there, but at the last second he checked himself, spinning away again as Griffith recovered and swung at him.

“Coward,” Griffith spat at him, blood flowing into his eyes from a gash in his temple. He panted heavily as he circled around, his blade rock-steady in his hands. “That was your chance.”

“Griffith,” Celyn managed, keeping his eyes steady on his brother. Griffith’s muscles gathered and Celyn skipped away from the feint, bringing his blade up to counter his brother’s blow. Their blades strained against each other, and for a moment they were almost nose to nose. “Stop this, I beg you. This is not—”

Griffith snarled and pushed back, and then advanced again, his eyes sparking with a crazed light. “Traitor. Coward.” A step punctuated each word.

Celyn gave up on speech. Whatever drove his brother was beyond reason. He parried Griffith’s blows, steeling himself against emotion. Griffith’s furious attack left room for nothing but the will to survive. He didn’t feel the pain of the blows. None were a killing strike. He shifted his weight as Griffith leapt forward and saw his moment. Saw his brother’s exposed side and swung his sword to cleave him.

But at that second, a crow erupted from the branch of the nearby tree and swooped at him, screeching, causing him to hunch and dodge in reaction. His blow connected, but his balance was off, and Griffith had his chance. Celyn’s sword dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers as Griffith’s strike hit his shoulder, even as his brother dropped to his knees, blood gushing from his side. With a vicious cry, he thrust at Celyn again with his last strength.

Celyn dodged, but the damnable bird flew at him again, obscuring his sight. White-hot pain erupted as Griffith’s sword struck home, piercing his gut, and Celyn fell to the ground. Dimly he was aware of Griffith falling over, too, and grief seized him. My brother...

But then he could think no more. He heard a crow cry as if from a distance. Regret pierced him for an instant before blackness smothered him with ebony wings.