11

VILLAGE BOYS

Drest sprinted across the field, the soil crumbling like ash beneath her boots. Ahead of her, the boys swung at the diving crow, while the figure on the ground lay motionless.

The boy with the real spear noticed Drest first. He shouted to his friends, pointing his weapon at her. The other boys stabbed one last time at the bird, then stepped back, uncertain of this advancing sword-wielding apparition.

The boys were not as young up close as they had seemed in the distance. Smaller than her brothers, and thin, but all were Drest’s size or bigger.

Drest dashed past the retreating crow, her sword lowered, and knelt by the hooded figure on the ground. It was a boy, bound by ropes on his wrists and ankles.

“Don’t worry,” said Drest. “I’ve come to save you.”

Then she stood as Gobin had taught her, her sword arm crooked at the level of her stomach, the blade steady and angled out, and rushed at the boys.

They shouted and scattered. But within an instant it became clear that they had sized up the situation and decided that six against one gave them an advantage. Drest saw the calculation in their eyes.

You know what they’re doing, don’t you? Gobin’s voice. Pretending to be calm. You can do it just as well. Your confidence, lass, will unnerve the enemy. So give them your most menacing grin.

The boys were arranging themselves in a wide circle around her. It was like the old wolf-hunting technique the twins had once described. She tried to grin as if Wulfric were standing with her, his glare passing over each boy like a spreading fire, but her face remained rigid.

The boy with the metal-tipped spear, a dirty lad her own size with blond hair even stringier than Emerick’s, hissed something, and the boys raised their weapons.

You don’t feel like grinning? said Gobin. Very well. Let’s strike the boy with the real spear first. Feint to one side, as if you’re going at a smaller boy, then launch at him, sword low. Hold it steady, Drest, and you can complete a circle-lift.

Gobin’s voice spoke as if they were on the headland and he was guiding her sword in practice. She could almost feel his warm hands over her own.

Now!

Drest swung her sword with a low arc at the boy closest to her. He stumbled out of her way, and her uninterrupted motion lifted Borawyn’s weight into the circle that started the move. She knew the technique, had practiced it so often that she needed only to guide and follow the mighty blade. As Borawyn rose, it splintered the leader’s spear just a finger’s length from his hand.

Now shove him, said Uwen.

Drest drove her elbow into the boy’s chest and sent him sprawling to a heap on the ground.

The boy gasped, struggled, and then cried in a strangled voice, “Attack!”

A tongue of fear curled down Drest’s neck.

Didn’t that frighten him? murmured Gobin. It usually frightens villagers.

The boys fell upon her.

Drest swung madly. She chopped spear after spear, but the boys still attacked, using the sharp pieces. Drest’s motions turned desperate and clumsy. A broken spear scraped the side of her head. Another poked her back and ripped her tunic.

“Are you a girl?”

The stringy-haired boy broke into the knot of boys surrounding her.

Drest’s stroke was weak; they were far too close to fight with a sword. The boy ducked, and then was beside her.

“That’s a girl. A girl’s come to fight with us. Grab her!”

Before Drest could move, they had pinned her arms to her body with practiced tight grips like Uwen’s.

Panic seized Drest.

What are you doing? Uwen’s voice whined. Why aren’t you even trying?

She struggled, but couldn’t lift her sword.

Frighten them. Gobin’s voice. Conserve your power and lash out like a snake. Blast it, Drest, why did you not give them a menacing grin?

A sinking, bitter fear washed over her. She had been foolish to think she could fight without one of her brothers by her side. She had failed. She would die for it, and the boy who was trembling on the furrows would die as well.

And her family. In four days.

You can’t give up, lass. Nutkin’s voice rang in her mind. Remember Da’s code: Accept no defeat and always fight!

The boys were trying to force her to her knees. Drest tensed her legs, wincing at their kicks.

Why aren’t you kicking back? cried Uwen. Have you become weak and feeble like every other lass?

A kick struck her knee, and Drest couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips.

The stringy-haired boy smiled.

That’s not the sound to make, lass. Cry out like a wolf instead. Wulfric’s deep voice. A battle cry to send their blood running. Reach deep down inside yourself and roar.

A memory flashed to her mind: her eldest brother standing beside her at the headland’s lookout point, showing her how to breathe, how to bellow, how to terrify an enemy by sound alone.

Drest closed her eyes and drew all her breath into her chest, then into her stomach, and then, with Wulfric’s voice still in her ears, let it out in a deep, wordless roar, a voice that hardly sounded like her own.

The boys started. Three grips loosened just barely.

Enough for Drest to free her sword arm.

Lash out now, like a snake, hissed Gobin.

She dug one heel into the soil and tore herself away, giving herself enough distance to raise her sword, then swung around with Borawyn outstretched and steady.

One boy screamed, cradling his arm.

Another stumbled back, clutching his face.

The boys who were closest and might have grabbed her sword arm fell away, shrieking.

Drest put both hands over each other on Borawyn’s grip. Hardly breathing, she began a full sweep. The blade sang as it flew, slicing through the air, gaining speed.

All the boys fell back, all but the stringy-haired leader, who was frozen, his stunned eyes locked upon the blade that was even with his throat.

Drest ducked and tried to change the sword’s direction, but she lost her balance. The ground seemed to rise up around her.

Borawyn caught.

The stringy-haired boy cried out, then fell on his face in the soil.

The other boys were running, some hobbling, but most in full sprints. Soon they had disappeared past the trees at the edge of the field, leaving Drest alone with the fallen boy and the hooded boy, both of whom were still.