Tylywoch ~ 26

Tylywoch ~ 26  The Search & Some History 

 By Len Morgan

His eyes opened, with a start, clouds obscured the sun.   A solitary Tylywoch (crow) sounded its presence.   It was much later in the day! He'd planned to be on the opposite slope of this stark hillside before nightfall.   He resigned himself now to spending a second night in the foothills.   What happened?   Had he fallen asleep he wondered, aware of the persistent caw above him, he gazed up.   As his eyes fixed on the source of his sudden awakening his vision blurred, he was looking down on himself as if seeing through the eyes of the bird.

Off to his left, he saw two figures closing on his position under cover of rock spurs and scrub.   To his right he spotted two more, under cover, waiting.   Behind him the sheer face fifteen feet high and the cave mouth.   Facing him was a narrow gully bordered with loose boulders and jagged spurs jutting up like rotten teeth.   The figures were stalking him; he blinked and found himself back on solid ground.   If he acted quickly, he would be out of sight of both groups.   He darted across the narrow hunter's track into the gully heading for the tallest outcrop.   He turned to look back, glimpsing a darting figure disappear behind one of the many boulders.   He realised too late, it was a blind gully he continued along it as far as he could in the hope of finding a defensible position.   One moment his path was clear the next it was blocked by a young woman dressed in soft tanned leather; mountain clothes.   He walked directly towards her, but she wasn't phased, she did not step aside.   Instead, she drew a sword from a shoulder scabbard.    She was slight but well balanced, juggling the blade adeptly from hand to hand, displaying a confidence and familiarity with the weapon that made him instantly wary.   Turning away from her he saw two young men, also clad in leather, barring his retreat back along the gully.   He hadn't heard them and was visibly surprised and irritated by their close proximity.   They smiled in obvious amusement.   Each held a long bow, levelled at his chest, their bowstrings were slackened but he had the impression they could lose a shaft much faster than he could cover the intervening ten yards.

His eyes narrowed.   He was angry with himself, for not being alert, he shouldn't have allowed it to happen.   He sensibly turned his anger on them for stalking him with such disregard.   He slowly drew his dark blade and backed towards the nearest spur of rock to protect his rear.   He smiled without mirth and stood waiting for the inevitable attack.   Though three to one were formidable odds, he thought immortality would surely tip the odds in his favour. 

"I hope I will not have to kill you all to teach you the error of this action," they looked at each other and smiled, "you're young and potentially have long lives ahead of you, look the other way whilst I continue my journey in peace."   They smiled in amusement but didn't reply.   "I have not yet killed, and I don't particularly want to start now…" 

"Shut up!" said the young woman "You're burbling…   If we'd wanted you dead, we'd be burying you now not talking."

A fourth man appeared from behind a rock, "Jax, isn't it?   Master swordsmith late of Hartwell?"   He drew his sword. "If you can make blades half as fine as does Terrek, we have sore need of your services." 

Jax smiled as he viewed the sword in the hand of the man who knew so much about him.   "If your measure is the blade you are holding, it was made by me." He replied, "the pommel design is uniquely mine.   How many swords do you require?"

"Thousands!" was the reply.

Jax laughed, "It would take me fifteen years to produce that many even if I had the inclination, which I don't…"

"Terrek said you're a fair swordsman, and that you might be difficult, we do not wish to fight.  We would hate to cause you injury, but the West needs your help and if that is what is needed to persuade you then so be it..." He said pointedly with a shrug and an easy smile. 

"So what is the big emergency?" 

"The Bluttland forces is massing at Tain point on the far shore of the Stalbech.   They plan to take advantage of the political unrest they have stirred up in the Cheilin Empire; now verging on civil war.   They intend to strike out across the water and establish a bridgehead from which to launch an offensive into the heart of the empire.   The Clans will defend their home territories but will not release troops to defend the crossing point.   That job falls by default to the 13^th Clan; the Tylywoch.   It has for many years been our policy to train all non-Clan peoples to use weapons.   We have the manpower but only one in three can be armed from our existing store of weapons.   All smiths in the empire are being coerced into forging swords, amongst them Terrek, who suggested that you may have ideas to speed up the production.   Are you his son?" 

