Islands in the Mist (Islands in the Mist Series Book 1)

by J. M. Hofer

  “Wait,” Gwion suddenly said, stopping dead in his tracks.

  “What?”

  “It’s as if the trees stopped breathing.” Gwion cocked his head, listening. “It’s a warning…We need to turn back.”

  Bran did not argue.

  ***

  Bran and Gwion made it back to the keep before the others. Bran took a deep breath and looked out over the valley, still decked with an ominous sky. I hope they all make it back. To his relief, their companions all returned before sundown. Unfortunately, Talhaiarn was not among them.

  “Come round the fire, grab some ale,” Bran suggested.

  Maur was quick to comply and sat down next to him. “No luck, Bran.”

  The others joined them shortly, wearing somber faces and worried looks.

  Heilyn looked at his brother. “Well, we found plenty—none of it good. There are tracks and kills all over this area. No shortage of cauldron-born roaming around here, that’s for sure.”

  Bran glanced at Gwion. “Something’s happening in the Grove. Gwion and I think that’s where Talhaiarn is, but there are too few of us to plan an attack without knowing what awaits us there.”

  Maur knit his brows. “What do you mean? Did you see anything?”

  “No, but Gwion is sure of it, and I trust him.”

  No one protested.

  Gawain spoke up. “Hopefully my hawk has reached your village and the warriors we need are on their way.”

  Bran nodded and poured himself more ale. “Let’s hope so. Tomorrow, we gather as much food, wood and water as we can before nightfall. We have no idea how large her damned army might be by now.”

  ***

  They rose before dawn the next morning. Maur and his men went hunting and managed to bring back a buck, which put everyone in better spirits. Bran and Maur dressed the kill and chopped wood for the rest of the afternoon. Gwion took care of the dogs and horses, and Gawain, Heilyn and Eurig hauled water into the fortress, filling every barrel and basin they could find.

  By the end of the day, they were spent. They returned to the fortress and barred the door, anxious to eat the meat Maur had roasted.

  “Gods be praised, that smells good,” whimpered Eurig, slumping down next to the fire.

  “She’s callin’, to be sure!” Maur winked.

  Bran smiled. That man loves to cook. Almost as much as he likes to eat.

  Soon everyone was clustered around his meal, talking and eating. Bran was about to join them when Gawain appeared out of nowhere, causing him to jump. “Gods, Gawain! I didn’t hear you at all!”

  “Sorry, my lord,” he said softly. “It happens often.”

  “Well, come and eat.”

  “Could I speak to you about something first?”

  “Of course. What is it?”

  Gawain walked a few paces away from the group, indicating he desired a bit of privacy. Bran followed him.

  “My lord, I’ve been thinking—if you’ll let me, I could try to get closer to the Grove to see what is happening there.”

  Bran considered his proposal. We do need to know what kind of numbers we’re dealing with. The Easterners were unrivaled in their ability to track an animal or enemy undetected. As Bran’s clan was referred to by outsiders as “the Firefolk,” the Easterners were often referred to as “the invisible ones.” They had earned the name well.

  “Do you think you could find the Grove without assistance? Gwion knows the way, but even he needed to stop a few times—the markings are nearly impossible to see.”

  Gawain nodded, glancing over at Gwion. “I’ll speak to him about it. He can tell me what to look for. I’m sure I can find it, my lord—I’m not as good a tracker as Neirin, but I’m certainly one of the best in our clan.”

  Bran smiled. “It would improve our position immensely if you could manage it. I’d have Gwion go with you, except that there are at least four women who would boil me in oil if I let anything happen to him.”

  Gawain smiled. “Understood. I’ll leave when the sun rises, then.”

  Bran nodded and clapped him on the back. He was just about to join the others, when Gawain spoke up again. “My lord,” he said apprehensively, “there’s something I need to tell you about Lord Aelhaearn.”

  “What?” Bran’s gut tightened.

  Gawain leaned in close, lowering his voice. “He sent me with you, not as a gesture of good will, but rather with orders to watch you and the boy. He believed you might have been plotting with the enemy. I am telling you this, because I fear he may not send the men you’ve asked for.”

  “Bastard!” Bran felt a fury seething in his breast.

  “I’m ashamed for agreeing to do it. It’s obvious where your loyalty lies. Please forgive me.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Bran was angry, but not at Gawain. The next time I see that man, I’ll break all the bones in his face.

  “We can depend on Lady Eirwen and Lord Neirin,” Gawain encouraged. “I’m sure they’ll send all of our warriors to fight, especially now that the Helm has been taken. As we all know, if captured in battle, the relic belongs to the victor. I’m certain none of our warriors would refuse the opportunity to win it back.”

  “Well, send for them and pray to your Guardians they make it here in time. It sounds like they’ve been under attack, but perhaps as Cerridwen has what she wants from your clan, now, she’ll let them be.”

  “Let’s hope that’s true. They’ll come, my lord. I’m sure of it.”

  Bran nodded. “Even so, if what you say about Aelhaearn is true and he doesn’t send the men we’ve asked for, we’ll need more—I’ll need to send one of the Northerners to petition Taranis for the rest of his men.”

