by LJ Rivers
I wanted to say something about winning battles versus winning wars, but I felt I had treated her badly enough these past weeks. She would soon enough see more fighting, I feared. “Well done, Cynthia! I’m proud of you.”
Her smile broadened.
When we finally exited the Culach Pass, a dozen more Fae had joined Cynthia in forming a flying escort. My army had assembled in various units, spreading out across the plains. Hundreds, if not thousands, of torches illuminated the campsites. There were bonfires all over, and the air was ripe with laughter, battle songs, and clinking metal. For a fleeting moment, the clinking came from cups, not swords and spears.
“The stewards have done well, My Queen,” Galahad said. “Sixty carts, pulled by bulls and cows, all carrying meat and bread. Another fifty with barrels of ale, wine, and water.”
“Well deserved, too,” I said. “They need to replenish their energies. It won’t be long until it’s needed again.”
Galahad sighed. “True words.”
“Come, My Queen,” Cynthia said, gesturing for me to follow. “They’re over here.”
Both Sir Galahad and I set our unicorns in motion, trailing after the winged girl. Like a child eager to show her friends something special, she turned every other second to see if we were still with her.
On the outskirts of the army camp stood three pavilions, all filled to the edges and more with soldiers. My soldiers.
And my friends.
Rowan, Jen, Erica, Jack, and Alun stood in a circle around a spit roast, where a calf slowly rotated over the flames. They hadn’t noticed me yet; the discussion was loud and cheerful. Rhiannon, clearly used to the circumstances, stopped by a stepladder to ease my dismount.
“Thank you, gorgeous,” I said, and received a nicker in return.
A young girl came running, dragging a cart behind her. She quickly deposited the cart in front of Rhiannon, who thanked the girl with a snort before dipping her muzzle into one of the three trays on the cart.
“My Queen,” the girl said.
Only then did I get a look at her face. “Em?”
The twelve-year-old Fae had dropped to her knees by Rhiannon’s feet. “I’m glad to see you safe and unharmed.” She tapped the unicorn on its right front leg, and Rhiannon lifted it. “But I knew you would be.” Em brushed the underside of Rhiannon’s hoof, before switching the brush for a metal hook, also from her tool belt. She stopped and glanced at me. “You should eat. I’ll take care of this lady.”
“Thank you.” I left them and went to see my friends.
Jen spotted me first. “Red!” She put her cup on the ground and came at me with open arms. “What took you so long?”
“I couldn’t find the time.” I shook my head. “Crap! I thought I could come up with a pun on Time Turners. That was just lame.”
“It really was.” She picked me up in her embrace and swung me around. “But seeing you in one piece makes up for it!”
Rowan and the others came too, and I found myself in the centre of a crushing group hug. “All right, all right,” I gasped. They dispersed, and Rowan handed me a brass goblet.
“Ale or wine?”
I felt a sudden craving for a hot cup of green tea. “Water, I think. For starters.”
As if out of thin air, Rowan produced a water skin. “For starters, then,” he said, and poured.
“Where are the others?” I asked. “Brendan? Charlie?”
“Charlie and Pullhelli should be here any moment. They have been waiting in safety, circling the air on griffins west of the fires.”
I looked to the west where the horizon was painted red and orange. “Her liquid fire worked, I see.”
“Perfectly.” Rowan craned his neck. “Brendan is over by that bonfire, meeting with some of his officers. Want me to get him?”
Yes, please!
“No, let him do his job. I’ll talk with him after. I need to meet with all my commanders.” My stomach grumbled. “After they’ve eaten.”
“Speaking of which.” Jen nodded at the spinning calf. “You won’t mind if I don’t wait for this to reach well done, will you?”
She plucked at a thread on her dark blue attire. With an audible snap, the clothes slid inside a leather bag, while Jen fell on all fours. The white wolf was quickly followed by her two pack members, trotting towards a cart with dead sheep. They dragged two of the cotton balls off the wagon and disappeared into the darkness outside the torches’ glare.
