by Diane Magras
They stood separated by the well and the stretch of bare ground, their eyes never leaving each other.
It’s not true, Drest thought. That’s not my da.
“Go away,” Jupp said, his voice a slippery whisper. “I didn’t ask you to meet me here.”
“Stop following me.”
Jupp lowered his gaze, blinking. “Soft. Weak and soft. It’s a disgrace.”
Drest knew that the bandit wasn’t speaking about her.
“Go,” whispered Jupp. “Don’t make me look at you a moment longer.”
She turned and continued on the road through the town, careful not to run. She glanced back at Jupp. He was watching her, though he didn’t raise his head. He did not move from his spot.
* * *
• • •
Emerick and Tig had staggered only just beyond the village’s other gate when Drest caught up with them.
“The bandit’s still there. He’s not going to bother us any longer, though. We had a talk.” Drest quickly took her place under Emerick’s arm.
Tig pulled away and rubbed his shoulder.
The wounded man leaned on her heavily. “We were worried; we’d heard no sound and wondered if he’d crept up behind you.”
“I had to use my sword, but just a bit, and only because he came at me.” Drest paused. “I could have slain him and ended this. But I didn’t.”
“You could have been hurt. I’ve known few battles where all warriors emerged unscathed.” He gave her a weary smile. “Words can be a strong weapon, no? Celestria once told me that.”
And yet the bandit’s words had felt like the strongest weapon yet.
22
THE PAST
They walked for the rest of the day and into the night, without food or water. Birrensgate whirled in Drest’s mind all that time. She could picture her father on a crowded battlefield, his sword raised high. Or home on the headland, his face bright behind the bonfire. She could not see him in Birrensgate, leaning over the well to draw up a bucket of poisoned water.
But what if he had?
When it was dark, Drest built a small fire and knelt to help Emerick sit. He eased himself back slowly, drawing in his breath between his teeth, but at last was settled.
From the stains on his tunic, it was clear that his rib wound had again oozed through its wrappings.
“I’ll find some moss to bind that for you,” Drest said. “I’ll take Tig so we can be quick.”
Emerick nodded and gave her a grateful look, then closed his eyes.
Tig followed Drest into the sparse woods near the road. For the first few minutes, they gathered moss without speaking.
“Something you heard from that bandit is plaguing you,” Tig murmured.
“Aye, the past. My da’s.” Drest peeled up a fist-sized chunk of moss. “It’s made people like that bandit hate me.”
“It’s not your fault, Drest.”
“Nay, but it doesn’t go away, does it? The past.”
Tig set down his moss. “Have you ever known in your heart who you are—not what people tell you, but who you really are—and tried to be that? If I could have any power in the world, I’d want it to be the ability to tear away the past.”
“I don’t think anyone can do that.”
“No? Just watch.”
Tig pretended to rip something from his shoulders and slapped it on the ground. Then he reached over and pretended to tear something from her shoulders too. He added that to his imaginary pile, and raked a handful of soil over it.
“There. I’ve taken off my miserable past, and your father’s past for you, and buried them. We needn’t think of them again.”
Drest wanted to smile, but a lump was in her throat. “I’ll try, but—but I am my da’s bairn. A warrior.”
“Oh, you’re a warrior, but you’re not like him.”
Drest frowned. “How do you know that?”
“Because you ran into a field against six lads to save me, you rescued a witch from a mob, you’re hauling your enemy around as if he’s your greatest friend—”
“The last part’s for the trade, lad, and the rest are all things my brothers would have done.”
“You do more: Not slaying your bandit, going after your family like this—Drest, you’re the kindest person I’ve met.”
“Nay, I’m not. It’s just my da’s code.”
“Does it tell you to be a warrior with a good heart? No, that’s your own doing. That’s what makes you a legend.”
“I don’t know what you mean by that.” Drest’s face was hot.
Drest has an admirer, giggled Uwen’s voice.
Shut it, rumbled Gobin.
Nay, she does. A wee admirer with arms like twigs.
Shut it, came Gobin’s voice, harder this time. And you should know better than to ignore my word.
“We should return to Emerick,” Tig said, rising. “I think this is all the moss we’ll get.”
* * *
• • •
Even before they emerged from the trees, Drest saw Jupp on the road, standing far too close to Emerick. The wounded man had propped himself up but was clearly helpless.
She dropped the moss, drew Borawyn, and bolted toward the bandit as fast as she could. “You broke your promise!”
Before she reached him, she lunged. The heavy sword only wobbled slightly this time.
Jupp leaped beyond the blade’s reach. “I made no promise and I meant no harm. I was only wondering if you might share your fire and meal with another traveler on these roads.”
“There’s not enough fire to share. And there’s nothing else here but my wounded friend, and no one touches him.” Drest swung her sword down, narrowly missing Jupp’s legs.
The bandit backed away. “I don’t know why you hate me, girl. I thought we had an understanding.”
“Aye, I thought so too: You said you’d stop following.”
