Warrior of the Dawn

by M. S. Brook

  Mama Gwyn had just come back from her supper, and the kittens were tumbling over each other in their eagerness to nurse. She looked on with a patient eye, washing her whiskers with a dampened paw. “Aren’t they lovely?” Nieve said. “I like the ginger one best. Which one do you fancy?”

  “Gwyn is still my favorite,” I said. “Always will be.” We took turns stroking her soft fur and rubbing under her chin, careful not to disturb the hungry kittens.

  Nieve soon went home with her mother, but I stayed by the hearth, hoping to overhear bits of the men’s conversation. The chairs at the side of the fire served as a screen, and the men never gave me a glance. They were listening to Lord Kempton, whose rich, deep voice was easy to hear even though he made an effort to keep it low.

  “And Daryn’s incident was not the only report,” I heard him say to the gathered men. “I had a visit from the lord mayor of Highfield Town this morning. Apparently, the strangers have been seen several times in the past few days. They’ve stopped townsfolk, always in remote parts of the forest, asking questions about Northlanders in this region. The strangers said they were looking for lost kinfolk who had fled the war in the North.”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, and my heart went off at a gallop. Gwyn licked my hand with her rough tongue, reminding me that I’d stopped petting her.

  “What was the description of the strangers?” asked Constable Hill.

  “Three men in black cloaks, with foreign accents. Their heads were tightly hooded, and they stayed in the shadows.” Lord Kempton cleared his throat. “And there’s more. Sergeant Azar led one of the search parties last night. Go on, tell them what you found, Sergeant.”

  “My lords,” Sergeant Azar began in his gravelly voice, “last evening at dusk our patrol heard what we believe to be vithon roars off in the distance, north of town.”

  Azar’s listeners responded with varied expressions of disbelief and surprise, but he carried on. “Then we came across vithon sign along the banks of the River Silver, up beyond the North Bridge. It looked to us like they were traveling with a small party. We followed their tracks for a short distance, but we lost them in the dark.”

  “You are mistaken,” Sir Ailin said, his voice sounding loud above the murmured surprise of the others. “There have never been vithons in Canwyrrie. And even if they still exist in Domaine, how would they get here?”

  Sir Ailin Bentham was one of the regents, and Azar’s response to him was respectful. “I know it’s hard to believe, Sir Ailin, but the tracks showed the clear imprint of a heavy tail dragging behind padded claw prints. Of course, I’ve never seen a vithon track before, but—”

  “Come now, Sergeant, you don’t expect us to believe you saw vithon sign? This far south of the Plevin in winter? Impossible!”

  The sergeant was a little shorter than the other men, but he more than made up for it in the breadth of his chest and shoulders. By now he was nearly bouncing on his toes. “With respect, Sir Ailin, I would not presume to say if it is possible or not, but you have my word as a Guardian on what I saw with my own eyes and heard with my own ears. Unfortunately, we were not able to find their tracks this morning. We searched up and down the river as soon as it turned light, but the wind blew hard last night. All the tracks were gone.”

  Sir Ailin was shaking his head back and forth. He was not much older than Papa, but his hair had gone completely white already. “How would vithons travel in this cold?”

  “Their blood does run cold, sir, but sunshine or fire warms them. They can store heat in their bodies. If they sleep all night by the fire, it’ll last all day.”

  “There are a lot of stories,” Sir Ailin said. “Don’t believe everything you hear.”

  A sudden silence fell over the group, and Sergeant Azar went still as a stump. It was hard to tell in the firelight, but I thought the back of his neck turned red.

  Lord Kempton cleared his throat. “That is all, Azar. Keep a sharp lookout.” Azar made a stiff salute and walked away.

  “You’ve been quiet, Lionel,” said Lord Kempton. “What say you?”

  “My lord, I have no trouble believing Sergeant Azar’s report. Last night Aidriana heard the vithon roars too. And she overheard the Blackcoats talk about feeding them.” There were no protests of disbelief when Uncle Leo spoke, and he went on in his calm voice. “We know that Saduk used vithons in his war with the North, but it is troubling that Domaine now dares bring vithons to the center of Guardians forces in the South.”

