Tears of the Wolf (Wrath and Weeping #1)

Chapter 15 Brynn

Brynn

Life in Ombra was…strange. In a good way.

Brynn worked from early morning until after sunset. The days were growing shorter, for which she was grateful. It meant less time to work.

Cenric found her with Guin again the next night and they walked to his family burial mounds again. He did the same the night after that and the next. It became something of a ritual as the days wore on.

Brynn had thought it morbid the first time. She didn’t want to be shackled with yet another man who idolized the dead at the expense of the living.

To Paega, his family’s graveyard had been a shrine to his worship of what was gone. It had been a place for him to wallow in grief until it had fermented into self-pity.

Cenric seemed to regard his family’s cairns the same as he did the forest or the mountains. They were a part of his history, but they did not bind him to it. To Cenric, the monuments seemed more a way to bring his dead family into the present than a way to anchor him to the past.

Brynn and Cenric spent their evening walks talking for the most part. He told her of his days in the field, the state of various villages and farms around the shire, and his plans. The storehouses and palisades he wanted to build next summer, the land he wanted to clear to plant more barley.

Cenric asked Brynn about growing up as Eormenulf’s daughter, her sister, and her lost son. Cenric listened. It occurred to Brynn that Cenric showed more interest in her dead baby than Osbeorn’s father had the entire time the boy was alive.

Cenric kissed her often on those walks, making her head spin and her heart pound. But he never made advances anywhere else, not even when they were in bed.

A part of Brynn was grateful, another part of her wanted him to just take her and get it over with. A third, more confusing part of her, squalled in protest every time his kisses ended. That third part demanded to know if he would make love the way he kissed—like she was fire, and he desperately wished to burn.

But there were other things to occupy them both beyond her conflicted feelings.

Winter was fast approaching along with the festival of Blydmoth, when the young cattle and pigs would be slaughtered.

It was also the last chance for raiders to strike before winter.

Why not strike when your own fields and animals were harvested? When your neighbors had already gathered their grain into barns and their young animals into slaughter pens? When people came into the towns, easy pickings as thralls?

Brynn could do nothing about that, so she focused instead on what she could control. She tended the injured and sick. She treated agues, aches, and mended broken bones.

A week after her arrival, Cenric and his men headed to the fields for the day to cut barley. They left at first light and Brynn sent a barrel of water along with bread and cheese to the men near noon.

Now the sun drifted closer to the horizon and Brynn guessed that they should return in the next few hours. The longhouse was a flurry of activity as chickens were plucked for the evening meal, bread kneaded, and turnips, carrots, and leeks chopped and thrown into the pots.

Several of the dyrehunds waited hopefully for scraps, watching plaintively at the girls’ feet. Guin slumbered in a basket a safe distance from the fire, curled into a tiny ball of fur.

Brynn and the women of the village had spent the morning harvesting peas and collecting them into baskets. It was tiring, back-breaking work, but soon they would all be able to rest for a few months.

“Riders!” cried a youth’s voice, out of breath. “Riders approaching!” The boy burst into the longhouse.

“Riders from where?” demanded Gaitha, standing with a clutch of cabbages in her arms.

“I don’t know. But there must be fifty of them headed this way!”

“Gannon.” Brynn stepped up to the boy. He couldn’t be more than ten and had stayed behind to care for the animals kept in the stables. “How far are they?”

“Coming up the way, lady. From the direction of Olfirth’s lands.”

Cenric had mentioned Olfirth. He was a wealthy thane who had refused to swear allegiance to Cenric these past two years. He had not been outright hostile, but disrespectful.

“Perhaps it is a messenger.” Gaitha set down the cabbages and picked up a knife to begin chopping.

“No! They’re armed! Carrying spears and shields and everything!”

Brynn squeezed the boy’s shoulders. “Show me.”

Gannon raced back outside, only too happy to oblige. He led her straight back out the doors and across the small yard. Outside the longhouse, the shouts of alarm and surprise rippled up from the surrounding buildings.

Brynn followed Gannon around the corner of the stables.

“There, lady.”

Gannon had exaggerated when he’d said fifty. Brynn estimated twenty or so riders, but he had told the truth about the rest. The men rode stout, muscular horses and carried shields and spears. They trotted along the road leading toward the longhouse. They appeared to be Hyldish, but there was no reason for so many armed men to be heading this direction unannounced.

Brynn took in the sight, thinking quickly. In all her worry of foreign raiders, she hadn’t considered that perhaps she should have feared her own countrymen.

Twenty men. Armed men, but she didn’t see any archers. It wasn’t ideal, but it might be manageable.

“You see, lady?” the youth panted. “That’s Olfirth right there!”

Grabbing Gannon’s arm, she dragged him back toward the longhouse. “You’re sure it’s Olfirth?” she demanded.

“Absolutely,” Gannon blurted. “He’s a terrible, awful man. Heart as black as a cythraul demon, that one.”