The bandit retreated into the shadows beside the road. “I wasn’t following; I’m going my own way. Now let me pass.”
“Coward. Go back to where you came from.”
“I’ve nowhere to go but ahead. Launceford—it’s a full night’s walk—that’s where I’m going. It’s where I live. I only want to get home.”
“You said in the woods that you were watching me, that you’d seen me grow up. Launceford’s far from the headland; it’s not your home.”
Drest was about to lunge at him again when Emerick’s weak voice stopped her.
“Let him pass. He wants only warmth and food. I’ve told him we have neither. Let him pass and find his own.”
Drest shook her head; she didn’t want the bandit ahead of them.
But Jupp took Emerick’s words to heart. “I will go straight on and walk all night,” he said, “and I thank your wounded friend.” With that, he strode away up the road into the darkness.
Drest held her sword aloft. “He’s going to wait for us.”
“I’m sorry, Drest; I had to speak. He had a dagger you didn’t see. He was readying it for the next time you lunged. When you are close to a man, a dagger is a better weapon that a sword.”
A wave of cold passed through Drest. She went to Emerick’s side. To her surprise, he reached out and took her hand.
Tig came to Drest’s other side. His face was utterly white.
She settled down to add the little moss they had collected to Emerick’s bandages and tried to think of anything but Jupp’s vengeful face. But she was tired. She was also desperately thirsty, and hungry; the hearth bread and ale from the day before were a distant, sweet memory. And it was night. In two days, her father and brothers would be hanged. She had to keep moving and not worry about the bandit waiting farther along on the road.
Then Drest thought of the stones in the doorways of Birrensgate
and of the bandit’s story.
“His name is Jupp,” Drest said slowly. “That bandit.”
“He told you?” Emerick asked.
“Aye. He said my da had poisoned the well. Some of those stones in the doorways were for Jupp’s family.” She had no wish to speak her next words, but they came out nonetheless. “His sister and her bairn.”
Emerick was quiet. Drest was grateful that he didn’t remind her of Grimbol’s brutality at that moment.
“He grieves them, no doubt,” Emerick said at last. “That should surprise no one. They were a family, Jupp and his sister and her child.”
“Just like my da and my brothers and me,” whispered Drest.
To her shame, hot tears welled in her eyes. And in a moment, she was sobbing.
Emerick’s hand closed on her shoulder. Tig’s closed on the other.
It took Drest several minutes to stop. She drew away from her companions, wiping her stinging eyes with the back of her hand. “It was building up in me from no food and no rest. But don’t worry; a good fire and a doze—”
“That’s nothing to be ashamed of,” Emerick said. “Faintree Castle’s bravest knights would have done the same after experiencing what you’ve encountered.”
“All the men in Phearsham Ridge cry,” said Tig, “more often than you think.”
“I can’t afford to cry,” Drest said, and took a long breath.
* * *
• • •
There was so little time, but the travelers settled down for the night. Not one of them could walk any farther.
Tig had agreed to watch for half the night, but when Drest was ready to wake him, her thoughts had not quieted enough to let her sleep. Indeed, they had grown ever fiercer.
Why would Grimbol poison Birrensgate?
What had Jupp done to evoke such fury?
What had truly happened to the lady Celestria?
They were all questions for her father, but she didn’t know if she’d be able to speak them aloud when she saw him next.
If she saw him.
Two days more.
What if the bandit stopped them again?
What if Emerick’s wounds were too painful for him to move?
What if she couldn’t move, tired and hungry, her nerves raw with fear?
What if she couldn’t do it?
Don’t think of that, lass.
It was her father’s voice. For the first time.
Drest opened her eyes. The fire was huge and bright. Darkness hung behind it, as dense as the sea.
You’re a good lass to come after us, but it’s been a hard journey, and the hardest part yet is to come. Steel yourself, Drest, and never forget who you are.
Da, all those things the bandit said—
Let’s not talk of that. Let’s not think of that. You’ve one matter before you, and you must set your mind to that alone. Aye, lass, this is battle, and you cannot let yourself be distracted.
Drest slowly nodded. Can you tell me what I should do when I reach the castle, Da?
To rescue us? Nay, lass, you must find your own way, just as you’ve done all this time.
Drest’s heart was suddenly pounding. Won’t you or the lads be there for me?
Nay, lass. Not as you think you need us. Now wake that lad and tell him it’s his turn to watch. You need your sleep and strength for the days ahead. But don’t rest too long, my girl; you’ve only two days.
the fifth day
23
LAUNCEFORD
Drest, Emerick, and Tig rose before dawn on the road beyond Birrensgate with dry throats and hollow stomachs. Drest had been hungry and thirsty before, but never like this, and she suspected the feeling was worse for her companions.
“Lass, do you remember that brook in the woods that you found by the sea?” Emerick’s voice was weak. “Might you find another?”
She had to; they could not go on without water.
