by S. J. Smith
“I'm hungry,” her brother said. “Shall we see what we can filch from the kitchens?”
It felt good to smile. Brida nodded. “Sounds like fun,” she said. Edmund slowly turned around and offered her his other arm, and together they made their way back into the keep, both desperate to find something that could push their worries aside.
The waiting was agony. Messages were few and far between, the risk of the birds being shot down far too great. The front and the passage Cynric had spoken of weren't far, but Brida knew that battles could take anywhere from hours to days, and with no word from her father or brother she had no way of knowing what was happening. The lack of information ate away at her as much as her worry and anxiety. She could tell Edmund was worried as well, though he hid it much better, and had far more to distract himself with. Brida only had needlework and books she had read already to try and tear her thoughts away from her family's safety. Edmund had the responsibilities left behind by Ulric and Eldric, which were far easier to lose oneself in than what Brida had.
Edmund, at least, was kind enough to keep her in the loop. When a bird finally arrived, he summoned her before he even unrolled the missive tied to the creature’s leg, his face a barely concealed mask of the anxiety that Brida's own mind echoed.
“It's father's seal,” he said when she entered the room, quickly limping over to meet her at the end of the table. He tossed his cane on top of it and popped the seal with his thumb, fingers shaking. Brida touched his hands to steady them and helped him unroll the delicate parchment. Together they silently read the message, short as it was. Brida's knees went weak with relief.
“Victory,” she said.
“Yes,” Edmund replied, “but there's more. Another note.” He put one piece of parchment aside. The message continued, the bottom signed with Ulric's mark. “Casualties..., Eldric's well... A dragon? What?”
Brida snatched the paper from him and read the message over again. “Cynric said... but that's impossible...”
“What did he say?” Edmund asked, followed by an irritated, “Brida,” when she didn't immediately respond.
“I asked him what kind of magic he does, and he told me he could summon dragons, but Father says that... he himself is the dragon. How is that possible?”
“Does it matter?” Edmund said. “We won.”
“Yes, but... He's injured. Cynric.”
“They'll treat him on the road,” Edmund replied. He was grinning broadly, his face crinkling in all the right places. “We won, Brida,” he said. “I know you understand what this means.”
“I do,” Brida said. “And I'm happy, I am. I only wish it could have been accomplished without so much bloodshed.”
Edmund chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Women,” he said, not unkindly. “You would have everyone talk and embrace to solve their problems.”
Brida took her brother's jest in stride. "The world would be a better place if they did," she said, still looking at the message. "They'll be home soon. I should find people to help care for the wounded, and they'll need a place to rest..."
"I'll have men set up a temporary hospital," Edmund said, still smiling, but all joking aside. "And we must throw a feast to celebrate our glorious victory." He squeezed her shoulder. "Smile, sister. Our king and father is well, and our brother has returned safely to us. The plan worked. God is good."
"Yes," Brida said. She rolled the messages back up and pressed them into Edmund's palm. She smiled, but her worry still eclipsed her happiness. Why she cared so much for a stranger confused her, but Cynric had risked his life so that he might be left in peace. He didn't deserve to die for someone else's war. And if all this talk about him being the dragon he told Brida he could summon... She needed time to sit and think about Ulric's message.
She found her solace in the garden by the statue of Mary. There would be time enough to gather healers later in the day. She knew many women who tended to the keep who had experience with herbs, and there was herself as well. Sorting out her thoughts, however, was a completely different and far more challenging task. It was impossible for her to believe that a man could change his shape, but there was no reason for her to think her father had been lying. It was no wonder the thing Cynric wanted most was to be left alone. She had a dozen questions to ask him, and hoped that he would be well enough to talk when they finally returned home.
***
Ulric must have sent the message on the road, for it was only a day more before he returned at the head of his army, much diminished in size and leading carts full of wounded. Brida had wrangled up a handful of women and older men from the keep and nearby villages to tend to them, and Edmund had a hastily constructed tent set up outside the walls, close to the river, where any infection or spreading sickness could be easily contained.
The messenger that Ulric sent found Brida first and gave her the news and spewed thanks when Brida gave him permission to seek out a hot meal and warm bed. Brida hurried to find Edmund, who was still breaking his fast in his room, and saw more of her brother than she wished to when he threw back his bedclothes to fetch his cane and dress. The ordeal made her laugh, to Edmund's embarrassment, though the flush remained on her cheeks until Edmund joined her in the bailey to greet their father. She was pleased to see the color on his cheeks as well. Still, he reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly.
"He's home," he said, sounding for an instant like a small child. "And all is well. Now we can focus on those cursed pagans to the south, reinforce our border before they set their sights on our treasures as well."
"Wait until Father tells us himself that all is well before you jump to such conclusions, brother," Brida said. "We do not know if the enemy is completely vanquished."
"They would not be coming home otherwise," Edmund said. He was convinced, but Brida was not so sure. She would wait until she heard the truth from their father's lips. The brightest part of Ulric was his crown. Their father was covered head to toe in dirt and mud, or at least Brida hoped it was that and not dried blood, and there were more lines on his face than Brida cared to comment on. Despite it all, he looked happy and when his gaze settled on his children he grinned broadly and swung off his horse. Eldric was close behind him. There was a cut on his brow, running from his temple to the corner of his eyes, but it looked clean and Brida saw no other wounds.
