Age of Druids: Druid's Brooch Series: #9

by Christy Nicholas

  Gabha had tried, over the course of their preparations, to outline the myriad of disasters that might befall them in this endeavor. They had no way of knowing how Bodach would fight back, react, or what weapons he had. They must engage to find out.

  She stood in her saddle, surveying her War Chiefs, with Gabha in the lead. “We must rest before the battle. Take some time to eat, drink, and ensure your arms are in working order. If they do not attack first, let us make ourselves ready for the day ahead.”

  Gabha nodded and passed the decision down to the troops. Clíodhna dismounted and massaged her buttocks. As much as she’d practiced, it had been some time since she’d ridden for so long, and her muscles made their displeasure clear. Cerul also dismounted and offered her some bread and cheese. She raised her eyebrows at the rare food.

  Her friend chuckled. “I tricked a mortal into an ongoing exchange for bread, cheese, and honey. She only asked that I ensure her cow gave fresh milk through the winter. A more than fair bargain.”

  It had been too long since she’d tasted honey. “Honey as well?”

  Cerul cast her glance down to the ground. “I’m afraid I already ate the honey, my Queen. I’ll remember to save the next batch for you.”

  She clapped her hand on Cerul’s shoulder. “Keep your honey, Cerul. You’ve more than earned the treat.”

  When she judged the troops rested, Clíodhna turned to Grimnaugh and caught his eye. He saluted her and drew out the large triple-curved ram’s horn from the sling over his back. He held it to his lips and blew hard. The sound shot bright and clear across the plain. Her host raised their weapons in salute and celebration.

  Though she didn’t see the details from the low hill she occupied with her honor guard, Clíodhna watched the troops moving below, like waves on the ocean moving back and forth in a wicked tide. The ebb and flow of those who had pledged their lives to her poured toward the enemy.

  The front lines marched forward, their spear tips pointed to the enemy. Bodach’s troops responded with a growl. They shook their own spears in retaliation and defiance.

  When the two lines met, the clash and crash of the weapons grated in her ears. She wanted to clap her hands to keep the sound of her own Fae dying out, but she mustn’t. Clíodhna owed it to them to hear their cries, to acknowledge their sacrifice for her and for Adhna.

  The battle lines wiggled and bent, first toward the fortress, and then back to her. A contingent of mounted Fae made an incursion into the marsh Fae, but the bog-oak people flanked from the left and repelled the attack. Though the mounted Fae hacked the bog-oak limbs with abandon, the tree folk continued to stomp stolidly forward, tramping their enemies underfoot until a clever Fae set a torch to one’s branches. They retreated to regroup while the mounted knights advanced once again.

  An ululating cry from the right caught Clíodhna’s attention, and a single marsh Fae ran for her, a bone sword held over his head. She froze, unsure what to do, but then fumbled for the bronze sword at her side. She considered trying to remount her horse, but it would take too long. Grimnaugh shouted and jumped in front of her, his only weapon the triple-curved horn. Cerul, however, was better armed, and sliced down on the marsh Fae with her elegant bronze blade. The attacker fell and sizzled into a puddle of black ichor.

  With a curl of her lip, Cerul washed her blade until it shone, once again pristine. “I suggest you remain mounted, your Grace. That creature should never have gotten so close. You are safer there, and while you will be a more visible target, the lone attacker will have a more difficult path to you.”

  Still staring at the oozing puddle, Clíodhna swallowed hard. Then she grabbed the saddle and pulled herself up, patting the sword once again in its sheath at her hip. She smiled in thanks to both Grimnaugh and Cerul before she assessed the battle below again.

  Clíodhna glanced at the clouds Cerul had provided her and decided to add her contribution to the battle. She drew upon the font of power within the air of Faerie, though it seemed much diminished in this dead place. Clouds swirled and darkened into a thunderhead, and she pushed it toward his fortress, building the lightning within it.

  The light dimmed further as it blocked out what little light burned in the ambient glow of the hills. Roiling clouds flashed and crashed as the first strike of lightning hit the tallest spire of the tower.