Drest led her companions into the woods. Maybe she could find an alder: the tree, she knew, that always grew near water. Emerick, supported by a stumbling Tig, trailed behind as she looked for a trickle, a patch of grass, anything damp. There were no alders, only dry pines, and a scattering of oaks. But at last, Drest found a deep crevice in a lightning-damaged oak where rain had collected. It smelled clean and tasted only slightly of wood.
The three scooped the water from the hollow with their hands and drank, over and over, until the water was gone. Then they tramped back to the road.
That day was the hardest yet. The sky was clear but the forest was thick around them: perfect terrain for a bandit to hide. No one spoke, and Emerick leaned more and more on Drest and Tig. By midday, he was holding his breath with every step, just as he had when Drest had taken off his hauberk in the ravine. It was hard to keep going, but the three trudged on, pausing only when Emerick grew too tired to continue.
As the sun began to set, a town’s great iron gates appeared in the distance. From the road ahead came horses, carts and wagons, and people on foot, all entering the town.
“At last,” breathed Emerick. “This is Launceford. We are nearly at the castle. But let’s stop. We need food.”
“And water,” added Tig. “You said at Birrensgate that you could eat a boar. Well, I could drink an ocean. In one gulp.”
“I want both those things as much as you, but we don’t have time,” Drest said. “We’ve only one more day.” Her stomach twisted.
“We’ll make it, Drest, I promise,” said Emerick. “If we eat and rest only briefly, we’ll have the strength to walk all night and reach it by dawn.”
The three approached the town gate and joined the flow of people and carts from the other direction. They stepped in behind a pair of pilgrims in dusty brown robes.
“That’s the dangerous way,” one of the pilgrims was saying to his companion, pointing down the road from which Drest and her friends had come. “It’s thronged with bandits, and, if you go the whole distance, they say you’ll come upon the Mad Wolf’s lair.”
“I heard there was a cozy little town some distance from here—what was it called? Some pointy name—whose healer could do wonders for a limp.” The pilgrim patted his leg.
“Phearsham Ridge,” said the other. “Yes, we should go there. And we can ask one of the villagers to show us the path through the woods, for there is a trail that will take us to the other road and far from the Mad Wolf.”
“Need we worry about him?”
“I think it would be wise to avoid his lands even now. Remember what they said? There is still a wolf cub loose.”
Emerick leaned heavily on Drest and reached his good arm forward, touching one of the pilgrims on the shoulder. Both turned around, their eyes sharp but more curious than suspicious.
“Forgive my interruption, good pilgrims,” Emerick said in what Drest had grown to think of as his smoothest castle voice, “but I would think from your words that you have recently been to Faintree Castle. I have heard that the Mad Wolf of the North and his sons have been captured and are to be hanged. Has it happened?”
Drest held her breath.
“Not yet,” the first pilgrim said. “The hangings are planned for the day after the morrow. There’ll be an Easter feast, then the hanging, a proper celebration.”
Drest breathed.
“I am glad to hear we still have time,” Emerick said. “We have been hastening to the castle to be present.”
“I should think you’ll make it,” the second pilgrim said kindly.
It was the pilgrims’ turn to enter the gate. Emerick walked close to them, his head bowed, with Drest and Tig under his arms. The guard barely noticed them. Tig’s crow had left them as they joined the line, swooping over the massive stone wall that enclosed Launceford.
Drest tried to keep her senses sharp, but the crowd,
the tall houses, and all the smells of food and refuse overwhelmed her. Her brothers had told her stories of large, bustling towns, but she had never imagined there could be so many moving bodies, so much noise, so much stink. And those stone walls surrounding everything, visible wherever they went—it felt like a trap.
They found the town well and drank, gulping the water, taking turns from the bucket. When they were done, Drest caught a whiff of roasting pork from a cook fire nearby.
“I wonder if we might beg a bite of their meal,” Emerick said.
They staggered over to the man and woman who crouched beside the fire, but were rebuffed with an answer that was to repeat itself throughout the town: The couple wanted silver. They meant coins, Drest realized, like the ones that padded the treasure bags in the headland’s cave.
The marketplace was the same. Everyone asked for silver. Drest grew so sick of hearing it that she was tempted to draw her sword and force a butcher to hand over a lamb carcass.
Eventually, they gave up and searched for a place to rest. On the ground past the market street, the three found an unoccupied space. Emerick was sweating and pale. There was no spot to lean upon, so he lay on his back with his head in the dust.
“If I weren’t so covered with blood and dirt, I’d go to the richest house in town and demand a proper meal,” Emerick said. “Yet as I am, I’d be taken for a bandit.”
“Not you,” Tig said. “Bandits are cleaner.”
Emerick turned his head on the ground and gazed at Drest and Tig. “I wonder which of you would be more fit to sell a ring.”
“What ring?” Drest asked.
“I have one in my boot. When we were at your camp, I hid it there while you were searching for a boat. My left boot. Go ahead and see if you can find it.”
The boot was heavy and muddy and would not come off.
“It smells worse than sea rot,” Drest muttered. “Has a wee animal crawled in there and died?”
