Free Bridge of Swords by Duncan Lay

looks. ‘Well, we have some turnips out the back that the pigs eat. Or I could put some pease pudding in the pot. It’ll be ready soon,’ Vernin offered.
    ‘Whatever. Just give me some water and let me sit down,’ Sendatsu groaned.
    ‘Go sit by the fire — they’ll be out soon,’ Vernin said.
    Sendatsu staggered through the crowd of humans until he found an empty wooden stool — just a sawn-off chunk of trunk really — close to the fire but, best of all, away from the main crush of humans. His head was spinning and he breathed deeply — then wished he hadn’t. A young woman pushed her way through the crowd towards him, holding a plate and wooden cup. She was wearing a purple, sack-like dress, tied at the shoulders, while her dark hair was braided and hung over her shoulder.
    ‘Here you go. Fresh turnips and water,’ she said flatly.
    Sendatsu looked at the wooden platter. She had placed two raw turnips on it, still with mud crusted on them. He hoped it was mud, for it looked like one of the pigs had taken a bite out of it already.
    ‘Just the water, thank you,’ he said, taking a deep draught. This would settle his stomach.
    ‘Are you sure this is water?’ he spat a moment later.
    ‘Fresh out of the well. There was a frog in the bucket …’
    ‘A frog?’ he croaked.
    ‘You are a strange one. Would you rather eat the frog? I hear the Breconians like such things …’
    ‘I shall just sit here,’ Sendatsu said hastily.
    ‘Suit yourself.’ The young woman walked away, leaving Sendatsu to lean back against the wall and groan. He hoped the show would begin soon and he could find the answers he sought. The less time he spent here, in this mad human world, the better.

4
    How did I come to be chosen by my forefathers? Why was I chosen by my forefathers? These are questions I have pondered many times in the past few moons — and none more so than now. What did they see in me that was missing in others? Unfortunately it was my own fault that I came to be chosen. I could see the forefathers were distracted, unaware of much that was going on in these lands. After all, when you are an immortal, the everyday happenings of rice production, of mine tallies, seemed unimportant. I was the one who suggested we have a Council, one from each of the twelve clans, who could supervise and then report back to the forefathers, as necessary.
    They thought it a wonderful idea — and then made me head of this new Council. My old friend Naibun jokingly referred to me as the Elder Elf because of this. It was a jest — but strangely I found the name stuck. I had a title but their respect was something else.
     
    ‘Do I look ready?’ Rhiannon asked, twirling around.
    Huw could not think of words suitable enough. Back in Ward’s castle, the king’s dressmakers had laboured night and day to create new dresses for Rhiannon. Most had been both impractical to wear and impossible to pack, so he had grabbed a handful at random. Rhiannon had chosen this one, a glorious strip of green linen, which stretched only to her knees and was split in a dozenplaces along the hem, so she could dance freely — but every time she moved, it revealed more of her legs. She had used the powders and berry stains to accent her lips and cheeks and eyes, and Huw could only gaze in admiration. Once again he was torn. She was so beautiful and yet he knew she just thought of him as a friend. In the first few days after they left Cridianton, she had been in such a mess, he could have persuaded her to do anything. So he had done nothing. He had tricked her out of Cridianton, he would not trick her into bed. He would not try anything until he could tell her the truth — although skies above knew when that would be.
    The whole thing seemed almost like one of the sagas he would sing. If it had not happened to him, he would have barely believed it.
    He had left his home in Vales, travelled south to the court of King Ward in far-off Cridianton and persuaded