Warrior of the Dawn

by M. S. Brook

  Too late I became nervous. Papa always said I jumped in with both feet before I knew where I was going to land, and I’d just proven him right. I hurried inside and put on the special leather apron we used for shoeing horses. It was divided down the middle, and I attached the sections to my legs. The pockets were already loaded with the tools I needed. My hands shook as I tied the strings around my waist and walked back outside.

  Lord Kempton didn’t say which shoe was thrown or offer to hold the reins, but I couldn’t miss noticing how his mare favored her left foreleg. I started by giving her a bite of apple and crooning in her ear, letting her get used to me. Papa always said that horses liked me, and thankfully, she seemed quiet and well-trained. She shied away a little at first, but then allowed me to rub her leg. I leaned against her side and bent her leg back, bracing it between mine so I could work on the hoof. Her rider stood with his arms crossed and watched me.

  I scraped away all the dirt and mud from her hoof, trimmed it back, and then filed it smooth with a rasp. I brought out several shoes and found the one that fitted best. As I heated it in the forge, I realized that I was sweating though the day was cool.

  I grabbed the red-hot shoe with my tongs and rounded it up a bit on the anvil. I brought it out and placed it on the hoof for a quick fitting and then took it back to the anvil for more shaping. When I’d gone back and forth a few times and was satisfied I had it right, I threw it into the trough and watched the water steam and hiss until it cooled.

  Working quickly, I positioned the shoe and hammered a nail partway in on either side to hold it in place. I was almost finished pounding in the last nails, when I heard a horse coming up the lane. It was Papa, back early from Lambsmead.

  He looked at me in my apron, hammer poised, and then at Lord Kempton. “Good afternoon, my lord,” he said, dismounting.

  “Afternoon.” Lord Kempton gestured toward me. “Threw a shoe. Your…girl is taking care of it.”

  “So I see.” Papa gave me a meaningful look. “Let’s have a look at how you’re getting on with Lord Kempton’s favorite mare.”

  I took the reins Papa had dropped and tied up his horse while he inspected my shoeing job. He finally looked up. “It’s a good fit.” He stepped aside so that I could finish and walked over to where Lord Kempton was standing.

  I let out a deep breath and went back to work while the men talked, clipping off the ends of the nails and filing everything smooth.

  When I finished, I took the reins and led the mare on a short walk, watching her gait. She walked without discomfort, so I mounted and cantered round the oval lane. As far as I could tell, she was perfect.

  “She looks good,” Papa said, nodding encouragement.

  I dismounted for Lord Kempton to examine my work. “That’ll do, then,” he said. His tone was brisk, but he’d given his approval. Just before riding away, he nodded to me, an almost-smile softening his face. I wondered if the ice had thawed a little between us.

  After he was well away, Papa said, “Someday you’re going to be sorry for jumping in before you’re ready. But I can’t teach you that. You’ll have to learn it for yourself.”

  “Sorry, Papa!”

  “Not half so sorry as you’d be if Lord Kempton was unhappy with your work! Now run along. You can get an early start on your training. I’ll take care of finishing up here.”

  Eager to tell Uncle Leo about my triumph, I headed for the herb garden at a run, past the training field where a group of boys were kicking a ball around after their drills. Several of the boys I didn’t know well, those who had come a year ago to join the Guardians, but Rowland and Arvel were there too. They hadn’t put up their kit yet, and there were piles of quilted vests, helmets, and weapons strewn over the ground. They noticed my approach and stopped what they were doing.

  “Look who’s here,” one of the boys said. “It’s the girl from the smithy.”

  “Oh, she’s not just a girl,” said Brady. “She’s a princess. I’ve heard her father call her that.” Brady reminded me of Rowland; his coppery-red hair was a few shades lighter than Rowland’s, but he had the same bold demeanor. He stepped in front of me and made a flowery bow. “Your Highness, we are honored by your visit to our humble training field.”

  The boys laughed. Only Arvel didn’t join them. He smiled awkwardly at me, but didn’t say anything. I nodded to him and stepped past Brady.

