The Wildcat of Braeton

by Claire M Banschbach

  “I’m sending the wounded out tonight. I’ll need you to go along and carry a message for King Darrin telling him to prepare the warbands to meet us. I’ll be there in a few days,” Corin said.

  “You want me to take the message?” Andras raised his eyebrows in shock.

  A smile tugged at Corin’s mouth. “Well, since you’ve proved you will literally go through fire for me, I think I can trust you with this. One piece of advice; avoid any lords that might be there and try to see Darrin alone. I would never willingly inflict them on anyone.”

  Andras had to smile finally. Corin could be quite opinionated about certain of Aredor’s lords, and his warband was sure to hear those sentiments. Corin went over to the camp table and picked up the letter he had prepared for Darrin and handed it to Andras.

  “If you should get attacked on the way, you ride immediately for Kingscastle and don’t stop for anything,” Corin said.

  “Yes, sir.” Andras tucked the letter safely away.

  The first part of the warband was riding away as Liam and Llewellyn returned with no more to say than “We found him, Captain.”

  * * *

  Samir rode through the forest backed by his army. He smiled in contentment. They were advancing and all was working the way it should. He almost didn’t see the first tendrils of smoke curling from either side of the path.

  He drew his scimitar awaiting the certain ambush. Even so, he was taken aback by the dark figure that appeared through the haze. He saw the grey hawk perched on the figure’s shoulder and smiled.

  “So we meet again, Hawk,” he said. “I must say, you quite live up to the theatrical expectations.”

  “It seems unfair that you know so much about me,” the Hawk said.

  Samir smiled. “It is time we met formally. I am General Samir, trusted General of the Sultaan and the man who will kill you.”

  “Impressive.” The Hawk sounded bored. “The last man to tell me that stood in your place. He is dead, and his ashes scattered to the winds.”

  Samir sneered. “Balkor was a fool. He should have killed you long ago. Oh yes, I know that you were his slave before he stupidly let you go. And I will find out where you went after your release and who helped and sheltered you. I will cut it out of you myself!”

  “Again, you will not be the first to fail.”

  Samir’s jaw tensed in anger. “You’ve seen me. Now show me a face so that I may know who to look for on the battlefield.”

  His enemy slowly pushed his hood back. “Then know me, Samir. I am Corin, Celyn’s son, King’s General and Captain of the Hawk Flight. Prepare yourself for death. We will meet again.”

  Samir heard the cold certainty in Corin’s voice and felt a chill of fear. Corin took a step back and vanished into the smoke. Seconds later, Samir heard the sounds of multiple hoof beats fleeing, but he had no voice to order a pursuit. Two days later they emerged from the forest to find an army awaiting them.

  Chapter 7

  The Gathering of the Clans had been held for hundreds of years ever since the bloodiest war of Braeton. There were at that time, six Clans who would not find peace among themselves over a long-forgot cause. Then, on a bloody field, the last member of Clan Taskel was hewn down by the Champion of Clan Dyson, and the war ended. On that field, the five remaining Lairds formed a pact. The following year they and their champions would meet again in peace.

  Despite the hatred between them, no man dared break the oath sworn in blood on the last blade of Clan Taskel. They met that year and every two years after, always with the Laird and Champion to show that they meant to uphold the peace, for no Clan would go to war without a Champion or Laird.

  Braeton was divided into five parts. Clan Canich went to the forest alongside their ally, Clan Dyson. Clan Strowen withdrew to the mountains, all but wiped out for they had sided with Clan Taskel. Clan Mavor also took their troubles to the mountains for its members had fought for each side, and the Clan was sorely divided. Clan Gunlon, the last to enter the war, had also sided with Taskel and Strowen against the combined might of Dyson and Canich. They took to the plains, content to rebuild and raise the horses they loved.

  The war was all but forgotten now, but the Clans kept the ancient custom to renew their old pledges of friendship to one another. It lasted for a week and was well attended by each of the Clan’s warriors. The old battlefield lay across both Dyson’s and Gunlon’s lands not ten miles from the border of Aredor, for when kings had first risen in that country, the Clans ceded them land with the peace treaty that brought the nations together for the first time.

