by Diane Magras
And now Drest was within his reach.
Trapped.
The knight raised his small, cruel eyes to her and his sword began to sweep up on a relentless path that in seconds would strike and knock her to the rocks below. “Farewell, Grimbol’s daughter.”
But as he finished his final word, the knight’s eyes changed—from triumph to terror.
The power in his swing had dislodged his balance, and his feet were no longer on the sill. With his sword in one hand, his other hand alone could not support him.
With a howl, the red-faced knight fell—down into the sea’s hungry maw.
33
THE LEGEND BEGINS
Drest was dizzy and her fingers numb, but her grips were strong on the castle’s ledges. For that moment, she was safe from the pull of sea and stones below.
“Drest,” came a choked voice. Tig’s face appeared in the window.
“I’m up here,” Drest said. “I’m coming down.”
She had never climbed so carefully. Foot over foot, hand over hand, clinging to each ledge until she was sure she had the one below. Soon she was at the window, and she slipped inside.
“You really are a legend.” Tig clamped his hands on her arms. “I can’t believe what you just did. He could have killed you.”
“He wasn’t used to being on a cliff side—or a castle-side, and they feel the same to me. Balance is everything—that and your grips.”
She was trying not to look at Emerick. He was on Tig’s other side, breathing hard with the catch in his breath that meant he was in pain.
She was in the chamber now, her dagger by the door. It would take little to reach it and complete her goal.
But then Drest looked at Emerick.
His eyes were wet.
“Did he hurt you?” She cleared her throat.
“Does it matter?”
Drest pointed to the window. “I didn’t lie; that was the man who pushed you into the ravine.”
“That was Sir Maldred, my uncle Oswyn’s most trusted man. Drest—I didn’t intend for this to happen. I forgot about the talisman. If I’d remembered, I’d have asked for it back. I gave it to you when you were only Grimbol’s daughter, and I—I—why didn’t you wake me at the gatehouse?”
“How could I have woken you when they took you away? Aye, one of your guards made the wagon go on and the other had me in ropes. Was I to run after you? What would he have done to me if I’d tried?”
She tore herself from Tig’s hands and stalked to the other side of the room to where Emerick’s dagger waited. She picked it up. This would be a fitting weapon to enact her revenge. This was the weapon that would make it clear whose daughter she was.
But at that thought, dagger in hand, Drest hesitated. She’d just seen what Wulfric had done to the guards in his path.
Was that what she was?
A hot realization branched through her: She could not do it.
Drest slipped the dagger back into its sheath and pivoted to face the young lord.
“You always said my family are bloodthirsty villains,” Drest said, “but you’re the villain. Still, I’m going to spare your life. You saved mine once, so this is my payment for it.”
“Oh, Drest,” he whispered.
“I’d better go. All my brothers and my da are surely gone by now.”
Tig stepped toward her. “You rescued them?”
“Aye, all of them, just as I told you I would. We’re meeting off the castle grounds. Tig, do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay with him?”
The boy sighed. “Do you even hear yourself?”
Drest snorted. “I wish you farewell, then. You too, my lord.”
Emerick propped himself up by the window. The wind from the sea whipped his white tunic about his bare knees. “Would you have told the truth, Drest, if our places had been changed? You would have slain me in the ravine if you had known who I was.”
She flushed. “I’m not a beast now, and I wasn’t a beast then. Nay, Emerick, nothing would have changed. Only I wouldn’t have trusted you. And I wouldn’t have liked you.”
A series of cries came from the window by Drest’s shoulder.
She looked out. A long line of carts and people on foot were hastening past the nearest gatehouse. There was no sign of her brothers.
On the inner battlements, one knight stood shouting orders. He was older than Drest’s father, thin as a dead tree, with a slick of gray stubble for hair.
“Who’s that?” Drest said as the old knight turned. His eyes met hers and did not look away. “Do you see him? He’s giving orders.”
“That must be my uncle,” said Emerick in a hollow voice. “Has he seen you?”
“Aye.”
“Then you’d best go swiftly, before they close the portcullis.”
Once more, she looked at Emerick.
“Go, Drest,” he murmured. “Before it’s too late.”
But she couldn’t move. Something held her back: an ache that filled her chest. If she left that chamber, she would leave Emerick forever.
And leave him to die.
“He’s after you, Emerick, isn’t he? Not the war-band, but you.” The noise of the crowd below bubbled up through the window.
“He was my father’s brother,” Emerick said softly. “If I die, he becomes Lord Faintree. And no one in this castle will mind that.”
The resentment that had filled her suddenly broke, like a branch that had carried too much weight. And with that burden gone, her head cleared.
It was Emerick—not the lord of the castle or the knight she had met in the ravine—but simply the young man, her friend, who stood before her.
“You need a guard,” Drest said, “someone who can protect you from men like him.” With the same flush of happiness she’d had when her brothers had returned home from war, she marched across the room to Emerick’s side, the side she had always supported. “I forgive you. So come with me again, and I’ll protect you.”
Emerick looked sick. He looked old. He looked as if he could barely stand.
