The Mad Wolf's Daughter

by Diane Magras

  She heard the red-faced knight stumble and swear.

  A thin curl of hate rose in Drest. Silent as a ghost, she hastened after him.

  Just below the cliff, he stopped to don his white surcoat, then strode on.

  The sky had lightened, though the path was still shadowed. Drest hoped the red-faced knight would trip.

  But the red-faced knight didn’t trip. He veered off to the side, shoving his way through scrub and over stones until he was far from the camp and close to a drop at the sea. Drest followed him on this new, narrow trail.

  All at once, the red-faced knight disappeared ahead of her.

  Metal rasped against stone. Boots scraped. Paddles splashed in the sea.

  A small boat rowed away from the shore toward a huge boat emerging from the darkness.

  Drest stared. She had never seen a full ship, only the small war-boats her father and brothers sailed when they went to battle.

  Waves slapped against its huge wooden hull. A massive white sail hung limp in the breeze. A series of posts stood on its deck.

  Not posts, Drest realized, but knights: a dozen knights with swords and shields, chain mail covering their arms and heads. One knight stood beside a coil of rope.

  Yet it wasn’t just rope.

  Drest froze.

  In that coil, her father and brothers were bound: Grimbol lashed to Wulfric, their backs aligned; Gobin and Nutkin with their heads touching; Thorkill bound to Uwen, his broad shoulders towering over his younger brother’s. Grimbol’s mouth was moving.

  The small boat drew near the ship and the red-faced knight climbed aboard. He spoke to another knight and looked around as if counting. The others were looking too. Drest was so intent on watching that she failed to notice where she stood. Only when the red-faced knight pointed at her did she realize that she was out in the open.

  Drest scrambled back over the crumbling stone, then behind a boulder that was just large enough to hide her.

  “You missed one!” shouted the red-faced knight in a brutal voice very different from the soft voice he had used with the young knight. “How did you miss one?”

  A murmur rose from the bound men. Drest looked out. Her brothers twisted around to see her, their faces tight with concern.

  Grimbol raised his chin. “Be like the barnacle and hie thee to the eagle’s roost!” His voice echoed down the water and carried over the cove. “The barnacle and the eagle’s roost! That’s your order now!”

  A knight stepped over and gave Grimbol a blow that her father took as if it were a breeze.

  Numb, Drest nodded. Be like the barnacle meant to hide, and the eagle’s roost was the highest place she could find. But Drest couldn’t flee. She looked out as the red-faced knight marched to the edge of the deck.

  His eyes met hers. He seemed to be thinking.

  “Shall we set off a boat, sir?” said a knight who had rushed to his side.

  “And stumble over these cliffs after him? No, you won’t easily catch a cub like that; the men are tired. Sir Oswyn will be anxious to have the rest in prison, where they can’t escape. This last one won’t go anywhere. We can return and catch him later, and look for what’s left of our boy then too.”

  The red-faced knight stared at Drest as if he knew that she had witnessed his attack upon the young knight. Then he turned away.

  “Set sail.”

  A man in a brown tunic drew up the ship’s sail and the enormous vessel began to glide out.

  “Nay,” the girl whispered.

  Her family’s faces grew smaller, and smaller. Before long, she could no longer distinguish them from the deck.

  In moments, the ship was but a stark shape against the wide, open sea.

  Drest sank to her knees and leaned down until her forehead pressed against the rough, cold stone. Sea wind wrapped over her, chilling her to her core.

  They were gone.

  She shouldn’t have wasted her father’s time by the camp. Her brothers had needed him, and she should have escaped that knight on her own. What had all her training been for? To falter in a time of need?

  Drest swallowed. Her father had given her an order. She rocked back and wiped her face.

  But she didn’t run off to hide.

  A month ago when the war-band had taken Uwen for his first battle and left her alone, Grimbol had told her to be strong, for she was not like the frail women and girls that his code had sworn them to protect. She was as tough as any of her brothers and didn’t need the war-band, he’d said. Yet every night during that month, she had slept not by the water but deep in a cave.

