The Wildcat of Braeton

by Claire M Banschbach

  “We’re doomed,” Kieran stated as he closed the door behind them.

  “Why? He seemed like he knew what he was doing,” Andras said.

  “Aye, but I think it’s my destiny tae be killed by a secretary,” Kieran said. “Come on, I’m starving!” He led the way to the kitchens where another surprise awaited.

  “Kieran,” the kitchen maid greeted him. “Oh, dear, I didn’t know there would be two of you,” she said as she saw Andras.

  “The Captain must have forgotten,” Kieran said. “But that’s all right. Jenny always gives me more than enough. We can easily stretch it tae two.”

  “I think there are still some leftovers from dinner too,” the maid said.

  They sat down a few minutes later to a varied meal. After the day’s riding, Andras found that he was hungry. Kieran unabashedly chatted with the serving girl while they ate in order to catch up on any gossip he missed while out on patrol.

  Andras listened as they threw names about. It seemed Kieran knew everyone in the castle. Andras didn’t know half the people they talked about but still found himself worked into the conversation.

  It was another hour before they left to return to the barracks. There, Andras was confronted by an angry Captain Pedr.

  “Andras! Just where do you think you have been?” he shouted.

  Any activity in the barracks halted. Andras began to answer but the captain cut him off. “Disappearing without a word and returning well after hours? What do you think you were doing exactly?”

  “Easy, Captain,” Kieran cut in smoothly. “Captain Corin sent him out on a run and must have forgotten tae tell you. I met up with Andras on my way in, and we’ve just been getting dinner.”

  Captain Pedr glared at Kieran who returned his gaze unperturbed.

  Captain Pedr cleared his throat. “Very well. Continue.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kieran said. “Oh, and speaking of not telling people, who is that wee devil in the Captain’s office?”

  Uproarious laughter greeted his question, and even Andras smiled.

  “So you’ve met Gerralt then?” Llewellyn asked.

  “That I have!” Kieran returned. “Near scared the life out of me. Andras could tell you.”

  “Aye, he’s been handing out threats all afternoon. Seems neither the Captain nor us have any idea of proper etiquette,” Llewellyn said.

  “Doesn’t surprise me,” Kieran said. “I saw the look in his eyes. He seemed about ready tae stab me with a quill pen, and this beautiful life would have come tae an untimely, and messy, end!”

  There was helpless laughter all around.

  “Seems a bit dramatic even for you, Kieran.” Dylan gasped for breath.

  “Och, what’s life without a little exaggeration?” Kieran asked with another laugh.

  “Get on with you!” Bran shook his head.

  Kieran bowed mockingly and turned to go. Andras stopped him.

  “Thanks,” was all he said.

  “Careful, Andras. People might think you care,” Kieran said with a merry grin and disappeared.

  * * *

  “You sure you’re not coming, sir?” Llewellyn asked.

  “Yes, and this is probably the worst decision of my life,” Corin replied. Llewellyn laughed. As Corin’s second-in-command in the patrol, he was leading the men back to the forest until Corin would be able to join them.

  “He’s quite a terror, that Gerralt,” Llewellyn said. “I thought he was going to take my head as a warning to all those who don’t knock.”

  “You should probably tell Martin before he gets here,” Corin commented.

  “Oh look, here he comes now,” Llewellyn said.

  Corin half turned to see Gerralt advancing with an irritated expression on his face.

  “Lleu give me strength! Get going before I change my mind.”

  Llewellyn laughed again and saluted as he wheeled his horse. The patrol clattered out of the courtyard and through the gate. Corin took one look at Gerralt and fervently wished he could go with them.

  It seemed like days later when Corin crossed the courtyard again that afternoon. He met Mera at the doors of the stables.

  “Everything all right?” he asked at her slightly confused expression.

  “Yes, I suppose. I was just convinced that I wanted to go for a ride,” she said.

  “Isn’t that odd?” Corin mused.

  “What?”

  “Well, I just happened to mention to a certain unnamed person that I was planning to do the same.” Corin shot a glance back at the castle.

  Mera clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my… she…that’s why…oh I’m so sorry!” she stammered.

  “Let’s just say that ‘subtle’ is not a trademark of the fates,” Corin commented wryly.

