The Weapon

Llandred strolled across the back lawn, looking for Fen. She was often off and around by herself - a person could hide for as long as they liked in the tall grass and flowers around the back - but she hadn’t come down for breakfast, and that wasn’t like her.

He frowned at the trees. "I am Dorin of Erinthrain," he insisted. The trees ignored him. He rubbed the coin in his pocket, warm and bumpy around the edge. So far it was not proving to be a very effective weapon, but he kept it by him anyway.

He scrambled up a tree, hardly bothering to use his hands until he was almost at the top, and scanned the long grass, looking for the patches of green or brown that sometimes betrayed Fen's presence depending on what sort of mood she was in. There was nothing to be seen.

The ruin of the Caer Llandrel loomed behind him. Mother was up there in the top room, gazing out. There had been a time when she had come down to play and have picnics, but now she spent all her days brooding. Some way off, the broken tower peeped out between the treetops. Maybe Fen was in there?

He scrambled down the tree, jumping the last few feet, sprinting through the long grass, setting the seedheads rattling and swaying.

The gold-flecked ship creaked in a wind that rushed down and ever down, over the fence and the brambles and the scrubby grass, over the rabbit holes and their drifts of crispy droppings. The ship strained towards the pit, its mooring lines were taut.

The hidden entrance to the tower became wood beneath his touch. The pit hummed nearby, but he paid no attention to it. He was Dorin of Erinthrain. He swung open the door and froze.

In the corner sat a girl, brushing her hair.

She was tall, for a girl. She wore a creamy linen underdress. A set of leather armour was folded on a chair nearby. A short bow rested across her knees. The hair, which was wet, was the colour of amber and honey. It rolled across her long neck as she turned towards him. Her eyes were deep and intelligent, Mercian brown-gold. Her legs, one folded over the other, were lean and strong.

He stood, open-mouthed, unsure for once what to say, whether to apologise or call for aid. In the end, he did neither. He reassembled his authority, stood tall, and opened his mouth to challenge her, but she spoke first.

"You’re Llandred," she said, Her voice was clear, not husky or sultry, just plain, unadorned. Beautiful, like her bow. "Fen told me about you."

She stood, and Llandred tried to ignore the outline of her as she straightened her back. "You must forgive me, I wasn’t expecting visitors."

"What are you doing here?"

The girl began pulling on her leather armour, trousers, top and finally boots. She wore no greaves or gauntlets. The fastenings were sensible, and she needed no help.

"Your sister took a walk in the woods. Did you know that? She had quite the adventure. I had to help her out a couple of times."

Llandred growled, deep in his throat. "That Mercian boy."

"A boy? No, there was no boy. She just wanted an adventure."

Llan felt the anger rising in him. "She's a little fool, she could have killed us all. Where is she now?"

"Inside your... castle. Getting changed. She doesn’t want anyone to know she’s been away. She says time is convenient here, so you probably didn't notice.".

Still, the girl stood there, entirely at ease, watching him.

"Look, I’m sorry about all this, but you’ll have to go," he said. "We can’t have people here. I'll have Gwynn make you up some food, and I’ll see you to the gate."

Still she stood, watching him with that disconcerting stare, like she was evaluating him. I am Dorin of Erinthrain, but suddenly he felt quite small and unsure of himself.

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"May I finish brushing my hair first?" She asked. "Before I go? It’s been weeks since I felt properly clean." She was holding her hairbrush lightly between her fingers next to her ear, her elbow bent, her little finger resting against her clavicle, one foot slightly in front of the other. There was a little curve in her smile.

He looked away, flustered, "Yes, yes, please do." What was wrong with him? Was he not Dorin of Erinthrain any more?"

She folded herself back into the corner seat, looking out the window, and resumed her long, careful strokes. The cool light fell across her forehead, the cheekbones, the little hollow above the lip, the strange expression with the little quirk of a smile at the corner. Llan watched her, noticing the way she gripped the hairbrush.

He felt a warmth in his inside pocket. It was the coin. He took it out and began playing with it, idly rolling it in his palm and flipping it, calling it back down to him each time.

"What’s that?" she asked, suddenly interested.

"Oh, this? It’s just a coin I found."

"May I have it?"

He frowned at her, then tucked the coin away down the front of his shirt again.