  “Wise,” Gawain said. “I don’t know Aelhaearn’s heart, but it’s obvious he does not trust you.”

  “Nor I him,” Bran said in disgust.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  A Call to Arms

  The night passed without incident, and it unnerved Bran. Why does the enemy have no interest in the fortress? It was near impregnable—the most valuable battle asset in the area, yet they had neither heard nor seen any sign of the enemy since they had arrived.

  Heilyn and Eurig had ridden North at first light to tell Taranis that Talhaiarn had been captured. Gawain had left as agreed to find out as much as he could about what was happening in the Grove. Now, it was simply Maur, Gwion, and himself at the fortress.

  Bran’s anger toward Aelhaearn grew by the hour. He used it as fuel for his work, and was able to accomplish much. By late afternoon, he began to worry about Gawain. He watched all the paths up to the fortress in turn as he worked, hoping the youth had succeeded in doing what he had so confidently said he could. When the last of the sun disappeared Gawain had still not returned.

  “Shall we go after him?” Maur suggested.

  Bran shook his head. “No—not by night. They would likely capture the rest of us.”

  “Is that what you think? That he’s been captured?”

  “I fear it’s likely.”

  “We should go inside,” Gwion warned. “They’re hunting, and not far from here.”

  “Gwion, what of Gawain?” Bran asked him as they moved into the keep. “Can you sense if he’s in danger? Does the forest speak of such things?”

  Gwion took a moment. “I sense he is somewhere safe, for now, at least.”

  “They’re as slippery as fish, those Easterners,” Maur interjected optimistically. “My guess is he’s roostin’ up a tree, looking right down on the enemy, countin’ ‘em out for us.”

  Bran bolted the door behind them. “For all our sakes, I hope you’re right.” If Gawain fails, we’ll be no closer to knowing what we’re up against, and down a good man.

  The three of them worked fervently over the next few days, preparing the fortress to receive as many warriors as possible. On the afternoon of the third day, as Gawain had promised, the Easterners arrived.

  “Lord Bran!” Neirin cried upon seeing him
.

  “Lord Neirin—I’m so very sorry to hear about your father.”

  Neirin nodded. “We’re coping. It’s been very hard on my mother.”

  “I can only imagine. Which way did you approach from?”

  “We went north, around the valley, and then came down the mountain pass. Some of our camps were attacked in the night, but we managed to fight the enemy off without losing too many men.”

  Small groups of Easterners steadily streamed in and went to work. Within days, the fortress was fortified, with a well-organized battle camp around it. Bran took comfort in seeing the Easterners hawks perched about the camp. Now we have hundreds of eyes to watch the valley through the night.

  Then, to everyone’s relief and surprise, Gawain returned.

  “Thank the gods!” Bran exclaimed. “We thought you’d been captured! What news do you have?”

  “Much to tell, my lord,” Gawain replied breathlessly. “I’m ashamed to say the reason I’m late is that I became lost, but I did make it to the Grove without being seen.”

  Bran knew the way to the Grove was well-hidden, but he had never heard an Easterner utter the word, ‘lost,’ and it took him by surprise.

  “A new sort of cauldron-born roam the night,” Gawain continued.

  “What do you mean, new sort?”

  “There are some who hunt together. They walk upright, and carry weapons.”

  “And you’re sure they’re cauldron-born?”

  “Yes. They have the same milky-eyes, and they never speak.”

  “He speaks of the Gythreuliaid,” Heilyn interjected. “How many were there?”

  Gawain’s eyes widened in warning. “I think it would be best to assume there are many.”

  “This will certainly change the fight. The older ones are nearly impossible to kill one-on-one,” Heilyn observed.

  Eurig nodded grimly in agreement.

  “What of Talhaiarn?” Bran asked. “Was he there?”

  Gawain grimaced. “He is. Trapped within a ring of fire which seems to burn without a source—there is no wood beneath it upon the ground.”

  “But he lives?” Bran verified.

  “Yes, he lives,” Gawain said, then proceeded with a bit of hesitation, “but I regret to say it is Aelhaearn who is keeping him within the fire.”

  “What?” Bran was incensed. This can’t be possible! He and Aelhaearn had always had their differences, but the one thing that made the man tolerable was his love for the clan. Bran would never have suspected him of such a betrayal. It made no sense. “But why would he serve the enemy now? After leading the clan against the cauldron-born for moons? He hates them as much as the rest of us do!”

  “It would seem he loves power more,” Neirin answered for Gawain. He had been silent up until then, listening to Gawain’s tale. “I’m sure he believes he has the upper hand, but I can tell you from first-hand experience, unfortunately, that he does not.”

  Bran slowly began to realize all of the implications of Aelhaearn’s betrayal. He had surely received the message for help that they had sent with Gawain’s hawk—but if he had already turned against them, he would have kept it from the clan and instead gone to aid the enemy.

  “Has my hawk returned?” Gawain suddenly asked, as if he could read Bran’s mind. His face was full of concern.

  Bran knew what he was thinking. “I don’t know.” He gave him a compassionate look. “There are so many of them here now that your clansmen have arrived.” He beckoned to Gwion. “If she’s here, Gwion can help you find her.”