“That offer is more generous than I deserve,” he said finally, “and I am grateful for it. But you must go on your own. Both of you. I would only hamper your escape.”
“Nay, you won’t hamper anything.” Drest pulled his arm over her shoulder and reached around his waist, careful of his rib wound.
“Don’t risk your life trying to save mine, Drest. I betrayed you. I lied to you. I’m the one who ordered your family’s capture. Just go.” His arm squeezed, then lifted.
But Drest had made a decision and it felt right, and real. It was one she would never regret.
Drest nodded at Tig. “Fetch Merewen’s cloak. There it is, by the door. We’ll wrap ourselves up in it.”
“Drest, please,” Emerick moaned. “Tig, can you take her?”
But Tig had already dashed across the room and had the cloak in his arms. “We’ll look like an old woman with a bent back, and no one will notice us in the crowd. Will you come with us, my lord?” Tig held up the cloak. “I have a feeling you don’t have much choice.”
“I shall pick you up and carry you out of this castle if you don’t come willingly,” Drest said. “So don’t try to fight me.”
Emerick sighed. “I know better than to try that.”
* * *
• • •
A hunched old woman in a black cloak staggered through Faintree Castle’s Great Hall and stepped aside as a pair of knights raced past her toward the stairs leading back up into the keep. Other knights thundered by her to the nail-studded door that led out to the bailey. Two children were tucked beneath the old woman’s arms, and she leaned upon them, the folds of her cloak hiding most of their figures.
At the grass the old woman became a part of the crush of villagers who had come
to see the Mad Wolf hang and were hastening to leave the castle now that the Mad Wolf’s war-band was roaming free. The old woman passed beneath the eye of Sir Oswyn Faintree, but he was too busy watching his nephew’s window to notice her.
Drest could not support Emerick and walk quickly without drawing attention, so she stayed beneath his arm and walked at his pace, though every instinct screamed at her to run.
She kept her eyes down as they passed through the first gatehouse, focusing on the stones beneath her feet, the limping man in front of them, and the wagon just ahead. Two thin bearded men were sitting in the back of the wagon. Drest’s gaze flicked over them—then back again. They were watching her closely. Something in those eyes was familiar. When they smiled, she recognized them: Gobin and Nutkin in disguise.
Drest tugged Emerick and Tig forward, never taking her eyes from the wagon and her brothers in their false black beards. Past a man on a donkey that shied at her approach, past a cluster of pilgrims, past a sheep wandering confusedly on its own.
“Old mother,” called one of the bearded men— Nutkin—and waved his hand. “We thought we’d lost you.”
As in a miracle story Grimbol had once told, the people before them parted. They saw an old woman supported by two children, and sympathy overcame their fear.
Gobin and Nutkin jumped down and lifted Emerick aboard the wagon as it moved on while Drest and Tig scrambled up. Drest sat between Emerick and the other villagers who had packed in for the ride.
Gobin leaned toward her. “We’re in a wagon of purse-thieves. It’s the safest place ever; no one’s asking questions.” He looked at Emerick and Tig. “Who are they?”
“No questions,” whispered Drest. “I’ll tell you later.”
The wagon rattled past the second gatehouse. Drest remembered the guards who had seen her, and hid her face among the folds of the cloak.
Then the wagon was flying down the long bridge of earth over the sparkling sea and the crashing waves.
The twins sat motionless until they reached the crossroads. When the horses slowed to turn, Gobin and Nutkin slipped out of the wagon, pulling Emerick down with them. The other travelers glanced as Drest and Tig followed, then looked away, and returned to their conversations.
So many travelers were hurrying that no one paid attention to the two bearded men, the two boys, and the hunched old woman who crossed the road and disappeared among the trees.
34
THE MAD WOLF’S WORLD
Gobin the Sly and Nutkin the Swift carried Emerick between them through the woods. Drest kept close, remembering what the twins had said in the prison about what they’d do to the man they were carrying: something about crushed bones.
They stopped to wait for Grimbol far from the road. The twins peeled off their beards, which they’d made from a black boar rug they’d found in someone’s chambers. With their own scraggy stubble and their damp black hair pushed back from their faces, they looked older than Emerick.
“So who did we just carry?” Gobin said. “Will you tell us now?”
They were sitting in a small clearing, Drest, Emerick, and Tig in a row against a fallen tree. The twins were facing them, their long legs outstretched, their dark tunics and hose mixing with the shadows. That was one of their tricks: to blend into darkness, to disappear, to creep unseen upon the enemy.
For the first time, Drest noticed how sinister her favorite brothers looked.
“If I tell you, do you promise to do what I say?”
The twins exchanged a grin.
“That depends,” said Gobin.
Drest’s eyes narrowed. “I just rescued you from a prison. You owe me.”
“Fair enough.” Gobin winked at his twin. “But only if Nutkin agrees.”
“Come, Drest,” said Nutkin, “let’s not play games. The knights will be after us before long.”
Drest rose to her knees. “Listen well. This is Emerick Faintree, and I am his guard. If you touch him, I will slay you.”
