The Wildcat of Braeton

by Claire M Banschbach

  Corin took up his quill pen and began to work again. Gerralt saw the pensive look on his face and asked a question that surprised them both.

  “Is everything all right, sire?”

  “What?” Corin’s head flew up.

  “It’s just…you look troubled and you said you couldn’t sleep,” Gerralt explained himself.

  “Oh, I um…there are some memories that always come back this time of year,” Corin said.

  Gerralt looked back to his work as Corin began to write again.

  Almost an hour passed in silence before Corin laid down his pen and rubbed at the ink stain on his fingers. Remembering Castimir’s death and seeing the season change had brought on an increased restlessness.

  Gerralt still worked patiently on. Over the winter they had developed a grudging respect for one another, but Corin still knew almost nothing about him.

  “Why did you choose to be a scholar, Gerralt?”’ he asked.

  His assistant paused. “I wasn’t at first,” he admitted. “I served in the King’s warband for almost two years.”

  It was the last thing Corin expected. He leaned back in his chair. “What happened?”

  “My first battle. It was on the coast against the Raiders. I realized then that I could never be a warrior, and I asked to be discharged.” He looked away from Corin. “You must think me weak.”

  “No. It takes plenty of courage to realize you aren’t meant for something,” Corin said. “Besides, we can’t all be warriors. Someone has to keep delinquent princes like me in line.” He was glad to see a faint smile flash across Gerralt’s face. “I wish I could remember you. That must have been when I was still here.”

  “Aye, it was. And I remember you, sire,” Gerralt said.

  “Probably because I made sure everyone knew who I was,” Corin said with a grin. “It might be a good thing I disappeared. I would’ve ended up an extremely arrogant prince, and you would find me even more insufferable.”

  “I don’t find you insufferable,” Gerralt protested, then unbelievably added, “on rare occasions.”

  Corin burst out laughing and startled Karif. Gerralt smiled, relaxing for the first time since taking the position.

  “I guess we can get along then,” Corin said.

  “It looks that way, sir,” Gerralt replied.

  Not long after, Corin was called away to meet his brother and father.

  “I know you just returned two days ago and have ‘forgotten’ about the Lords’ meeting tomorrow,” his father said.

  “I knew there was a reason I needed to stay out longer.” Corin grimaced.

  As the lords had returned to their lands or as others had been appointed, it seemed that more than one could not forgive him for spending half his life in Calorin and for the obvious influence it had wrought in his behavior. It didn’t matter that he had used that knowledge and training to save Aredor.

  “Speaking of, when do you expect…?” Celyn asked meaningfully.

  “Almost any day. It’s thawing quickly,” Corin replied somberly.

  “I sent messengers to the Lords midwinter informing them of the situation. You will have to give a full report tomorrow,” Celyn said.

  “Please tell me anything else!” Corin groaned.

  Darrin smiled. “I have just the thing. I wanted to tell you earlier, but Rhian and I are going to be married.”

  Corin pulled him into a hug. “Congratulations! When?”

  “Hopefully in a month’s time,” Darrin replied.

  “There will be another change at that time I wanted to speak to both of you about,” Celyn said. His sons turned their full attention to him. “Aredor’s kings have long been able to lead the warbands into battle. Something I am no longer able to do.”

  “But, Father!” Darrin protested.

  “No,” Celyn interrupted. “If we are faced with another war, Aredor needs the strongest leader she can have. You’re ready, Darrin.”

  “How do you know?” Darrin asked.

  “Because I’ve watched you, both of you, and I know this is not a mistake. And, Corin, it’s time for you to take the General’s belt.”

  Corin tried to protest, but Darrin stopped him.

  “There’s no one else I’d rather have at my side as General than you,” he said.

  “One day I’ll have a good comeback for that one,” Corin said.

  Celyn chuckled. “I want to be there when you do.”

  “It’ll be creative, I’m sure.” Corin grinned.

  “You want to think it over at the training grounds? I’m riding Frithun down there now,” Darrin said.