  Mera giggled. It seemed they both had a very clear idea of what was happening but neither seemed to mind too much.

  “Well, then, noble sir, shall we defy the fates and ride out despite this purely chance encounter?” she asked solemnly.

  “Your bravery astounds me, kind lady,” Corin replied, equally solemn. “That sounds like an excellent idea,” he added with a grin.

  They rode slowly along, talking and laughing as they got to know one another better. Mera and her brother were alike in many ways. But she was quieter and more reserved than her outgoing brother, and her gentleness offset his warrior spirit. The children in the castle loved her, often faking illnesses so that she would “treat” them. With an unfailing sense of humor she would play along with them, giving the “sick” or “injured” child a dose of medicine made mostly from sugar.

  “So, what’s your favorite part about being back here in the castle?” Mera asked.

  “My favorite part? Probably the food,” Corin said.

  Mera laughed. “The food?”

  “Aye, after years of not knowing when you’ll get your next meal or being faced with the threat of your brother’s cooking, it’s nice to know you can get a decent meal when you want,” Corin said.

  “I suppose that’s true,” Mera agreed. “Is Martin’s cooking really that bad?”

  “It’s almost legendary through the warband and not in a good way.”

  “What about you? Can you cook?”

  “I can put a meal together.”

  “You make that sound like a bad thing.” Mera raised her eyebrow.

  “Since I was in Calorin for so long, I got used to their food. I still use the spices. Just don’t tell any of the cooks. I’m sure I’d get in trouble.” Corin laughed.

  “Did it take a lot of getting used to? Being back here?”

  “I still am, a little,” he admitted.

  Karif came flying in to take his perch on Corin’s shoulder. Since Gerralt had taken up residence in the office, the hawk had vacated his usual place on the windowsill.

  Mera watched as Corin chided the hawk for this fact as if he were human. Karif simply chirped back at Corin and settled down on his shoulder. Corin seemed to accept this answer.

  “That’s as close to an apology as I’ll get,” he said.

  Mera laughed. “Does he usually do that?”

  “Not usually. Mostly he just looks smug.”

  “I didn’t know birds could look smug.”

  “Trust me. If you hang around long enough, you’ll see it.”

  Two days later, Corin bid farewell to a disapproving Gerralt and, accompanied by Will, left the castle to join his patrol.

  Chapter 13

  Aiden woke the next morning as the first rays of sunlight slipped in through the windows. Breakfast was subdued as the defenders cast glances at their champion. As Skive re-bandaged his shoulder, Aiden met with Jamey, Tam, and Blair.

  “We decided Tam and Blair will accompany you,” Jamey said. “Myself, Cai, and Rona will be waiting at the doors.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Aiden approved. After Skive finished, Aiden followed Tam and Blair upstairs.

  “If you’re fighting our battle, we’d better
make you look like a Champion,” Tam said.

  They entered the chamber where Aiden first met Laird Gòrdan. Aiden changed into fresh clothes; black pants and a short sleeved blue tunic. He laced up the sturdy boots that had served him in Calorin. The plated brigandine was too heavy for his shoulder so he donned the plain, thick leather tunic. After he buckled on his vambraces, Tam and Blair began to apply the war paint the Clans had worn into battle since before they arrived in Braeton.

  Three diagonal marks on his right cheek signified he was the third son of a Laird. An intricate spiral on his left denoted his role as Champion. One line went from his forehead down his nose and chin, and there were slanted marks around his eyes. Six bands were painted in the deep blue paint around his left arm. Three went above the wildcat tattoo and three below it.

  Blair painted the complex spirals and symbols on his right arm. On the back of his left hand, Tam marked the ancient rune for strength. Aiden dipped his finger into the paint and marked a letter in Calorin on his right hand. When asked what it was, he replied, “He was a friend of mine. It’s tae remind me that this time I can’nae fail.”

  To finish, Tam marked a four pointed star at the base of Aiden’s throat and traced over the same tattoo on his forearm. Aiden sharpened his remaining sword and buckled it over his right shoulder as Tam and Blair applied the woad to themselves. Aiden armed himself with his daggers as they finished. Tam drew the claymore that Aiden was to use, and Blair ran his finger, coated with woad, down the blood channel on both sides.