  “Watch out there!” said another one of the boys. “She’s a warrior. Could be dangerous.”

  “Oh yeah, I remember.” Brady switched to a high-sounding voice. “But Lord Kempton, women can be warriors too! Uncle Leo is training me!”

  There was a burst of laughter, and I felt a hot, angry flush creep up my neck and into my cheeks. I shook it off, reminding myself that warriors don’t respond to mockery. I was almost past them when Brady said, “What do you think, Rowland? Can a girl be a warrior?”

  “Warrior or princess, it’s all the same. Some people just don’t know their place.”

  Maybe it was the small victory I’d had with Lord Kempton, or maybe it was just that I’d had a bellyful, but I stopped dead and turned to face Rowland. “Oh, so you know? You know what my place is?”

  His eyes dropped, and I noticed his cheeks go red. I should have let it go and walked on. That’s what Uncle Leo would have told me to do. “Like water off a duck’s back,” he would say. But Rowland didn’t even have the grace to look me in the eye when making his pronouncements.

  “Name your contest,” I said. “Let’s settle it right here.”

  “Oho…” the boys said in chorus.

  “She’s making a challenge, Rowland.”

  “Yeah, go on, Red!”

  “I don’t have time for girl’s games,” Rowland growled.

  “Oh, come on, Red. Let’s see her race you. Go on—show her how a champion rides.”

  I stared at Rowland. “Fine. I’ll get my horse. See you down at the riding course in a quarter of an hour.”

  Rowland shook his head.

  “Oh, he’ll be there. We’ll see to it,” Brady said, laughing at Rowland’s reluctance.

  I ran to Papa’s stable behind the smithy and threw my saddle on the chestnut stallion named Penmar. My hands were shaking, and I stopped for a few deep breaths, trying to slow down and relax like Uncle Leo had taught me. It didn’t seem to help much.

  I fastened Penmar’s bridle and gave him a pat on his strong neck. “Come on, old boy, let’s show those farmers how to ride.” Penmar snorted and shook his handsome head as if he agreed.

  The boys must have persuaded Rowland, because he was waiting for me at the riding course. His sleek, black stallion stamped and fidgeted in spite of the tight rein Rowland held. An admiring circle of boys stood just out of range of the dancing hooves. He’d give us a run for it—that was sure. At least I was lighter than Rowland, an advantage on the jumps. I patted Penmar and leaned forward to whisper in his ears. “Don’t worry, Penmar, we’re a good team.”

  Penmar and I knew the course, having trained there with Uncle Leo. It started in the open field and ran uphill through a winding path in the wooded park where the king’s deer were kept and then out again and downhill to the home stretch. Along the way were hedges, fallen logs, and a small brook to jump over, but I was well-prepared for it. Lining up beside Rowland, my heart was racing to go.

  On Arvel’s mark, we leapt away. I leaned forward, shouting, “Go, Penmar! Go!” He hardly needed my urging. We rode neck and neck toward the first of four hedges, swift hooves drumming on the grassy green field. Penmar never broke his stride approaching the first hedge. On my signal, his muscles bunched and released, and we sailed over the hurdle in a silent, breathless motion. His hooves resumed pounding on the other side, slightly ahead of Rowland’s mount.

  The second hedge was higher, and again we gained the length of a horse’s head in the jump. I sp
ared precious seconds to look at Rowland. He was urging his horse forward, slapping his flank with a slender switch—something I’d never think of doing with Penmar.

  Each of the four hedges was progressively higher, and with each jump, Penmar gained on our lead. Rowland was behind us when we entered the cool woodland trail. We had to slow a bit to dodge trees and logs in the shifting patches of shadow and light. By the time we jumped over the brook, Rowland’s horse was several lengths behind. I heard him scramble up the sandy bank and come crashing after us, and I knew for certain that we were going to win. Penmar knew it too; I could feel his excitement as if it were my own.