"We are victorious!" Ulric shouted, throwing his arms up. Cheers erupted from those who had gathered in the bailey to see the homecoming. Ulric directed his attention to his children. "The war is over, my children," he said in a softer voice. "All thanks to Cynric. But, I shall tell you the details later. For now, there are wounded to tend to, and men to feed." He kissed Brida and Edmund's brows. "Come now, I've missed you both dearly. Tell me what has happened whilst we've been away."
"I should like to tend to the wounded, Father," Brida said, ducking under and away from Ulric's arm. "You know I have no stomach for talk of war, and that's all Edmund wishes to hear."
Ulric sighed and looked back at his army. "Very well. An extra pair of skilled hands will go far. But be mindful, Brida, and be sure you're in time for the evening meal tonight."
"I will, Father," Brida replied. Ulric nodded and walked towards the keep with Edmund at his side. Eldric paused, holding his helmet under his arm, and leaned into give Brida a one armed hug.
"The sorcerer is in a bad way," he said, just for her to hear. "You'll not believe what I saw, Brida. He was a man, and then he was not. I never thought such a thing possible. He won us this battle, this war, make no mistake of that. You must save his life. We owe him that much and more."
"I will do all I can," Brida replied.
"I know you will," Eldric said. He kissed her brow, just where their father had, and followed Ulric and Edmund inside.
Brida rolled up the sleeves of her dress as best she could and weaved through the ranks of rancid, tired men to where the wounded were being taken into the hospital tent. The others Brida had asked to help had already gat
hered, and were separating the men into three groups: those who could be left for last, those who would need immediate care, and those who were lost causes. Brida was horrified to see that Cynric was in the last group, his torso almost completely covered in blood-stained bandages. She nudged others aside in her attempt to get to him.
"Ought not waste time with this one, m'lady," one of the soldiers said. "Smells like an infection, and he's feverish as well. Best you can do is make him comfortable as you can and say a prayer for his soul."
"I'll be the judge of that," Brida said and gently pushed the man aside. Cynric's skin was pale, almost white, and sickeningly clammy, yet hot to the touch. He didn't move at all when she began to peel back the bandages to inspect the wound, but the stink of it nearly made her sick. Infected indeed, it looked like he hadn't been tended to at all on the journey, just bandaged up to keep him from bleeding all over everything and left to die.
Brida grabbed the elbow of a passing servant. "I need clean water and rags and strong alcohol, and honey, if we have it."
"Yes, m'lady," the girl said without hesitation and ran off to bring Brida what she needed. She turned back to Cynric's unmoving form and stroked his dark hair back from his brow.
"You saved so many lives," she said, "of hardworking, honest men. It's only fair that I do my best to save you as well, no matter what kind of man you are. I can't imagine what kind of fate would have awaited me otherwise." She sighed and finished unwrapping the bandages. "All you wanted was to be left alone, and my brother dragged you from your home and forced you into a war you had no part in."
There were punctures from arrows in his side. At least someone had removed the heads, though they'd not done a good job of it, and they had barely missed his lungs. The worst injury was a long gash that ran down his chest. Brida couldn't imagine what it had been caused by.
The servant returned shortly. "Thank you," Brida said. "Help me wash him." The girl looked like she would rather do anything else, but she obediently knelt beside Brida and soaked one of the rags in the water. With the worst of the blood and dirt washed away it was easier for Brida to see the extent of Cynric's wounds. She clicked her tongue in annoyance. There were men missing legs who had been given more care than Cynric had, and Brida knew the reason why. The men feared what they didn't understand, and they had seen Cynric turn into a dragon before their very eyes, or so Ulric would have it told.
She went through another bowl of water before Cynric's body was completely clean. She prayed to God that there was no internal bleeding. If his body was unable to heal itself, then there would be nothing she could do for him. Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she asked for a needle and a string of gut to sew up the deepest of the wounds. It was just like doing needlework, she told herself. It wasn't the first time she had sewed up flesh instead of fabric.
Cynric didn't move an inch as she painstakingly closed up his wounds. If the stitches held the wounds would heal fine. They were clean, at least, with no ragged edges. She wiped sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. She had honey, at least, and that was enough to make a poultice to smear over the stitches. Clean bandaging was brought to her shortly as well, and with the help of the girl beside her they wrangled Cynric around until the linens were snugly wrapped around his chest. Brida plumped the pillow before letting his head fall back down onto it and drew a blanket up over his chest. His breathing was weak, but even.
"I don't think there's much else we can do, m'lady," the girl said.
"Yes, thank you," Brida said. "There are others to tend to as well. He simply needs rest."
"This way, m'lady."
With a last look at Cynric, Brida rose to follow, and for the next hour went from bed to bed, doing what she could to help those who had been the most grievously wounded. Every so often she raised her head and looked back at Cynric, hoping to see that he had moved or opened his eyes, but he was exactly the same way she had left him. Eventually there was naught left to do, at least nothing that couldn't be handled by others, and Brida excused herself to wash and change for dinner. Despite what she had told her father, she was very interested to know exactly what had happened up in the north.