  Finally, everything was finished. Blair exited the room, leaving the brothers together.

  “You ready?” Tam asked.

  “As I’ll ever be,” Aiden replied. “Look, Tam, if everything goes wrong, you take charge after me.”

  “I’m praying nothing goes wrong,” Tam said. “Just remember what Diarmad said when he built this place: ‘In times of trouble, a champion shall rise up, and Scodra shall not fall.’”

  “I hope he was right.” Aiden pulled Tam into a hug. “It was good tae see you again, little brother.”

  Tam took a deep breath as they stepped apart and took up the claymore, carrying it as they left the room.

  It was almost noon. Tam and Aiden halted at the main doors. The defenders gathered behind them, quietly wishing him luck. Looking at them, Aiden realized he was frightened. Not for himself, but for what would happen to them if he were killed.

  Rona reached out to him. “Be careful, Aiden.”

  “Sure, it’s easier than it looks,” he replied with a smile as he squeezed her hand.

  Cai and Jamey swung the doors open and, flanked by Tam and Blair, Aiden descended the stairs out into the vast compound where Adalwulf and Torsten awaited, backed by their army.

  Aiden took the claymore from Tam.

  “Lleu help me,” he whispered and stepped forward to meet his enemy. Silence fell over the Durnians and Braetons as they began to circle each other.

  Torsten carried an axe in one hand and the other twirled a rope to which was attached a wicked-looking three pronged hook. To Aiden’s extreme disgust, Torsten was carrying Aiden’s other sword across his back.

  “So at last we meet,” Torsten sneered.

  “You miss me?” Aiden asked.

  “This is the last time I will have to endure your insolent tongue!”

  “Well then, we’re even. I’m tired of seeing your ugly face,” Aiden taunted.

  Torsten charged with a roar. Aiden brought his sword up to block the axe and jumped to the side to avoid the flailing hook that emitted a keening wail as it swept through the air. Aiden had seen something like it before—metal weakened to break inside a wound. Torsten pressed in, and Aiden steadily retreated, blocking, ducking, and weaving. They circled around and around.

  Torsten reversed his axe. He jumped in close and drove the handle into Aiden’s injured shoulder. Aiden smashed the pommel of the claymore into Torsten’s face. The Durnian reeled back, flicking out with the rope. The hook caught on Aiden’s side, and Torsten yanked hard. It cut through the leather and skin before coming free. A low gasp came from the defenders as Aiden stumbled a few steps, and the Durnians cheered.

  Ignoring the pain, Aiden attacked Torsten, forcing him to defend with the axe. Then, with an expert stroke, Aiden sheared the axe blade from its handle. Torsten threw away the ruined weapon and drew the sword, spitting out blood as he did. They closed on each other again, blades flashing as they strove back and forth across the arena. The hook flicked out again and wrapped around Aiden’s left arm just above the elbow. Torsten pulled hard, embedding the hook further into Aiden’s arm.

  Aiden dropped the claymore and drew his sword, bringing the keen edge slashing down across the rope. They reeled away from each other. Fighting against the pain, Aiden twirled his sword, rejoicing at its familiar weight. The wound in his shoulder forgotten, Aiden charged Torsten again. They fought like demons and within the space of a few seconds Aiden had inflicted several wounds on Torsten.

  The earthen courtyard churned under their feet as they strove. Blood flowed and mingled with the dirt. Aiden battered the sword from Torsten’s grasp but staggered. Torsten grabbed an axe from an onlooking Durnian and advanced. Aiden saw Torsten thundering toward him through blurred vision. Reflexes, honed by years in the Phoenix Guard, overrode the burning pain from his wounds.

  He launched into a backward roll and came up on one knee, grasping the sword firmly in both hands. Torsten couldn’t stop himself in time, and the blade plunged through him. The axe fell from Torsten’s lifeless hands. The effort of withdrawing the sword suddenly seemed too much and Aiden let go of the handle as Torsten crumpled to the ground.

  Then Tam cried out a warning, and Aiden turned to see Adalwulf advancing toward him, sword in hand. Aiden scrambled toward the claymore lying nearby, but Adalwulf reached him sooner, kicking him savagely in the chest and slamming him to the ground. Tam and Blair drew their claymores and moved to help but were confronted by Durnians.