  We shot out of cover and flew down the gentle slope toward the cheering knot of spectators at the bottom of the hill. I risked a quick look behind me. Rowland was lashing with the switch, not wanting to lose this race with his friends looking on, and with no hedges or obstacles to navigate, his heavier, stronger mount was gaining on us.

  I urged Penmar forward, the thundering hoof beats behind me growing closer. They were in my side view now, but we were nearly there—I just had to hold the lead for a few more seconds…

  But we never got there. In the last moments, Rowland leaned over and whacked Penmar with his switch. Unused to such treatment, Penmar stumbled and lost his footing. He righted himself, but not before I flew off his back. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground, looking up at the gray winter sky, all the wind knocked out of my lungs. The boys rushed over to help me up.

  “Give her a minute,” Arvel said. “Let her catch her breath.”

  I closed my eyes, grateful to be left alone. It wasn’t the first time I’d fallen off a horse, and I knew what to expect. Gradually breath came back into my burning chest, and I gingerly moved my arms and legs. Everything seemed to be all right—except my temper.

  “Where is Penmar?”

  “I have him, he’s none the worse for wear,” Brady said.

  “He’d better be!” I pushed myself up, shaking off the helping hands, and turned on Rowland, who stood a few feet away, holding the reins of his horse. He looked like he was worried, but I was too hot to take notice.

  “You cheated! Say that you forfeit the race!”

  Rowland shrugged. “You want to be a warrior, don’t you? Well, this is your first lesson. We do what it takes to win.”

  “If that’s the rule, I demand a rematch!”

  “Hold it! Hold it, you two,” Arvel said. “Aidriana, let me look at that cut on your face. You’ll have a bruise tomorrow if we don’t take care of it.”

  I’d not felt the scrape on my cheek. I wiped away the sticky drops with the back of my hand, my eyes still on Rowland.

  “You can’t deny that you cheated—everyone here saw it.”

  “Look, Red, make her an apology, and let’s be done with it,” said one of the boys. But my quarrel wasn’t with the other boys any more.

  Rowland’s red face took on a stubborn look. “Why should I apologize? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  I looked over at the cudgels and padded vests still on the field after practice. “Let’s settle it once and for all.”

  He followed my glance. “I’d never fight you, you know that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re a girl.”

  “Then why did you have to cheat to beat me?”

  The other boys were making noises about it being time to go, even Brady, who was still holding Penmar’s reins. “Look, let’s just forget about this,” he said. “I’ll take Penmar back and put him up for you.”

  “We’ll help you take care of that cut,” added Arvel.

  But I wasn’t about to let Rowland off the hook. My eyes never left his face even though he was avoiding mine. “Coward!” I said. “You’re a coward!”

  His head snapped back. “No one calls me that.”

  “Then fight me.”

  Rowland finally looked at me. His blue eyes flashed, and his jaw tightened. “All right, if that’s what you want.” He picked up a helmet and shoved it on his head.

  “Don’t do this, Rowland,” Arvel said. “It’s not right.”

  “Stay out of it.”

  The boys helped me into the quilted padding that protected my trunk and thighs. Of course, hitting above the shoulders was off limits, but we wore helmets in case of a stray hit.

  Fully dressed and ready, Rowland and I faced each other, balancing sturdy cudgels with both hands. It was customary to circle one’s opponent, taking his measure before the first blow was struck, but Uncle Leo had taught me to strike quickly and unexpectedly to catch my opponent off guard. That suited me just fine. I darted in like a cat and laid two hits on him before he even knew what was coming.

  The spectators called out “hit!” each time I touched him, but I scarcely heard them. My opponent was surprised by my aggressive attack and fell back on his heels. I swung again, and this time he parried, but he was off balance and I took advantage, shoving him back further.

  I’d never sparred in anger before, and I was heady with the feel of it. Rowland’s eyes told me he hadn’t expected a real fight and that burned me all the more. I went after him, and he stumbled back, holding up his cudgel in defense. I hit it again and again, so hard that my arms shuddered with each blow. Unfortunately for me, his cudgel had enough of it. The wood split right down the middle, and we had to call a halt to take fresh weapons.