"No, you may not. I was told never to give it away."

For a moment, he thought he saw a flicker of true darkness in her expression, as though she might fly at him and bite him, but it was quickly hidden.

"You want the coin?"

"No, it's nothing. I was just interested."

But there it was again, the flicker of something else. He took the coin from his pocket. Her gold-brown eyes tracked it.

"Is this yours?" He asked.

She was watching his hand very closely. Intent. Her eyes were no longer wide and innocent. They were a cat's eyes, judging a pounce. Predator's eyes.

"I was told to expect a weapon," he said, carefully. "Did I get you?"

The girl smiled again, and all the darkness was gone, hidden as though it had never been there, so at once he doubted if he had ever seen it at all. The face was open, perfectly relaxed, but the eyes were still bright and he could see the sparkle of the mind working beneath.

"I can be a weapon," she said. "I can be lots of things."

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The monster watched the enormous shining creature move about the room. It was so tall it had had to stoop to fit through the door. It looked dangerous, if it tried to fight her, she wasn't sure how she would win. Get a knife in it maybe, then wait for it to bleed. Make a couple of good-sized holes, then try to stay out of its reach.

"Are you here to kill me?" said the Aden.

"No," whispered her heart.

"No," she said, but she didn't mean it.

"Smile," whispered her heart.

Stupid heart, she thought, though she was careful not to say it out loud. She kept her expression poised and neutral. She wasn't smiling for anyone.

"You're here to help him," whispered her heart.

"I'm here to help you," she said.

"How can you help me?" said the Aden.

She shrugged. "I can kill people."

"You can kill people?" He sounded like he didn't believe her. What was it with men not taking her seriously? Had she not proved herself over and over? There was a mousehole humming in the corner of the tower. It beckoned to her. She knew she shouldn't, but it looked safe enough. She gave him her most brilliant smile, grabbed her bow and a single arrow, then dove inside.

The darkness enfolded her. There was a brilliant high pitched sound like musical instruments working all together, a chiming bell, stretched and elongated, rising and forever rising. The mousehole was easy, long and straight, bending upward. She kicked against the resistance of it.

A minute later she was out, high up in the air. There was a rafter near her head. She grabbed at it, pulled her legs free, and got them wrapped around it, keeping her arms loose. The Aden was still on the floor, thirty feet below. She drew her arrow and called down to him.

"Hey you!"

He turned around, puzzled, hunting for her.

"Up here."

There was an old rickety chair, way down there. She pulled the string tight and sent the bodkin down into it. The chair exploded into pieces and the arrow thudded into the floor. She felt the tower tremble.

He jumped back. "How did you..?"

She couldn't be bothered to answer. It was a long way down and there were no handholds. She remembered Hal.

"Catch me now, please," she said, then let go.

A second later, she was in his arms. She felt his breath on her face, very close to hers. He was huge. He shone like starlight.

She flashed him another smile, couldn't hurt.

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Suddenly, the door crashed open, and Fen burst in, out of breath, dress half-buttoned with twigs in her hair. "Llan, I can explain. It was all my fault. Please don’t tell Mother. Oh."

Llan grinned at her, enjoying the funny new sensation that was starting in his chest around his heart. The girl had her arms around his neck. Her face was close to his. She felt very light.

"Welcome back, sister. I see you have brought a friend, but I don’t believe we have been formally introduced."

"Oh," said Fen again. "Why are you carrying her? Why is the chair broken?"

"She fell from the roof."

"Oh," Fen, still out of breath, spoke all at once. "Llan, this is Taliette. She’s been helping me. She’s a ranger, and there were trappers, and she fought them all, Llan. She saved me. I’d be burned alive if it wasn’t for her."

"Well then, it seems we owe Taliette a debt of gratitude. Perhaps we could repay her with hospitality for a while."

He let her down, and she slid out of his arms onto the ground. Her leather armour was cool and slippery.

"Oh, Llan, you mean it? She can stay? She won’t go much outside the tower, will you, Tal? We can have picnics here and we can show her the pit and the ship. It’ll be just like when Tam was here, except she’s a girl."

Llan ignored his sister and looked at Taliette. She stared right back, eyes half closed, fingertips resting on her thigh. Why should she not stay? He was Dorin of Erinthrain, after all. He could do what he liked.