  I combed my fingers through Gwyn’s long, tortoiseshell fur. The kittens had finished their supper, and she stood in her basket to rub her face against mine, purring loudly.

  “What about the king?” asked Sir Donal, one of the regents. “When will he send us word?”

  Uncle Leo took a moment to answer. “The king will do his part, but there is still much we must do before his plan unfolds.”

  Lord Kempton cleared his throat. “We’ve waited a long time, Lionel. Does he expect us to hold the realm together with nothing but a promise?”

  “You must not allow the long wait to steal your hope.”

  Sir Ailin snorted. “There you go again with your riddles. They may sound fine, but words will not keep Canwyrrie safe.”

  “The regents will do what it takes to keep Canwyrrie safe,” said Lord Kempton. “Just as we have since Prince Alestar was killed. And we will continue to do so until King Aidan relieves us.”

  There were murmurs of agreement and then quiet again. From where I sat on the floor, I could see Sir Ailin’s foot tapping on the flagstones, but he said nothing further. I teased the kittens with a bit of string from the basket. Lord Kempton’s boots stumped back and forth and then stopped abruptly.

  “If Saduk is making a renewed attack on our borders, we need to know.” He turned to the two constables. “I want scouting parties on their way up to the frontier tomorrow morning. It will be a hard journey with winter still upon us, but we must have answers. Constable Carlin, you will take a patrol up the central region all the way to the River Plevin. Constable Hill will go east of the Emerald Dales to Plevsferry. Captain Ardleigh, you will take the western route to the borderlands at Foggy Peaks. Gather what news you can, and warn the villages along the way. Report to the council immediately upon your return.”

  The officers murmured their agreement.

  Lord Kempton cleared his throat. “Constables, before you go, leave orders to increase local patrols as well. I will not have Blackcoats running free in Canwyrrie—with or without vithons.”

  The men saluted, right hands over their hearts, and hurried off to make arrangements, but Lord Kempton stopped Uncle Fergal. “One moment, Ardleigh. I have a favor to ask. Would you be so good as to take young Arvel and my son Rowland along with you? It’s not too soon for them to learn the country and see a Guardian patrol in action.”

  “Certainly, my lord, they’re fine young men. I’d be pleased with their company.”

  “Good. They’ll be ready at first light.”

  The men left, but I stayed by the hearth, absorbing what I’d heard. What an adventure awaited Rowland and Arvel. The boys were inseparable friends although they were like fire is to water. Rowland with the flame-red coloring and solid build of the Kempton family, and Arvel, slim and strong, as cool as Rowland was fiery. Arvel’s hair was the color of sunshine, and he had the temperament to match. The older girls always smiled and laughed a lot when Arvel was around.

  “It’s not fair, Gwyn! Why can’t I go too?” Gwyn opened one golden eye and let it fall shut, snuggling closer to her sleeping kittens. It was no use thinking about it. Girls would never be allowed to go along. I would stay at home, indoors, with needlework, and school lessons, and the dreaded spinning wheel, while Rowland and Arvel rode through forests and hills, and at night built fires and slept under the stars.

  And I was the one who loved looking at the s
tars. Sometimes on warm nights I would lie on the oval green, watching the tiny jewels of light sparkle against the soft blackness of the heavens. Papa would often come with me and point out the giant figures, outlined by the stars. We’d find the mighty King Alwyne spearing a vithon, or Queen Nerys of the Long Shot, her arrow poised to fly across the great expanse of sky, and Papa would tell me stories of the brave things they’d done.

  The embers were dying in the fireplace, but I took a last, lingering look at the shadowy coat of arms above it. The Shield of Enfys we called it. Shaped like a three-cornered shield, the red and blue field was cut into four sections by a gold border. Each section displayed a device that corresponded to the motto of the House of Enfys—a golden key, a searching eye, an eagle with wings spread in flight, and a roaring lion.

