John Lenahan - Prince of Hazel and Oak

The arrow had tacked Brendan’s shirtsleeve to the wall, missing his skin by inches. I hit the ground, rolled to my left, upsetting a stand of bantas, and came up crouching with a stick in each hand. I poked my nose over the now-empty banta stick holder to see Brendan reaching to extract the arrow that stuck him to the wall. As his hand crossed his body another arrow pinned that sleeve as well. This time clothing wasn’t the only thing it pierced – he howled in pain.

‘I’m hit!’

I ducked back down and reviewed my situation. The only thing I deduced was that I was in trouble and Brendan was screwed. What did Dahy tell me? ‘When in doubt, stay still and listen.’ So I did, but I couldn’t hear anything except Brendan’s heavy breathing.

‘Brendan,’ I said in a loud whisper, ‘can you see anything?’

‘Straight back at the other end of the room I saw a flash of something green.’ He strained his neck for a better look. ‘Nothing now.’

‘Are you OK?’

‘I think so.’

‘Keep watching. I’m coming to get you.’

I peered around the corner of the weapons stand and was just about to make a dash for Brendan when I heard a footfall behind me. I whirled to see a hooded man in a bright green tunic and brown leather leggings. In one hand he held a bow and in the other an arrow. I instantly attacked with both sticks – one high and one low. Like he was reading my mind he twisted his body vertical and kicked his foot at my fingers where I was holding the low banta. The stick flew out of my hand. My other weapon he blocked with the string of his bow. No one had ever done that to me before. My stick sprang back so far I completely lost form. My whole left side was exposed and my opponent didn’t hesitate in exploiting that fact. I’m not quite sure what he did next but I think it was a swipe to the kidneys with the bow and a kick to the back of the legs with his foot, maybe both feet. Whatever – I went down like a hippo on ice.

After bouncing my forehead off the deck I came to a stop with the green goblin kneeling on the backs of my arms and something very pointy sticking into the rear of my neck. My left cheek was pressed against the floor. Out of the corner of my right eye I could just make out an open-mouthed Brendan trying to escape his feathered clothespins. The sharp pain in my neck stopped and an arrow sizzled through the air, planting itself about two inches from Brendan’s nose.

‘Do not move, Druid,’ greeny shouted.

Brendan may not have answered but he certainly obeyed.

The pain in my neck resumed, forcing me to the conclusion that he had a cocked arrow pointing at the back of my collar. Even though he didn’t tell me not to move, I decided that not moving was a good idea.

‘I’ve been waiting for you, Druid,’ the green guy said as he pushed the point of the arrow hard into my neck.

‘Hey, buddy,’ I said, ‘you got the wrong guys. We’re not Druids.’

‘Do not insult me. There are still people in The Land who can recognise a Fili and I am one of them.’

‘The Fili have been exonerated. Haven’t you heard?’

‘The ones who own those bows will never be exonerated,’ he said.

This guy definitely had the drop on me and I figured it was only a matter of time before he garrotted me so I made, what turned out to be, a futile attempt to buck him off my back. It only resulted in my head getting bounced off the floor one more time.

‘Relax, Druid. I do not wish to hurt you before the Lord of Duir has a chance to question you.’

Up till then I figured, like I always do when somebody attacks me out of the blue, that this was probably some sort of assassin hired by Cialtie. Now I realised that this idiot worked here.

‘The Lord of Duir is incapacitated. Does that mean you will now take commands from his prince?’

The pressure from the arrowhead slacked. ‘Yes.’

‘Then I, Conor of Duir, command you to – get your butt off of me!’

It’s amazing what a royal title can do in the right situation. Greeny hopped directly off me. I groaned erect as fast as my not-quite broken limbs would allow.

My attacker’s hood was back. I was a bit surprised to see wrinkles around the piercing green eyes. This guy had been around for longer than probably anyone I had yet met in The Land. He wore a waxed moustache and a meticulously trimmed goatee that pointed directly to the bow and arrow that he still had levelled at my chest.

‘Lower your weapon,’ I said, trying very hard to sound like my father.

‘Yes, my lord,’ he said as he released the tension on his bow.

‘Who are you and why have you attacked my royal personage?’

As I have mentioned before, I’m not a big fan of all the regal bowing and curtseying people do around the castle but after a guy kicks you in the back of the legs, the sight of him grovelling is very satisfying.

‘I am Spideog, Master-at-Arms of Castle Duir. I am sorry, Your Highness.’

Behind me I heard Brendan trying to extricate himself. Greeny pulled back his bowstring and fired another arrow that planted itself about an inch from the previous one. I think if this guy wanted to, he could shoot fleas off a dog at fifty paces.

‘Conor, tell him to stop doing that,’ Brendan shouted.

‘Hey, stop doing that,’ I said.

Spideog had already notched another arrow from the quiver on his back. ‘Instruct the Druid to leave the yew bows alone.’

‘OK, first of all, he’s not a Druid and secondly we didn’t know they were yew. Brendan!’ I yelled over my shoulder. ‘Don’t touch the bows.’

‘If he stops shooting at me I’ll put my hands in my pockets and not touch another thing all day. Now will somebody unpin me? I feel like a wanted poster.’

‘You heard the man,’ I said to Spideog still using my dad voice. ‘Put your weapon away and help him down.’

The arrows were embedded so far into the wood that ad to snap them to unpin the detective. Brendan rolled up his left sleeve and examined the cut that the second arrow had inflicted. It wasn’t much more than a bad scratch but that didn’t stop Brendan from being very mad.

‘Why you son of a-’ He took a swing at the archer’s nose.

Without any seemingly quick movements, Spideog casually brought up his left hand, connecting the back of his palm with the side of Brendan’s advancing fist, and pushed the punch off target. His hand sailed harmlessly past Spideog’s ear and Brendan stumbled forward. Confused at what had just happened but still just as mad, Brendan took another swing to precisely the same effect.

‘Lord Conor, instruct your companion to stop attacking me.’

‘Stop attacking him, Brendan.’

He didn’t listen. I once heard that the definition of insanity is when you do the same things over and over but expect different results. Well, Brendan did the same thing and he did get a different result. This time Spideog’s hand parry was accompanied by a kick that dropped Brendan about as quickly as I had been earlier. It ended with Spideog kneeling on Brendan’s back and holding his wrist in what looked like a very painful position. The archer gave me a pleading look.

‘Brendan, are you going to knock it off?’

‘Yes,’ he groaned into the floor.

Spideog let go. I was expecting Brendan to get up furious, instead he came up wide-eyed and said, ‘How did you do that?’

‘Simple,’ greeny said, bouncing on his toes, ‘your attack was sloppy and I – well – I am very good.’

Brendan rubbed his sore shoulder and amazingly smiled. ‘Can you teach me that?’

‘Why, I would be delighted. First stand with your feet in a stance just wider than your shoulders, then-’