Brynn knew she couldn’t trust Gannon entirely, but Olfirth and her husband were not friends. She dragged the boy around to face her, gripping his shoulders. “Gannon, this is very important. I need you to find out if there are any more of them, then tell Gaitha. Do you understand?”

“Someone needs to tell Lord Cenric!”

“I will see to that. I need your help dealing with those men in the meantime. Can I trust you with this?”

“How are you going to do that?” Gannon’s eyes were wide, staring up at her.

There wasn’t time to explain to this boy along with everything else she needed to do to prepare. “Can I trust you?”

Gannon bobbed his head hastily.

“Good lad. Stay out of sight and don’t let them see you. Come back and find Gaitha and report to her. Now go.” Brynn shoved the boy toward the village where he would be able to circle around unseen from the main road.

Not wasting time, Brynn headed straight back to the longhouse. Several women and girls hung around the entrance, partially dismembered vegetables, knives, and cooking implements in their hands.

“Continue as you were,” Brynn ordered. She grabbed Gaitha’s arm, pulling the other woman aside. “Gannon should come looking for you shortly. Find a way to relay whatever he tells you to me.”

“What’s happening?”

“Olfirth is going to learn a lesson.”

Gaitha nodded once, though her usual humor was gone.

Brynn found her handmaiden where she worked to grind flour with a mortar and pestle. “Esa.”

Esa’s flushed cheeks and wide eyes made her look much younger as she looked up to Brynn. “Yes, lady?”

Brynn pulled the girl outside the door, wanting to impress urgency on her without causing panic in the others. She lowered her voice, squeezing the girl’s hand in both of her own. “Run as fast as you can to the barley fields. Tell Lord Cenric there are twenty armed men here. Likely from Olfirth. Can you do that?”

“Yes.” Esa’s voice trembled just a little as she said it.

Brynn smiled in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Go child. Hurry.”

Esa took off across the garden. Brynn waited just long enough to see her climb the stone fence and disappear into the trees before marching back into the longhouse.

The meal preparations were still well underway, though with a new edge of anxiety. Brynn was a little surprised none of the girls had tried to run. It seemed they trusted her enough to at least let her attempt to save them.

“All of you go about your business.” Brynn did her best to project confidence and control. “Follow my lead. And have another lamb prepared.”

“What about the men?” one of the women demanded.

“Leave them to me.” Brynn marched past their frightened stares. “If it goes wrong, get away from this place. All of you.” Brynn paused for just a moment, singling out Seva, the youngest of the house girls. She scooped Guin out of her basket, stirring the small pup awake. “If you need to run, just make sure she gets out of the house.”

If Olfirth decided to attack, he would likely try to burn the longhouse down. Brynn didn’t want the puppy to be trapped inside if that happened.

Seva took the puppy, cradling Guin in her arms even as the pup whined. “Yes, lady.”

“Brynn.” Gaitha shook her head. “You’re the lady of this shire. We can’t let you face them alone.”

“I am the sorceress of this shire,” Brynn corrected, reaching the door facing the stable yard, where the horsemen would most likely approach. “You will all do as I have told you.”

No one spoke another word in argument.

Brynn stepped out into the afternoon sunlight. The sun was making a speedy descent toward the west. Leaves had turned gold, red, and orange on most of the trees. The world was preparing to sleep through winter, but it was still very much alive.

Brynn could feel ka bursting through the world around her. She pulled it in strand by strand, drawing in power. Standing in the middle of the stable yard, Brynn drew strength around herself like a whirlwind. Hopefully, she would not need it, but she would have it just in case. Brynn waited, calming her breathing as she drew power around herself.

Never do with force what you can do with charm, had been one of her mother’s lessons. As much as Brynn hated the woman, she had remembered that particular lesson.

The trail of men came into view with the barking and baying of dogs. The dyrehunds ran in circles around the strange horsemen, leaping and jumping, their tails wagging, oblivious to the danger.

A dark shape settled at Brynn’s side. She looked down.

Thorn sat back on his haunches, his one remaining eye trained on the approaching riders. A low rumble started in his throat.

“Steady,” Brynn said to him.

Thorn’s ears perked and he lifted his head to her.

“Steady, boy.” She wasn’t sure if he understood or not, but he remained silent as the riders drew near. Brynn trained her face into a gentle, gracious smile. She counted nineteen men, all of them armed.

They rode into the stable yard as if they belonged here, as if they had a right to be here.

Brynn singled out their leader—or at least the oldest of their number. He looked to be past fifty, if she had to guess. His face was weathered a dark tan and though his hair and beard remained thick, they were snow-white. “Welcome to the house of Alderman Cenric of Ombra.” Brynn smiled, though she didn’t bow. “I am Brynn of the Istovari, wife of Cenric, daughter of Eormenulf.”

