PRAISE FOR MELANIE DICKERSON
“Christian fiction fans will relish Dickerson’s eloquent story.”
—SCHOOL LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE ORPHAN’S WISH
“The Goose Girl, a little retold fairy tale, sparkles in Dickerson’s hands, with endearing characters and a charming setting that will appeal to teens and adults alike.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, TOP PICK! ON THE NOBLE SERVANT
“Dickerson is a masterful storyteller with a carefully crafted plot, richly drawn characters, and a detailed setting. The reader is easily pulled into the story. Does everything end happily ever after? Read it and see! Recommended for young adults and adults who are young at heart.”
—CHRISTIAN LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE NOBLE SERVANT
“[The Silent Songbird] will have you jumping out of your seat with anticipation at times. Moderate to fast-paced, you will not want this book to end. Recommended for all, especially lovers of historical romance.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4 STARS
“A terrific YA crossover medieval romance from the author of The Golden Braid.”
—LIBRARY JOURNAL ON THE SILENT SONGBIRD
“When it comes to happily-ever-afters, Melanie Dickerson is the undisputed queen of fairy-tale romance, and all I can say is—long live the queen! From start to finish The Beautiful Pretender is yet another brilliant gem in her crown, spinning a medieval love story that will steal you away—heart, soul, and sleep!”
—JULIE LESSMAN, AWARD-WINNING AUTHOR OF THE DAUGHTERS OF BOSTON, WINDS OF CHANGE, AND HEART OF SAN FRANCISCO SERIES
“I couldn’t stop reading! Melanie has done what so many other historical novelists have tried and failed: she’s created a heroine that is at once both smart and self-assured without seeming modern. A woman so fixed in her time and place that she is able to speak to ours as well.”
—SIRI MITCHELL, AUTHOR OF FLIRTATION WALK AND CHATEAU OF ECHOES, ON THE BEAUTIFUL PRETENDER
“Dickerson breathes life into the age-old story of Rapunzel, blending it seamlessly with the other YA novels she has written in this time and place . . . The character development is solid, and she captures religious medieval life splendidly.”
—BOOKLIST ON THE GOLDEN BRAID
“Readers who love getting lost in a fairy-tale romance will cheer for Rapunzel’s courage as she rises above her overwhelming past. The surprising way Dickerson weaves threads of this enchanting companion novel with those of her other Hagenheim stories is simply delightful. Her fans will love it.”
—JILL WILLIAMSON, CHRISTY AWARD–WINNING AUTHOR OF THE BLOOD OF KINGS TRILOGY AND THE KINSMAN CHRONICLES, ON THE GOLDEN BRAID
“Readers will find themselves supporting the romance between the sweet yet determined Odette and the insecure but hardworking Jorgen from the beginning. Dickerson spins a retelling of Robin Hood with emotionally compelling characters, offering hope that love may indeed conquer all as they unite in a shared desire to serve both the Lord and those in need.”
—RT BOOK REVIEWS, 4½ STARS, ON THE HUNTRESS OF THORNBECK FOREST
“Melanie Dickerson does it again! Full of danger, intrigue, and romance, this beautifully crafted story will transport you to another place and time.”
—SARAH E. LADD, AUTHOR OF THE CURIOSITY KEEPER AND THE WHISPERS ON THE MOORS SERIES, ON THE HUNTRESS OF THORNBECK FOREST
OTHER BOOKS BY MELANIE DICKERSON
A MEDIEVAL FAIRY TALE SERIES
The Huntress of Thornbeck Forest
The Beautiful Pretender
The Noble Servant
YOUNG ADULT FAIRY TALE ROMANCE SERIES
The Healer’s Apprentice
The Merchant’s Daughter
The Fairest Beauty
The Captive Maiden
The Princess Spy
The Golden Braid
The Silent Songbird
The Orphan’s Wish
REGENCY SPIES OF LONDON SERIES
A Spy’s Devotion
A Viscount’s Proposal
A Dangerous Engagement
The Warrior Maiden
© 2019 by Melanie Dickerson
All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, scanning, or other—except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
Published in Nashville, Tennessee, by Thomas Nelson. Thomas Nelson is a registered trademark of HarperCollins Christian Publishing, Inc.
Thomas Nelson titles may be purchased in bulk for educational, business, fund-raising, or sales promotional use. For information, please email SpecialMarkets@ ThomasNelson.com.
Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version and from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc. ® Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. The “NIV” and “New International Version” are trademarks registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office by Biblica, Inc.®
Publisher’s Note: This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. All characters are fictional, and any similarity to people living or dead is purely coincidental.
Epub Edition December 2018 9780718074869
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Dickerson, Melanie, author.
Title: The warrior maiden / Melanie Dickerson.
