The Hunt for the Mad Wolf's Daughter

by Diane Magras

  All the castle ladies were there throughout the Great Hall, looking up at Emerick. Lady de Moys, in a gown the color of violets, was with her men, standing to the side, watching with cool dignity.

  Tig stood with Drest’s family, arms crossed, in a fresh azure tunic and black hose. His gaze had not left Drest since she had walked to the head of the hall.

  They’re here for me, Drest told herself.

  Emerick stepped forward.

  The low murmur that had filled the Great Hall abruptly silenced.

  “This is a day of celebration,” he called out, “a day of glory, when the world will know what has transpired during the past fortnight and how it has changed this castle forever.”

  Emerick surveyed the room, then turned to Drest. His eyes were unusually bright.

  “Please kneel.”

  She flinched but obeyed. She had never knelt for him, but of course she would have to. Yet still her face burned as she stared at his fine leather boot.

  In a softer voice that still echoed throughout the hall: “Please look at me.”

  Flushing more, she looked up.

  Sir Reynard had come to his side and was holding out on the flat of his hands a dark leather scabbard. With a sword.

  Am I to be punished? She glanced out at the crowd, trying to find Grimbol’s face, but saw only the sea of colors.

  With a quiet swish, Emerick drew the sword, then turned back to Drest and spoke in his booming castle voice: “In honor of your service to Faintree Castle, for the protection you have provided its lord at the risk of your own life—”

  His voice for an instant grew hoarse.

  “—for your courage in battle, for your brave acts of chivalry—”

  He paused, and swallowed.

  “—for your faith, for your goodness, and for your unending loyalty—for these I knight you, Drest, under the eye of God.”

  With great care, Emerick touched the flat of the sword to Drest’s shoulders.

  She barely felt it.

  “Rise now in service to God as Lady Drest Madwulf—Lady Drest the Brave—of Faintree Castle.”

  She could not move. She barely felt her legs.

  You cannot knight a lass.

  Yet he had.

  Emerick passed the sword to Sir Reynard and reached down for her hands. He drew her to her feet and turned to face the hall.

  A shock had seemed to run through the crowd. No one spoke. All the faces staring up at her were openmouthed, or pinched, or stern.

  Emerick’s eyes hardened.

  “Know the name of Lady Drest Madwulf.” His voice rang out. “Know her as my bravest and most loyal knight, and my greatest friend. Do not forget it. Ladies, knights, soldiers, and villagers—let the news of this spread wide. Let the world know who has joined the ranks of the finest knights in the land.”

  Some of the Faintree men were looking at each other, their faces wide with disbelief.

  Some of them were whispering.

  His knights aren’t going to like this, murmured Gobin’s voice. It’s a good thing we’re here to protect you, lass.

  The crowd shuffled.

  A pair of hands began to clap, powerful hands: those of Lady de Moys. Within seconds, her guards and knights all started clapping.

  It spread: Sir Reynard, Grimbol and his sons, the ladies of the castle, and last the Faintree knights, until the hall was thundering with sound.

  The noise threw itself against Drest, buffeting her, drowning her. She stood with Emerick’s hands on hers, her legs shaking.

  He leaned down to her ear. “I beg your pardon for not warning you what I was going to do. I didn’t think you would mind.”

  “Nay, I don’t mind, but Emerick—your knights aren’t going to be happy.”

  “They shall have to accept it.” He hesitated. “And I think they will, especially if they catch a glimpse of Oriana and remember what she and her men will do if they challenge me.”

  Drest bit her lip. “I’m grateful, but—could you not just have removed the wolf’s head?”

  “Why do that when I can change your legend forever? Drest, this will be the new rumor: of how a foolish young lord has turned his friend into a maiden knight. It’s unreal, improbable, fantastic—and you shall be known as the maiden knight for the rest of your life.” He squeezed her hand. “Now, everyone who’s knighted gets a sword. If you’ll pardon me.”

  He let her go and took the scabbard from Sir Reynard, who handed him a sword-belt as well. Emerick knelt before Drest and buckled it around her hips, then slipped the scabbard into the loops. And last the sword.

  The blade slid against the leather, its weight familiar, and right.

  Emerick rose and took her hand again, and, staring defiantly out at the applauding crowd, raised her hand to his heart.

  You know what he’s done, don’t you? Gobin’s voice. Remember that talk you had about taking risks for each other? He’s just saved your life by taking a massive risk for himself. And only time will tell how this will turn out.

  Drest looked at the crowd, some of it hostile, but most approving, and felt as she had almost three weeks ago, standing on the headland’s boulders with Borawyn on her hip, ready to venture for the first time into an unknown world: proud, and unsure, but unflinching.

  Only this time, she was not alone.

  epilogue

  At the top of the tower, the wind whipped, but Drest stood firm against the gusts. With her sword in her hand, she skittered back across the stones, and dropped into a fighting pose.

  That sword—its weight, its balance, its grace—was unlike any weapon she had carried. It felt like part of her arm.

  The blade swept through the air like a fish through water—weaving, twisting, flowing—as Drest ran through her favorite moves. A circle lift, an up-and-over, a rising sun. Again and again in rapid succession, pivoting as she did so, the scabbard thumping against her leg.