  It crumbled into bits, and Clíodhna grinned in intense satisfaction. The falling stone crushed several of Bodach’s troops, as her own armies hadn’t yet advanced to that point, so she experienced no guilt as she prepared another volley of lightning. She lifted her hands, felt the power crackle through her skin and bones, and dropped her arms to bring the strike into the tower again.

  A bellow of rage and anger drifted across the cacophony of battle. This made her grin even more widely.

  She prepared a third strike.

  Something shimmered to her left, between her troops and Grian’s. Clíodhna steadied her gaze to assess this new attack, or perhaps a side effect of her own hosts’ magic. A glowing fog grew along the edge of her army, curling around the dead bits of land like a man caressing his lover’s curves. Human-like Fae resolved out of the shining mist, but they looked confused and terrified.

  “Grimnaugh! Who are those new soldiers there? Are they our troops or Grian’s? Or some trick of Bodach’s?”

  He peered down into the mist. “I’m not sure, your Grace. I’ll find out from Gabha.” The frog-like Fae ran after the War Chief, and Clíodhna studied the new troops. She couldn’t make out many details, but one looked like he wielded a scythe. Others didn’t look armed at all. Their clothing looked more like what human farmers would wear, rather than lesser Fae.

  When Gabha rode to her side, she knew what he would say. “Those aren’t our troops, my Queen. Nor are they of Grian’s or Bodach’s forces.”

  “They’re humans, aren’t they?”

  “Yes, my Queen, from what I can tell.”

  “Why are they here? They’ll get horribly killed in this battle.”

  He studied the newcomers, now forming a circle against the strange creatures around them. Their fear came clear in their posture and tentative swipes with the few weapons they had.

  Grimnaugh pulled at his large ear. “This must have something to do with the midsummer veil growing thin. The sheer amount of power in this concentrated area must have ripped a doorway into the mortal world. These might just be hapless peasants from that side.”

  “Sweet Danú, they must be terrified. Send a contingent of mounted Fae to protect them, Gabha. If they wish to fight, give them weapons. If they wish to flee, bring them to safety. In the mortal world if you can.”

  He bent at the waist. “Of course, my Queen.” As he rode off toward the humans, she hoped he would reach them before they were all slaughtered by either her troops or the enemy.

  She turned her attention back to the newcomers. Bodach’s troops inched toward the small knot of humans. The mists still surrounded them, though it began thinning in places. Men, women, even a few children stood amongst the humans.

  Her mounted troops hadn’t yet reached them, but more people now emerged from the mists. These, however, strode forward with more purpose and confidence. They wore monk’s robes, and when she squinted, she thought she recognized Abbot Pátraic.

  “Son of a diseased donkey. What does he think he can do?”

  No one answered her. Gabha spoke to his sub-chiefs while Grimnaugh had gone off to help the humans. She watched as Pátraic raised his crossed pieces of wood and moved his mouth. He must be chanting his God’s words, trying to fend off the evil of the Fae army. Despite his danger, she chuckled at his attempts. If his God protected them, that would be grand, but she didn’t want to count on such help in Faerie. He must hold little to no power here.

  When Grimnaugh and his contingent reached the first humans, an argument ensued. Some humans flocked to the frog-like Fae, pawing at him like beggars, while others snatched up the weapons the soldiers offered and fou
ght against Bodach’s troops. Both Grian’s and Clíodhna’s troops formed a wedge to protect the interlopers.

  Despite this protection, Pátraic strode through both lines to confront Bodach’s troops. He held his cross up high and chanted, his monks following him with their heads held high. A few glanced from side to side at the Fae armies surrounding them with apprehension, but they still followed their Abbot. Clíodhna had to give it to him—he showed little fear or hesitancy. At least he believed in his ideals, no matter how much he twisted them to his own purposes.

  A group of the humans with weapons had joined her forces, and a smaller group had joined Grian’s forces. More huddled in fear, cowering and covering their heads from the din of battle surrounding them, mostly women and children. Not all the women huddled afraid, though. Several grabbed the offered bronze swords and joined in with battle cries worthy of the Morrigan. Clíodhna smiled at their bravery.