"Why do you ask?"

"You both have the same characteristics, blue eyes and pale hair." 

"Yes we are related, and yes assuming you speak true, I know of a place. Somebody who could produce blanks, that we can finish in a fraction of the time, but the price…" 

"Finance you can leave to us, we only require your skill." 

"And, how would they be transported?  But that is not my problem, I am on my way to the Eternal City…" 

"You would be well advised to postpone your trip at this time, can it not wait until the Empire is safe, we urgently need your services, and we will pay handsomely…"

"It is not a question of money." 

"Ah!  An affair of the heart perhaps?" said the young woman with a knowing smile that irritated him, because she'd gone straight for the heart. 

"How long do we have?" asked Jax ignoring the question and the ensuing smiles.

"Approximately two weeks, mayhap a month at most…"

"A month?   You jest with me, it's not nearly enough time, and where will they need to be delivered?" 

"They are needed at fort Stokk thirty miles North East of the 4^th Clan border in the East.   It's a hundred miles from their proposed landing sites, if the Blutt try taking Stokk they will be overextended and we will crush them.   Yet it's within two days forced march." 

"Why not simply prevent their landing?" Jax asked.

"Oh believe me we will try, but there are over three hundred miles of wild coastline to be defended along the Stalbech.   The terrain is difficult to traverse rapidly or defend in depth with the forces at our disposal.   They have priests and priestesses able to communicate over long distances.   If a beachhead is established, they will all be heading in that direction, in minutes, to consolidate the position.  We are so unprepared, and we will be outnumbered ten to one.   Possibly, with hostile Clans at our backs."

"Who!" asked Jax incredulously.

"Certainly the 9^th Clan, and possibly others they may have turned.  It will depend on the depth of infiltration that has taken place.   If we pull forces from key positions to throw them back, other areas will be left unguarded.   So, eventually, we will have to concede..."

"You may as well surrender now with that attitude," his anger evident, "do you think I'm going to labour long and hard to produce superior weapons to hand over to our enemies?    You might as well surrender now and save me the effort, honestly what is the point?" he shook his head turning away in exasperation.

"Believe me we will not surrender or retreat one step, they will have to kill us all.   I'm just presenting you with the reality of our situation.   We need a miracle!   But of course, you can't help us, you're too busy chasing after a pretty young woman eh?" 

"One miracle coming up," he said under his breath.   

.-...-.

Jax closed his eyes and pictured Terrek's forge. 

"I see you have made a start brother," he spoke to Terrek, mind to mind. 

"It seems we have a dilemma which cannot be resolved without the aid of Orden." Terrek thought.

"Can we reach him?" Jax asked.

"You already have."  Orden joined the conversation.

"If you can supply us with blanks, we can finish them.   But, we will need others to furnish them.   Also, carriers to transport and deliver your blanks to Hartwell and the finished swords to Stokk" Jax continued. 

"There are people in Hartwell who can fit guards and grips, transport is a job for the Tylywoch," Aldor joined the conversation. 

"Aldor?"

"You have spoken with Aldor before?" Orden asked.

"No," Jax replied.   "I've heard the name somewhere." 

"Yes," thought Aldor.  Jax may well be here today thanks to prompt action taken by Tylywoch on a lonely mountain track near to Sudoren, the place he calls home.  

.-...-.

   Sixteen years ago, we found a young woman in an advanced state of pregnancy who had been viciously beaten, raped, and left for dead.   She was taken to the Inn at Sudoren by two warriors whilst Malik and I followed her attackers.   We made contact, as I recall, late mid-morning on the second day of our pursuit.   There were a dozen of them, and they were not common criminals.   A fact we had suspected since we first saw the tracks left by their horses.   If they rode at all, common criminals would ride hardy mountain ponies short stocky and unshod.   These men rode thoroughbred horses with long stride patterns and steel-shod hooves, 'not common mounts for use in the mountains' said Aldor.   They were liveried professional soldiers, with due respect, so we followed them until nightfall when they made camp.   They had been disguised, now they threw off their nondescript civilian clothing.   We watched a man, who having checked the path for pursuit, entered the camp and stripped off his over shirt, adding it to the blazing fire.