  On that first night alone, she’d imagined Uwen’s voice, and she’d told him about her sword practice. And the next day and the days after, as she had scampered over the stones and swung her sword and climbed, she’d imagined all her brothers’ voices.

  Drest closed her eyes.

  Are you there, Gobin?

  Nothing.

  I’m all alone, Gobin. I’m scared. Are you there?

  And then, as if her favorite brother were kneeling on the stones beside her: Of course I’m here, lass.

  Drest slowly inhaled.

  Da’s order was for you to hide, her brother’s voice murmured. What are you doing here? Get up. You’re not a wee helpless maiden, are you?

  Nay, but I don’t want to hide. They’re not coming back, are they? And what about you?

  The wind snapped against her, breaking her concentration.

  Drest’s eyes flew open and she stared out over the sea.

  The ship was gone.

  Of course we’re gone, you toad-headed minnow, Uwen’s voice broke out. It’s a ship. It sails.

  Drest bit her lip, fighting her tears.

  Did they hurt you, Uwen?

  Nay, not me. But they’ll hurt you if you don’t hide.

  Drest shook her head. That wasn’t what Uwen would say.

  I was just testing you. It’s Da’s order, but you’ve never been in the war-band, so you don’t know how to follow it. Aye, why should you follow it? Why don’t you follow us instead? If it were me where you’re standing, that would have been Da’s order: to rescue us.

  Nay, but it’s too far, Uwen.

  Would that stop you if we were racing? Come on, Drest. You swim like a seal.

  Nay, lad, I can’t.

  Uwen’s voice in her mind let out a snort of disgust. Go along and hide, then. Be the sniveling, grub-spotted barnacle you are.

  But when Drest rose, she didn’t go to hide; she began to run.

  She sprinted up to the path, then down, flying, toward the camp. At the last minute, she swerved, dashing over the wide, flat stones to the caves. Her footsteps pounded: past the cave where her family stored their barrels of ale and smoked fish, past the one in which they slept when it rained, then the one that held their silver coins and other stolen goods.

  Back up to the cliffs, then down the path that led to the sea caves on the shore. Drest scrambled over the wet stones, splashing in the waves, and climbed up a short cliff. She crawled to the path, and started to run again.

  Running always helped calm her. It helped her think. She always ran after she argued with Uwen, sometimes in a race, sometimes alone. She ran when she failed in training battles with Gobin or throwing games with Thorkill. She had run to keep away loneliness during that awful month when Uwen had gone with the war-band. And so Drest ran until she could no longer run. She collapsed panting on the lookout point.

  Do you feel better now? It was Thorkill’s voice. Look at how the sun sparkles on the waves. Do you hear the gulls crying? It’s peaceful.

  Tears stung Drest’s eyes. Nay, it’s not peaceful, not with you roped up.

  Don’t weep, lass. Thorkill’s voice was tender. Go down to our camp and see what you can find. It may give you an idea of what to do
.

  Drest stared at the path, and shuddered. But soon she was on her feet and walking down.

  * * *

  • • •

  The ground was full of broken swords: on their sides, on the rocks, or driven into the pebbles. Scraped-up stones showed where the battle had been fiercest. Drest could not take her eyes from the paths on which the knights had dragged her brothers to the sea.

  The crackling bonfire that Grimbol had told them never to let burn out was only embers now.

  Drest knelt by the blackened wood. When her brothers were home, this was where they had gathered every night to feast and tell stories. Here she had sat rapt as her brothers had spoken of blows and broken shields in battle, of the swiftness that had saved their lives. She’d grabbed her own share of ale and meat and gone to sit with her father, who’d tuck her under his rough, warm arm as he told his tales of castle sieges in the days when he’d fought among knights of another war-band.

  She had only felt alone once before in her life, when Uwen had gone, but this time, she truly was.