  The Enfys motto was in the form of a riddle. It was written in red and black with accents of gold on a plaque beneath the shield. The elegant flourishes of ancient script made it hard to read, but that didn’t matter. I’d spent many a spare moment puzzling over the meaning and knew every word of it by heart. It read:

  When unlocks the key so the eye can see,

  When the eagle soars and the lion roars,

  Then shall there be in the land—unity.

  I repeated the words to myself and slipped out the door, wondering about King Aidan. Did he have the answer to the riddle? And why didn’t he send us word? It could only be that he was in terrible trouble.

  The tower bells were pealing the evening watch when I opened my front door. Uncle Leo, Mama, and Papa were sitting by the fire. Mama was busy with her needlework, and the men were holding cups of tea. It was almost like the attack had never happened, but there was no mistaking the bandage wrapped around Papa’s head.

  “Sorry I’m late.” I kissed Papa on the cheek.

  “There’s tea on the hob,” Mama said to me. “Lionel, would you like another cup?”

  “No, thank you. It’s time for me to go. I’ll come early tomorrow, before Aidriana’s lessons.”

  We said our goodnights, and I saw Uncle Leo out, watching until he crossed the snowy green and disappeared through the small side gate the night watchmen opened for him.

  “I heard that Rowland and Arvel are going on patrol,” I said.

  Papa shifted in his chair. “Are they, now? Lionel just told us that Fergal was leaving in the morning.”

  Mama didn’t look up from her needle and thread. “It will be a hard, cold journey this time of year. I don’t envy them one bit.”

  “I do,” I said.

  “It’s better that we ladies stay at home where it’s safe.”

  “But Queen Nerys didn’t. She went along on hunting trips. Papa, remember Nerys and her long shot?”

  Papa smiled. “How could I forget? That story was always your favorite. I’m sure by now you could tell it better than I.”

  “No, you tell it, Papa. I’d much rather hear you.”

  Papa made room for me to squeeze next to him, and I snuggled against his shoulder, careful not to press against his sore ribs as he began the story.

  “Of course, all that I’m about to tell you took place in days long ago when the realm was united. Queen Nerys lived in the Far North with her husband, King Frodric. The Queen loved to hunt, and her aim was as true as ever any man’s was. And you’re right, one day the Royal Family and a large retinue of friends and Guardians went on a hunting trip. After a fortnight they returned with their dressed venison and boars, ready for a feast. But as they rode along the cliffs near Ashling Keep, they saw the smoke of many fires. They dropped their goods and hurried to a lookout above the town. There in the harbor sat five longboats, their red sails furled. The town of Deep Harbor was burning, and on the other side of the cliffs, a battle raged at the walls of Ashling Keep. Foreign soldiers were riding through the village, pulling folks out of their houses, pillaging and setting fire to what they could not carry.”

  “It must have been terrible, Papa.”

  “It was. Many good people lost their lives that day. But the king and his men quickly put their heads together to plan how they would attack. Then someone noticed that the queen had disappeared. She had crawled down the face of the cliff and was hiding on a rocky outcrop that hung above the town, her bow poised. The queen drew, and in one smooth motion, let her arrow fly. Those watching said that the arrow sang as it flew straight and true toward a cluster of men in the town below. One of the men had taken off his helmet to mop his sweaty brow. The arrow struck his eye and pierced his brain. He fell dead upon the spot. As you can imagine, the enemy troops were shaken by this arrow dropping out of the sky and striking their commander, for that is who he was. Word of his strange death quickly reached the walls, where the foreign troops faltered.

  “The rest of the hunting party were quick to press the advantage. They galloped, roaring and shouting, down to the town. From the walls, the Guardians of Ashling saw that they had help. They swarmed out of the gate and caught the enemy between them. Queen Nerys had cut off the head of the enemy, and his soldiers were leaderless and full of fear. They ran for their boats, and those who escaped the pursuit of the Guardians rowed out of the harbor, raised their sails, and were never heard from again.”

