by Diane Magras
36
THE WAR-BAND DECIDES
When Drest opened her eyes, it was still dark, and she was lying on the deck on a pile of blankets. Tig was her only companion.
“Where’s my family?” She sat up, groggy. “Are we at the castle yet?”
“We’re nearly there, so your father is talking about what to do. With Emerick.” Tig rose and held out his hand. “If you can, you should join them.”
She needed help to rise. But once she did, she felt stronger, and was able to stride stiffly across the deck, Tig supporting her, to where Emerick and her family were gathered.
They were on the other side of the ship, and alone: All the castle men were clustered in other spots. Sir Reynard was standing near but not with them. He flashed Drest a smile as she passed.
“I tell you, lord,” Grimbol was saying as she drew close, “it will not do for us to join your men. I’m past the age where I’d have the patience to be part of another man’s army. It’s good of you to say that you’d take me back after all these years, but I don’t want it. And your men would not like to have my lads and me among them.”
“But Grimbol, can you not see what I now have?” Emerick leaned close to her father. “Power as I’ve never had before. With Oswyn dead, they have no choice but to obey me.” He rocked back on his heels. “I’ve spoken to Reynard, and he agrees that this would be best: to honor every one of you for your bravery, and hold trial for Oswyn’s most faithful men.”
“Hold trial if you wish, but we’ll not be your soldiers.” The Mad Wolf grimaced. “I cannot live under another man’s yoke. And my lads cannot either.”
“But you’d be under no yoke,” Emerick insisted. “A castle needs men who will come and go as they please—”
“My lads will fight only for me, not you. There, I’ve said it. We’re loyal, but not as loyal as you’d need us to be.”
Emerick glanced around at the war-band. “Is that true? Would none of you accept the bonds that come with full loyalty to my castle?”
Each of Drest’s brothers looked at their father.
“I’m sorry, lord,” Grimbol said, “but having freedom—it’s how we’ve always lived. It would be hard to change.”
Emerick’s gaze lowered, but flicked to Drest before it did.
“You didn’t ask me,” she said.
Nutkin and Uwen made room for her between them, and, with Tig still beneath her arm, Drest slipped into her place. Uwen, who was leaning on Thorkill, grinned at her.
“Have we both turned feeble?” he scoffed.
“You’re wounded badly, and she’s half-drowned having just saved all of us,” growled Gobin, “so shut it.”
Drest wrinkled her nose at Uwen, then looked up at Emerick. “I don’t need my freedom the way the lads do. I can find it at the castle. So aye, you can tell Sir Reynard that I’ll gladly live there as your guard.”
Emerick’s eyes sparkled and his smile was broad. “You’ll let me fulfill my promise to you at last: of a proper bed, fine clothes, as many meals as you wish to eat each day. And I’ll add to it a new weapon that will suit you like a glove.”
“And your friendship,” Drest said. “Forever. That’s the only part I really want.”
He ducked past her brothers, pushing his way to her side, and embraced her, almost as tightly as he had when he had pulled her from the headland’s river.
Silence, but for the waves slapping against the ship’s hull.
Emerick looked back at Drest’s brothers. “What do the rest of you say? Will you not be like your sister and stand as warriors at my castle? I will give you not only your freedom but roles over other men, for I have no one who is as fine a warrior as any one of you. I can see Gobin the Sly and Nutkin the Swift training a scouting party to move in silence in the woods. I can see Wulfric the Strong helping my knights build their own strength to be more like his. I can see Thorkill the Ready with a fleet of bowman at his heels, commanding their ranks. And Uwen the Wild—I can see him teaching our squires that a lad of their age need not flinch when a man like your father asks if they can fight.”
“Don’t try to tempt them.” Grimbol’s voice was harsh. “How can you be sure your men will not stab my lads in the back the first chance they get?”
“Because I would punish any traitor who tried to harm them with the most brutal death I know. Your sons would be my special guard, and you, Grimbol—you would be not only their leader but my advisor.”