  Drest stopped, breathing hard. She slid her sword into its scabbard, and sighed at the familiar, comforting weight.

  “Does it suit you?” said Emerick.

  Drest grinned. She’d found it easier to grin of late.

  “I think it does. You really look like yourself now. Especially with your fine azure tunic.” Tig rested an arm on a merlon, his own new azure tunic bright against the cloudy sky. Mordag landed in the crenel beside him and let out a soft caa.

  “Aye, Morvidwyn suits me well. Did you see how it moved? I’ve never held such a beautiful sword.”

  Morvidwyn—her own name for her sword—was beautiful: Tiny wave-like patterns covered the entire steel blade. A single blue jewel marked the pommel, which was round and one piece with the rest, the gem stamped in tight.

  Drest strode across the even stones to the corner of the tower that looked out over the road. Emerick joined her, and Tig, and the three stood together, watching.

  Lady de Moys and her army were leaving. Emerick had wished her farewell in the Great Hall with all his men, then led Drest and Tig to the highest point of the castle to watch the procession.

  The army had passed the gatehouses and was nearing the end of the long earthen road.

  “Did she ever tell you the story, Drest, of the new legend of Harkniss Castle?” Emerick asked.

  “Do you mean my legend at Harkniss?”

  “No, Lady Madwulf, your legend isn’t the only one at Harkniss Castle”

  Drest fixed a scowl on her face to keep back her grin. “Do you think I care about any legend but my own?”

  “Do you think my knights are allowed to speak to me like that?”

  “Aye, if you’ll be a puffed-up, maggot-headed crab about it.”

  “It’s better than being a—a wasp-headed boar’s stomach.”

  Drest let out her grin. “That was a good one.”

 
“Thank you.” He reached out and took her hands. “Shall I tell you about Harkniss Castle’s legend now?”

  Drest settled back on her heels. “Is it a good story?”

  Emerick leaned against a merlon, still holding her hands. “It’s the legend of a mysterious creature who appeared on the bailey the day of our escape.” He paused. “This one looked like a woman in gray, with long gray hair, a gray face, and gray eyes. She was the one who spooked the sheep, they say.”

  Drest held very still, her mirth gone. “Merewen,” she whispered. My mother.

  “They saw her running along the wall to the postern gate. No one dared draw near. But one guard, with the gate at his back, stayed in her path. They say that when she approached, he collapsed. They found him pale and lifeless on the ground. But after they’d rubbed his face and arms, he woke, and could speak. The creature, however, was gone. She’d disappeared.”

  “Did she climb the wall?”

  Emerick shook his head. “No one knows. They searched but never found her.”

  “She escaped, then. She—she didn’t die.”

  “Yes, this means that Merewen escaped.”

  Drest swallowed, her eyes suddenly wet.

  Emerick’s voice became soft. “Drest, I beg your pardon. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I thought you’d like to know.”

  “Nay, I’m glad you told me. I only—I—I was worried about her.” The words She’s my mother came to her lips, but faded. That was not something she was ready to share yet. It was Merewen’s secret.

  And now hers as well.

  “I’m glad to hear she’s safe,” said Tig. “I wonder if she’ll come to the castle to visit once she hears the rumors of what Drest has become.”

  “If she does,” said Emerick, “I shall welcome her with the honor she deserves. She risked her life for us, and she will be rewarded handsomely.”

  “Nay,” said Drest slowly, “she won’t come. She’s not one for rewards. She may see us one day, but only if she wants to.”

  I wonder what she’ll think when she hears what I’ve become, Drest thought. I wonder what she’d think if I told her I know the truth.

  Tig touched her shoulder. “I’ve thought of another poem. May I say it to you tonight?”

  She nodded shyly, not looking at him. He’d been composing legend poems about her almost every day, and Emerick had been recording them with a quill on parchment. Sometimes the poems made her flush, but still she listened, sitting beside Tig in the solar on the cushioned bench that was now by the window where Sir Maldred had fallen to his death.

  “I’ll be happy to record it,” Emerick said, “unless you want the practice, Tig.”

  “You shouldn’t let me practice on parchment,” Tig said. “Or at all. I am not learning my letters as quickly as I thought I would.”

  “Give it time,” Emerick said gently. “And let me know if anyone bothers you about that again.”

  Drest and Tig exchanged glances. One squire had been seen imitating Tig’s clumsy attempts to write his first letters, and the whole castle had heard. Emerick had spoken sternly to the young man. Later that afternoon, Gobin and Nutkin had gathered all the squires for a short and strangely quiet conversation. That evening in the Great Hall, the squire who had mocked Tig had humbly apologized to him. There had been no mockery since.

  It’s good to have my brothers in this castle, Drest thought.

  Emerick walked back across the tower and pointed at the road. “Look, the Harkniss army is gone at last. God’s bones, it took long enough for her to leave. I’m grateful to her—she did everything we asked—but Oriana—” He winced. “It’s not easy to have a guest in one’s castle who behaves as if she owns it.”

  “She took Fergal,” Drest said. “You owe her one for that.”