  “But what about the shot, Papa?”

  “Oh yes, the shot.” Papa’s voice became reverent. “It was a shot no one would have thought possible. Some say the queen’s eyes were closed when she made it. And ever after she was known as Nerys the Seer. For it is said that her seeing was not with eyes only, but with a deeper, truer kind of seeing. From that day onwards, many came to hear the wisdom of her words, which sang as true and sure as her arrows. She gave freely to all who came to her, and it is said that she was equally happy to advise the king with matters of state as she was to advise a mother with a sick child. But that has always been the way of Enfys, to honor both great and small.”

  Mama tidied up her mending and dropped it into a basket. She stood to pick up our empty cups. “I do believe the two of you would stay up all night telling stories if I didn’t chase you off to bed.”

  Papa nudged me and I got up, my thoughts still with Nerys and her amazing shot. I filled two pitchers of hot water from the kettle that hung in the fireplace and put one by the basin in the sleeping room and carried mine up to my loft. Mama and Papa were still in the sitting room, and I heard the soft murmur of their voices as I washed and got ready for bed. I lay down on my feather mattress and pulled the warm covers up to my chin.

  I slept, and the dream came again. I saw the young warrior—splendid in her Red and Blues, sword and mail dazzling in the sunlight. She was waiting for me. Her right hand was over her heart in salute, the bronze helmet stuck in the crook of her left arm, freeing her wild curls to scatter in the wind. Wide brown eyes gazed intently into mine.

  “You are a warrior!” she said.

  I looked into the mirror of her face and declared the words aloud. “I am a warrior!”

  Chapter 5

  More than a fortnight passed before Papa was able to return to work in the smithy, and still he walked with a limp. I helped him after my morning lessons, pumping the bellows and fetching for him. I never heard him complain, but I was sure his hip pained him.

  Uncle Leo and I sang healing songs several more times, and each time, I was sure Papa would be better. The bruising did disappear and the hip returned to normal on the outside, but deep inside the joint, sinews and flesh failed to heal. I asked Uncle Leo why it was so.

  “Sometimes healing takes a long time,” he said. “And sometimes we need to heal on the inside too.”

  “Do you think Papa is afraid because of the attack?”

  “I don’t know. Are you?”

  I nodded, tired of pretending that I was brave. “I felt so helpless. There was nothing I could do except hide while Papa was nearly killed. And then there was something I could do, but I
did nothing, and that was much worse.”

  Uncle Leo frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “The Blackcoats said they wanted Northlanders. I could have given myself up. Maybe they would have stopped beating Papa.”

  Uncle Leo shook his head. “Listen to me! They would not have stopped. You did the right thing, and Daryn would agree. He’s told me more than once how proud he is of your quick thinking—staying hidden until you could help him to safety. I know you’ve heard him say that too.”

  “But that wasn’t how it happened. I hid because I was afraid.” I dropped my head, and a few hot tears sneaked down my cheeks. “The girl in my dream says I am a warrior, but I’m not a warrior at all!”

  Uncle Leo gave me a minute to wipe my eyes with the back of my sleeve. “What girl was that?”

  His kind tone gave me the courage to tell him about my dream. I also told him about the whispers I’d heard after the attack, and he nodded as if whispers in the forest were an everyday matter.

  “Do you understand your dream?” he asked when I’d finished.

  I hesitated and then nodded.

  “But you don’t quite believe it.”

  “How could I? The first chance I get to be brave, I hide behind a pile of wood!”

  “Mm. Let me tell you the story as I see it. One night a young lady found herself in the cold, dark woods all alone except for her dear father, who was beaten and left to die in the snow. This resourceful girl braved roaming Blackcoats and vithon roars to bring her father safely home. And afterwards, she nurtured him back to health and helped him with his work until he was strong again. Now, I’d call that girl courageous, wouldn’t you?”

  He let me think about it, then said, “I think you can believe your dream. You are a warrior. You faced your fears and pushed through to victory.”