She made sure to clearly enunciate, letting her voice carry. It took a breath before she saw realization dawn on the men—they addressed a sorceress. Some drew back in fear, some leaned forward in curiosity, others looked to their leader.

“I must have forgotten my husband telling me to expect visitors. How should I address you?”

The snowy-haired man didn’t respond for a long moment. Brynn waited, hands clasped easily before her.

These men had come fully armed, close to the middle of the day when Cenric and his warriors were most likely to be in the fields.

However, they had come along the main road and there were only nineteen of them. They had allowed the rest of the village to see them coming, to inspire fear.

Fear—that was what they wanted, so she gave them the opposite.

Instead of frightened servants and panicked stable boys—they found themselves facing her. Here was a woman at ease as if their spears, shields, and glares didn’t exist.

When people didn’t see what they expected to see, it made them question things. If she wasn’t afraid, perhaps it was because she had no reason to be afraid.

“I’m Olfirth.” The snowy-haired man looked her over from head to foot. It was an appraising look, an old bear sizing up the she-wolf in his path.

“Welcome, Olfirth,” Brynn smiled, keeping her expression mild, not too exuberant, but at the same time sincere. “I am afraid you are several hours early. My husband and his men are not yet home.”

Olfirth glanced around the stable yard, empty save for the motley collection of barking dogs. “You mean the young wolf left his home undefended?”

Brynn smiled sweetly at that, though it was likely meant as an insult, if not a threat.

In truth, Cenric had left more than a dozen men in the village and scouts along the mouth of the river to watch for any sign of raiders. But her husband, like her, had assumed any threats would come from the water, not from the hills and not with so little warning.

“You need not worry for us, my lord.” Brynn turned around his jab, pretending she had misunderstood. “The house and the village are as well-defended as they can be.”

“They are?” Olfirth’s white brows rose.

Brynn kept smiling. “I am here, aren’t I?”

One of the men laughed and then a few others, but they fell silent when Olfirth didn’t join them.

When the snowy haired man spoke again, it was deliberate, careful. “I heard the young wolf had petitioned Aelgar to find a willing sorceress. I didn’t think any of you were daft enough to do it.”

So perhaps they hadn’t expected to find a sorceress here after all.

Brynn feigned ignorance. “Why not?”

Olfirth grunted noncommittally.

“I am fond of this place.” Brynn looked to the village visible at the bottom of the hill, then back to the old thane. “And its people.”

Olfirth gave no visible reaction, but she hoped he caught her meaning. She would protect the people of Ombra, standing over his corpse if need be.

“As I said, my husband and his men have not yet returned.” Brynn continued, projecting that this was a mild inconvenience, but nothing too serious. “You will have to stable your own horses since the stable boys are gone, but we will do our best to make you feel welcome until the food is prepared.”

“Food?” Olfirth cocked his head at her.

“You have come to eat with us, have you not?” With her soft smile held up like a shield, she forced herself to show calm, friendliness, and hospitality.

Thorn remained at her side, rigid as stone, glaring right back at the men.

From the way he blinked at her with a mild scowl, Olfirth had not expected her to say that at all. His mouth tightened as he took her in.

One of the warriors at Olfirth’s side nudged his horse toward the older man. “Lord—”

Olfirth raised a fist, signaling for the young man to stay silent.

Brynn and the old thane stared each other down. She could see his mind spinning behind his dark eyes.

Ash came along Brynn’s other side, whining as she too dropped down to sit. She nosed Brynn’s hand, probably confused why the strangers weren’t dismounting.

Brynn petted the dog’s head, keeping her attention on the riders.

She might not be able to kill all nineteen men before they ran her down, but she could kill Olfirth and perhaps three or four others. If the dyrehunds attacked the horses to create a diversion, she might even be able to take down half of them before they even reached her.

It wasn’t good odds, and it had been a long time since Brynn had used killing spells. But she would sell her life dearly and Olfirth would gain nothing but his own demise by attacking her.

She saw from the way he looked at her that Olfirth understood.

Brynn couldn’t outright threaten Olfirth, especially in front of his men. A threat would be an insult. For warriors like him, insults had to be avenged, else he would appear weak.

By inviting him to her table, she was offering him a way out. He could accept her hospitality, or he could find out exactly what Istovari sorceresses did to mere men who encroached on their husband’s lands.

Olfirth seemed to wrestle with the decision for a long moment. His warriors remained silent at his back, showing a better level of discipline than many Brynn had met.

Finally, Olfirth straightened atop his horse, nodding slowly. “We are grateful for your hospitality, Lady Brynn. Despite us arriving so early.” Then he dismounted.

Thorn made a low huffing sound as if to say, That’s what I thought.

“Lord?” It was the same younger man who had tried to speak earlier.

“Dismount, Evred. Show some respect for the lady.”

Olfirth’s men followed his lead, stepping down off their horses. As the last man’s boots hit the ground, Brynn knew she had won.