by Diane Magras
Quiet, lass, whispered Thorkill’s voice in her mind. Stay calm. He won’t see you if you’re silent.
I want him to go away, Drest thought, tears filling her eyes. I don’t know what Da did to him, but I’ve done nothing, and I’ve only got three more days. Please make him go.
I can’t, lass; I’m in ropes at the castle. Ah, my sweet Drest, if I were with you now, I’d crush that fly. But you must manage on your own.
It was as if the words had truly come from Thorkill in his ropes at Faintree Castle—and they made Drest’s heart ache all the more.
* * *
• • •
Drest dozed, though she tried not to, and woke with a start when she felt the weight of the branch shift on her shoulders. She had no room to draw her sword, packed in as she was against Emerick and Tig. Panic froze her.
Nay, lass, said Gobin’s voice, don’t be scared. He expects you to be sleeping. Surprise him with an attack.
I can’t, Gobin.
Don’t think. Do what I say: Slip out from under this branch and knock him down. If you’re quick enough, you’ll have time to draw your sword. Ready, lass?
I don’t know if I’m ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready, Gobin; I’m so tired and—
Don’t think. Slip out—now!
Drest pushed up the branch and flung herself against the intruder.
She met a wall of short, warm fur.
Drest fell back.
Enormous startled eyes, glistening and brown, stared down at her.
It was a stag, a kingly one, with a mass of antlers like an overgrown crown. It did not occur to Drest that a stag of that size could end her journey with one blow from those mighty antlers. She was so stunned by its presence that she held out her hand to touch its coat and make sure that it was real.
The fur was soft as down.
With a snort, the stag walked forward and raised its mighty head.
A hooded figure in a long black cloak stepped from the shadows and swung itself up on the stag. The rider’s face looked back at Drest from beneath the hood, visible for an instant in the moonlight.
It was Merewen, unsmiling.
The moon went behind the clouds again.
Into the shadows the stag leaped, and soon it was running between the trees with more noise than Drest would have thought a stag could make: breaking branches, rustling leaves—noises, Drest realized with a start, that sounded much like three travelers stumbling through the woods.
She was still motionless by the fallen branch when a shape detached from the branches above her head and jumped down, landing only a few feet away. It was a man’s shape, and it reeked of sweat.
“There you go, running off,” muttered the man. “You’re as much of a coward as your father.”
Drest watched him disappear in the path of the stag. She was frozen by his sudden presence but also by the glimpse she’d had of her rescuer.
You’re out, you’re free, the bandit’s running away, and here you’re standing like a toad doing nothing, snapped Uwen’s voice. Have you forgotten about us?
Drest’s heart began to pound. She lifted the branch. Tig looked up, blinking, then scrambled out.
“There was a stag here,” Drest said. “With Merewen on its back. She saved us, Tig. The bandit’s going after her, not us. Now quick, help me with Emerick.”
But the boy didn’t move. “Merewen was here? That means she’s following us. I wonder what she wants.”
“Tig, we haven’t time to think of that. We have to get out of these woods!” Drest knelt and drew a limp, groggy Emerick to his feet.
Tig took his place under the young knight’s other arm, and soon they were rushing out from the trees and onto the road.
the fourth day
20
THE DEAD
They walked down the road all night, no longer worried about the bandit, thanks to Merewen and her stag. Drest felt even better when they came upon the crest of a hill and saw the next town. It was not far down the slope, encircled by a wooden wall.
“Thank God,” said Emerick. “Let us beg some food here, food and a wash; I could eat a whole boar, tusks and all, and I’m as filthy as one too.”
Emerick had been quiet all that night. Drest was heartened by the return of his old manner.
“I could eat five boars,” she said, “but we can’t stop.”
“If we find a boar, we’ll roast and eat it as we walk,” Emerick said. “Agreed?”
Drest grinned. “Agreed.”
“Tig?”
“I’ll carry it for you.” The boy slipped away from Emerick and, cheeks blown out, pretended to stagger beneath an awkward and heavy burden.
They walked down the hill and approached a gate made of densely woven sticks that shifted and creaked in the wind.
“This would do little to protect a town, even if it were closed,” Emerick said. Then he stopped. “A woven gate, perpetually open, at the foot of a hill. God’s bones, I’ve heard of this place. It’s Birrensgate, a town known for its kindness to bandits.”
Drest’s heart sank. “Should we go around it?”
“Let’s go through it as quickly as possible,” Emerick said. “There’s no reason to make our journey longer. And if we chance upon a bandit, let’s pretend to be bandits ourselves and beg for food and water. They eat and wash too, you know.”
The three passed through the gate. The rising sun lit the empty path and the dirt-speckled thatched houses that stood close to it. Shutters hung ragged and split. No flowers or grass grew along the road. There was no trace of anything green.
Drest led her companions up to the town square, where a stone well waited, its bucket cracked and dry. “At least there’s a well. Let’s have a drink. Then I claim the bucket for washing first.”
Tig leaned over the opening. He came up, his nose wrinkled. “Not here. Don’t even think of drinking or washing from this place: There’s poison in that well. That’s the smell of death, my friends. And not a quick or easy one.”