*****
The water was tinged red when she was done washing her hands and face. She felt as though she had the stench of death and disease around her, and didn't feel better until she rubbed dried herbs at her wrists and her neck and changed into a finer dress, with Judith's help. Her maid neatly twisted her hair up on top of her head and then she was ready. It was good to see her family together and well, despite the cut on Eldric's head and the weariness in her father's face. Once the food was served the minstrel in the corner began to play, filling the silence until Edmund cleared his throat and looked at their father with bright eyes.
"So, what happened?" he asked. "You spoke of a dragon in your letter. Is that true?"
Ulric glanced up at the men guarding standing by the doors and sent them out with a flick of his hand. "What I am to tell you now is not to leave this room," he said in a low voice as the doors shut behind the soldiers. "Is that understood?"
"Yes, Father," Brida said, as did her brothers.
"Alfred said that man was a sorcerer, but he is something far more terrible. With my own two eyes I witnessed him change from man to beast and breathe fire across the enemy. He tore them li-" Ulric caught himself, his gaze falling on Brida. "It was utter destruction," he said. "Complete and total. I do not know what that man is, but he is something far worse than a sorcerer."
"How did he come by his injuries, Father?" Brida asked before Edmund could say whatever it was on his mind. "If he turned into such a powerful mythological creature, what possible weapons could we possess that would harm him?"
"Even a well-placed arrow can bring down the mightiest beast," Ulric said. "It was not my doing, but the only reason he is here instead of dead on that field is because I gave him my word that he would be returned to his home once the battle was won."
Brida looked away and let her brother carry the conversation. Her father's voice alone conveyed his thoughts about Cynric; a monster who was only alive by Ulric's own good grace. Brida suddenly had little appetite for the meal on her plate. She pushed it away and excused herself quietly. The conversation barely faltered and she left the room with no fight from her father.
She made her way back to the hospital tent, where she knew she could do some good, and hopefully not face any judgment from the nurses for her unspoken opinions on Cynric.
He was still sleeping when she checked on him, but his color was better and there was no fresh blood on the bandages. He was still feverish, though. Brida fetched herself a bowl of water and one of the few remaining clean rags and soaked it through, pressing the cool compress to Cynric's skin.
"I apologize for what happened to you," she said, "and all to save the lands of a man who would have rather left you to die. But I am thankful, more than you know, no matter what manner of man you are, whether you are beast or not. I know I owe you my life, and that of my father and my brothers, whom I cherish more than anything in this world."
"You... needn't be sorry..." Brida pulled the compress away. Cynric gazed up at her with half-lidded, bleary eyes. "I assume you know... the truth of my nature, then."
"What nature?" Brida asked. "You said you have magic and that is what you used, is it not?"
Cynric managed to cock his head, just slightly. Brida busied herself soaking the rag with fresh water before dabbing it against his brow once more.
"I know little of you, but you are a singular woman. You do not judge, not like the others."
"You did as you were asked and it may yet cost you your life," Brida replied. "How could I judge you for that?"
"So you do not think me a monster?"
"Dragons may be frightening, but I've always been told they're great protectors as well. God placed you on this earth just as he did my brothers and I, and everyone else in this land. A man touched by Satan wouldn't have done w
hat you did."
Cynric reached up and gently wrapped his fingers around Brida's wrist, turning his face into the edge of her palm where her skin was bare. His skin was warm, but surprisingly soft, his jaw free of even fine stubble.
Brida's throat tightened. "These wounds," she said, "will they heal?"
"I am made of far sterner stuff than most men," Cynric replied. He let his hand fall, but not before his thumb stoked across the sensitive skin on the inside of Brida's wrist, leaving goosebumps in its wake. "It will take more than a handful of arrows and a well-placed blow from a sword to end me."
"Will you go home when you've healed?" Brida asked.
"I will go home once your father pays me what he owes."
"What did he promise you?" Brida asked.
"An exorbitant amount," Cynric said and sighed softly. "One I'm unsure he'll be able to pay."
"I'm sure my father will do his best."
"I will either be paid in coin or something else," he said with a pointed look in her direction. She swallowed hard. "Would that be an unattractive prospect to you?" Cynric asked.
Brida licked dry lips. "Only because I know so little about you. You're as much as a stranger to me as you were on the day you first came here."
"On the contrary," Cynric replied, "you know my greatest secret, and shared willingly. The other men can be convinced it was magic, but in truth my abilities are something different. Perhaps I am touched by the devil." He chuckled dryly then winced and pressed a hand to his chest. "Ah-no matter how fast it heals it still smarts. Thank you for tending to me."
"Of course," Brida said. "It's the least I can do."
"We would have a lifetime to know each other," Cynric said a moment later. "If things were to take that route. Is it still so unappealing?"
"I never said it was to start," Brida said softly. She hoped the blush on her face wasn't terribly noticeable.
"I'm glad to hear it," Cynric said. He shifted on his pallet. "Though I think your father will be less than pleased."