Nightwolf, page 1
Nightwolf
by
Emily Anne
Map of Glacur
Never give up on your dreams, they might come in ways you never expected and are all the more precious because of that.
Chapter 1
Some of the small pleasures that came along with living in a port city like Aramount were the constant cool breezes that chased little fluffy clouds across the horizon and the mournful cry of seagulls that added to the cacophony that made up the sounds of a small village. Aramount lay in the shadow of the castle Brenlow, the ancestral home of Lord Richard, and the low hills of the coastal moors. Its stone walls protected the keep, stables, armory, and orphanage within its great grey walls and overlooked the village and sea below.
Ayne sighed with contentment as she leaned back onto the trunk of a grand old oak tree which she had been sitting underneath, retreating from the afternoon sun. Her auburn hair was ruffled by the breeze, blowing strands into her dark eyes, which she quickly swiped away. A motion caught her eye in the valley below; a page out on an errand reminded her that she was not wandering the moors for her pleasure this afternoon.
Ayne pulled a woven basket filled with tiny white buds from where it lay tucked into the long powder blue skirts of her dress; she was arranging them in case there were more to be found as she and her companions wandered home. Standing, she turned around to find her companions; a group of children was playing in the high grass, laughing and running with bare feet pattering in the hard dirt. She smiled and scooped a small fair boy into her arms, his laughter turning into tiny giggles as he waved a massive blue rose bloom in her face.
"Look what we've found!" He squealed as she set him back on his own two feet again, now surrounded by the other children who each had a few blooms of their own, "Do you think they will like these?"
Ayne smiled as she crouched down to see eye to eye with the children. "They'll love them!" She said, holding out the basket for the children to fill it with the roses. They, just like herself, were orphans. Raised within the castle walls as wards of Lord Richard, the orphans of Brenlow had made it their task to gather fresh blooms for the evening table for the Lord and Lady as a thank you for their generosity. With her basket full, Ayne led the children towards the castle across the grassy moors. For as long as she could remember, Ayne had lived within these castle walls, a ward herself she was never adopted and had been asked to stay on as an assistant in the orphanage; this was her family and the only home she had ever known.
They passed the guarded gate shortly after noon, and at the central split in the path, she sent the children back to the orphanage for their noon meal while she continued to the main fortifications that housed the home of the Lord and Lady. Ayne entered through the kitchen's gate and was hit by the smells of freshly baked bread and woody smoke from the stoves. And though it may be an uncommon sight to see in most castles, Lady Clarisse was sitting in an exterior alcove in the kitchen's garden reading a book in the bright sunlight.
"My Lady," Ayne said with a curtsy, "we found some magnificent flowers for your table today." Lady Clarisse smiled and inclined her head in greeting as she tucked her book away.
"They are perfect," she said with a smile as she gently touched the blooms that were bobbing merrily in the basket in her hand, "keep an eye on those children; they bring so much joy to the village."
Ayne smiled and curtsied again as Lady Clarisse disappeared into the open kitchen door.
***
Afternoons in the castle were always quiet, and felt almost sleepy. Most were filled with golden light and soft murmurs that carried on the cool sea breeze. The orphanage would now be full of children tired from a morning spent playing and hiking, with full bellies and tired eyes. The Lord and Lady would take walks around the orchards and gardens that lay within the walls of the castle, two figures that contrasted one another so much but complemented each other so flawlessly. He was tall and broad with dark hair and beard flecked with grey, while she was petite and fair and filled with sunlight and laughter.
But Ayne wasn't aware of these peaceful afternoons as she would shut herself in the stables to practice with her sword out of sight from the rest of the world. Today she was facing off with a leather practice dummy she had swiped from the garbage piles a very long time ago and repaired so she could practice with her weapon in secret. She closed her eyes and took a few measured breathes before lunging at the dummy, its wooden head flying from its body after a quick flick of her blade. It rolled across the straw-strewn floor, coming to rest at a pair of booted feet that had approached without a sound. Ayne blinked hard as sweat dripped into her eyes. The silence of the stable seemed to magnify the sound of her breath, the crunch of her boots in the hay as she she moved to look for the missing head, and there was something else… as a soft rustling came from behind her, Ayne turned around quickly, pointing her sword at the intruder's exposed neck.
A man stood behind her, holding the dummy's head he had retrieved from the ground and was inspecting it and her as well. He was young, but maybe not so young as her. It was hard to tell because of how weather-beaten and haggard he appeared at the moment. The man's cool grey eyes pierced the dim light of the stable. She felt that with a sharp look, he could read someone's mind with those eyes. His dark hair was shaggy and brushed his shoulders, blending with the layer of scruff that hid his jaw, which was now being threatened by her bared blade.
"Mind putting that thing away?" The man said gently, "I don't mind it, but I'd rather keep my head on my shoulders for now." He moved the blade to the side with his fingertips before blowing a strand of hair out of his face. Ayne nodded quickly and sheathed the weapon as he stepped forward to pass her the severed dummy head, which she clumsily hid in the empty stall behind her. He ignored her as he led his horse into the stable, giving her time to hide away her contraband and escape without another word. Leaving him to his business.