Drest leaned over and sniffed—and winced at once at the stench of rotten meat. “That’s enough to make me sick. Is there other water, do you think? A river or a stream?”
From Tig’s shoulder, Mordag made a low sound like a growl, then shot into the sky, then beyond the houses.
Her harsh caw rang out over the empty town.
“Is it the bandit?” In her heart, Drest begged for the answer she was sure she would not get.
Tig’s face was tense. “He must be on the road behind us. I don’t know how he caught up to us. Shall I attempt to—”
“Nay, let’s go back there,” Drest said, pointing at the abandoned homes crowding the road.
Quickly, she drew Emerick’s arm over her shoulder and led them down a passage between the houses toward a humble hut tucked behind the others. Her companions could sit inside and she could wait at the door with Borawyn drawn. Though she had no energy to fight, it seemed the best option. Drest went to the open door.
“Wait,” said Tig. “Not here.”
Drest looked around for the source of Tig’s warning, then saw it: a pattern of white stones just inside the door, twelve lines forming a star. A single black stone sat in its center.
“What does that mean?” Drest asked.
“It’s a village curse. Someone’s died in this house. It means that if you enter, you invite death to follow you.” Tig shuddered. “Let’s find another house.”
Drest led them to the doorway of the next.
This house was larger. But on its threshold lay the same pattern of stones, the twelve-pointed star with the black center.
They went to another, then another, their search growing frantic. Every house was marked with the same grim pattern.
“I don’t like this,” Drest whispered. The urge to flee, to ru
n like mad, was very strong in her.
Emerick stared at the path that wove between the houses back to the square. “It must have been the well. I wonder who could have been so cruel. Poisoning a well is for siege warfare, not villages.”
Drest’s stomach clenched. “Did everyone in this village drink from that well and die?”
“Not everyone; someone must have buried the dead and set these stones. But it is clear that many perished.” The wounded man’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “Don’t think of it. Let’s find a way out of this town.”
Staggering, Drest led them farther from the well, until the three were close to the town’s wooden wall. It rose more than twice Emerick’s height above their heads.
“It’s no good.” Emerick set his hand against the bound trunks that formed the wall. “This encircles everything. We must get back to the road. Or find a break in the wall. Tig, can Mordag help us with that?”
The boy reached up and stroked the crow, who had just landed on his shoulder. “She can only tell us where an enemy is. I haven’t trained her for anything else.”
Drest looked around. The wall extended without any sign of a crack. She had no doubt that she could climb it, but Emerick couldn’t.
“Let me confront him,” said Tig. “I could draw him off into a chase. I really will this time.” He made a feeble effort to smile.
“Nay,” said Drest. “It’s time for me to end this. Lad, will you help Emerick and get back to the road?”
With a flush of relief, the boy went to the young knight.
“Go behind the houses,” Drest said. “I’ll catch up when I’m done.”
Emerick reached out and touched her shoulder. “What if he harms you?”
She forced a grin that hung heavy on her face. “Do you think a fox-livered bandit can win against Grimbol’s daughter?”
“Don’t fight him. Talk to him. Please.”
At Drest’s nod, Emerick and Tig began their unsteady way on a path between two houses, Mordag flapping above them. Soon they were gone.
Remember the code, murmured Nutkin’s voice. Never falter before yourself or the enemy. He doesn’t expect you to confront him. That’s your advantage.
It’s time, Drest, said Gobin. Let’s show him what our wee lass can do.
With a deep breath, Drest drew her sword and started back the way they had come.
21
BIRRENSGATE
The bandit was sitting on the lip of the well. His face was narrow with a scrap of a beard, and he wore a stained tunic and hose ripped at the knee. He slipped off the well and brandished a broad wooden staff as Drest stepped into the square.
Not a staff, Drest saw as she drew closer, just a stick he must have found in the woods.
It was a large stick, though. She would need to take care.
“There you are, girl.”
That slippery voice made Drest shiver, as if it were night in the woods again. But Borawyn’s weight reminded her to be brave.
Careful, Gobin’s voice said in her mind. He’s stronger than you. You’ll need to be clever.
She raised her sword.
The bandit gave a short laugh and returned to his seat on the well. He rested the staff against the stone bricks and began to lower the bucket. “You’re smaller than your brothers. Can you really hold that sword upright?”
Drest’s ears burned. “Aye. I can swing it too.” She gave a short, smooth practice sweep in the air. The sun gleamed on Borawyn’s blade.
“It moves like mush in your hands.” But the bandit wasn’t smiling. “You don’t need to threaten me, girl.”
Drest took a breath. She remembered Emerick’s advice. Could she use words instead of Borawyn? “I think I must threaten you. You’ve been bothering me.”
“Bothering you? Do you call it that? I only saw you in the woods and thought we could talk.” The bandit peered into the well at the bucket he was drawing up. “You could have ended this long ago if you’d have come out when I first asked.” He stole a swift, predatory glance.
Frighten him, said Nutkin. He sees just a lass. Show him what you really are.
Get ready, said Gobin, just as I taught you.