The old warrior snorted. “Do you think I’m a fool, lord? That’s weak flattery.”
Emerick raised his chin. “You’re a battle-hardened soldier who has outsmarted my father’s men for most of my life. I need you. To tell me how to make my men powerful, but also how to keep them loyal. And how to be a good lord. I want to be better than my father, to not fail the way he failed, but I cannot do that alone. I don’t know how.”
Silence. The sea air gusted against the sail.
Emerick looked around at the lads again. “Have any of you changed your minds?”
Grimbol cleared his throat. “Uwen? What do you say?”
“Have I a choice, Da?” Uwen hesitated. “If I do, I want to live at the castle.”
The old warrior grunted. “Gobin and Nutkin?”
The twins looked at each other.
“I don’t think it would be right for us to leave Drest,” said Gobin slowly.
“Aye, and we’ll need to teach her how to climb your cliffs, lord,” added Nutkin.
Drest met their eyes. The twins winked.
Grimbol pivoted to face his second-eldest son. “Thorkill? What do you say?”
The young warrior stroked his curly ginger beard. “I can see myself leading a band of castle men. Nay, they do not disgust me as they do you, Da.”
The old warrior faced his eldest son. “What of you?”
Wulfric looked pensive. “If I can be useful there, I’ll do it.”
With a sigh Grimbol turned back to Emerick. “I cannot leave my lads. If you meant what you say, I’ll go with you as well.”
Emerick bowed. “Thank you. Thank you all. Now let me give this happy news to Reynard.”
“I’m not sure he’d call it happy,” Grimbol muttered as Emerick stepped away.
“Funny, how all this has turned out,” Gobin said. “Lord Faintree said he’d rather die than serve in our war-band. And now look at us about to serve in his.”
Thorkill let out a booming laugh. “I’m sorry, Da, but to lead a group of men—and when he spoke of food, of as many meals as we wanted each day—”
“The bed!” cried Uwen. “Did you not hear what he said about that? I shall sleep for days upon a bed, a real bed!”
“What was that about new clothes? I think black silk tunics would do well for us.” Gobin nudged his twin. “With black cloaks.”
“Aye, we’ll look like the most sinister phantoms these knights could imagine.”
The twins burst out laughing.
“I do not mean to speak lightly of this, Da,” said Wulfric, “but I could use a proper sword. These swords I’ve had of late do not fit my arm.”
“I’d like a proper tunic.” Thorkill fingered the torn fabric on his chest. “With cords of silken thread.”
“Pots of cream and papers of cheese,” giggled Nutkin.
“We’ll float in the kitchen and steal them, then float out, and leave everyone a-tremble!” Gobin leaned into his brother, his hand over his mouth.
“Beds!” cried Uwen. “What about you, Drest? Are you longing for a real bed?”
But Drest was not smiling. All her brothers’ mirth had warmed her, but her father’s words came back to haunt her mind: What if any knight was jealous of the honors given her family?
“Will we be safe?” she asked softly.
Instantly, her brothers’ smiles disappeared.
Grimbol reached out to his daughter, setting his hand upon her cheek. “You are right to worry. But the lord is right as well: He has power that he’d never had, now with Oswyn gone. And with me at his side, they’ll know it will be not safe to defy him.”
The old warrior looked among his sons.
“Lads,” he went on, “go wander the deck. You’re castle men now, and you may as well get used to walking among the rest.” He went to Drest’s side and slipped his arm around her waist, holding her up. “I’ve got her, Tig. You go on too. Let her old father hold her this once.”
Reluctantly, the lads parted, Tig drifting away last of all, leaving Drest and Grimbol alone.
“Can we sit, Da?” Drest asked. “My legs are going all wobbly on me again. Something’s wrong with me. I hope it’s just the ship.”