  “You’re saying you want a rematch?” Corin asked. Earlier in the winter he had barely beaten Darrin in the exercises with the spear.

  Their father laughed. “I used to be the master of that course,” he said.

  “Then come down with us,” Darrin said.

  “No, it’s been too long,” Celyn protested.

  “Come on, Father. We’ll go easy on you,” Corin challenged.

  His father replied with the same sparkle in his eyes. “All right, but I’m warning you—I used to make grown men cry. I’ll see you both in the stables in ten minutes.”

  Feeling like young boys again, the brothers hurried to change and raced down to the stables but arrived behind their father.

  “Already falling behind, I see,” he said mock-severely.

  As they rode to the grounds, their stallions snorted anxiously, feeling the scent of spring in the chilly air. Their arrival caused a stir of excitement among the warriors. Due to a troublesome old leg wound, King Celyn was a rare sight at the training grounds.

  His sons gladly fell behind him as men stopped and greeted the king respectfully. The somber Captain Pedr, who had survived the war and many campaigns with the king, greeted them at the spear run.

  “Here to give the young lads a lesson or two, sire?” he asked.

  “Hoping to, Pedr,” Celyn replied.

  The spear run was several yards wide, and the wooden fences marking its edges stretched straight on for nearly sixty yards. Stuffed targets mounted on slender poles were scattered down the run at the end of which stood a large, round target. As an added challenge, the ground was soaked by the melting snow and churned to mud by the passing of countless hooves through the day. All three of them selected spears from the rack by the run.

  “Youngest first.” Celyn indicated Corin.

  “Hit every other target,” Pedr instructed. “Finish with the center of the final target.”

  Corin moved Zephyr back several yards from the beginning while testing the weight of the spear. At the captain’s nod, he began. He completed the course cleanly, but Zephyr bolted beyond the target before Corin could rein him back in.

  “You have to be in control as you finish,” Pedr lectured him as if he were a beginner.

  Darrin rode next, but his horse slipped and swerved in the mud before he could hit the final target.

  “Riding like a novice.” Captain Pedr shook his head.

  Celyn rode the course perfectly.

  Again and again they rode the course, hitting the targets as Pedr instructed or as they were set out. Despite his earlier protestations, Celyn was still a master of the spear, and his sons fell behind. More and more warriors joined Pedr, drinking in their display of skill.

  “I wish I could have seen him in battle,” Corin said to Darrin, watching their father ride again.

  “It was a thing of beauty, lad,” Pedr said as he heard Corin.

  “It was incredible,” Darrin agreed.

  Celyn rode slowly back. “That’s it for me, Pedr. But I think the boys can do one more,” he said.

  “Will you be giving them the course, sir?” Pedr asked.

  “Aye, but there’s not much they need to work on. Darrin, do you remember how you beat Ivor several years ago?”

  “Aye, I think so, Father,” Darrin said.

  “Don’t worry, sire.” Pedr smiled broadly for the
first time. “I remember that course like it was yesterday.”

  It was set up quickly, and Darrin carefully chose a spear. He raced down the course, stabbing and knocking down the targets with sure aim until there was only one target left. He threw the spear into the ground beyond it, and then swung down from the saddle. Still holding onto the pommel, he kicked the last target, ran a step beside Frithun before vaulting into the saddle again. He grabbed the spear, twisted it, and rammed it with deadly force into the final target. He cantered back to loud cheers led by Corin and Celyn.

  Then the king turned to Corin. “You do well with the spear, son, but let’s see what you can do with the javelin,” he challenged.

  Corin smiled in agreement. He had been training with the Aredorian spear, but his true skill was with the lighter Calorin weapon.

  “Aye, Captain! Show them how you took down those Argusians during the raids!” Llewellyn called. Pedr nodded in agreement.

  “Set it up then,” Corin said.

  Celyn’s eyes widened, and there were quiet mutterings from the men as over fifteen targets were set up.

  “Did you see this?” Celyn asked Darrin.

  “No, I was leading a separate attack at the time. But this is one of the Hawk Flight’s favorite stories,” Darrin replied.

