The Mad Wolf's Daughter

by Diane Magras

  “It won’t take much. Cut off my surcoat first. Then roll up the hauberk from the bottom.”

  Drest’s dagger cut easily through the surcoat, and the cloth fell aside. But the chain mail was hard to roll. It was damp against her fingers from the fog. Soon it became warm, and damp from something else. Drest tried not to look. But it was not difficult to guess at the state of the young knight’s injuries by his suppressed gasps.

  “Almost finished.” Drest rolled the armor all the way up his chest, revealing the spotted tunic underneath. Her stomach pitched.

  “Don’t pause. Just take it off.” The young knight spoke between clenched teeth.

  At last, it was off. Drest left the hauberk in a heap behind the wounded man’s head. Gently, as she had carried Uwen four years ago, she eased the young knight to his feet and slipped his left arm, his better arm, over her shoulder. He was taller than she, but not by all that much, and less heavy than Uwen had been for her smaller self.

  “Thank you,” he said. “I would never have expected help from one of Grimbol’s beasts. How strange you are. What’s your name?”

  “Drest. You’re stranger than I am, you know. What’s yours?”

  “Of course he’d name you after a savage Pict. My name is Emerick. You’re far kinder than most bloodthirsty villains I’ve met.” He glanced at her face, and started. “God’s bones, you’re a lass.”

  “You say that as if I’m a three-headed goose. Have you never seen a lass before?”

  “I’ve seen many, but never one like you. What was your mother? A banshee?”

  Drest scowled. “I don’t know who my mother was. But if you insult her again, I’ll drop you.”

  “Banshees are much honored at Faintree Castle,” the young knight murmured. “So are savage Picts.” He shivered. “The fog is growing.”

  “It’s always like that down here.” Drest led him toward the trail down the cliff, stepping carefully over the roots and moss, Borawyn thumping on her hip. “Since I just helped you and I don’t plan to drop you, will you tell me where the castle is?”

  The wounded man clung to her, inhaling sharply at every step. “I’ll do better than that: I’ll lead you to Faintree Castle, and I won’t let them hang you when we arrive.”

  Together they stumbled over the moss to the cluster of trees that marked the trail. Emerick leaned heavily on her as she struggled up the bank. When they reached the top and stood in the foggy sun, Drest had to catch her breath.

  “I wonder where the men have gone.” Emerick’s voice was faint. “Are you sure they’ve sailed?”

  “Aye, they’ve taken away my family, just as I said.”

  “How could they leave without me? That would be strictly against their orders.”

  He looked toward the sea, frowning.

  “I disobey orders,” Drest said. “See, one of my da’s is to slay all intruders. Shall we go down to the camp? I’ll get you fixed up and then we can go after my family.”

  5

  THE TALISMAN

  Drest eased Emerick down by the bonfire’s ashes, the tip of Borawyn’s scabbard scraping on the pebbles as she knelt. Everything seemed possible now. She had a guide who could lead her to the place he’d mentioned—Faintree Castle—where she’d find the prison. She knew all about castle prisons from her father’s stories. As soon as she freed the war-band, they’d slip down to the sea and swim to freedom. She just had to keep the young knight alive until she reached the castle.

  With a small chunk of steel from a broken sword and a stone from her pouch—every one of her brothers carried the same—Drest made a spark and built up the fire with the invaders’ burnt-out torches that scattered the ground. As the flames grew, she fetched a bundle of bandage cloths that her father kept dry in a cave, and also a bucket of rainwater.

  Drest struggled back to the fire, her sword knocking against the heavy bucket. The wounded man’s eyes were closed when she reached him, his eyelids shining faintly blue against his skin.

  “Hold still.” Drest had watched how her brothers helped one another when they’d come home after battles. The first task was to examine the wounds.

  Two swipes of her dagger, and his padded tunic came off. Beneath it lay another shirt, this one linen and slick. Drest cut carefully, holding her breath, turning away when her nausea grew too great. At last, his chest and shoulders were bare. Drest ladled water over them with her hands and, wincing, looked back.

  Bruises had already begun to blossom all over his pale chest, clustered where the stones and trees had struck him. There were only a few bleeding wounds: on his shoulder where the red-faced knight had cast a glancing blow, and on his ribs, a dark and ugly one, where the red-faced knight had struck the hardest. Drest ladled more water on him, then bound his wounds with bandages and covered it all with a rumpled dry tunic she’d found.

  The young knight was shivering, and so was Drest, though the sun was well risen and the fire was high. She went in search of blankets and returned with her arms full of them. Soon she had the wounded man fully draped.

  “Your brothers have taught you some useful skills, it seems,” Emerick murmured. “I never thought I’d find a creature like you here.”

  “What did you think you’d find?” Drest folded a blanket under his chin.

  “Nothing but bloodthirsty villains.”

  “How do you know I’m not one?”

  * * *

  • • •

  They ate from Grimbol’s store of smoked fish and ale, speaking little, facing the sea where the knights’ ship had come and gone.

  When they finished, Emerick tore his gaze from the water. “How brave are you? I trust that you hold that quality as strongly as does any lad.”

