The Prize in the Game (5 page)

Ferdia would have shrugged, but he knew what shrugging did when you were holding chariot reins. "I don't know," he said, too quietly for Laig and Darag to hear. He didn't want to talk.

He wanted to think about what he was going to do when they did find something. He'd been thinking about that all afternoon. He almost had it clear, but it made such a difference what they found that it wasn't easy to make a plan. Darag would be all right. Darag was always all right.

Anyway, it was easy to make a kill from a chariot if you had a charioteer. It was a different matter if you didn't. He'd either have to stop and get down or be extraordinarily lucky.

He'd have to be lucky to kill something on foot, too. Or maybe he would see something, stop, draw the spear, aim and throw. If only the horses didn't move just as he was throwing and draw off his aim. If he didn't kill something he wouldn't be a man. He wouldn't be a boy either, since he had taken up arms. He didn't know what he would be.

"We should have gone after the hares," Laig said.

"Don't be a fool," Darag said roughly. Ferdia glanced over. Above the dust of the chariot wheels, Darag was standing without holding on, the way they'd been practicing. His hair was clubbed together on his neck, the rings set in his leather armor were shining in the sun. He had his spear drawn back ready, as if he was expecting to sight a quarry at any moment. He looked like a hero in a song, like Young Lew going to fight at the Plain of the Towers. But there was still nothing to fight. The countryside rolled here, with green fields spread out on either side of the track and the young corn green and growing. Ferdia hadn't seen so much as the tail of any animal but those hares since they had left Ardmachan, and they must be almost to the borders of Connat.

Ferdia sighed and turned his eyes back to the space between his horses where they ought to be.

You had to pay attention all the time to drive a chariot, it wasn't anything like a cart. Even going slowly was fast enough to tangle the traces and bring the horses to their knees, and maybe lame them or worse. Ferdia had gone off over his head a few times before getting the hang of it, and once Finca ap Inis had called him a clumsy oaf and said he'd have killed his left horse for sure if she hadn't been there to catch them. He had a good pair today; he doubted that King Conary had a better pair in his stables, except for his own, which Laig was driving. He had given Darag his own pair and his own chariot. It was an incredible sign of favor. He had been very kind to Ferdia, too. These were very good. They were better than any he had ever driven in practice. They were both six-year-olds, used to working together, one bay and one dun, each with the sprinkling of white hairs on their muzzles that mark a hardy horse. They had been going steadily all afternoon without complaint.

If he did not kill today he could not blame them. Nor could his father blame King Conary for sending him out badly equipped. He had even refused the king's offer of an experienced charioteer.

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"A hare would make a useless trophy to show in the hall," Darag said. "Don't be afraid, Laig, we'll find something better. A stag. Or a wolf. Or a boar. Or even a bear. A bear would be best of all."

Darag was always so sure about everything. Ferdia, who was never sure, who always stopped and thought things through two or three times, found Darag's certainty compelling. "I'm not afraid," Laig said. "A bear each would suit me." Ferdia had been on a bear hunt once with his father, and all the champions of Lagin. He would have been worried by Laig's overconfidence if this was anything like bear country.

"My kill would count for yours as well, you're my charioteer," Darag said. "If we found a big bear and all three of us killed it together that would count for all three."

"But there aren't any bears in the southern part of Oriel," Laig said. "And we're coming around in a loop and this road leads back to Ard-machan."

"It does?" Ferdia asked, startled. Sometimes Ferdia wished he'd never left Lagin where he knew every stone and tree and, even better, felt that they knew him. All the same, he should have been able to tell by the shadows if he was paying attention. The next moon would mark the Feast of Bel. That meant by the shadows that there were three more hours of daylight and they were indeed heading back northeast.

"I forgot you wouldn't know," Darag said. "Sometimes it seems as if you've always been here, not just since midwinter." That offhand comment made Ferdia feel welcome all through. "The road does lead back to the dun. I didn't want to exhaust the horses. But don't worry, it goes back through the woods. There are always animals there, it's where people go to hunt."