All mirth disappeared from the twins’ faces.
“You cannot mean that,” Gobin said. “Not any of those things.”
“They’re all true. I’ll tell you why sometime, but for now you must trust me.” She nodded at Tig. “This is Tig. His father is the miller at Phearsham Ridge. He came all this way to help me rescue you.”
Mordag, who had been sitting on a branch behind them, swooped down to his shoulder.
“I would call this an honor,” said Tig, “if I didn’t know what kind of bloodthirsty brutes you were. I can say that, you see, because she’s my guard as well.”
A choked sound came from Gobin, but he controlled himself. “So you’ve brought enemies among us, Drest. I don’t know what you’re thinking, but it’s madness.”
Tig reached up and stroked his crow. “We told her that too. But legends like her don’t have to listen.”
Disbelief shone on the twins’ faces. A questioning look darted between them. It was clearly the nub of a plan, and likely an evil one, but then Emerick spoke.
“I have a proposal for you,” the young lord said slowly in a muted version of his castle voice. He was hunched against the fallen tree, the huge black cloak spread over his legs and feet. “If anyone’s going to murder me, let it be your father. But let me have a word with him first.”
Across the clearing, Gobin rose. “I accept your proposal, lord. Da would want us to save you for him anyway.” He paused. “You’ve a nasty prison in your castle, but a good, solid figure in your frame; I could feel it as we carried you. Too bad you have to die. We could have used you in the war-band.”
Emerick’s face became bitter. “Is that a compliment? Do you think I would ever choose your war-band over death?”
Nutkin stood and gestured for Drest to come. She hesitated, then scrambled up, leaving Tig at Emerick’s side. Each twin slipped an arm around her and drew her away through a patch of slender hazel trees just beyond the clearing.
“Your friend the lord doesn’t have manners,” said Gobin, “though we’ve just saved his life.”
“Your own manners are none too golden,” retorted Drest.
“Look at our wee Drest, defending the enemy.” Gobin’s arm tightened around her. “We’re not angry with you, lass. You came to save us, and you still stand here as our own sister.” He leaned down and kissed the top of her head. “But you should take better care with how you choose your friends.”
“How would you know about friends?” said Drest. “You haven’t got any; you go about raiding villages and stealing people’s goods, so everyone in the lowlands hates you. That’s why there was such a crowd to see the hanging.”
The twins stopped walking.
“I’m not sure I heard you say that,” muttered Gobin.
Drest looked from one to the other. “Did you ever burn a village when it refused to pay you tribute? Was it called Yettsmoor?”
“Oh, but we had to,” Nutkin said. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“What about that red linen we have at home? Did you steal it from a place called Weemsdale?”
Gobin shrugged. “You’ve known about us, haven’t you?”
“Aye, but—what about all the Weemsdale maidens you kidnapped?”
The twins frowned.
“That,” said Gobin, “is a filthy lie. We have never laid a finger on a maiden and never will.”
“Lass,” said Nutkin, “you know the code.”
“I know the code, but someone told Emerick—”
“What would you say if we told you it wasn’t all the maidens of Weemsdale but only five, and they’d followed us?”
Nutkin nodded. “And they said they’d follow us wherever we went unless we gave back their fathers’ weavings. What would the code have us do with them?”
Drest looked at her brothers. Their faces were serious. “I don�
��t know.”
“It would have us spare them,” Gobin said. “We bound them and took them back.”
“They were humiliated,” Nutkin added, “but not hurt. Not one maiden in that village was hurt.”
The twins withdrew their arms from her shoulders.
“Let this be a lesson for you,” said Gobin. “You can’t always control your legend.”
* * *
• • •
Thorkill the Ready was the next to find them. He had climbed down the keep, down that terrible cliff, and swum all that way, and was soaked and tired. His face brightened at the sight of Drest, but the brightness faded when Gobin told him who Emerick was and that they had to wait.
The twins went off to look for the others. They returned with Uwen the Wild and, not long after, Wulfric the Strong and Grimbol the Savage himself. The Mad Wolf’s sons congratulated one another on their successful escape and each gave Drest a long embrace. The twins must have told them about Drest’s companions, for every one of them ignored Tig, who stood with his arms crossed near Emerick, and cast only swift, hostile glances at Emerick, who watched them from a distance with wary eyes.
Grimbol, however, did not embrace Drest when he walked into the clearing. His gaze fixed on Emerick alone. Without a pause, the old warrior stepped past his sons to stand before the wounded man.
Everyone stopped talking.
“Gobin said you have a word for me,” growled the Mad Wolf in his gravelly voice. Slowly, he drew a dagger from his belt. He held it blade-down. “I have a word for you too, but you go first.”
Drest darted away from her brothers and knelt beside Emerick to help him sit up. She didn’t want to look at her father. She knew she had to find a way to stop what he was about to do, but her mind was blank.
“What are you doing, Drest?” said Grimbol with a frown. “Did you not bring him here for me?”
“Nay, I saved his life. Leave him alone, Da.”