by Diane Magras
“Everyone’s loyal. Yes, including Sir Fergal, who seems swayed by the others. So don’t worry, Emerick; these are good knights, ones you can trust. Come with me. You’ll be among your faithful men again. And Drest.” He faced her. “You’re safe now.”
Emerick was beaming, and hugged Drest tightly.
She let him, but did not hug him back.
Emerick would be safe. Tig had secured him a group of loyal knights, and they would fight for him as much as she would.
And yet knights—she had not met many who hadn’t tried to slay or capture her.
Suddenly, the branches before them moved. A knight, brown-skinned and old, his chain mail hood down to reveal his thick gray hair, appeared.
Tig pivoted neatly to face him, and bowed. “As you can see, Sir Reynard, I wasn’t lying.”
But the knight was not looking at Tig. His eyes were fixed on Emerick alone. Dark eyes that abruptly filled with tears.
“My lord,” said the knight, and lunged forward—
—to throw himself to his knees before Emerick. He grabbed the young lord’s hand and held it in his own against his bowing forehead.
“You—you don’t have to do that,” stammered Emerick.
The knight pushed his other hand against the ground and grunted as he rose. “Where are you wounded, my lord? Tig said you’d been badly hurt.”
“On my ribs. And my shoulder. It was Maldred. Did Tig tell you? He came into the solar with his sword, and Drest—” Now Emerick was pulling her forward, forcing her before the knight. “Reynard, this is Grimbol’s daughter. She’s not a bloodthirsty lass but the hero who saved my life and—and she’s my greatest friend. There’s a hideous sentence upon her head. She deserves not it but the highest honor the castle can give.”
Sir Reynard’s eyes flicked over her.
Her hand was ready to dive into her tunic for her dagger.
“Drest, I swear that I am as loyal to Lord Faintree as you are. You will be safe, and honored, among my men.” He gestured back at the trees. “Come. We have a camp set up. And it would make the men very, very pleased to see proof that Tig’s tales are true.”
They followed Tig and Sir Reynard back between the trees. The old knight held the branches aside for them. His gaze sought Emerick, and a tender smile flitted upon his lips. It was the kind of smile that Grimbol had always given Drest.
Men-at-arms—eight, as Tig had said—were sitting throughout the clearing, mending, knotting, sharpening. And there were four knights. Four young men in azure and black sat with them.
All of them stopped their tasks to stare at Emerick. And then they rose, bolting toward him to fall upon their knees, heads bowed.
Emerick swallowed.
“His lordship has been injured, as Tig said.” Sir Reynard seemed about to say more, but paused and pointed to one of the boys. “Frery, fetch his lordship a cloak and some rations—”
“That’s the bloodthirsty lass.”
It was a murmur that nonetheless cut through Sir Reynard’s words.
The knight who had spoken slowly stood.
A domed forehead, thinning hair, a long jaw, and piercing dark eyes—
Drest drew in her breath.
It was Sir Fergal.
24
NOT EVERY ONE
Within seconds, her dagger was in her hand.
The castle men rose to their feet. Scrapes of steel against leather—blades leaving scabbards—filled the clearing as they drew their weapons.
But then Sir Reynard’s voice rang out: “Her name is Drest. She’s Grimbol’s daughter but also Lord Faintree’s guard and friend. Now fetch her some rations too.”
No one moved.
“Drest is to be honored among you all,” said Emerick coldly. “Anyone who touches her will be slain on the spot.”
Slowly, the men sheathed their weapons.
Sir Fergal was the last.
“Did you hear me, Sir Fergal?” Emerick snapped.
The knight swiftly bowed. “Yes, of course, my lord. I would not think of harming your friend, now that I know what she is.” He sat down in his spot by the edge of the trees.
Soon Emerick was settled among his men, cloaks wrapped around him, Sir Reynard at his side.
Tig drew Drest away from them to the corner of the clearing. “Tell me where you’ve been.”