  Corin moved Zephyr to the line and drove him forward with a cry. He swung the javelin at the base of the first two targets, snapping their poles. He hefted the javelin with ease, twisting it around himself to stab at multiple targets set to the sides as he passed. He came toward two targets set side by side.

  He pulled hard on the reins, causing Zephyr to rear and strike one with his hooves while Corin left the javelin embedded in the other target. Corin drew his scimitar and spurred Zephyr away, slashing through the two remaining targets before halting his horse perfectly at the end of the run.

  There was brief moment of silence before the men of the Hawk Flight began cheering him. They were quickly joined by many others. Corin turned and walked Zephyr back as Karif flew in to perch on his shoulder. Celyn watched in silence. He had never seen his son in battle, but he knew he had just seen the Hawk. Corin’s face was expressionless as he made it back and his hands gripped the reins tightly. Pedr saw it and went up to him.

  “Are you all right, Captain?” he asked quietly.

  “Aye, I just don’t remember it as fondly,” Corin replied. For a moment he had been back in the burning village exacting retribution for the deaths of his countrymen.

  “Corin, my father used to tell me that the moment you do, you cease to be a warrior and become nothing more than a savage who kills for pleasure,” Celyn said.

  Corin reached down and rubbed Zephyr’s neck as he tried to calm his racing pulse.

  “That gets more impressive every time, Captain!” Llewellyn said.

  “Maybe, Llewy, but I think you gave me fifteen too many targets,” Corin replied.

  Men laughed. They knew how war stories became exaggerated with time, especially in Llewellyn’s case.

  Captain Pedr came to stand by Celyn’s horse as Corin and Darrin spoke with their men.

  “I think you’ll be putting Aredor into good hands, sire,” Pedr said.

  Celyn nodded. “Aye, Pedr. I watched the men’s faces when they rode. We should not fear for the future.”

  Pedr nodded in silent agreement.

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll take the long way back,” Corin said as they prepared to ride back to the castle. Neither Darrin nor his father argued so he spurred Zephyr away.

  “He’s fine,” Darrin reassured Celyn. “It’s something about this time of year. He’s never told me though.”

  But as warriors, they thought they had a fairly good idea.

  Corin rode at a steady canter, reveling in the wind that swirled around them. Karif soared overhead. They stopped by the river, and Corin dismounted. It was quiet and peaceful and had become one of his places of refuge from the castle.

  The water had begun to free itself from its cover of ice. He brushed snow from a rock and sat down. Zephyr philosophically pawed at the ground until he found fresh grass to graze on. Karif flitted in and out as he pleased. Corin took out his half-carved block of wood and began to work on it, keeping his mind occupied on the task.

  Time passed slowly, and the tension inside him eased as he worked. Karif landed in front of him and chirped. Corin became aware of hoof beats coming toward them. He looked up to see a familiar rider. Zephyr whinnied as he recognized Mera’s gelding.

  “What are you doing?” she called.

  “Hiding.”

  “From what?” She asked with a light laugh.

  “The usual.”

  Mera knew that this did not include her. The winter months had kept Corin closer to Kingscastle and as such, they had found more time to spend together.

  “Then may I join you?”

  Corin nodded and rose to help her as she descended the bank. Mera spread her cloak over a rock before sitting.

  “Everything all right?” she asked.

  Corin smiled. Mera had always been able to read him, despite everything he tried.

  “Yes and no,” he replied.

  “Thanks for being so clear.”

  “I try,” he replied with another smile.

  “What is that?” She pointed curiously to the object he held in his hand. He ran the knife over it again, smoothing the last edge before handing it to her. Mera turned the carving over in her hands, studying it intently. It was a fish, but not one native to Aredor.

  “It’s called a dolphin,” he explained. “I saw one once when I was coming home before the War. Some of the Gelion merchants carry it on their flag.”

  “It’s beautiful. You made Gwilym’s horse, didn’t you?” A light of recognition sparked in her eyes.