Drest grabbed Borawyn with both hands to keep the sword steady. “You say you want to talk, but that’s not what my brothers taught me to do when I meet bandits.”
A snarl flashed in the bandit’s face. “What do they tell you to do? Wobble your sword? Put that down. It’s too big for you.”
Show him one of our moves, said Gobin.
“You don’t know how to hold a sword, do you.” Drest’s voice came out sharp. “I’ll give you a lesson. You want it to wobble because then it strikes quick.”
She darted in and swung Borawyn in a clean, complete arc—a sunrise, her favorite move—that would have slashed through anyone unlucky enough to have been standing near.
The bandit’s fingers slipped on the bucket, which dropped into the well with a splash.
“It doesn’t wobble in attacking,” Drest said, bringing the sword to a halt in the air.
The bandit paled, then reddened nearly as quickly. “You put that away. We’re having a talk. We’ll have a drink. There’s no reason to bring a sword into it.”
Borawyn’s weight bore down on Drest’s arms, but she didn’t lower it. “There’s always a reason to bring a sword into a talk. That’s what my da says. Do you know my da? His name is Grimbol. Some people call him the Mad Wolf of the North.”
“Don’t say that name in this town,” the bandit snapped. “The spirits will have your throat.”
Drest held in her shudder and set her jaw. “I think any spirits would cower at my da’s name just like you’re cowering. You look like you’re going to make water in your hose.”
The bandit’s lips drew back. “Watch out, girl.”
Drest lowered Borawyn slowly, though her arms were shaking. She hoped the bandit wouldn’t notice. “Why? I’m not the one afraid of a name.”
“You would be if you knew who I am.”
“I know who you are,” Drest said. “You’re a dirty, smelly bandit who has made a puddle in his hose at my da’s name. I never knew someone would do that. Uwen said he saw a man do that in battle, but I didn’t believe him before.” She lifted her sword again and made a sudden slash in the air. “Do you want to fight?”
“Not here. I’ll fight you on the road, but not here.”
With a sniff, the bandit settled back on the well and started to draw the bucket up again.
“What’s your name?” Drest didn’t know what made her ask it, but she felt daring.
“Why do you want to know?”
“You said I’d be frightened if I knew. So I’m asking. Have you a name, or shall I give you one?”
“Jupp,” said the bandit. “My name is Jupp. Have you heard it? Your father knows it well.”
Drest rested Borawyn’s tip in the dirt. “I’ve never heard that name.”
Wonder and fury passed through the bandit’s eyes. “He’s never told you?”
“Nay, he doesn’t talk of bandits but to say that if we see one we should kill it like a rat.”
All at once, Jupp rose, his face red, his hands clasped tightly on the staff. And before Drest could prepare, he was running for her.
Quick, lass! Swing it up!
It seemed to be Gobin’s hands, not her own, that thrust Borawyn into the air. With a mighty crack, the sword caught the bandit’s stick. He was close enough for her to see the veins in his eyes.
But then he fell away, the staff clattering uselessly to the side, and Drest was above him.
Now swing it down! thundered Wulfric’s voice, echoing through her head.
What are you waiting for? Gobin’s voice, desperate. It’ll take nothing to strike this blow!
Drest didn’t mo
ve. Something was holding her back, despite her brothers’ voices.
The bandit was on his knees, crawling away, then on his feet, then running behind the well.
What have you done? moaned Gobin. You squandered that chance!
Drest lowered her sword, trembling.
“Was that mercy?” The bandit hovered on the other side of the well.
“Maybe I’d like to have a real fight,” Drest said. She tried to make her voice sound like Emerick’s: strong and haughty.
Jupp straightened. “I’d slay you right now if I could.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“Anyone who’s lived in this town hates your family.”
“And my family hates all bandits, but why do you hate me? Is it because you were a bandit in this town?”
“Villagers, not bandits, lived in this town. And I wasn’t always a bandit.” Jupp’s eyes were hard upon her. “Your father should have told you the story.”
“Well, he didn’t.” Drest hesitated. “Is it your story? Will you tell me it?”
“It’s not just my story.” Jupp raised his chin, gesturing to the houses behind her. “Eight years ago, he came into my house, your father. Had a bucket. Poured it into the kettle and said it was for soup. Told me he knew I was tired. He was glad to do the lifting from the well. I’d just done a job for him. I thought he was doing me a kindness. I would never have thought he’d poison our well, nor that he’d give me the first taste.” Jupp inhaled. “That night, I felt it. Everyone in this town who’d drawn from that well felt it. No one slept. By morning, in all the streets, you could hear nothing but crying. That water—it was strongest on anyone weak or sick or small. My sister and her bairn had been in a fever. They hadn’t eaten for days before they ate that soup. That soup—it was the last thing they tasted.” His voice was heavy. “That’s why I hate you, girl. You’re his daughter. I’d put you in my sister’s place if I could.”
The ground beneath Drest seemed to tremble.
“My da doesn’t poison wells,” Drest said.
The bandit sniffed. “That’s what he tells you, is it. He never told you about Birrensgate. When you see him next, ask him why he did it. I’ll never know.”