Ayne felt like she had a rock lodged in her gut - she had run blindly back to the orphanage. Her logical side was telling her to calm down, but sometimes emotion overwhelms logic. In Rimmadon, the country Aramount resided in, it was punishable by death to weald a sword unless you were a member of a royal guard or the military. It was especially frowned on for women and lower classes to wield weapons as it seemed to encourage poaching and highwaymen to proliferate the countryside. And here she was, an orphan and a woman who had knowingly been breaking the law for years, she'd been caught, and now she was afraid of the consequences. Ayne's logical side kept telling her that the man in the stable had no way of reporting her, but she knew better than that; she had been caught. It was easy enough to describe her, and since she had been a fixture around the castle for most of her life, almost anyone could identify her on description alone.
Ayne snuck into the orphanage through the kitchen door and crept to her room to hide the evidence. She lay on her bed and stared at the cracked plaster ceiling above her as it faded from view with the dying light. She prayed to no god in particular before curling into a ball on top of her quilts and falling into an anxiety-riddled sleep full of nightmares of a wolf with glowing eyes that stalked her every step.
The soft morning light was creeping into the room when Ayne rolled out of bed, someone was knocking on the door. She found herself face to face with a young page-boy waiting for her on the front step of the orphanage. He had been a resident of the house himself, so this delivery was an easy one for him.
"A letter for you, miss," he yawned as he passed her the heavy parchment envelope and went on his way, leaving Ayne holding the letter with sweaty palms. She carried the letter to the kitchen and dropped it onto the scrubbed wooden tabletop before sitting down to carefully break the seal. The letter itself wasn't long. It read:
To the Orphanage Hand
Miss Ayne,
A guest of mine described finding a young woman that sounds startlingly like yourself and has been praising your excellent swordsmanship, which he observed upon his arrival yesterday.
In regards to this, if you would give both myself and my guest the pleasure of your company during this morning's training with the battle-master, I would be so inclined to overlook this… breach in protocol.
Please arrive in the courtyard by daylight and be prepared to perform to the best of your abilities with the guardsmen.
Sincerely,
Lord Richard of Aramount
Ayne re-read the letter multiple times before setting it down and staring at it in confusion. But she didn't have time to think over what had happened between her run-in with the strange man and now because the guard was meeting soon and she had to rush to get ready.
She dressed in a long, dark green dress and threw her leather tunic over it, pairing it with the sword belt she had fashioned out of a carpenters belt. Then she pulled her long hair into a braid; she checked her appearance in the looking glass - noting that her thin pale face was blinking back at her. She knew it didn't matter what she looked like, but it was a force of habit.
Sighing, Ayne left her room and crept to the kitchen door, fear was clawing at her heart now, but she tried to keep it at bay by telling herself she was far more prepared for this than they thought she was. Mrs. McClanley, the orphanage's headmistress, was setting the table Ayne had vacated for breakfast and greeted her with a warm smile. "Off to the stables again?" She asked. Ayne shook her head and lowered her eyes to the toes of her boots. She felt shame - shame that she had been caught, guilt that she hadn't hidden her secret better, shame that the freedom this kind woman had given he
"His lordship has invited me to train with his guard today…" Ayne managed to say, she was met with a look of fear from Mrs. McClanley and the sound of the wooden platter she had been holding hitting the floor. Before the woman could compose herself, Ayne had sped past her and out the door, she wasn't ready to face this, but she was heading to the courtyard automatically.
The grand stone archway that led to the inner courtyard loomed over Ayne as she neared it. She could feel the sound of metal ringing against metal as it reverberated against the stone walls around her. Ayne paused and took a deep breath before leaving the archway, feeling the turmoil inside of her dissipate as she passed into the soft golden light of the courtyard. She was met with the sight of fifty or so men moving through complicated maneuvers and forms with swords, pikes, lances, and knives. Lord Richard and his guest were standing on a raised platform watching their progress, and the man alerted him to her presence with a tap on the arm and a nod. He seemed more refined than he had the day before, despite his scruffy face; it seemed that a good bath could do wonders on anyone.
Lord Richard hopped down from the platform and approached her with long strides, and a smile on his face. He held out his arms as he greeted her, "So! It turns out that my oldest orphan is a little warrior!" He boomed. His voice was filled with laughter, but kind laughter; she realized he wasn't mocking her but was proud, it seemed. The men behind him stopped what they were doing and watched with interest; this was an odd scene indeed. Some were whispering amongst themselves while still others were snickering at her, but it seemed that overall, most were either confused or annoyed by her presence. This was not helped by the fact that Lord Richard promptly guided Ayne into their midst and had her paired with one of the younger recruits towards the front of the crowd.
He left her there to retake his place on the platform and called "begin!" Signaling the men to return to their practice. Ayne turned her focus on her partner and wasn't surprised to see that he hated her, but she was astonished that his annoyance morphed into a merciless grin on his face.
"I don't know why his lordship is allowing you to carry a weapon, but I, for one, will teach you your place…girl." He growled before lunging at her.
