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-’
‘Ah, excuse me. Remember me, Prince of Duir?’
‘Oh yes, Your Highness. I will teach you as well,’ Spideog said. ‘You obviously need some combat training. Take today for instance. You were standing in an armoury with all manner of weapons and shields and when you came under attack from an arrow, you chose a stick. Who in The Land taught you defence?’
‘My father and Master Dahy,’ I announced defensively.
‘Dahy, of course – sticks and elbows. I’m surprised any of you are still alive.’
‘Now hold on a minute,’ I said, straightening up. ‘I’ll not have you badmouthing Master Dahy. Why, I ought to-’
‘Easy, Conor,’ Brendan said, coming between us. ‘You don’t want to take a swing at him, I tried that, it doesn’t work. Anyway didn’t we come in here for a reason?’
‘Yes,’ I said, giving Spideog one last dirty look. ‘Mom said the Sword of Duir is here.’
‘It is, my lord,’ the green man replied. ‘The Lawnmower is right over there.’
‘The Lawnmower. Your father had it renamed when he returned it to the armoury.’
Sure enough there she was, in the middle of the weapon racks in a gold-flecked clear crystal case – the family blade. At the base was a silver plaque that read, ‘Lawnmower – the Sword of Duir’. I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Lawnmower?’ Brendan asked, confused.
‘It’s a long story.’
‘If I may ask, my lord, what is a lawnmower?’
‘What did my father tell you?’
‘Lord Oisin and I do not… eh… chat.’
‘I can’t imagine why not,’ I said sarcastically, ‘but to answer your question, it’s a machine used to keep grass short.’
‘What is wrong with sheep?’
Spideog removed an acorn-shaped gold medallion from around his neck and slid it into a slot at the base of the display. The gold embedded in the glass glowed, a seam appeared in the front panel and then it opened on invisible hinges like tiny church doors. I reached in and grabbed the Sword of Duir. It always surprises me how light and contoured to my hand the Lawnmower is. It felt like an extension of my arm. I once let Araf hold it and was amazed when he complained how uncomfortable the handle was. I mentioned what he said to Dad and he said, ‘It’s a Duir thing – the blade knows a Child of Oak.’
‘OK, now that we are all pals,’ Brendan said, ‘how come you attacked me when I reached for the bow?’
‘I did not attack you,’ Spideog corrected, ‘if I had attacked you, you would be dead. I merely stopped you.’
‘OK, why did you stop me then?’
‘He stopped you, Brendan,’ I answered, ‘because that bow is not yours.’
‘I wasn’t gonna steal it.’
‘Yew wood is special around here,’ I said. ‘Only a master archer can use a yew bow and if you want one you have to get the wood yourself. Only a person who has been deemed worthy by the tree can use that bow.’
‘Deemed worthy by a tree?’