“Ah, lass, there’s naught that’s wrong with you. It comes from battle for every one of us.”
He led her to the railing and helped her down, then sat beside her.
Drest leaned against her father, breathing in the cold sea air.
“You’ve done well, my lass,” Grimbol said. “I wanted to tell you that. I saw only the end of your battle, and how you ducked and twisted like a snake. You’re better at that than even the twins.” His eyes glittered. “But I had no time to save you.”
“You didn’t need to, Da. I don’t always need you to save me.”
He gave a hollow laugh. “You sound like your mother. She told me those very words a long time ago. That was when I knew I loved her more than any woman on earth.”
Drest raised her head. “My mother? You’ve never mentioned my mother before.”
“Have I not?” He was quiet. “Nay, I’ve not because I did not want you to regret.”
“Regret what? Da, who was she?”
His face was troubled. “Perhaps you are strong enough to hear her tale, but it is not one that will soothe you.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “Your mother, lass, was a healer who once saved my life. Her name was Merewen.”
37
GRIMBOL’S TALE
Drest didn’t move. Everything within her had turned cold.
“I don’t know if she’s still alive now,” Grimbol went on slowly. “She would not let any man mark her fate, and men don’t take that kindly.”
Drest opened her mouth, then closed it.
Merewen.
She’d known Grimbol, she’d once said.
She’d wanted to take Drest far away, to a village where they would live together.
She’d been willing to give her life for Drest by the castle wall.
But she had never told the truth, though she’d had the chance. As if she did not want her daughter to know.
Drest kept silent.
“She was the one who healed me,” Grimbol was saying, “so I could go to the old Lord Faintree and be told that I had fallen from his grace. Aye, lass, it was that battle, the one that decided everything. She followed me on my walk to the castle. She saw the old lord cast me away. She took me to Launceford, to her hut. I healed on her bed, and there planned my revenge. I made my first war-band in her town.”
For a moment, Drest heard only the pounding of her heart.
“When my Lady Celestria died, I feared the castle. They’d blame me, I knew, and seek not just me in revenge but my wee lads as well. So I fetched your brothers from their villages, and their mothers gave me them gladly, for they knew they’d all perish if my lads stayed. The headland was my secret, and that’s where I went. With the lads. And Merewen. And you.” He glanced at his daughter. “I will tell you this, lass, though it shames me: Your mother did not come willingly.”
Drest winced.
Had she been like me and did not want a life of hiding?
“Why was she not there when I was growing up?” Drest asked softly.
“Because she left when you had seen but one year.” Grimbol frowned. “She wanted to take you. I did not let her. Aye, it might have been safe by then, but I would not see you grow up a lass like any other in a village. I wanted you to grow up with the lads, to be as strong as they. I wanted you to be able to hold your own against any man, be he villager or soldier. Or knight.”
Because of Celestria, Drest realized with a start. You’d seen her die by a knight’s blow. You wanted to be sure that your own wee lass would never fall like that.
“Your mother spoke fierce words to me, but in the end, she agreed. And so we parted forever.”
Grimbol squeezed his daughter’s hand and let it go.
“Would you have rather grown up in a town with a mother? I’ve never thought to ask you. It would have been a quiet life, and you’ve not had that. But I always thought you’d have a better life with us.” He faltered. “Was I wrong?”
That was what Merewen had been talking about: a quiet life in a hut like Elys’s.
And in a village—fetching water, frying hearth bread, picking herbs. Having time to rest in the sun. Knowing other lasses. Spending every night inside.
Yet—if she’d grown up that way, it would have been a life knowing nothing else—not what it felt like to carry a sword, or climb a cliff, or run until her breath had shriveled up in her chest.
A quiet, safe life as someone else.
She met her father’s eyes. He was cringing, waiting for her answer.
“Da,” Drest said softly, “that’s a foolish question. Did you not see me fighting out there? Do you not know what I am?” She set her hand on his. “I’m a warrior. I’ve always known that.”
