Page 65 of Tears of the Wolf
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 feelkabursting 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.
