4 
SECRETS
As the village’s grassy path came into sight between the trees, a black flash swept above—Mordag. The crow landed on a branch near Drest’s head and twisted around to face her.
“There you are!” A pale boy with shaggy black hair, garbed in a filthy azure-blue tunic and black hose, ran up, panting. “I heard Mordag and rushed down to Wimarca’s hut, but you’d already gone.” He paused. “Yes, I know it’s silly to think I might have helped you, but—well, I thought I might. Did you see anyone?”
“Aye, I saw a knight, Tig, thanks to your crow. He’s gone now.” Drest bit her lip. The knight’s words were a shadow in her mind.
“Emerick said you went out to see who was there, but I didn’t think you’d challenge anyone, not without your family.” He faltered. “Did you challenge him alone?”
“Nay, I just led him off. Tig—he said I’m a wolf’s head with a price.” She shuddered. “What does that mean?”
“Did he tell you that?” Tig’s face clouded. “I wouldn’t think he’d say it to the person he’s hunting.”
A sick feeling passed through Drest. “Are they hunting me? What does it mean, Tig?”
“It means that you’re akin to a wolf. And if anyone slays you, they—they get paid.” Tig darted to her side. “I won’t let them. I’ll—Mordag and I will warn you each time an enemy comes near.”
Drest crossed her arms. “I won’t let them, either. It’s just—” She broke off. “Where’s Emerick?”
“He’s gone to hide,” Tig said distractedly. “The twins took him, and the rest of your brothers scattered looking for you, and—Drest, are you sure the knight called you a wolf’s head?”
“Aye, I heard him, didn’t I?” Her left hand brushed her right hip, where her sword should have hung. “Da’s not going to be happy about this.”
“No,” Tig said, his voice rushed, “don’t tell anyone. That price will be paid to whoever slays you, and if your family should mention it—that’s the kind of thing that no one should say.” Tig straightened his tunic. “I suppose that’s what can happen when one becomes a legend.”
Drest and Tig went in search of her brothers. Mordag led them, swooping over the trees. The crow circled near a cluster of gray-barked alders and gave a hoarse call—the call for a friend—above Uwen and Thorkill.
“I know Da says warriors must be up for everything,” Uwen was grumbling, bent over, his hands on his knees, “but can a warrior not have a single night’s rest after hanging for five days and nights from a ring in a cold, wet, dark, stinking prison?”
Thorkill reached down and patted the boy’s back. “Aye, and we all thought those five days and nights were to be our last. You managed it well, lad. I heard nary a word from you all that time.”
“I was ready to gripe as soon as they put us in there. I was even ready to cry. But Da would have shouted at me. So I hung there like a grub-headed squirrel.”
Drest slipped through the trees. “That’s because you are a grub-headed squirrel with a belly full of crabs.”
Uwen straightened, then lunged for her. He closed his arms around her before she could twist away—and hugged her fiercely.
When had her teasing, taunting, whiny battle-mate ever hugged her like that? Then Drest remembered: When she’d rescued him from Faintree Castle’s prison.
“What were you thinking, you rot-brained hare’s bottom?” Uwen said. “Running off without telling anyone. You’re part of a war-band. Have you forgotten the codes? How can you shuttle your courage with someone you trust if no one’s there, you midge?” Uwen sniffed and buried his face in her shoulder.
Thorkill tousled Drest’s hair. “Ah, lass. All that time in the prison, we spoke of nothing but you: Had she escaped? Was she safe? Would she find what she needed to eat? And when we were all together, I thought, We’ll never leave her again. But you left us tonight.”
Drest struggled out of Uwen’s grasp. “I had to. If I went back to the mill, the knight would have followed me there.” She looked from Uwen to Thorkill. “I led him deep in the woods to give you time to wake and be ready.”
She waited for them to praise her.
“Lass,” Thorkill said, stroking his ginger beard, “we heard your lad’s crow, so we were up and ready for battle—ready to fight one man. But we couldn’t find him.” His smile was sad. “He owes you his life.”
Drest’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he does, but I didn’t see any of you outside when I needed you.”
But she knew now what she should have done: led him directly to the mill. She should have trusted her brothers’ years of training.
“I’m sorry,” Drest muttered, her throat thick.
“We’ll catch him next time,” Thorkill said. “Nay, lass, there’s no reason to brood when you can learn from your mistake and no one’s been hurt.”
Uwen slung an arm around her shoulders. “I wasn’t ready. And Wulfric’s the only one with a sword. Thorkill, would you have had time to slot an arrow in your bow with a man rushing at you? He’d probably have slain me while you struggled with the string. I owe you my life, Drest.” The lad leaned toward his sister and gave her a noisy kiss on her cheek.
“That knight,” Drest said. “He—”
As she drew out the words, Tig clicked his tongue, interrupting. With a long caa, Mordag landed on his outstretched arm.
Why can’t I tell them? Drest tried to ask the question with her eyes, but Tig wasn’t looking at her.
“What were you saying of that knight?” Thorkill prompted.
She met her brother’s gentle brown eyes. “I’m sorry I didn’t slay him when I had the chance.”
She’d keep the secret. For now.