  The nearest of Bodach’s Fae to the humans were a group of swamp Fae and reptilian creatures not unlike Grimnaugh. They didn’t have as human a form, but still walked on two legs like her friend. One jumped high and landed amidst the frightened humans, making them scatter with screams.

  A young girl, suddenly alone, wailed in terror as the creature grabbed her hair and lifted her high. She swung like a toy as his mouth came closer to her face.

  A monk with a fringe of dark curls around his bald head whirled around and smacked the Fae on the back of the head with a wooden club. The Fae dropped his prey and turned to face this new threat, his mouth slavering. The monk glanced to the girl, who ran away into the arms of a waiting man. Once she fled, the monk smashed what passed for the Fae’s nose.

  Clíodhna lost sight of the two combatants as more mist swirled to obscure her view. She spied Grimnaugh and two other Fae. She felt more than saw the magic they worked. A rip between the worlds, sturdier than the accidental one the humans slipped through.

  One by one, they led the frightened humans back through to their own realm. Some of those fighting dropped their swords to join them. Others saw but remained fighting. A few never even noticed the escape.

  She searched for her War Chief, speaking with two of his sub-chiefs. “Gabha!”

  He hurried to her side after dismissing them. “Yes, my Queen?”

  “How goes the battle? I need updates.”

  “We are doing well. Bodach has held firm in many areas, but three of our units have penetrated to his stronghold. One has reported he’s inside and almost to the prison.”

  Her eyes widened. “Truly? I couldn’t tell from here. You have excellent intelligence.”

  Gabha bowed low. “It’s what I do, my Queen. Have you discovered the source of the unexpected civilians below?”

  She turned to watch the stragglers disappear. The monks still fought, with Pátraic at their head. She wished the odious priest would leave with the rest of his people. “They are from a village in the mortal world.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “I do.” The curly-haired monk, the one who saved the little girl, glanced up at her, and her heart skipped. Odhrán! Even at this distance, she recognized her one-time lover. She gasped and clasped her hands. “Gabha, I need to go down there. Now!”

  “What? Your Grace, that is most unsafe! I urge you to reconsider.”

  She spun to glare at him. “Are you questioning my orders, War Chief?”

  He took a few steps back. “No, no, of course not, my Queen! As you command.” Mounting his horse, he waited until she did the same and, with a small guard surrounding them, they climbed down the hill. Toward Odhrán.

  With each step, she got closer to him. Around her, the clash of blades faded into a buzz of white noise, of no more concern to her than bees.

  When she came within shouting distance of the monks, a few of them glanced back to this new threat. One, the curly-haired man, let his gaze linger before he turned back to chant with his Abbot.

  She must make sure she didn’t imagine him. “Odhrán!”

  He turned again, and his blue eyes and dimple answered her heart.

  With a final glance toward his Abbot, he abandoned the group of monks and ran to her horse. She dismounted and opened her arms for her lover. It had been so long since she’d held him in his arms. Just that one, sweet night during the thunderstorm, the one time he had been completely hers. Now here he stood with her, smelling of fear and sweat and home.

  “Clíodhna? Is it you? Everyone thought you must have died long ago!”

  Then she realized he had a sprinkle of silver in his hair and beard, silver streaks that had never been there in the young man she’d known. How long had she been gone from the mortal world?

  He studied her face. “You haven’t changed at all, Clíodhna. How is that even possible? Where have you been all these winters?”

  Still, she couldn’t answer. Winters, he said. How many winters? How had her children changed? She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Instead, she pulled him into a fierce hug. After a moment’s hesitation, he clung to her, digging his fingers into her back. She gasped again, unable to breathe.

  Grimnaugh ran up to her. “My Queen, most of the humans are back in their world, but the chanting ones refuse to go! A few others will not listen and seem to be enjoying the fight, but those chanters are unarmed, save a few with clubs.” He glanced at Odhrán. “They wield them well, to be sure, but they cannot be a match for Bodach’s forces.”

  Odhrán glanced down at the frog-like Fae. “Are you of the Fae? Why do you call her the Queen?”