Drest leaned against a tree and took a bite of the hearth bread and cheese that one of the squires had given her. “To Harkniss Castle. The lady’s meeting us at Faintree in three days. Tig, that Sir Fergal is watching me.”
The boy twisted around. “And Mordag is watching him. Don’t you trust her?”
The crow was perched directly above the knight, who averted his eyes from Drest’s stare.
“Aye, I trust your crow, but—lad, I don’t trust knights.” She took another bite from her bread, though she could barely taste it. “There’s thirty pounds on my head. Do you think Sir Fergal won’t try to get it?”
“Emerick just gave an order, and Sir Fergal’s not about to defy him. Knights don’t disobey direct orders—”
“How can you be sure? Aye, it’s one order, but Sir Oswyn gave him another, and there’s thirty pounds in his—”
“Drest, calm down. No one’s going to hurt you.”
A few of the castle men who were clustered around Emerick glanced over.
Tig stepped between them and Drest, blocking their view. “Please. You could have no better guard than the people around you now. If you trust me at all, you’ll believe me.”
Drest set her hand on Tancored’s pommel and squeezed hard. “I trust you, lad, but these knights—and that man—and those thirty pounds—”
Tig looked away, his jaw tight.
He risked his life for you with these knights, you know, murmured Gobin’s voice. He could have tricked them and run off. But he didn’t. For you.
Drest seized Tig’s hand. “I’m sorry. I’m jumpy. I can’t help it.”
“Will you feel better if we join the knights? They’re not bad people. And you have to get used to them if you’re going to live at Faintree Castle.”
Hand in hand, they approached Emerick’s seat. He was telling the story of what had happened since he had arrived on the headland with Sir Maldred and his men, his voice the haughty castle voice of those days. He had slipped back into it with ease.
“—and it was a miracle indeed that I had made it that far. It was then that we encountered the bandit again—ah, Drest. Come sit with us.”
Men moved aside, making room. She sank to a crouch next to Emerick’s mound of cloaks.
Emerick reached down and took her hand. “All of you, look closely at this lass. I want you to know Drest. I owe her my life. I cannot tell you how many times she’s saved me at the risk of—of everything. Even just now, at Harkniss Castle, she went inside by herself—and—God’s bones, she’s truly my greatest friend who ever—she—” His voice wavered, and broke.
“You are exerting yourself too much, my lord,” Sir Reynard said gently. “You’ve come all the way from Harkniss in that state. Please rest. And know that we will honor and protect this lass for her great, great service to you.”
With her eyes lowered, she leaned against Emerick’s leg.
“My lord, let me tell you what you’ll be facing.” Sir Reynard’s voice became hard and regal. “Oswyn has sent war-bands of knights and men-at-arms to hunt for Drest and her father—and, it seems, for you. He has seventy-five men with him, and has left fifty to guard the castle—”
“Why were you not left at the castle, Reynard?” interrupted Emerick.
“Because Oswyn told me to comb these woods for the Mad Wolf’s lass; he said he’d seen her on the headland. The twenty-five knights at Harkniss are to join me by the week’s end and comb the woods again.” Sir Reynard’s e
yes flicked to Drest. “Quite a fuss, you might think, but you’re his greatest enemy.”
On the other side of the camp. Mordag let out a hoarse call.
Emerick squeezed Drest’s hand. “That’s a distinction you should be proud of.”
“That’s a distinction that I had not fully understood until I heard what you said, Lord Faintree.” Sir Reynard gave a grim smile. “Of course she’d be his nightmare: She’d stopped the slayings he attempted, of both her family and of you. He’s not about to forgive that.” His face lightened. “You’re really quite extraordinary, Drest.”
“Nay, I just do what I must,” she murmured. Slowly, she raised her eyes.
All the castle men were watching her. But they were smiling at her too.