  You’re never alone with your sword by your side, said Gobin’s voice. Remember Da’s code: Always carry a weapon. So where’s your weapon, Drest?

  Drest looked around. Hers was only a practice sword, a worthless piece of scrap, but what Gobin said was true.

  She found it soon enough, but only its hilt with a sliver of the broken blade remaining.

  Now it’s truly a piece of scrap, came Uwen’s voice. See if you can find mine. I’ll let you borrow it just this once.

  Drest searched, but every sword she found was broken.

  As she kicked at a shattered weapon that had been thrown into the sea’s foam, something glittered deep, among the dragons’ teeth.

  Go look at that sword, murmured Wulfric’s voice.

  Drest slipped off her boots and hose and waded into the sea. The water slithered like a frozen breath up her ankles, then up to her knees, and higher. Finally, she reached the sword. It was unbroken, undamaged, its pommel thick with ridges like the headland’s cliffs.

  It was Borawyn, Wulfric’s sword, the only named sword among the war-band’s weapons. A sword that had never lost a battle—until now.

  Drest drew the blade from the water and held it high, her arm shaking beneath its weight. The sword sparkled in the early sun.

  It was waiting for you, said Wulfric’s deep voice.

  Did you throw it in the waves for me?

  I threw it in so our enemies wouldn’t steal it. It will bring you luck, lass. Use it well.

  Aye, use it well, chimed in Uwen, and use it soon; this rope is digging into me.

  Drest squinted at the sea. How do you expect me to use it for that, you snail-brained cabbage? I can’t cut your rope from here.

  Use it as you come after us, you onion-eyed pig’s bladder.

  Drest stared at the water. Could she go after them?

  Of course you can, scoffed Uwen. You have a sword, don’t you?

  Drest sloshed back to the desolate camp and put on her hose and boots. In one direction, the sea stretched far and empty; in the other, beyond the caves and the paths, lay the ravine, marked by the sea cliffs on one end and a cliff no one could climb on the other.

  Drest hesitated. She had never been off the headland. Even if she could scale the ravine’s slick cliff, she didn’t know where the woods at its top went or what path she should take through them. There had to be a way, but she didn’t know what she was looking for.

  Drest found an abandoned scabbard and a sword-belt on the ground. She buckled the belt over her hips as tight as she could, fitted the scabbard in its loops, and slipped Borawyn in. A year ago, she would have been too small to carry that sword, but her legs had grown and she could stand easily against its weight upon her hip.

  All right, lads, Drest thought. She took a deep breath. One of you needs to tell me the path. How do I get off the headland?

  You could go through the waves, said Nutkin’s voice, but the boats are smashed; you know they are because that’s where the knights landed.

  You could go through the woods, said Gobin’s voice, except the ravine will be in your way. And I don’t think even you can climb that cliff.

  She might; she’s like a spider.

  Aye, I know, Nutkin, but even a spider can’t climb sheer rock.

  I’ll go by the sea, Drest thought. I’ll find a way. How about your fishing boat, Nutkin? Did they find that?

  Nay, I wouldn’t think so. That’s a fine idea, lass. Aye, go by the fishing boat. Only, you’ll need to find out where we’ve been taken.

  Can you not tell me?

  Nay, lass, being only part of your imagination as I am. Nutkin’s voice laughed. But that’s all right; you’ve another man you can ask for the way. He might not be dead.

  And then, all at once, Drest remembered the young knight.

  4

  EMERICK

  The young knight’s shield had caught on a branch where it hung like a flag. Drest clambered past it on the trail of raked soil and fallen stones, Wulfric’s sword thumping against her hip. She found the knight at the bottom of the ravine, sprawled on his back, his right arm twisted at an unnatural angle.

  He was smaller than she had remembered. Fair-haired, fine-boned, unlike any of her brothers, though he still seemed to be close to Gobin’s height. His eyes were closed.

  Panting from her unsteady descent, Drest bent over him. There was no blood on his mouth or nose—a good sign.