"So why didn't we go there first?" Laig asked.

"Do you need a charioteer?" Darag asked.

Ferdia glanced at Darag again. He was actually leaning towards him. "Do you want to kill yourself?" he asked, getting his eyes back where they belonged. He could see the trees up ahead. He looked forward to the shade. He hoped the woods would be teeming with wildlife.

Even a hare, even a squirrel, would be better than going back with nothing.

Darag laughed a little uneasily. "Not even when I am ready to throttle Laig," he said. "I am no charioteer. We should have brought Nid."

"I would have, though nobody drives you but me," Laig said. "She'd have been glad enough to drive Ferdia.

But she was playing fidchell, and there was no getting her away from Leary. He would have wanted to know and wanted to come. He's going to be spitting furious when he finds out."

"Not half as furious as Conal's going to be," Ferdia said, laughing.

Going to the king and asking to take up arms on the fortunate day had been Darag's idea. It had taken Ferdia to see the advantage of not telling the others. It wasn't just that they would be men and great warriors and the others would not. That would be churlish, for a great warrior wants other great warriors around him. The real advantage was to Darag, for it would put him clearly ahead of his cousins in the rivalry for Oriel. King Conary's children were dead, it was very likely that one of his nephews would be chosen to be king after him. Darag just seemed to assume it would be him, but Ferdia knew that sometimes things didn't work out like that.

Darag was the best champion, but Leary was tough and Conal was clever, and anything that would give

Darag an advantage when it came to choosing was a good thing.

Ferdia meant to do everything he could to see that when he was king of Lagin, Darag would be king of Oriel, so they would still be equals. It would be ridiculous for Darag to be set below him or have to be polite to him.

They would both be kings and both be friends and Lagin and Oriel would never go to war. They would always fight together against Muin and Connat and Anlar and the Islesmdashespecially
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Anlar, whose king Lew ap

Ross was a boring old windbag.

"What's that?" Laig asked, drawing his pair to a halt. Ferdia had been so far off in his thoughts that he was surprised to find they were deep under the shade of the trees. He hadn't heard anything, but he was glad of a moment's rest. He halted beside his friends and spat, clearing his mouth of the dust of the road. He took a mouthful of water from the skin at his belt and put it back to stop himself from taking as much as he wanted and draining the skin.

"Could it be deer?" Darag asked.

Ferdia listened for a moment. "Sounds a lot more like horses to me," he said.

"Better let whoever it is pass, then," Laig said, drawing his chariot over to the side.

Darag put his head on one side as if he were listening, too. "No, let's go and find them," he said.

Ferdia twitched the traces and the horses responded at once with a surge forward. A moment later, the other chariot came up beside him. They went forward along the track through the woods. The trees along the right side of the path were a line of planted alders, so although he had never been here before, Ferdia wasn't at all surprised when the woods widened out ahead and there was a mere on his right, full of reeds and rushes.

What did surprise him was the sight of two other chariots, drawn up facing the water. The nearest held Nid, driving Leary, and the other was little Emer of Connat, driving Conal. Ferdia could hardly take it in that they were there at all.

"Ah, greetings cousin," Conal said, bowing in his typical sardonic way. "Have you made a kill yet?" His eyes ran over their empty chariots. "No? What a pity." Emer laughed. Ferdia scowled.

"I wondered if you might make it after all," Darag said in perfect good humor. "No, we have seen nothing all day. How about you?"

"We have only been out an hour, and naturally we used our wits and made straight for the woods as the most likely source of game," Conal said. "But we have seen nothing yet worthy of our spears."

He was also holding his spear. He didn't look as good as Darag, but only because his chariot wasn't moving.

Conal had the sort of smooth good looks that made Ferdia want to break his nose.

"Why are you stopped here?" Ferdia asked.

"We were looking what birds are on the water," Nid said.

Ferdia looked at the water. Moorhens and a handful of ducks. He enjoyed eating duck as much as anyone, but it wasn't game for a warrior; ducks were caught with nets. Anyway, they couldn't be killed now, unless someone was likely to starve to death otherwise. It was late spring; they might be nesting.