  Drest raised her head. She didn’t like his tone: bitter and haughty, as if he were about to scold her. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I am willing to rely on you.” Emerick reached between the blankets. Drest flinched, but he didn’t draw his dagger; instead he drew out a thick black disk, small enough to fit neatly in the palm of his hand.

  “If I die, take this to Faintree Castle and tell the guard what has happened.”

  It was a black wooden talisman with a tree carved in its center. Drest closed her fingers around it. At once, she saw its use: a means to get inside the castle. She had the start of a plan already.

  “I’ll use it if I need it,” Drest said, slipping the talisman into the pouch at her belt, “but you’ll be alive when we reach your castle. Where is it?”

  “Down the coast. It’s many days by land but by sea it’s little more than a night.”

  Drest froze. “We’ve but a night, then.”

  “To catch the ship? You wouldn’t be fast enough.”

  “Nay, to catch my da and my brothers. Before—before anything happens to them.”

  Emerick was quiet. “You say that as if you love them.”

  “Of course I love them; they’re my family. How much time do I have to rescue them? Is it just a night?”

  He shook his head. “It’s Lent now, so they won’t be hanged until the morning after Easter. That gives you five days.”

  You can do it, Uwen’s voice whispered in her mind. Five days is forever to a bat-headed weasel like you.

  * * *

  • • •

  She found Nutkin’s old fishing boat up past the camp on the shore near the cave where her family kept their food. The hull looked sound. The mast was strong. And the sail had been untouched by mice.

  Drest loaded the small boat with smoked fish and ale and dragged it back to the camp and into the water. Steadying the boat, she helped Emerick climb in, then launched the craft.

  It had been two years since Nutkin had showed her the watery path between the dragons’ teeth and how to slip unscathed between them. But Drest remembered. With her arms in the water, sh
e grabbed each point of stone beneath the waves and used it to pull the boat through. The first two stones scraped the hull and another thumped it hard. But soon the boat was sliding noiselessly between them. Then with a final push, they were in open water.

  Drest raised the sail. The cloth snapped, catching a gust of wind. With that, the little boat shot out of the cove. Soon they were far from the dragons’ teeth.

  She tied down the sail to keep their course, and sat back. She was feeling better. They were on the water and would be at Faintree Castle by night. She would have five whole days to figure out her plan and free her family.

  “I did it,” Drest said. “I guided the boat out. It’s my first time doing it alone.”

  She looked over to where Nutkin had always sat in the stern. The young knight was in her brother’s place, glaring at her.

  “We did it,” Drest said. “Aren’t you glad? We’re on our way.”

  “Good.”

  “You could find a better word than that.”

  The small craft sped as if weightless in the pull of the wind.

  Drest fidgeted. She had never sailed beyond the cove. She had never sailed as far as they were already. She had never sailed without one of her brothers.

  And then she noticed a finger’s length of water sloshing around her boots.

  “Is there a leak in your craft?” said Emerick.

  Before she could answer, a gust of wind shoved the boat hard, plunging one side into the waves.

  “Can you straighten this?” cried the young knight. “We’re about to sink!”

  “Nay, it’s just how it leans when the wind’s too strong. You’ve never sailed before, have you?” Drest scrambled up the hull to loosen the sail. She had just untied the knot when the boat gave a shudder.

  A thunderous crack shook the water.

  Drest’s hands were still on the rope as the boat fell into pieces around her.

  6

  THE WATER RAT

  The sea hit Drest like a blow, freezing her mind, her breath, her movement—but only for an instant. In the next, the cold had seeped throughout her body and she felt one with the ocean.

  She opened her eyes, ignoring the sting that always came with seawater, and launched toward the surface. She had to swim up and think of nothing but her strokes and kicks.

  With a gasp, Drest broke through the waves.

  All around, bundles of smoked fish and jugs of ale were floating away. Slabs of the boat followed them. She saw no sign of the young knight.

  “Blast,” muttered Drest, and gulped down a mouthful of seawater. She spat it out. “Emerick? Where are you?”

  She saw him then, clinging helplessly to a loose plank. Pain and terror creased his face.

  A wave sloshed against Drest’s head. She kicked to rise above it—and caught a glimpse of the shore: not close, but not too far.

  It’s a good thing you’re a rat. It was Uwen’s voice. Because rats can swim.

  “Help me,” murmured the wounded man, the sea swallowing his words.

  Drest glanced back at him. The young knight was sinking on the plank he’d secured. In seconds, he’d be gone.

  He’s told you where the castle is, whispered Gobin’s voice. And you have the talisman that will let you in. Wouldn’t it be easier to swim for shore now? Don’t forget: He’s our enemy.

  Aye, that’s true, said Nutkin, but how’s she going to find us, lad? She’s going to have to take the woods, and she doesn’t know the path. Our enemy knows that way, not our wee Drest. I don’t think you can leave him yet, lass.

  “Listen, Drest.” Emerick tried to pull himself higher on the plank, but it wobbled beneath his weight. He slid back into the water. “If you take me to the castle, you can have one of your brothers for me.”

  A wave cut off his next words, choking him.

  “Do you mean it?” called Drest. “How about two of them? Or all of them?”

  The next wave swallowed him entirely.