“A year ago, that would have killed my appetite,” I said. “Is there any bread?”
“Over here.” Alun showed me the way to a table next to the spit roast. It was stacked with bread, fruits, and vegetables. “Have a seat.” The young manticore pulled out one of the chairs for me.
I thanked him and sat. “Please, join me.”
Alun and my brother did, but only for a few moments. I had just torn off a huge chunk of bread, which smelled suspiciously like one of Tallaks’s creations, when Rowan sprang to his feet. “They’re coming,” he said, and ran out on the field.
I stuffed a bite of white bread in my gob and followed him. This was Tallaks’s all right. Hungry as I was, I was more in need of seeing Charlie again. The two silhouettes came gliding over the plain, with the hue of the fire in the background. As the griffins alighted, Charlie’s tiny hand waved frantically behind her ride’s giant head. She slid down its side and was already running before her feet touched the ground. Much as I needed to hug her, I let Rowan get to her first.
I was equally pleased to greet my great-uncle, who took a little longer dismounting his griffin.
“My Queen,” he said.
My heart jolted. The old man’s voice was weak. When he stepped out of the griffin’s shadow so I could see his face, Pullhelli looked twenty years older than his already considerable age.
“My Lord.” I went in for a hug. It turned more into supporting him, as he walked with a limp. “Are you hurt?”
“It’s nothing, child,” he said, doing a terrible job of camouflaging a groan as he took another step. “I’m not thirty any longer.” He let out a small laugh, which shifted into a dry, heaving cough.
“What happened?” I asked. “And tell me the truth. That’s an order.”
“Please, pay it no mind. You have too much to think—”
“Can you heal him, Ru?” Charlie asked from inside Rowan’s arms. “He’s a stubborn old jester, who won’t admit he needs it. He says he tripped when he ran back to his griffin.”
I stopped and grabbed Pullhelli’s shoulders. “What happened?”
“It was a slight skirmish, that is all.” He rolled his eyes. “If you must know, I had an unfortunate encounter with some Dewinian steel. Honestly, though, I’m—”
My eyes narrowed. There was a rip in his robe, just below the left knee. In the dim light, the fabric was almost the same colour as the blood that had seeped into it.
Calling on my healing magic, hoping it had charged enough during my ride through the pass, I put my hand inside the slit and placed it on top of the wound. Cascades of rays of blue, red, and green hues flowed out from my palm and wrapped themselves around the old Sorcerer’s leg. He gasped and flinched and almost fell backwards. But I had slipped my other arm around his waist.
“Where’s your staff?” I asked, still pushing my magic into his leg.
“I lost it somewhere over the flames,” he said. “You can stop now, my dear.”
“Sure?”
“Certainly. Thank you.” I let go of his leg, and he lifted it off the ground, shaking it as if to test it. “I might have underestimated the damage.”
I scoffed. “You think?”
“Queen Ruby?” a man’s voice bellowed from the camp. Sir Lancelot stalked across the grass, his boots thumping down with every stride.
“Yes?”
The knight nodded at my friends, before stopping in front of me. “I trust you are well?”
“I am, sire. Thank you. What’s on your mind?”
“We should. Gather all members, and all first-line commanders. We will meet in a quarter awr.”
“As you command.” He gave a quick nod and turned to go back.
“Sir Lancelot?”
“Yes, Your Majesty?”
“Uhm … where?” I asked.
The corners of his mouth drew upwards. “We have a tactics table under the large pavilion over there.” He pointed at a canopy with four large banners in each corner.
“Excellent. One quarter awr.”
As the knight turned his back, I rolled my eyes at Charlie, who had slipped out of her boyfriend’s grip. “How did I not see it? It’s large as a fudging hou—”
“Shut up and hug me, angel!”
Brendan had finally finished talking with his officers and joined the rest of us by the spit roast, which was almost done, according to Rowan. My stomach cried out in despair as the scents of roasted crispy beef filled the air. A servant poured melted butter over it, then threw several handfuls of leaves, herbs, and spices at the succulent meal. The spices stuck to the butter, and it was all I could do not to jump straight at the calf, teeth first.