  “Aye. He wouldn’t rest until he got one,” Corin said.

  “I didn’t know you carved.”

  “I started in Calorin. It helps to pass time or to keep my mind busy,” Corin said.

  Mera fell silent for a moment, understanding the meaning of his words. She ran a finger over the smooth back of the dolphin.

  “What are you going to do with this?” she asked.

  Corin shrugged. “I don’t know yet. Most of the younger children know I do it, so they pester me for a carving. But this one’s not spoken for yet.”

  “May I keep it?” Mera asked.

  “If you want it,” Corin replied.

  Her fingers closed over the carving. “Gwilym says you’re taking him down to see the yearlings?”

  “Tomorrow, if I’m still alive after the Lords’ meeting,” he said. Mera laughed quickly again, a sound he had come to love. “But, unfortunately, I still have some reports to look over and I’ve already been gone much longer than I promised Gerralt I would be.”

  They both stood reluctantly. Mera chose to continue her ride, watching wistfully as Corin cantered back to the castle and trying for what seemed the hundredth time to discern her true feelings for him.

  * * *

  Corin caught the sympathetic look that Tristan and then his Uncle Maldwyn gave him. He had just finished giving a full report on the movement of the Hawk Flight and the nearing possibility of another attack whereupon the room had burst into loud conversations.

  After several outraged questions, Captain Haul of Lynwood Keep admitted to being fully aware of it.

  “How much were you going to withhold from us?” Lord Mabon questioned Corin who artfully deflected the question to his father.

  “I did not see need to cause panic through the country over an event that may or may not occur,” Celyn replied.

  “You would wait until the Calorins are cutting our throats in our houses?” Lord Siarls put in. “How do we know any of this information is correct?”

  “Prince Corin trusts the source implicitly.” Celyn pointedly gave Corin his title.

  “Oh, the other northerner who seems to prefer the Calorins over his own country?” Lord S
iarls directed it to Corin.

  “I would hardly say that since he was just named Champion of Clan Canich,” Corin shot back. He tapped the arm of his chair impatiently.

  “But nothing that comes from the South can be trusted,” Lord Siarls said to Corin.

  The room tensed, and Corin’s eyes narrowed dangerously. The Lords Mabon and Siarls always seemed to try and cause trouble for him, but neither had ever gone that far before. They were two of several lords that had been allowed to rule their lands under the Calorins only because of the richness of their holdings. Darrin gave Corin a warning look which Corin chose to ignore.

  “If that is the case, my lord, then maybe you can explain to me how you, out of the men in this room, retained hold of your lands during the war?” Corin asked, his voice deathly calm.

  Lord Siarls choked with anger. “You have no right…!” he stammered.

  “Explain to me why the Calorins left you on your seat while I fought against those who desecrated our country. Explain why my men died while you paid tribute to the Calorins!” Corin’s voice rose in anger.

  Lord Siarls flew from his seat, and Corin stood to meet him.

  “You know nothing of what happened!” Siarls shouted. He froze when he met Corin’s gaze.

  “And you know nothing of me,” Corin replied quietly.

  Lord Siarls had no reply. He reclaimed his seat and, after a brief moment, Lord Maldwyn asked after the defenses of Lynwood Keep as if nothing had happened. Since Aiden had brought word of the Sultaan’s plans the summer before, the garrison had been steadily increased, leaving them well able to assist the Hawk Flight if necessary.

  Lord Mabon would have questioned the preparations for an attack again, but Darrin cut him off.

  “Raiders hinted at it last autumn. Lord Trey can also attest to this,” he said.

  Lord Mabon opened his mouth to argue the honesty of the Raiders, but one look at Corin killed any questions he would have raised. Corin spoke only as needed, and his anger slowly faded by the time the meeting finished in the early afternoon.

  Gwilym was waiting for him outside the council room, bouncing from one foot to the other in impatience.

  “Are you finally doned, Uncle Cor?” he asked.

  “Yes, you little wretch!” Corin caught him as he dodged away and ruffled his tousled hair.