  * * *

  Rona paced impatiently. Since she had fought at the siege of Scodra she was accorded status as a warrior, but it was not uncommon for some women to come with the Clans to a Gathering. For the thousandth time, she looked to the southwest. The first official day of the Gathering was the next day, and Aiden had not arrived yet. His last letter had been nearly two weeks ago.

  Then, calls went up from the edge of the field. Clan Dyson had finally arrived. She hurried through the tents, watching the rows of horsemen in green plaid until she found her rider. He rode at the rear—a lonely swirl of blue among Clan Dyson.

  Neason rode beside Aiden. They had been part of the last group to join the Clan.

  “Looks like someone’s been waiting for you,” Neason said as Aiden caught sight of Rona.

  “You know, I should probably go find Ranulf,” Aiden said.

  “Aye, that’s probably best. I was going tae leave you back here. I have tae keep up appearances and ride in with Laird Dandin,” Neason replied in the same serious tone as Aiden.

  “Laird Dandin would understand. It is a pressing matter.”

  “Most definitely. I’ll be sure tae let him know,” Neason said as they both urged their horses out of the line.

  Aiden spurred Narak to a gallop, closing the distance to Rona. Narak checked with a rear, and Aiden dismounted only to be thrown back a step or two as Rona ran into his arms.

  “You made it!” she exclaimed.

  “Of course! I told you I would.” He pulled her in for a kiss.

  Rona pulled back as Narak nudged her arm. “Did you think I would forget you?” She took a lump of sugar out of the pocket of her dress.

  Aiden watched in slight disbelief as Narak graciously accepted it. “I think it’s official,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I’m in love with you. My horse likes you.”

  Rona could barely kiss him again as she laughed. “Come, Sir Champion! Laird Ranulf awaits.”

  Ranulf anxiously awaited their arrival at Canich’s campground. As a new lord, he could not afford for his Champion to be missing for any part of the Gathering. Aiden could practically hear his sigh of relief when he and Rona approached hand-in-hand.

  “Glad you could make it,” Ranulf said.

  “I missed you too, Davy,” Aiden replied as they embraced.

  “How has it been?”

  “Too quiet for weeks.”

  “Any word from Will?”

  Aiden shook his head. He, too, was worried about their brother, but Corin would have found some way to tell him if something had happened. He tried to use this to reassure Ranulf, but his brother didn’t share the same level of trust in Corin that he did.

  “Do you think they’ll call for the Clans?” Ranulf asked.

  “I think it would be for the best if they did, but we’ve heard nothing,” Aiden said. “I’m sure Laird Dandin will discuss it with everyone. Braeton has tae be ready for war either way.”

  Rona listened in silence beside him. Aiden felt her grip tighten momentarily in his hand, and he changed the subject. The way her jaw set as she glanced up at him, he knew she’d follow him to battle if he asked.

  Ranulf showed him to his tent. Rona and his brother left as Aiden picketed Narak nearby. The tent flap was decorated with the spiral of the Champion. Aiden didn’t see why he needed his own tent, but he was sure Ranulf could give him a
lengthy explanation detailing how important he was supposed to be.

  Inside on the camp bed, there was a pack with fresh clothes. The other “necessary” items of the Champion were also thoughtfully included. Aiden changed and joined the others for dinner around the campfire. He tried to avoid talking about the war in Aredor. He had found it harder than he thought it would be to fight the Calorins after living among them for eight years. He knew that no one could understand that, especially after hearing of the cruel brutality with which the Calorin General directed his men.

  When the meal ended, he and Tam left together.

  “What exactly am I supposed tae do here?” Aiden asked. “I’ve never been tae a Gathering, and I still don’t know what a Champion is supposed tae do. And don’t sigh heavily.”

  Tam did before answering. “As Champion you represent the Clan’s army. You are here tae support the Laird and tae show the other Clans that Canich has no intention of bringing an army against them while they are away from their lands.”

  “So what do I do for a week?”