He drew his daughter to him and held her tightly in his arms. “A true warrior, and the best one of my war-band. Braver and stronger than the rest. Lass, I could not be prouder of you.”
But she pulled away. “Da, the lads are your war-band. Not me. I’m sorry, but I can’t follow your orders. I never have.”
Grimbol bit his lip. But he did not say a word.
In silence they sat together, the waves thrashing against the wooden hull at Drest’s side. Shadows drifted over the deck between the torchlight like islands. Drest watched them combine and shift.
Sir Reynard approached and knelt beside them. “We’re nearly there. Grimbol, I must have a word with you of how we’ll manage things at the castle. The lord and I were talking. For weeks, I expect, you and I must keep frequent company.”
Grimbol sighed and rose. “I hope you can stand it, Reynard.”
A small sigh seemed to fill Sir Reynard’s chest, but he didn’t let it out. “And you, Drest—once we arrive, just stay at Lord Faintree’s side, and you’ll be safe.”
Because of the wolf’s head. She watched Grimbol and Sir Reynard wander away across the deck.
Then Emerick was beside her, beaming so much that she could not help but smile in return.
“Drest,” he said, taking her hands, “we’re almost home.”
38
WOLF’S HEAD NO MORE
Lord Emerick Faintree stood at the head of the cavernous Great Hall, Sir Reynard on his left, Drest on his right. The Faintree emblem was everywhere around them—on weavings, painted in blue, and carved in stone upon the lime-washed walls.
Emerick had said that this ceremony would remove the wolf’s head from Drest once and forever.
But Merewen’s warning at Harkniss was vivid in her mind. Beyond the castle, those who had not heard of the ceremony would not know that the wolf’s head was gone. They would not know why it had existed, just that she was marked by it. And that would be her legend.
Yet Emerick had done all he could to make this a memorable occasion.
Outside on the bailey, long trestle tables had been set up, piled high with food—roasted game birds, thick breads, fish pies, and berry custards—all set out to feed the masses of villagers who were crowding in the back of the Great Hall behind the knights and the castle folk.
Arnulf, Idony, and Wyneck had come, as well as Elys and Torold and others from Phearsham Ridge; and many more from other villages too, far more, even, than had come to watch Grimbol and his war-band hang over a fortnight ago. It wasn’t a mob: It was nearly a whole town packed into that room and on the grass beyond the doors.
Inside, color filled the floor of the Great Hall. All the knights and men-at-arms were dressed in finery. The Mad Wolf and his sons were clothed like them: in tunics of bright green, blue, or red, the fabric adorned with silken cords—except the twins, who wore the black silk they had wanted and looked like phantoms in the crowd.
Emerick was resplendent in an azure tunic with a gold-threaded black mantle on his shoulders. A sword with a gleaming hilt hung at his hip.
Drest, by his side, wore the plainest garb: a long tunic of thin, blindingly white wool, with only a single leather belt. Tig had told her that the color meant rebirth and a new life.
She wanted to believe it could happen.
So much had happened in the days since they had returned to Faintree Castle.
She had spent four nights in a bed near the window of Emerick’s chamber, a bed stuffed with straw, unbelievably soft, in a wooden frame. She had sat at his side at trestle tables in the Great Hall and eaten the strangest foods: fried eels in a cream sauce with honey, pike roasted whole with blackened new apples, and sharply seasoned soups as thin as water. She’d walked the castle battlements with Tig and Sir Reynard, the sea wind whipping against her face and Mordag swooping on the current.
And she’d spent hours with Lady de Moys. The lady had been waiting on the road to Faintree Castle with her army as she had promised: reminding everyone that the young Lord Faintree had a powerful ally who would do much on his behalf. Lady de Moys had taken Drest all over the castle to meet the castle ladies, the wives and daughters of the men who lived there, and to see the way they lived: a world of weaving and healing. And stories.