“Hello,” I said, as my boyfriend took my hands in his. “Nice of you to drop by.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. You see, one of the lads had this cool tattoo he … no? Not funny?”
I pouted. “Not funny at all!”
“Really? I thought it was charming. In a knee-buckling kind of way.”
“Eejit!” I stood on my toes, stretching to reach his lips with mine.
He gave me a kiss, albeit not the kind I craved. He was right, though. Dignity, and all that.
“Have you eaten?” he asked.
“Just a little, but I’m fine. We should go. War council in a few minutes.”
It wasn’t that I had forgotten we were at war, nor did I suspect any of the thousands of soldiers had, but for a few moments, the thoughts of it had faded. Compartmentalising.
“Remind me to thank your Giles someday,” I said as we approached the pavilion.
“Who?”
“Giles. Back in London. Isn’t he your mental coach?”
“Oh, right. I was miles away from connecting who you meant.”
“Miles,” I mused. “And centuries.”
“Wild ride?”
“Wild ride.”
“Attention!” Sir Galahad ordered as we slipped inside the pavilion. With a loud, synchronized thump, dozens of boots hit the ground, and my war council stood straight to greet me.
“As you were,” I said, hoping it had the same meaning here as in war films back home. It did, and my commanders gathered around the square table in the middle.
To plan our next move.
Chapter Thirty
A free role. That was all I would accept, which was what I had told my war council would be my part in the remainder of the battle. They had all protested, of course, and no one more so than Commander Taryn. I had let him go on for half a minute before I spoke. What I hadn’t told them was that I had a plan of my own. One only a select few were privy to.
“You should have heard me,” I said in Rhiannon’s ear, “pulling rank on him. I felt … powerful.”
My unicorn was trotting over what was now the Avalen Plains, heading for the capital city. Auberon’s army had retreated, but it would be stupid—fatally stupid—to think we had won the war. The first wave was just to lure me out into the open. He had sacrificed three thousand troops for it, and it was about to pay off.
I imagined him standing on the battlements of Morgana’s castle, looking out west at the ranks of soldiers coming to fight him. He might even have a telescope of sorts, having knowledge of such modern-day inventions. It was only a couple of hours ago that I’d had my right kneecap shattered by a crossbow bolt, a weapon none of my commanders had heard of. I could only hope my father hadn’t had time to produce other weapons during his short stint back from the future.
There was no time to ponder the issue, however. In my self-proclaimed free role, I was still very much part of my army. To my right, Jen, Naheena, Evonny, and Zuwar led hundreds of wolves, barking and howling as they shortened the distance to the enemy. Next to them were the riders. Rowan and Storm, one of his Or-Tu-Allan brothers, sat in front, riding on unicorns that had previously belonged to my father’s army.
Further troops and formations were spread out over several hundred yards, shrouded in a cloud of dust. We would likely scare the crap out of anyone that saw us approaching.
Except my father wasn’t anyone.
And neither was his army. My spies, whether they had flown back to report to me or, in Kit’s case, sent me telepathic messages, had not been wrong. Granted, an eagle scout had reported to the war council that Morien and the other captains had sunk most of my father’s ships, and had driven the rest back north. Pelles was safe from any attack from that flank. A small, but important victory.
Still, outside the Avalen city walls, thousands of torches and lanterns irradiated an area larger than the city itself. It was littered with black silhouettes: soldiers on foot, horseback, and unicorns.
Standing quiet. Waiting.
For us.
We were half a mile from them when the first arrow struck. Spear might be a better term for the fifteen-feet-long missile that crashed into the ground in front of Zuwar Gwyll. Although it missed him by five yards, the sheer impact force was so strong that it showered the packmaster with dirt and rocks. He howled and jumped over the hole in the ground.
The next spear cut through two horses while still maintaining enough speed to kill the poor Dodger on foot behind them. Three more missiles found their targets, one of them killing the wolf running right next to Jack.