  “I’m not sure. You may have tae accompany Ranulf whenever he meets with the other Lairds,” Tam said. “But don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time tae spend with Rona.”

  Aiden shoved him. “Shut up!”

  * * *

  The next morning the five Lairds and their Champions met in the open tent that stood in the center of the camp. The banner of each Clan hung behind the chairs of the Lairds. The bard of Clan Dyson came forward carrying a bundle of grey plaid and laid it on the table. He un-wrapped the sword of the warrior of Clan Taskel. Clan Dyson had kept the weapon for three hundred years in memory of the Clan they had destroyed. The Lairds swore again their oath of peace and friendship over the weapon, and the Champions met, leaving behind their weapons. After the ceremony, Aiden went to the table.

  “May I?” he asked the bard.

  The man nodded, and Aiden lifted up the blade. It had been cared for, but still showed its age. It was not elaborate and was made of a style different from the claymores now used by the Clans. There was a cut on the hilt, perhaps where he had tried to block the final blow.

  “What was his name?” Aiden asked as Clan Strowen’s bard joined them. Strowen still sang of their old ally.

  “No one knew him,” the bard said. “Perhaps one of the greatest men in our history, and all we have is his sword.”

  “Aye. Even the grave has been lost, but we stand over it still. These low hills are burial mounds, and even the land tries tae hide the tragedy of this plain,” Dyson’s bard said.

  “But as long as we remember, it is enough,” Aiden said.

  Strowen’s bard glanced at him keenly. “You know more of war than many of the men here.”

  “Aye, and what will be left of me one day? A piece of metal and a plot of ground? I will be remembered for a time for my acts of war, but he will always be remembered for bringing peace,” Aiden said.

  “Perhaps, but your name is already in the songs. Metal corrodes, but songs will outlast the stars,” the bard said.

  “You honor me more than you should.” Aiden handed the sword back. It would remain on the table for the duration of the Gathering, unguarded, for no one would steal the weapon and bring war back to Braeton.

  “Time will tell,” the bard said. “But deeds of war are long remembered. One day the ghosts of Clan Taskel and its warrior will be willfully forgotten, and war will find this field once more. Peace can last days or hundreds of years, but men will find a way tae break it again.” And Aiden knew he spoke the bitter truth.

  But outside the tent the sun shone brilliantly to dispel the dust of old memories and the dark of the future. Aiden buckled on his weapons again. Warriors met for displays of skill or strength and Marcas, the burly Champion of Clan Mavor, was calling him for a bout.

  * * *

  Corin shielded his eyes against the sun. The Calorin’s army was still set in place. They hadn’t moved since yesterday. The armies had spent the past week engaging in small pitched battles. The enemy now occupied the small village, but all its inhabitants had long been evacuated. Many other towns, villages, and farms lay deserted as their people fled from the invaders.

  “Captain Bedwyr, take command here and hold unless they decided to move,” Corin ordered. “The King will arrive this afternoon and will decide our next action.”

  Bedwyr nodded. “Aye, sire.”

  Corin turned Zephyr back to camp. There was not much he could do but wait for Darrin.

  * * *

  When King Darrin arrived, he was met by Martin. He dismounted and asked, “Where’s Corin?”

  “Hopefully asleep. He seems to be trying to kill himself of exhaustion,” Martin replied. “Captain Bedwyr is out on the front lines. I’ll go get Corin for you.”

  “No, I’ll go myself,” Darrin said.

  He gave orders to Lord Meical to quarter the men in the camp. Martin remained behind to give the lord and Darrin’s captain the report on the fight.

  The guard outside Corin’s tent saluted and stood aside as Darrin entered. Corin was asleep and even then he looked tired. His brother had the unusual propensity to fall asleep whenever he wanted, but it looked like he had just collapsed onto the bed. The tent even lacked his usual neatness.

  He must be exhausted, Darrin thought. But even then, waking Corin could be dangerous. Among the Hawk Flight, straws were drawn to see who got the job. Darrin gingerly approached Corin, shaking his shoulder and calling him.

  Corin came slowly awake and sat up when he saw Darrin.