  Two good strokes took Drest to Emerick’s side. She grabbed on to the plank and tried to straighten it, but the motion made it tip.

  Fetch the ropes and mast, said Nutkin’s voice. You’ve no choice but to pull him to shore.

  The mast was drifting away on the waves. Drest swam for it, and soon was clutching its smooth, slippery wood. She kicked hard to get back to Emerick, the sail trailing behind her like a single white wing.

  The water was up to his chin. Drest grabbed his good arm and slung it over the mast.

  “Hold tight.”

  With the rope looped around her arm and shoulder, giving herself enough slack for a distance between her and the wounded man, Drest began to swim.

  Towing a man wasn’t easy, but Drest and Uwen had taken turns towing the fishing boat and she knew how to time her strokes with the waves. Borawyn glided alongside her, kept aloft in the water by the current, the sword-belt holding it securely.

  Several times Drest glanced back to see Emerick hanging over the mast, his face hidden by the sail.

  “Give a call if you’re slipping,” she shouted, and grimly swam on, the rope straining against her shoulder.

  At last, Drest reached the dragons’ teeth by the shore and stood. The water was up to her chest. She hauled the mast close until Emerick was within reach, then pried loose his grip.

  “We’ve made it,” Drest said. “And you’re alive, aren’t you?”

  The wounded man’s eyes opened. “Barely.”

  Drest slipped under his good arm and hoisted his weight onto her shoulder again. Clinging to his waist to steady him, she staggered through the last of the sea and up the shore.

  On the pebbles and scraps of sand, Drest stopped. Her arms and legs were numb from her swim.

  “I need to lie down,” whispered Emerick.

  “We can’t rest here.”

  “I cannot go farther. I need to breathe.”

  “You’re not going to have a chance to breathe if we don’t go in. Look—the tide’s coming.”

  Drest tightened her grip around him and together they hobbled up the bank, then over the bone-white roots sticking out of the soil until they were among a thick cluster of pines.

  An unfamiliar forest hung before them. Drest remembered her father’s stories of what roamed the woods beyond the headland: bandits with brutal ways and no mercy to any man.

  But she had no choice. Drest helped Emerick walk deeper among the trees. The damp scent of soil and wood rose around her, mingling with the eerie sense that someone was watching.

  7

  WORDS WITH THE ENEMY

  “Wait.” Drest wiped her face free of the streams of water dripping from her short hair.

  Emerick leaned against a scaly trunk. “If we go inland a little more, we’ll be out of the wind.”

  “You said I could trade you. For one of my brothers.” Her voice trembled, but Drest stood firm.

  “Yes,” the wounded man murmured. “Any one you like. Pick your favorite.”

  “All of them.”

  The young knight shook his head. “You know I can’t do that. But I can promise you one brother. And mercy. For you.”

  “I don’t want mercy; I want all my brothers back.”

  Emerick’s eyes fixed on her with a peculiar intensity. “Mercy is worth more than you realize. I could give you a new life: a home at the castle, proper clothes to wear, a warm bed to sleep on at night. And no rope around your throat.”

  “I don’t need a new life.” Though Drest flinched at the thought of the rope. “I’ve a home at the headland with a bed by the water, and I know how to make my own fire to keep warm. I don’t want this mercy and just one of my brothers in a trade. Give me all of them, and I’ll make sure you reach the castle alive.”

  The young knight’s eyes hardened. “All of them will die if you don’t agree
to my terms. One brother and mercy.”

  That’s not fair! snarled Uwen’s voice.

  A tickle of anger wove through Drest’s fatigue, pulling harder and harder—and abruptly snapped. “You’ll agree to my terms: I’ll not let you die, but only if you’ll help me trade you for all my family.”

  “Even if I were willing, no one at the castle would accept such a trade!”

  Drest wiped her face again. “I hope you can make them accept it. Because I’ll leave you in these woods if you can’t.”

  She had spoken the bold words without thinking.

  The young knight’s face became stiff. “How dare you. For that, I take away my offer. I’ll give you nothing, not even one man.”

  “Then I’ll leave you.”

  “Do,” said Emerick. “My men will find me, and when they find you, they’ll hang you with the rest of your wretched family.”

  “Your men won’t come back. Maybe the knight who tried to slay you, but that won’t do you any good.”

  Emerick’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a lie. One of your brothers tried to slay me.”

  “Is it a lie because I said so? Then am I lying when I tell you they were worried about the orders of some Sir Oswyn when they left?”

  The young knight reddened. “Oswyn didn’t give the orders for this battle; Lord Faintree did.”

  “They were talking about some Oswyn and they were more worried about what he would think than whether you were alive or not.” Drest pretended to look out at the water. “I don’t see anyone. Wait, there’s a duck. I think it’s coming to save you.”

  “Why don’t you leave me? Go, find the castle by yourself. Bide your luck alone, and I shall bide mine.”

  She almost did. She almost stomped into the woods and left him standing there on the bank by the sea. But the young knight’s words—and the word alone in particular—made Drest pause.

  She went back to the young knight’s side and pulled his limp arm over her shoulder. “You for one of my brothers. Let’s go back to that.”