Ayne blocked his attacks easily, her sword flashing in the morning light. The young mans' breathe began to come in ragged gasps as she stepped lightly through the steps she had learned from a friend so long ago; it looked almost as if she was dancing around him. Then smiling cruelly, Ayne leaned in as she dodged him again and whispered, "Learn YOUR place, boy." His eyes widened in surprise as she swept him off of his feet with one blow to the back of his legs, leaving him on the ground in a daze. She was mad now, and her sword tip sat at the base of his neck threateningly as she tipped her head to the side and smiled down at him. Some of the men around them chuckled at their fallen comrade as they continued their forms, but Ayne wasn't sure that was all they were laughing at.
Lord Richard had been watching the sparring match with interest. Suddenly holding his hand up, he called "HALT," bringing everyone to an abrupt stop they looked up at him and his guest, waiting for his following command. He looked over to Ayne and beckoned her forward to join himself and the stranger at the platform.
She waded through the sea of men as Lord Richard called out, "Who wants to attempt to spar against this woman?". Ayne looked up at him in surprise as she reached the platform; the stranger smiled at her. A murmur was going through the crowd of men at this point, the troops seemed to be unsettled by this request. Lord Richard scanned the group of men, realizing there would be no volunteers though he pointed to one of his captains and motioned for him to come to the front. "Since we have no volunteers, you will be sparring with her."
The officer stepped forward and paused to study her; he felt reluctant to fight her because he had a daughter her age at home, but he had to comply with the Lord's request, so he bowed and stood ready to spar, promising himself that he would end the match before it was too much for her.
"Begin!" Rang through the now quiet courtyard, and they began to circle one another. Their gazes were locked, and to the captain's surprise, Ayne's never wavered. She took the initiative to strike first, her sword glancing off the officers to graze his cheek and draw blood. The man stepped back and stared at her wide-eyed, surprised at her skill, then without a second thought, he began his attack, all thoughts of leniency gone. Ayne dodged his blows as they whirled about the training ground, the sounds of their clashing swords rang loudly through the early morning stillness. Then the captain made his fatal mistake, he took his eyes off her for just a moment and in that time, Ayne was able to pin him to the ground with a swipe of her sword to his ankle. The crowd stayed silent, well, except for the stranger whose clapping echoed as he stepped off the platform and approached them.
"That was an excellent show of swordsmanship," he said as he stopped in front of Ayne and bowed such a deep bow that she knew he was mocking her. Then looking up just enough to see her without breaking his bow, he grinned mischievously, "would you give me the great honor of a more formal duel this evening, miss?"
Ayne was unsure of her answer. Should she accept and play along with whatever narrative this man was creating, or refuse and risk the punishment she had feared since the day before? She hesitated before nodding yes; she knew that it would be better to just face this head-on. If Lord Richard had allowed her to come to this practice, then she assumed that this duel had his blessing as well.
The man stood up straight and smiled in a more kindly way, "Then we will meet here just before sunset," he said loudly enough for everyone around to hear. Ayne nodded, and with only a wave of his hand Lord Richard dismissed her.
***
The walk back to the orphanage was like a dream. Ayne wandered through the castle grounds till she reached the small building nestled near the western wall and burst through the kitchen door. She ran to the sink and threw her head under the water pump spigot, pumping the handle so the clear, cool water would splash over her head and drown out the sound of blood pumping in her ears. Mrs. McClanley stood in the doorway that led to the main hallway and watched her for a moment but ultimately retreated, unable to look her in the eyes. The older woman's eyes were puffy with tears of her own, spilled from behind the privacy of the closed kitchen door. Mrs. McClanley watched as faint golden lines appeared in the cracks of the eastern wall, lighting up patches of the whitewashed ceiling. Ayne would know soon enough.
When Ayne finally resurface from her panic, her face was flushed from the cold water. She watched as the early morning sunlight drifter into the kitchen, calmed by how it highlighted the sparkling dust in the air. She sighed as the feelings of stress and fear that had been eating her alive since the night before ran-down the drain with the cold well water. She breathed deeply, allowing herself to be warmed by the sunlight. The orphanage was strangely quiet and calm though - something that should typically help ease her tension was just adding to her stress. Ayne was unsettled, she kept peering at the door that stood ajar, waiting for children to run by screaming and laughing or for Mrs. McClanley to burst through with a to-do list as long as her arm for her to do. But something was wrong; it had been quiet since before she had left that morning, granted it had been far too early for the children to be up by then…but now…by now the house was usually filled to the brim with noise.
Ayne slowly moved away from her place by the sink and passed through the door that led to the hall. "Mrs. McClanley?" She called, but she heard no answer. Ayne chewed her bottom lip, nervous about what was happening. Mrs. McClanley had been there when she had returned, but where had she gone while Ayne had been clearing her head? Ayne continued slowly down the hall, worried that the sound of her heart beating would give her away, but her head was strangely calm. Passing empty room after empty room, she felt like a sleepwalker with the eerie silence following after her. Finally, the familiar sound of a fire crackling in a hearth pulled her back into herself, and she hurried into the drawing-room where she found Mrs. McClanley sitting alone.
