21 
BIRRENSGATE
The bandit was sitting on the lip of the well. His face was narrow with a scrap of a beard, and he wore a stained tunic and hose ripped at the knee. He slipped off the well and brandished a broad wooden staff as Drest stepped into the square.
Not a staff, Drest saw as she drew closer, just a stick he must have found in the woods.
It was a large stick, though. She would need to take care.
“There you are, girl.”
That slippery voice made Drest shiver, as if it were night in the woods again. But Borawyn’s weight reminded her to be brave.
Careful, Gobin’s voice said in her mind. He’s stronger than you. You’ll need to be clever.
She raised her sword.
The bandit gave a short laugh and returned to his seat on the well. He rested the staff against the stone bricks and began to lower the bucket. “You’re smaller than your brothers. Can you really hold that sword upright?”
Drest’s ears burned. “Aye. I can swing it too.” She gave a short, smooth practice sweep in the air. The sun gleamed on Borawyn’s blade.
“It moves like mush in your hands.” But the bandit wasn’t smiling. “You don’t need to threaten me, girl.”
Drest took a breath. She remembered Emerick’s advice. Could she use words instead of Borawyn? “I think I must threaten you. You’ve been bothering me.”
“Bothering you? Do you call it that? I only saw you in the woods and thought we could talk.” The bandit peered into the well at the bucket he was drawing up. “You could have ended this long ago if you’d have come out when I first asked.” He stole a swift, predatory glance.
Frighten him, said Nutkin. He sees just a lass. Show him what you really are.
Get ready, said Gobin, just as I taught you.
Drest grabbed Borawyn with both hands to keep the sword steady. “You say you want to talk, but that’s not what my brothers taught me to do when I meet bandits.”
A snarl flashed in the bandit’s face. “What do they tell you to do? Wobble your sword? Put that down. It’s too big for you.”
Show him one of our moves, said Gobin.
“You don’t know how to hold a sword, do you.” Drest’s voice came out sharp. “I’ll give you a lesson. You want it to wobble because then it strikes quick.”
She darted in and swung Borawyn in a clean, complete arc—a sunrise, her favorite move—that would have slashed through anyone unlucky enough to have been standing near.
The bandit’s fingers slipped on the bucket, which dropped into the well with a splash.
“It doesn’t wobble in attacking,” Drest said, bringing the sword to a halt in the air.
The bandit paled, then reddened nearly as quickly. “You put that away. We’re having a talk. We’ll have a drink. There’s no reason to bring a sword into it.”
Borawyn’s weight bore down on Drest’s arms, but she didn’t lower it. “There’s always a reason to bring a sword into a talk. That’s what my da says. Do you know my da? His name is Grimbol. Some people call him the Mad Wolf of the North.”
“Don’t say that name in this town,” the bandit snapped. “The spirits will have your throat.”
Drest held in her shudder and set her jaw. “I think any spirits would cower at my da’s name just like you’re cowering. You look like you’re going to make water in your hose.”
The bandit’s lips drew back. “Watch out, girl.”
Drest lowered Borawyn slowly, though her arms were shaking. She hoped the bandit wouldn’t notice. “Why? I’m not the one afraid of a name.”
“You would be if you knew who I am.”
“I know who you are,” Drest said. “You’re a dirty, smelly bandit who has made a puddle in his hose at my da’s name. I never knew someone would do that. Uwen said he saw a man do that in battle, but I didn’t believe him before.” She lifted her sword again and made a sudden slash in the air. “Do you want to fight?”
“Not here. I’ll fight you on the road, but not here.”
With a sniff, the bandit settled back on the well and started to draw the bucket up again.
“What’s your name?” Drest didn’t know what made her ask it, but she felt daring.
“Why do you want to know?”
“You said I’d be frightened if I knew. So I’m asking. Have you a name, or shall I give you one?”
“Jupp,” said the bandit. “My name is Jupp. Have you heard it? Your father knows it well.”
Drest rested Borawyn’s tip in the dirt. “I’ve never heard that name.”