  “Are you alive?” Drest gently lowered the young knight’s arm to his side. The chain mail clinked beneath the surcoat. “Can you open your eyes?”

  Except for the rising and falling of his chest, the knight didn’t move.

  That shows he’s alive, murmured Nutkin’s voice. Nudge him, lass.

  “I’ve an idea.” Carefully, Drest touched the knight’s shoulder. “You wake up, I’ll help you get out of this ghost-ridden pit, and then you’ll help me find my family. How does that sound?”

  The young knight moaned. His eyes flicked open.

  Drest shrank. He was defenseless, a wounded man, and needed her help just as much as she needed his. But she had never been so close to someone who wasn’t her father or one of her brothers. And he was the enemy.

  He tried to prop himself up. His hand slipped. He tried again, but he fell back just as quickly, the weight of his chain mail dragging him down.

  Drest mustered her courage. “You need to take off that metal tunic.”

  The young knight leaned on his side. With some effort, he raised himself on his elbow and faced Drest. “Who in God’s name are you?”

  Drest scrambled to her feet.

  “Wait,” said the young knight. “Don’t leave. I’m only asking who you are.”

  She was far enough away that he couldn’t grab her, even if he were to fall forward at his full height. Drest steadied herself on a tree and raised her chin. “I’m part of the war-band.”

  “Grimbol’s war-band?” The young knight sighed. “You’ve thrown me down here and now you come to slay me. Before you do, tell your father that I have something to say to him.”

  Tears sprang to Drest’s eyes. “Your toad-witted people took my da and my brothers. And I didn’t throw you down here; one of your own men did.”

  The young knight’s voice quivered. “What a filthy lie. Those are my most faithful men.”

  His despair gave Drest courage. She crept closer. “Maybe some of them, but not the one who was up on the cliff with you. I watched him fight and push you down here.” The mist was thickening around them. Drest looked back to find the trail. “Do you know where they’ve taken my da?”

  The young knight’s eyes widened. “To Faintree Castle. Do you even know who we are?”

  “Nay,” said Drest, “why should I?”

  “E
verything in this part of the lowlands—including this headland—belongs to Faintree Castle.”

  “Is that the truth? Strange. I’ve always known that my da owned this headland and all the lowlands.”

  Drest was about to go on, but stopped at the sound of Nutkin’s voice in her head: Boasting like that isn’t going to help you find the castle, lass.

  “I beg your pardon.” Drest took another step toward the knight. “I need to find your castle. Can you show me the way?”

  “No, I don’t think I can.” The young knight used the elbow that supported him to push himself up still farther. But as he tried to rise, his face seized in a spasm of pain, and he collapsed onto his back again.

  Drest hadn’t seen a man in such pain before. Her brothers had grinned as they tended one another’s wounds, making few sounds.

  Now’s your chance, whispered Nutkin. Give him a wee bit of help and win him over.

  Drest crawled to the young knight’s side. “You’ve got to take off your metal tunic, like I said.” She leaned forward to tap it, but darted back as his hand began to close on her arm.

  “I wasn’t trying to grab you,” the wounded man said weakly. “I can’t move.”

  “I’ll help you move if you promise not to grab me.”

  “How can I move unless I grab you?” Struggling, he propped himself up on his elbow again. “And I can’t remove my hauberk; it’s all that’s holding me together.”

  The worry in his voice persuaded Drest to crawl close once more.

  “Here,” the young knight said, and held out his hand. “Take this and pull.”

  Drest took that hand. His firm grip startled her, but she held on and tugged.

  He hissed a sharp gasp. “No, not like that. I’m—there’s something ripped near that arm. In my chest.”

  Drest let him go and stepped back, trembling. The mist was growing thicker. Soon she wouldn’t be able to find the trail.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I can’t move with my hauberk. Can you help me take it off?”

  “I don’t know,” Drest said. “I’ve never seen one of those things.” Cautiously, she returned to his side.