"There's nothing," Laig said after a moment.

"We were just looking," Leary said gruffly.

"Well, since we have met, cousin, should we hunt together or separately?" Conal asked.

Ferdia longed to answer that they should separate, but he looked to Darag for a response. As he turned, he

saw them, gasped and pointed. Darag immediately turned to see, spear ready. A flight of six swans was coming down towards the mere, dark against the sky. Swans were warriors' game if speared from the sky.

They might not be as good as a bear, but they were a lot better than a squirrel.

His spear was in the charioteer's slot beside him. With the chariot stopped and facing towards them it was much easier than it would have been. He drew the spear, chose a swan, aimed and threw. He knew almost at once that he had missed. But even as he realized, he saw that Darag had hit. He saw another spear miss and plunge into the water. He was surprised Conal or Leary had even tried, from that angle it would be quite impossible. Darag's spear struck the
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swan cleanly, as cleanly as any such hit Ferdia had ever seen, and it fell straight down, into the water. The other swans landed, swishing in one by one and settling to sit serenely on the surface.

They turned and honked angrily. Ferdia wondered if they knew they were safe on the water.

"I hit it!" Darag said. "Bad luck, Ferdia. You were very close."

"You didn't have anyone to hold your chariot still," Laig said.

"There'll be another chance," Ferdia said, furious with himself. "Will you hold my traces while I get my spear?" He handed the traces to Laig and stumped off toward his spear. He could see it clearly against some fallen leaves already half returned to loam. It was a good cast, though that was no consolation as he hadn't hit; all it meant was farther to go to get it back. The ground was very muddy. He wiped the spear on some moss as he retrieved it.

When he got back, Darag and Leary and Conal had all got down and were looking at the floating body of

Darag's swan, a tall man's length from the edge of the water.

"My spear is sunk forever," Conal said with a wry smile. "If we didn't need the swan for you to show, I'd suggest leaving it."

"My mother keeps dogs to bring back game," Emer said, staring out over the water.

"So do we. We just didn't think to bring any," Leary said.

"I'll fetch it back," Laig offered. "It's part of my job. I was only waiting for Ferdia. Here, have your reins back."

Ferdia was in no hurry to take up the reins again. He ignored Laig. "I might be able to reach it with my spear,"

he said. He took a couple of careful steps into the water and reached with his spear, hoping to hook the swan and have it drift towards them. The live swans were moving away elegantly.

The dead one was a revolting object, all its grace gone. He could almost reach it. The surface beneath his boots was made up of slippery mud and the roots of reeds and trees.

"You'll get very dirty if you fall in," Conal said in his mocking way. Ferdia took another step, less carefully, and slipped. He went down on one knee and instinctively put his left hand down to save himself. The bottom squirmed away under his hand. His right hand, holding the spear, reached the swan and poked it farther away. His breeches were soaked. Beyond caring now, he pulled himself to his feet and waded out towards the swan. The water was thigh deep. One of the live swans glided towards him, hissing ominously. He wondered if it was the mate of the one Darag had killed. He knew it was wrong to spear a bird on the water, but did that apply to self-defense? The swan's beak looked quite threatening. Fer-dia made a warding gesture with his spear, hoping to scare it off. At the same moment he grabbed the dead swan with his left hand and took a step back towards shore. Then another swan got inside his guard and made a determined strike at

Ferdia's right knee, hard, and he went down again, going right under the water this time, dropping the dead swan and almost losing his spear. He pulled himself half up and used the spear like a quar-terstaff to push the swans away.

He could hear Conal laughing, and some of the others as well.

"Hold on Ferdia, I'm coming," Darag called from the shore.

"I'm all right," he said, though he wasn't. He heard Darag splashing into the water. He attempted to stand up straight. His armor was heavy and his knee hurt where the swan had hit him. The water was all churned up with mud and he couldn't see the bottom at all now. There were big bubbles breaking all around him. At least he'd made the swans back off a little, though they weren't far away. He made another grab for the dead swan just as everything exploded.