Description: Nashville, Tennessee : Thomas Nelson, [2019]
Identifiers: LCCN 2018041182 | ISBN 9780718074777 (hardback)
Classification: LCC PS3604.I2253 W37 2019 | DDC 813/.6--dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2018041182
Printed in the United States of America
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Contents
Praise for Melanie Dickerson
Other Books by Melanie Dickerson
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
Acknowledgments and Historical Note
Discussion Questions
About the Author
CHAPTER 1
EARLY SUMMER 1423
VILLAGE OF MINDIUS, LITHUANIA
Galloping her horse past the big oak tree, Mulan pulled the bowstring taut. She aimed at the knothole with one eye closed and sent the arrow flying toward the target. It struck the tree but missed the knothole.
“Don’t shoot behind you!” Andrei flailed his skinny arms. “Keep the target in front of you.”
Shooting from a moving horse was much more difficult than when standing still, but she was improving. At least she’d escaped, for the moment, the cooking and cleaning chores. And practicing war skills kept her from facing the uncertain future—and her mother’s grief.
Her stomach churned.
“You put yourself at a disadv
antage if you have to shoot behind you.” Andrei was only twelve years old, which was six years younger than Mulan, but he’d accompanied her father on his last two military campaigns as his attendant. “Shoot in front of you, before you reach the target.”
As an orphan, Andrei would only accept food from Mulan and her mother if he worked for it. Mulan enjoyed his company, as he liked the same things she did—horses and archery. She learned war skills from him. He’d even taught her a bit about sword fighting, although she wasn’t very good at that.
Mulan wheeled her horse around. Aksoma was sluggish and awkward at turning, unaccustomed as she was to war games. Perhaps Mulan should be training on her father’s horse.
She dismounted and walked toward the tree. As she retrieved her arrow, placing it in the quiver strapped to her waist, she spotted a man in soldier’s garb riding up the lane toward her home.
She glanced at Andrei. He bit his lip, unease lining his face.
Mulan dropped the longbow where she stood and raced up the hill.
At the back of the house, she could see straight through the back doorway to the front. Her mother stood in the threshold and greeted the soldier.
Mulan and Andrei stepped inside and hid behind Mother’s painted wooden chest. Mulan slid her gaze to the curtain covering her parents’ bedchamber door, concealing what was inside even as she concealed herself from the man at the front door.
“Greetings,” the soldier answered. “Is Mikolai at home?”
Mulan held her breath at the mention of her father.
“He’s not here now. Do you have a message for him?”
The soldier’s expression never altered. “Is he likely to return soon?”
“No.” Mother hid one arm behind her back, as if she didn’t know what to do with it.
“Then tell him Butautas requires his service. He is to report to Vilkaviškis to join the army in fighting the Teutonic Knights who have besieged his ally’s castle in Poland.”
“His ally?”
“Duke Konrad of Zachev.”
Mother inclined her head in a nod. “Very well.”
“His service is required.”
“You said that already.”
Mulan ducked her head out of sight, but she imagined the soldier giving Mother a sullen look.
“I shall return three days hence so Mikolai and I can travel together.”
“In truth, Mikolai has been unwell. He may not be well enough when you return.”
“Three days is all I can give him. See that he is ready, or else this property is forfeit to Butautas.”
“Of course.”
Mulan’s stomach twisted. A wave of cold came over her now that she was still. The hose and long shirt, cinched at the waist—men’s clothing that she wore when she rode her horse and practiced shooting—didn’t keep her as warm as her layers of skirts. And her long black hair was tied at the back of her neck, allowing a breath of cool air to send a chill across her shoulders.
A few moments later, a horse snuffled and hooves sounded on the path, plodding away from their long, one-level stone-and-timber house.
Mulan and Andrei emerged from their hiding place. Mother met Mulan’s gaze, then walked past them. She pushed open the chamber door and sighed as she stared in at the body they still had to prepare for burial. “Mikolai could not have chosen a worse time to die.”
Evening had fallen and Mulan was helping Mother clean the kitchen when someone called out, “Ponia Feodosia!”
Mulan ran to the front door. Her friend Agafia was trotting up the lane, breathing hard.
“Jankun is badly wounded.”
“Motina!” Mulan called over her shoulder.
Mother came as fast as her bad hip would allow. “What is it?”
“Jankun . . . needs your . . . healing salve,” Agafia huffed out, bending forward slightly, gulping air.
Mother grabbed a flask, closed the door behind her, and joined them on the lane. “Jankun has returned home?”
Agafia spoke quickly about her oldest brother as they walked, her face stoic and pinched. “His friends brought him home a few minutes ago. It took them a week to make the trip from Poland.”
“How bad is he?”
Agafia stared at her feet. “The priest gave him the last rites.”
“What happened?” Mulan spoke in a hushed voice as they made their way to the main road splitting the village in half, with homes and fields on either side of the rutted dirt path.