  “You’re here! Sorry, I told Martin to wake me before,” Corin said.

  “It’s all right. You look like you could use a couple more hours,” Darrin said.

  “Try a few more days.” Corin yawned. He bent over to re-lace his boot before rising. “Did Martin tell you anything?”

  “No, I thought I’d get a full report from my general,” Darrin said. “But first, happy birthday.”

  “Thanks.” Corin smiled. “You bring me anything?”

  “A hundred and fifty more men and the provisions you asked for,” Darrin replied.

  “Oh, you shouldn’t have.”

  Darrin smiled. “What news here?”

  “From scouts’ reports, the Calorins are focusing all their strength here. We haven’t heard or seen them spread. They’ll want to take Kingscastle first. We’ve heard nothing from Lynwood. The Durnians have the way through the forest well-guarded. With the men you’ve brought, we have nearly a thousand men here,” Corin finished.

  “And them?” Darrin asked.

  “Their numbers have increased to almost five thousand. Any word from Tristan?”

  “He’s pulled men from the coastal garrisons and some of the mountain keeps. They’ve seen a few ships, but there have been no attacks. Trey and his men are at Kingscastle to help reinforce,” Darrin said.

  “How many more men can we muster?”

  “Not many,” Darrin replied somberly. “Most of the garrisons are empty by now. We have about six hundred men at Kingscastle now.”

  “So this is our army?” Corin pulled on his mail coat and leather tunic. “You know, just once, I would like to be evenly matched against my enemy.” He turned to Darrin who almost laughed at the irritation in his brother’s voice.

  “I thought you told me once that everything was more fun against big odds?” Darrin said.

  “I was younger then.”

  “That was two years ago.”

  “I’m older now, aren’t I?” Corin finally smiled a little.

  The guard pulled back the flap. “Sir, the lords have gathered,” he said.

  Corin buckled on the General’s belt and his weapons and they left the tent.

  “How are you and Lord Siarls managing?” Darrin asked.

  “We’re tolerating each other,” Corin said.

  “I’m so proud of you sometimes.”

  “I won’t dignify that with an answer,” Corin repli
ed as Darrin laughed.

  They met the officers in an open tent. An air of exhaustion pervaded the company. Darrin was given reports on the men, and new plans were laid. For the first time in weeks, the Aredorians went on the offensive.

  What remained of the Hawk Flight, under the joint command of Martin and Liam, drove a tight wedge into the enemy’s ranks. They were soon reinforced as Corin and his deugain, along with Lord Siarls and his men, slammed into the left flank.

  * * *

  Samir sat calmly on his horse and directed a counterattack. He saw the hawk flying over the Aredorians and smiled thinly. He would enjoy killing the man who singlehandedly kept all of Aredor’s hopes alive. He would have ridden forward to finish it then, but a messenger stopped him.

  A fresh attack was coming from the opposite flank. He rode away to oversee their defensive line. Samir saw an imposing figure leading the attack on a grey stallion. The glint of solid gold across his chest and around his head showed from across the battlefield.

  The King! But this was no old man as he had expected. Samir fumed quietly. He had been told that the King was infirm and would remain behind. Instead, here was a young man, and where a King led, the people would follow. His campaign had just become harder. He now had another enemy to contend with.

  Still, he would take down the Hawk first. With him gone, the King would falter. The smile returned. He would still be victorious.

  The armies withdrew from one another in the late afternoon. But that night was the last rest the Aredorians could take. Samir retaliated the next morning, and the attacks were unceasing.

  * * *

  Another week crept by and Darrin found Corin.

  “We have to withdraw,” he said.

  Corin didn’t have the strength to reply so he only nodded.

  “I received a letter from Father saying some of the mountain lords have come to Kingscastle.”

  “I’m sure we have Uncle to thank for that,” Corin said. “Is the castle prepared?”

  “Yes. We’ll leave tonight,” Darrin said.

  “Take the army. I’ll stay behind with a rearguard. We can give them one last surprise in the morning.” Corin said no more, and that night the main army withdrew.