  Aiden reached for the claymore lying to his left but Adalwulf’s foot smashed into his wounded arm, breaking the hook. Aiden screamed in pain, fighting against the sudden blackness that assailed his vision.

  “I underestimated you, Aiden,” Adalwulf said softly, placing his foot on Aiden’s chest. “Tell me, how does it feel to know that you failed? I’ll kill them all, you know. Starting with your father and brother. And then the way will be clear for the North to fall.”

  “I underestimated you too. You’re a bigger coward than I thought! You don’t even honor your own terms!” Aiden gritted.

  “Oh, perhaps I did not make myself clear. You are only the victor if you survive.” Adalwulf raised his sword.

  Trapped and scrabbling for a weapon, Aiden’s right hand found the point of a broken arrow. He clutched the shaft and plunged it into Adalwulf’s leg. The Durnian staggered back, freeing Aiden. He grabbed the claymore as Tam and Blair broke through the Durnians with help from several other warriors. Blair helped Aiden stand and half-carried him up the stairs. Jamey cut a swath from his cloak, folded it, and pressed it to Aiden’s side. Rona steadied him as he leaned against the wall.

  “What do we do now?” she asked with a tremor in her voice.

  Aiden glanced at the Durnian army beginning to advance as they beat their weapons against their shields.

  “Get inside. I’m afraid this might be the part where we die.”

  They had begun to move inside the doors when a warrior came dashing down the stairs.

  “Wait, sir! You won’t believe this!” the man gasped. Stepping outside, the warrior cupped his hands to his mouth and let lose a thunderous war cry that halted the Durnians. “Haway the Clan!”

  Then, to the amazement of the defenders, it was answered.

  “Haway! Canich tae Scodra!”

  “That’s Ranulf!” Tam cried.

  New hope flared in the Braetons. The Durnians halted in confusion. Adalwulf desperately shouted orders to counterattack the ne
w threat he could hear coming. Even so, they were caught off guard when Ranulf, Artair, and two hundred warriors painted for battle charged through the wide gates. Tam led the defenders into the battle as Rona stayed at the top of the stairs with Aiden.

  Aiden saw a small group of Durnians led by Adalwulf making a determined push for the gate. He felt the power of the battle rage in his blood and took up the claymore before leaping down the stairs and fighting toward the gate.

  To give him credit, Adalwulf was no coward. He saw plainly that he was beaten. He would return to Durna for more men and finish this as he was ordered. He gathered as many men around him as he could and made for the gate. His plans were dashed at the sight of the figure standing in the gateway.

  “You’re outnumbered once again, Aiden,” Adalwulf said.

  “I don’t want tae fight you,” Aiden said. “You answer tae him.”

  Adalwulf turned and saw Ranulf standing behind them. Aiden addressed the other Durnians. “If you boys want tae make a run for it, then Blair and I will give you a sporting chance,” he said as the cold-eyed warrior stepped up beside him.

  Hampered by his wounded leg and faced by the anger of Ranulf, Adalwulf didn’t stand a chance. None of his men made it out of the gates alive either. Those who were not killed threw down their weapons and surrendered.

  Soon, it was all over. The warriors raised their shouts of victory as Ranulf mounted the steps of the fortress. All fell silent as Laird Gòrdan came out. Everyone strained to hear the words that passed between him and Ranulf. Then Ranulf bowed to his father, and they formally clasped hands. Laird Gòrdan nodded for Ranulf to continue, and his son turned to the warriors.

  “There is one we should be honoring. The man who began this fight and the Champion who held Scodra against all odds. Aiden!” Ranulf called.

  Blair was practically holding Aiden upright, but Aiden straightened as he heard Ranulf call. They slowly approached the stairs, and Aiden struggled to stay erect as all eyes turned to him. He halted at the base of the stairs and gazed up at the imposing figure. Aiden knew his next actions would decide the fate of Scodra. But Ranulf shook his head when Aiden looked to him. Summoning his remaining strength, Aiden held the claymore out across both palms and looked instead to Laird Gòrdan.