  Grimnaugh blinked and glanced back and forth between Clíodhna and Odhrán. “Because she is! What do you think, foolish mortal? That I just go up to any old person and make them my Queen?”

  After stifling a giggle, Clíodhna put her hand on Odhrán’s shoulder. “It’s a long story, and I cannot now recount it. However, I promise I shall do so when I can. We have a battle to win. Will you convince your humans to return to their home? We don’t want them injured.”

  He shot a glance toward Pátraic, still chanting at the top of his lungs. One of Bodach’s troops swung at him, but he used a gilded crozier to block the blow, twisting it around and jabbing it at his attacker’s face. The Fae backed up several steps, letting another soldier take his place.

  “I’ll see what I can do. Pátraic is convinced we’ve been invaded by demons from Hell.”

  “I suppose I can see his point. The troops he’s fighting possess more than their fair share of evil. That’s what your Hell is, correct? A home for evil?”

  He flashed a harried grin. “I miss our conversations, Clíodhna. Yes, you might call it that. How can I find you again when this is over? I’ve come back to your village.”

  She glanced at Grimnaugh and then back to Odhrán. “Let’s finish here and I will try to find you. We still have a tower to destroy.”

  The final humans, even those who had been joyfully fighting beside her troops, disappeared through Grimnaugh’s rip between the worlds. It closed with a snap and her skin itched. She glanced toward the dark fortress and realized very few of Bodach’s fighters remained on the battlefield. Grian’s and her own Fae troops flooded the plain.

  After searching for Gabha, she found him striding toward her. Two of his sub-chiefs carried something between them, something slung in a low litter and wrapped in dark cloth. She caught her breath. Had they been too late? Had Bodach killed Adhna before they had the chance to rescue him?

  Her rage bubbled up within her, and she bunched her fists. Her shoulders tensed and she gathered her storm clouds again, ready to expiate her wrath on every single member of Bodach’s troops, if need be.

  The litter moaned.

  After releasing her fists, Clíodhna ran to the litter, kneeling beside it. She lifted the blanket from one end with gentle fingers, hoping to find Adhna’s face.

  The face she found might have been Adhna’s, once. Now, battered, bruised, cut and stained with filth, it bore little resemblance to he
r beloved teacher and lover. Her rage returned but she clenched her jaw, refusing to let her emotions carry her away. Adhna lived, and she had him safe now. That’s what mattered.

  With dispatch, she had Adhna taken to her palace, leaving Gabha to finish the battle and mop up the victories.

  * * *

  Fae healed quickly, but still, it took some time for Adhna’s wounds to heal. The bruises eventually faded to yellow and the cuts healed. Even his broken bones mended in time. His spirit shone less than before, despite Clíodhna’s help.

  She’d placed him at her side as Consort, despite his protests. “I do not wish this place empty, and you are far better a Consort than Bodach would ever be. Besides, you are much more loved by the court than he.”

  “My Queen, as much as I appreciate the thought, Bodach remains strong. Even with his defeat in battle, he’s given up little raw power. He will contest this change.”

  She straightened her shoulders with a confidence she didn’t have. “We shall see what happens then.”

  When Bodach showed his face once again in Clíodhna’s court, he stormed into the great hall, actual fire smoldering on his bark-skin in places.

  She waved a hand before her nose. “Bodach, please douse yourself. Your flesh stinks when it burns.”

  He scowled first at her and then at Adhna sitting in his Consort’s throne. “Adhna, you may have usurped my place in appearance, but you know I still hold the power of the Consort. That position is more than who the Queen favors with her foolish notions.”

  Gabha, who had been strutting with eternal smugness at his success, placed a condescending hand on Bodach’s shoulder. Bodach shrugged it off without even glancing at the other Fae.

  She turned to her former Consort. “That may be true, but for now, Adhna stands by my side. You are not welcome in my court, Bodach. Go back to your fortress. And have a care if you decide to betray me again. I shall not be so gracious.” Her predecessor had held unquestionable power, but Clíodhna grasped at strings, hoping to hold her net in place before it unraveled. Strength and confidence was the only weapon she had left to wield.