So much for not having time to make new weapons.
But terrifying as they were, these giant arrows were apparently not fired with great accuracy. Dozens of arrows in my vicinity flew over us, or landed hundreds of feet in front. Less than one in ten, maybe fifteen, were successful. Still, over the width of my army, the low rate would be enough to cause significant losses.
When my front line was only two hundred yards out, my father’s army started moving. Orders were shouted from above me and throughout all my forces. Commander Taryn and his eagle squads let out their ear-shattering shrieks and dived into action. His orders were followed on the ground, as soldiers formed phalanxes, wedges, and all sorts of other formations I could not name or identify. I trusted my commanders knew their trade.
I cast a force field in front of Rhiannon just in time to stop a barrage of normal-sized, but still very deadly, arrows. Jen and the other wolves sped up, veering off to the left to attach to the outer flanks. The black wall of Sorcerers seemed impenetrable.
I pulled the reins, holding them until Rhiannon stopped. Keeping the field up to protect her, I started firing at the Sorcerers.
They were throwing fireballs at me, too, but even if they counted at least two hundred, their fire could not hurt me. And as long as I kept the force field in place, Rhiannon was safe.
My fireballs, however, were of a completely different calibre. In other circumstances, I might have laughed about it, but seeing the brutality of my power was no humorous matter. I pushed all I had in me at the enemy, and even I was shocked at the result. Literally thousands of tiny red orbs blasted at the Sorcerers. Just one of these fireballs seemed to carry the heat and explosive power of ten of theirs.
And they were not immune to my flames.
The front row dropped like bowling pins, with smoking holes in their chests or bellies. Some were not lucky enough to be killed at once but ran out of the ranks, screaming inside a pillar of flames until they dropped to the ground, desperately and unsuccessfully trying to quench the flames.
I kept firing, constantly heeding any signals from my core if I was losing energy. Yet I felt fine. My force field was shaking from the repeated blows it took
, but it seemed I could keep it there for a long time yet. I even took the time to glance to my right, checking on my army’s progress.
I wished I hadn’t.
The riding soldiers were no longer riding, as most of the horses and unicorns were sprawled on the ground. Some tried to get up, even with arrows and spears sticking out of their bodies. Some, a scarce few, managed, only to be pierced by the deadly missiles again and again.
Rowan was crouching behind a fallen unicorn, some fifty feet away. He fired his arrow and had the next nocked before the first hit its target. Storm appeared next to him, dropping three quivers filled with arrows, before vanishing again. In the corner of my eye, I saw him reappear behind a Sorcerer. Storm’s hooked blade protruded from the Sorcerer’s chest the next second, my father’s flaming staff sigil hanging by a thread on the tip. Then the blade and its owner vanished again.
Several of the other Or-Tu-Allan members popped in and out of reality, slaying enemies left and right. Now and then, one of them stopped by Rowan or one of the other archers with more blood-dripping arrows, undoubtedly retrieved from dead soldiers.
My dead soldiers.
Countless bodies were strewn about, along with all the dead and dying horses and unicorns. They looked eerily like needle pads, with all the arrows sticking out. The haunting cries of pain filled the air, joining the metal clanking of swords and spears and the roars and war cries of battle.
Rhiannon flinched and let out a snort. A Sorcerer had broken rank and was coming at us, spear raised. He threw a handful of fireballs my way. I opened my palm to give him some of mine, but before I could toast him, Rhiannon impaled him on her horn. She lifted her head with the Sorcerer still on her horn. He waved and kicked like a frantic marionette. Rhiannon flexed her insanely strong neck muscles, and with a flick of her head, she sent the screaming Sorcerer flying through the air. He landed on his neck with a stomach-churning sound of his spine snapping, and lay limp in the dirt.
Taryn and the commanders’ tactics seemed to be working, insofar as the wedge formations had created openings in the enemy ranks. Openings where Brendan and his swordsmen could move in.