“He was captured by the Teutonic Knights. They tortured him, and when they felt he had told them everything he knew about the troops’ position and plans, they left him to die. Some of the other Lithuanian and Polish soldiers found him.”
They soon arrived at the small home Agafia shared with her family. Mulan steeled herself to see the worst.
Jankun was stretched out on a bed, unmoving. Swollen and bloody and bruised, his face was unrecognizable, though she had known him all her life. One of his eyes seemed to be missing, only a black hole remaining. Agafia had been her closest friend, and Jankun had been almost like a brother, once even defending her against the other boys in the village who taunted her because she looked different.
Jankun’s mother was unwrapping bloody bandages on his legs. Her eyes were big and round, her mouth agape. She stepped back to let Mulan’s mother approach his bedside.
While Mother attended the young man, Agafia and Mulan went to sit in the corner of the room. Three young men from the village who had also gone to fight stood nearby. They must have brought him home.
Everyone silently watched as Mother held out the flask. She and Jankun’s mother used their fingers to smear on the foul-smelling salve.
Tears streamed down Agafia’s face. Mulan placed a hand on her shoulder. The only sound was the quiet crackle of the cook fire.
Mulan caught the eye of one of the young men. “What’s the news of the battle?” she whispered. “Are we winning?”
He glanced at the door and moved in that direction. Mulan followed. When they were outside in the dim light of sunset, he said, “Our army retreated and is hoping for German reinforcements.” He shook his head. “The captain fears the Teutonic Knights may continue conquering Polish territory and expand here next. They’re brutal, stealing people’s food, killing farmers and peasants if they tried to resist. And when they take prisoners, instead of trying to exchange them or putting them in prisons, they torture them.”
His eyes took on a vacant look. “It’s a miracle Jankun isn’t dead. And they say when their grand master, Rusdorf, comes with more knights, there will be no stopping him.”
The name Rusdorf was familiar. Her father and Andrei had told her stories about his fierceness on the battlefield, as well as his grudges toward certain people and his hatred for women.
“We will defeat him.” Why had she said that? But she didn’t want to take it back.
The young man’s lip curled as he peered down at her. “Rusdorf wants land, castles, power. Thousands of trained fighters do his bidding, and his men are either hired mercenaries with no conscience or think they’re taking other people’s land in the name of God. How can our smaller army defeat them?” He turned and went back into the house.
Mulan’s heart sank. How indeed?
But a strange yearning stirred inside her. She wanted to fight against cruelty and injustice. The threat might be coming to her small Lithuanian village. She had to protect herself, her mother, and her people.
For now, though, the fight was far away. She could almost see that foreign land of Poland, the fields and forests that had become battlegrounds, where innocent people were starving and being killed by the invading force. She longed to help them, to defeat the enemy so they never came to endanger her own people.
But how was that possible? A woman, eighteen years old, was expected to marry, to have children, to cook and clean and sew, not fight.
Marriage was the only way Mulan could take care of her mother.
She hast
ened to clean the crumbs of her breakfast roll off the table, avoiding her mother’s gaze.
“Algirdas is healthy and strong, does not drink too much wine, and you’ll never starve with him as your husband.”
Mulan understood why her mother wanted her to marry Algirdas. But he smelled of his profession—bloody meat. He was not as old as her other prospects, and he was wealthy enough to take care of her and her mother when Butautas cast them out of their home. Except . . . she had always dreamed of leaving her village and seeing other places, doing something important.
But dreams could not keep her or her mother dry, safe, and fed.
“Algirdas is a hard worker,” Mother said. “Try not to judge him until you’ve spent some time with him.” She limped to the cupboard where a small barrel of spiced beer was stored.
Mulan placed the bread on the table, along with a knife and some butter. She took the cup of spiced beer from her mother’s hand and carried it to the table, then ran back as Mother filled the other cup from the barrel’s spout.
“There’s no need to hurry.” Mother got that look on her face—pursed lips, brows drawn together.
“Yes, Mother. I shall walk as slowly and gracefully as a swimming swan when Algirdas comes calling.”
“Hmm.” Mother still wore that worried look.
Mulan said a quick prayer and then saw the pigs wandering into the front entryway of the house.
“Shoo!” She bounded toward them and swatted the air with her hands. But the pigs were not as eager to leave as she was to get them out. As she pushed the sow’s shoulder, one of the piglets darted between Mulan legs. She tried to step over it, but her foot caught on its portly body. She pitched forward and landed on her hands and knees on the stone floor.
Mulan jumped up and looked down at her pale blue kirtle. Her heart thudded at the mud stains marring the beautiful fine linen fabric of her best dress. Her wide headband had fallen askew, and she pushed it up.
A heavy sigh sounded behind her. Mulan turned to see her mother standing there, hands braced on her hips.
“It’s not so bad. I don’t think he’ll even notice.” Mulan snatched up a cleaning cloth. “Perhaps I can wipe most of it off.”
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