  Two days ago, Sir Reynard had persuaded Emerick that Fergal should suffer the punishment he was due. And for the first time, Emerick had not listened to Drest.

  It was a gruesome sentence: hanging, drawing, and quartering. When she learned what that meant, Drest had begged for his life. She understood more than ever how the failed knight had been forced into a life that had been wrong for him. If she had gone with her mother as a bairn in arms and grown up as a lass in a village, she was fairly certain that she would have lashed out with her warrior blood. She understood Fergal too well.

  But Emerick had refused, and so Drest had gone to Lady de Moys the day before she was to leave and begged the lady to take Fergal as a castle man, a servant, a laborer for her fields, anything that would keep him alive.

  “Is that your wish?” Lady de Moys’s voice had been strangely gentle. “It is customary for one who has performed heroic actions to receive a favor in thanks. You came to me when everyone else was afraid. I will give you this.”

  And so the lady had taken the failed knight, bound at his wrists, riding a horse led by one of her men. He would be a laborer with a guard always watching over him.

  “I know you don’t believe me, but I swear I didn’t betray you. I sent you where you needed to go, and you did what I expected. But this—I did not expect this. I will never forget you, lass.”

  “I shall give Oriana all glory due to her. I shall never speak an evil word of her again.” Emerick was starting toward the trapdoor that led to the stairs down. “And now, I must go. I have a task I might as well face. Your father, Drest, wants to tell me something about his villages. Something else that he did for which I must make reparation in order to win their loyalty. I wish he hadn’t been so vengeful against my father. It’s getting expensive.”

  Drest touched Emerick’s arm. “Will you come with me instead? Tig, you too. There’s something I’ve been wanting to show you, Emerick, and I don’t want to wait any longer.”

  Emerick’s face softened. “Of course I’ll come with you.”

  She took his hand and led him down the stairs, past the solar with its painted lime-washed walls and tapestries, past the ornate room beside it where her father and brothers slept, then Sir Reynard’s and the chambers of the other knights and servants, then lower and lower, past the Great Hall, and finally out through the iron-studded door onto the green.

  Drest glanced back. The keep loomed behind her, tall and bold, its high windows open. It was the palest stone and gleamed almost like metal, as if reflecting the sun from the sea that crashed against the cliffs below.

  She led Emerick and Tig to the farthest corner of the keep where the inner curtain wall met the keep’s wall on the edge of the cliff.

  “This is where Celestria used to go with your father,” Emerick said, his voice hushed.

  “Aye, Da told me. That’s why I brought you here, because she’d be proud of you for this.” Drest ran her hand over the stones on the wall, the ridges and mortar. “Emerick, do you see this?”

  “Do I see what?” He cleared his throat. “Did your father say there’s something wrong with the stones?”

  “Nay, it’s not wrong. Put your fingers in these ridges. Nay, not there, up here.” She pointed above her head.

  Emerick obeyed. “Is this worse than what’s below?”

  “Put your foot there and see. Aye, right there. Go ahead.”

  Emerick stepped onto the lower stone, supporting himself with his grip from above. “I don’t feel any difference.”

  “Reach up as high as you can. Aye, that’s right. Now move your foot up.”

  “What am I trying to find, Drest? What was it that you wanted to show me?”

  “Do you have a good grip? Look down.”

  He did, and his eyes widened. “I—Drest, I’m going to fall. Quickly, please call Wulfric—”

  “Nay, lad, just keep your fingers and your feet where they are.” In seconds, she’d climbed up beside him. “Emerick, do you not see?”

  He swallowed. “Do I not see what?”

  “That
you’re climbing a wall. I thought you should learn.”

  He studied her, his mouth an uneasy line. “Are you sure this is a good idea? You won’t let me fall, won’t you?”

  “You won’t fall.”

  Tig began to hum a soft triumphant tune. Mordag rose higher, soaring toward the tower.

  “Put your hand up here, next to mine,” Drest said. “Are you ready?”

  “God’s bones, I hope so.”

  “Here we go, then.”

  Drest waited until his fingers were firm upon his new grip, and showed him where to step next.

  At the battlements stands the guard of this hall,

  her sword in her hand, her eye on the road;

  a lady in title, but a warrior withal.

  Our tales of adventure, of this lady they bode,

  of her bravery and kindness and goodness they bode.

  Yet—be wary of what this Madwulf will do

  if you dare to threaten the castle’s young lord;

  You’ll know well the scratch of the knife that she threw

  Or the glittering silver, the whoosh of her sword:

  Aye, you’ll hear the song of that blade, her own mighty sword.

  —Anonymous, ad 1210, Faintree Castle

  Code of the Mad Wolf’s War-Band:

  Shuttle your courage back and forth with someone you trust.

  Always carry a weapon.

  Never falter before yourself or the enemy.

  Accept no defeat: Always fight.

  Honor and protect all matrons and maidens.

  Drest’s Codes:

  Sometimes only words can save you.

  Rely on the strength of matrons and maidens.

  Glossary

  Arrow loop: A narrow opening or slit in a castle’s wall or battlement, used to fire arrows from within.

  Bailey: The inner yard of a castle, between a defensive wall and the inner tower.