Wonder and fury passed through the bandit’s eyes. “He’s never told you?”
“Nay, he doesn’t talk of bandits but to say that if we see one we should kill it like a rat.”
All at once, Jupp rose, his face red, his hands clasped tightly on the staff. And before Drest could prepare, he was running for her.
Quick, lass! Swing it up!
It seemed to be Gobin’s hands, not her own, that thrust Borawyn into the air. With a mighty crack, the sword caught the bandit’s stick. He was close enough for her to see the veins in his eyes.
But then he fell away, the staff clattering uselessly to the side, and Drest was above him.
Now swing it down! thundered Wulfric’s voice, echoing through her head.
What are you waiting for? Gobin’s voice, desperate. It’ll take nothing to strike this blow!
Drest didn’t move. Something was holding her back, despite her brothers’ voices.
The bandit was on his knees, crawling away, then on his feet, then running behind the well.
What have you done? moaned Gobin. You squandered that chance!
Drest lowered her sword, trembling.
“Was that mercy?” The bandit hovered on the other side of the well.
“Maybe I’d like to have a real fight,” Drest said. She tried to make her voice sound like Emerick’s: strong and haughty.
Jupp straightened. “I’d slay you right now if I could.”
“Why do you hate me?”
“Anyone who’s lived in this town hates your family.”
“And my family hates all bandits, but why do you hate me? Is it because you were a bandit in this town?”
“Villagers, not bandits, lived in this town. And I wasn’t always a bandit.” Jupp’s eyes were hard upon her. “Your father should have told you the story.”
“Well, he didn’t.” Drest hesitated. “Is it your story? Will you tell me it?”
“It’s not just my story.” Jupp raised his chin, gesturing to the houses behind her. “Eight years ago, he came into my house, your father. Had a bucket. Poured it into the kettle and said it was for soup. Told me he knew I was tired. He was glad to do the lifting from the well. I’d just done a job for him. I thought he was doing me a kindness. I would never have thought he’d poison our well, nor that he’d give me the first taste.” Jupp inhaled. “That night, I felt it. Everyone in this town who’d drawn from that well felt it. No one slept. By morning, in all the streets, you could hear nothing but crying. That water—it was strongest on anyone weak or sick or small. My sister and her bairn had been in a fever. They hadn’t eaten for days before they ate that soup. That soup—it was the last thing they tasted.” His voice was heavy. “That’s why I hate you, girl. You’re his daughter. I’d put you in my sister’s place if I could.”
The ground beneath Drest seemed to tremble.
“My da doesn’t poison wells,” Drest said.
The bandit sniffed. “That’s what he tells you, is it. He never told you about Birrensgate. When you see him next, ask him why he did it. I’ll never know.”
They stood separated by the well and the stretch of bare ground, their eyes never leaving each other.
It’s not true, Drest thought. That’s not my da.
“Go away,” Jupp said, his voice a slippery whisper. “I didn’t ask you to meet me here.”
“Stop following me.”
Jupp lowered his gaze, blinking. “Soft. Weak and soft. It’s a disgrace.”
Drest knew that the bandit wasn’t speaking about her.
“Go,” whispered Jupp. “Don’t make me look at you a moment longer.”
She turned and continued on the road through the town, careful not to run. She glanced back at Jupp. He was watching her, though he didn’t raise his head. He did not move from his spot.
Emerick and Tig had staggered only just beyond the village’s other gate when Drest caught up with them.
“The bandit’s still there. He’s not going to bother us any longer, though. We had a talk.” Drest quickly took her place under Emerick’s arm.
Tig pulled away and rubbed his shoulder.
The wounded man leaned on her heavily. “We were worried; we’d heard no sound and wondered if he’d crept up behind you.”
“I had to use my sword, but just a bit, and only because he came at me.” Drest paused. “I could have slain him and ended this. But I didn’t.”
“You could have been hurt. I’ve known few battles where all warriors emerged unscathed.” He gave her a weary smile. “Words can be a strong weapon, no? Celestria once told me that.”
And yet the bandit’s words had felt like the strongest weapon yet.