Sir Reynard cleared his throat. “My lord, we shall have to think how to amass your army and capture Oswyn soon. If we can do that before he returns to Faintree Castle, you’ll have no trouble gaining back all your men. But if he gets there first, they’ll not believe you’re alive, and will side with him. I suggest we fetch the twenty-five from Harkniss, borrow horses, and set up a blockade upon the road.”
“You won’t need to go to Harkniss; they’ll be coming with Lady de Moys in three days. She’s lending me her army, you see, and they’re meeting me at Faintree Castle.”
Sir Reynard’s eyes widened. “That’s what you were doing at Harkniss? Well done, my lord.”
“It was Drest’s doing, actually—”
“Sir Reynard!” called one of the men at the far end of the clearing.
“Yes, Mal?”
“It’s Sir Fergal, sir. He’s gone.”
Drest sprang to her feet.
The spot where the knight had been sitting was empty.
Mordag uttered a disgruntled cry.
“No,” whispered Tig. “Mordag called before, and I wasn’t listening. Drest—I’m sorry.”
But she barely heard him. The traitorous knight who wanted her head had left his war-band. And he would be on the hunt for her again.
25
TO PHEARSHAM RIDGE
Sir Reynard sent four men after Sir Fergal, but they came back empty-handed. He had slipped away and disappeared, as if he were a creature of the trees.
At Emerick’s request, the whole party hastened toward Phearsham Ridge, the nearest village. They could get supplies and healing salve and could hide until it was time to meet Lady de Moys at Faintree Castle. Tig and half the men led the group with Mordag swooping ahead. The rest of the men and the squires took up the rear. Drest and Sir Reynard marched on either side of the young lord.
Drest supported Emerick in the old manner. He clung to her shoulders as if he could not let go.
“Oswyn is playing a brutal game with us.” Sir Reynard, who had been silent for much of the march, now spoke. “I’ve been thinking, Emerick—”
Strange, Drest thought. He calls him by his name when they’re alone. Was that a slip?
Or affection? mused Nutkin. He has a few strong friends at the castle, it seems.
“—of what you said. And of what I know. No one even suspected that you were alive. He’s wanted the lordship all his life, you understand.”
“Yes, I realize that.” Emerick’s voice was sharp. “I’m surprised he didn’t ask Grimbol to help him get it years ago.”
A smile tweaked the corner of Sir Reynard’s mouth. “Ah, but Grimbol was faithful to Lady Celestria more than anyone else. If she’d asked him to slay your father—or Oswyn—I wager he’d have done it, and a whole army of men-at-arms would have followed him. That must be why Oswyn had her murdered, and him charged for it. Both she—and he—were too powerful.”
Emerick shivered.
“But now you’re powerful with Grimbol serving you.” Sir Reynard laughed. “That will surprise all your men. I shall have to think of what I’ll say to him when I meet him next. I fear I wasn’t polite when Maldred hauled him and his war-band into the castle last week.” He leaned forward and met Drest’s eyes. “By the by, I’ve been wondering: How did you escape our prison? Is there a weakness to that chamber that no one’s noticed?”
“Nay, there’s no weakness.” She glanced at Emerick, whose lips were pinched in his attempt to hold back a smile.
“You were bound, were you not?”
“Aye, to an iron ring in the wall. Like my brothers and Da.”
Sir Reynard waited. “What did you do?”
Drest shrugged. “I hung there. It felt as if my arms were going to tear off from my body thanks to my weight. And when it was too much, I climbed up, took off the rope, pushed aside the bolt of the trap, and climbed out.”
“But—you were bound to an iron ring, and the bolt of the trap was on the outside, above your head—” Sir Reynard broke off. “Who helped you?”
“Why did someone have to help me? I did it on my own. I told you how. You may believe me or not.”
“I’d believe her if I were you,” Emerick said lightly.
“Bound to an iron ring, below a barred trapdoor.” Sir Reynard shook his head. “No one else has escaped from that prison. Any who have freed themselves from the rope have fallen into the sea and drowned.”
She met Emerick’s eyes, and barely held in her grin. “Maybe they couldn’t climb walls.”