"That’s Kurdik royal house livery." Whispered Malik.  "Obviously there has been a cull in one of their Royal houses.   A leader has died, and the firstborn has decided to rid himself of his rivals, he is killing his father's wives and children to ensure his clean succession to the throne.   Are we to let them get away with this?" 

Aldor smiled inwardly, Malik never minced words he was fiery and passionate about upholding the law.   His view was that, if you allow one transgression to pass, even from outside the Empire, the floodgates would open.  The Kurdik guards were obviously contemptuous of local law and customs, and completely unconcerned with possible pursuit, or they would have kept going at full speed until they were across the border. 

The Tylywoch way is not to simply rush in hot-blooded, but to employ stealth and minimise the potential risk to themselves.   They did not glorify killing or consider it a way of life, it was at times simply a necessity.   They therefore refused to recognise or subscribe to any rules of chivalry governing the conduct of conflict…   At the end of the day, dead is dead!   All they concern themselves with is accomplishing their goal! 

The sensible path was simply to slit their throats whilst they slept, but where was the gain in that?  Neither the wrongdoers nor their masters would learn anything from it.   Two hours before dawn they silenced the three guards.   Then, moved swiftly through the camp decapitating every other warrior, and placing his head between his legs.   Seven died.  The four remaining, would have bad dreams for the rest of their lives.   The notes written in Kurdik and pinned to the survivors' chests read:

Cheilin justice is swift, for criminals, and those who pay them.   Tell your master to check under his bed in future, before falling asleep, or he may never wake up!

On their return to Sudoren, they entered the common room at the inn, in silence, and the occupants knew by their demeanour that justice had been done. 

.-...-.

"How fares the woman?" Aldor enquired.

The inn-keep shook his head. 

Aldor slumped into one of the many trestle benches, his elbows on his knees, allowing his head to fall into his hands as he contemplated the spotless scrubbed board floor. 

"There were a dozen after that one defenceless woman, we allowed four to go free as a warning to their master, not to use Cheilin as their personal killing ground."

The inn-keep nodded without reply.   Somewhere in the inn complex a baby cried.   

"At least the child survived," Aldor observed. 

"My wife has organised his feeding, she is quite taken with him, she named him Jax..." 

" A fine name," said Aldor "Mistress Karpe is a good woman.   Does she plan to keep him?" 

The inn-keep nodded again. 

"I thought as much.   Do the people of Sudoren know how to keep a secret?"

"Not all know when to be silent if that's what you mean?" 

"Under the circumstances, it would be expedient to invent a different scenario to explain his acquisition," Aldor said pointedly. 

"Why!   He was abandoned, left on the kitchen stoop." The inn-keep said grinning mischievously. 

.-...-.

They were introduced and exchanged news, Aldor quickly explained to Jax how the Tylywoch and the quads worked.   "The group you are currently with are 'Fire quad' led by Bran the controller, Galein the young woman is a healer, whilst Uvlan and Plavin are warriors."

  "She didn't look as if she was planning to heal me!" said Jax ruefully, "quite the reverse." He smiled inwardly. 

                                              .-...-.

"Are you OK?" she enquired in a concerned voice. 

"Thank you yes Galein.   How long was I absent?" He asked.

"You mumbled something about needing a miracle, then you went stiff for about a minute, how did you know my name?" 

"Aldor.   You are Fire quad Bran, Galein, Uvlan, & Plavin." 

"He's Uvlan, I'm Plavin (the handsome one)," said the shorter warrior completely unfazed. 

"Well let's get back to Hartwell, Others will soon be arriving, some with wagons, to transport non-existent weapons, and others to furnish blades when Terrek and I have finished them.  Others will be bringing us blanks, as we speak, look lively we only have weeks to get ready for the party."   He smiled and clapped Bran on the shoulder. 

"You heard the man, let’s get moving," Bran echoed. 

(To be continued)

                                                                                    Copyright Len Morgan