  The moment we took up arms again I knew I was in trouble. That brief pause was all Rowland needed to pull himself together, and the tide quickly turned when he went on the attack. He was bigger and heavier, and with the element of surprise gone, all the hits came at me. I jumped and ducked and parried with all the skill and nimbleness I had, but my breaths grew ragged, and my arms went numb from countering his sharp blows. I knew I would not win by fighting defensively, so I took a risk. I threw an aggressive jab and tried to spin away, leaving my back exposed. Rowland took advantage of my mistake with a punishing blow to my left shoulder. Still spinning, I overbalanced and hit the ground, my helmet rolling off in the grass. The padded vest had blocked the worst of it, but my shoulder burned and tingled at the same time. I wasn’t sure what would happen if I tried to move it.

  Rowland almost begged. “Will you yield?”

  “No!” I shouted. Lying there on the ground, panting for breath, with my shoulder on fire, I couldn’t admit he’d beaten me.

  They were all in an anxious circle, staring down at me, when Lord Kempton walked up. “What’s going on here?” He spotted me. “Aidriana?” He looked from me to the surrounding group of stunned faces. “What happened here?”

  The boys answered with embarrassed silence, and he looked none too pleased with it. “Rowland! I asked a question.”

  Rowland took off his helmet and tucked it under his arm. “We had a match, Father.”

  “A what?”

  “A match, sir.”

  Lord Kempton eyed the sturdy cudgel Rowland was still holding, its end propped on the ground like a staff. “You fought a young lady?”

  Rowland stared down at his boots. As suddenly as it had come, all my anger left me. I realized, too late, that Rowland was taking the blame for something I’d started myself. I sat up quickly, my sore shoulder forgotten. “I challenged him, Lord Kempton. He didn’t want to fight me, but I—”

  “Young man, look at me when I am speaking to you!”

  Rowland turned his eyes upward, his face blank. His father slapped him hard, leaving a livid handprint on the side of his ruddy face.

  “Is this my son? Hitting a woman—mind you, there’s blood on her face—and knocking her to the ground! What do you think I should say to Daryn? And her uncle—a regent!”

  Rowland’s face went from bright scarlet to bloodless white, his head was down, shoulders bent.

  “Do you care nothing for the honor of your family?”

>   He raised his eyes again. “Sir, I—”

  “Apologize to her now.”

  “I…I’m sorry, Aidriana.” His voice cracked, and his eyes never left the ground. “I apologize for my behavior.”

  “I’m sorry too, Rowland. It was my fault for—”

  Lord Kempton ignored me. “Go on, get out of here,” he said to Rowland.

  Rowland grabbed the reins of his horse and ran off in the direction of the mews. I wished I could defend him, but I’d already made more than enough trouble for him. All I could do was hope that Lord Kempton would storm off. Instead, he turned his attention on me.

  “Aidriana, are you hurt? Can you stand?”

  “I’m all right, my lord.” I got up with Arvel’s unnecessary help. “See—nothing to worry about.” I made a show of dusting off my clothes and smiling. By this time, every muscle in my body was either thumping or quivering, but that was nothing compared to the humiliation I was feeling.

  Lord Kempton looked at me as if he was about to say something, but he shook his head and then turned on the chastened huddle of boys standing beside Penmar. “If anything like this ever happens again, I will hold every one of you responsible. Now, you boys walk Aidriana home and put up her horse for her. And clear up the grounds. This equipment should have been put away right after training.”

  “Yes, my lord,” they said in chorus. They looked relieved to be given directions and quickly began to pack up their abandoned kit. Several of the boys escorted me home. We walked across the field and up the hill in awkward silence. None of us knew what to say and, for a change, we said nothing. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d broken something, something that could never be mended.

  When we reached my cottage, Arvel followed me up to the front door. His usually sunny face was pained. “Please don’t think badly of Rowland. He’s a good man. Things just got out of hand…”