It was almost dusk, and they were nearly at the village. Through the trees in the distance, Drest saw Phearsham Ridge’s golden wheat fields.
Ahead of them, Tig halted. He spoke a word to the knight at his side, then darted back between the men-at-arms to Drest.
“Do you smell that?” he said. “It’s smoke.”
She did. It was a drifting scent on the breeze, too pungent to be a bonfire or cook fire. It smelled as Soggyweald had after they had parted from Merewen there: like burning thatch.
All at once, Drest remembered her father’s threat in the mill: If the farmers didn’t protect Emerick while he was gone, he’d burn the village to the ground.
And he’d promised her he’d be back within five days—or sooner.
26
A VILLAGE ATTACKED
They ran toward Phearsham Ridge, toward the heavy stench of smoke. Soon they were at the barley and wheat fields, which were empty and silent.
“Men, ready yourselves,” Sir Reynard ordered.
The three knights and all the men-at-arms drew their weapons.
Drest stood motionless. It would be like the headland—only worse. Her father and brothers did not have weapons, and would fall.
I can’t let that happen.
She drew Tancored and stepped in front of the castle men. “I know what this is, and it’s not for you to meet. It’s for me.”
“No, lass,” Sir Reynard said. “It’s not safe for you to enter a battle. Leave this to us.”
“Nay, it’s my battle. I can’t tell you why, but—” She met Emerick’s eyes, praying he’d know what she feared.
His eyes widened.
“—but I have to face this.”
“I don’t understand.” Sir Reynard turned to Emerick. “What does this mean, my lord? Shall we advance?”
Emerick shook his head. “No, Drest is right. This is something that she and I must face. Lass, let’s find Wimarca and ask how this happened. Tig, will you come with us?”
The boy was pale, but nodded.
“Why him?” snapped Sir Reynard. “Lord Faintree, you are taking your life far too lightly. I’ll come with you and—”
“No, Reynard. Stay here by the fields. All of you. That is my order.”
Drest and Tig rushed to Emerick’s side, and they marched together into the darkening woods toward Wimarca’s hut.
“Your father—” Emerick shook his head. “I cannot believe he would do this.”
“He wouldn’t, would he?” Tig cast Drest an anxious look.
“I don’t know.”
But she knew this: He must have returned to Phearsham Ridge uneasy with the farmers, and found both Emerick and her gone.
He’d burned other villages for less.
Soon they reached Wimarca’s hut, where a horrible sight awaited.
The door was sprawled across the threshold, torn from its hinges. The healer’s stool had been smashed into pieces, the kettle thrown across the room, and her table cleared of herbs and bowls. A sea of dried plants and broken pottery littered the floor. The bed had been slashed open and its contents—lady’s bedstraw and swaths of homespun—had been thrown onto the cold fire circle.
There was no trace of Wimarca.
Tig spun around and sprinted toward the path to the mill.
Drest and Emerick followed, all three pounding through the woods up to the meadow.
The village was strangely hushed in that open space, and the scent of smoke was stronger. It grew dense and sickening as they advanced.
It was almost dark when they reached the top of the hill, where another grim sight met them.
Half the mill was gone, replaced by a blackened skeleton. The wheel was burned and crooked. But part of the house upon it remained, and wood had been propped up over the gaping holes, forming a fragile wall.
Tig let out a staggered breath. “No. No. Arnulf—Idony—”
He plunged on, up to the mill’s back door. It was shut, but Tig shoved it open.
A knife flashed in the dim light from inside. The lad holding it stumbled away when he saw Tig.
The room was full of people.
Elys was there, pushing between the figures packed in the big room, past the lad, until she was at the door.
“Thank God you’re safe!” She was outside then, and crushed Drest in her embrace.
“They’re back!” called a man from inside.
A narrow path opened up between the villagers as they made way for Tig. Elys led Drest in, not letting go of her arm, and Emerick, and shut the door behind them.