  Gawain nodded, somewhat appeased, and continued. “I decided to watch the Grove through the night to see what numbers she commands. I could hear when the creatures awoke in the forest around me, and saw many as they went out to hunt. From what I could tell, I would guess they number in the hundreds.”

  Bran sighed. “Then we need all the warriors we can get. Thank you, Gawain. You’ve been very helpful.” He turned to Gwion. “Go and help him find his hawk.”

  Neirin approached after they left. “I’ll head south,” he volunteered, and then lowered his voice. “You and I both know the hawk is dead. We can’t risk sending another one that might also be shot down. Let me go, and I swear on my father’s honor, I’ll bring your men back with me.”

  Bran nodded. He’s likely right. Poor Gawain.“Bring Seren back with you as well. We need another Firebrand, and she can fight better than some of the men. Tell her to bring the women who can fight and aren’t nursing children. They can defend themselves if necessary. We need them to cook and take care of the wounded.”

  “I will.” Neirin gave him a confident nod. “I’ll be back in three days.”

  “May the Guardians speed you there.”

  ***

  Taranis arrived the following morning, blood-thirsty Northerners in his wake. As usual, their arrival raised spirits, and soon the fortress and all of its surrounding areas were full of men, campfires, and tents made from skins and furs.

  “What are we dealing with?” Taranis asked Bran in the heart of the fortress.

  “Things are much worse than I expected, and I didn’t expect them to be good.” Bran stared down at his hands, ashamed of what he had to say next. “Aelhaearn has betrayed us. He fights for the enemy, and holds Talhaiarn captive in the Grove. We’ve also got the damn cauldron-born to deal with. Apparently they’ve become more cunning—at least some of them.”

  Taranis spewed out a chain of profanities. “What the hell do you mean, Aelhaearn holds Talhaiarn captive? I’ll gut the traitor!”

  Not if I get to him first, Bran thought.

  “And what of Talhaiarn? Is he injured? We must free him!”

  “I’ve sent for my sister. If anyone can get through to Aelhaearn, or free Talhaiarn from his trap, it’s her.”

  “How long before she arrives?”

  “Neirin left this morning to get her, he’s promised to return in three days.”

  “Three days!?” Taranis threw his hands up in alarm. “Talhaiarn could be dead by then! We can’t sit here for three days, knowin’ he’s in danger!”

  Bran let out an exhausted sigh. “What would you have me do, then?”

  “If the Grove is guarded by cauldron-born, we have the advantage during the day. Let’s simply attack the Grove all at once, from all sides, and free him—we could send the trackers in first to choose the best approaches, and then close in on ‘em with all the warriors we have.”

  “And once we’re all in the valley, then what? You forget, my friend, Aelhaearn is a Firebrand—all he needs to do is set the forest on fire around us. We’d be choked out, or burned alive.”

  This seemed to stump Taranis. He sat and thought awhile. “Damn the gods. I can’t believe the bastard betrayed us.” He shook his head. “Where’s Einon? Can he not talk some sense into him?”

  “He’s in the South as well. I suspect he knows nothing of this, but he will—soon enough.”

  “And it’ll tear him apart,” Taranis pointed a finger. “Make no mistake.”

  “I think I should go in myself and take Aelhaearn out,” Bran suggested.

  “The hell you will!” Taranis glared at him in a way that did not invite discussion. “I’m comin’ with you.”

  Gods, but he’s stubborn. “And then what? What if both of us perish? That leaves Neirin alone to command all of the warriors, and he has the least experience of us all.”

  “He has Ambisagrus. That man knows more about war than anyone but you,” Taranis countered.

  Bran considered the two of them going in together, but then noticed the Shield of the North on Taranis’ arm. “Fine, we go together, but we can’t risk taking the Shield to the Grove. It’s the only relic she doesn’t have. If it’s captured, she’ll have the power to open the Crossroads. You must leave it behind.”

  Taranis looked at Bran as if he had three heads. “Are you mad? Have you forgotten the power the Shield gives its bearer? It’s the only way we’ll even make it to the Grove. We’
re warriors—not fox-footed, nearly invisible Eastern trackers—our footprints sink deeply and we don’t move quietly. With the Shield, we’ll be protected by the Guardians of my clan—none will see or hear us approach. You’ll be able to deliver your beautiful Caledgwyn right into the heart of the Grove, where it can destroy the enemy from the inside out!”

  I can’t help but think this is all part of her plan. She had managed to gain three of the relics, and needed only the Shield to open the Crossroads. If Taranis took it anywhere near the Grove, he feared she would surely find a way to capture it. “You’re right, the Shield would give us the advantage, yet you can’t deny taking it so close to the enemy is a huge risk,” he said. “I’ll agree as long as you promise that as soon as we make it to the Grove, you’ll turn around and bring it back here. I’ll stay and see the job done, or die trying.”

  Taranis nearly opened his mouth to protest again, but Bran held up his hand and he swallowed the words he was going to say. “Very well. Done. You have my word.” He took the Shield off his arm and held it in his lap, gazing at it. “The Shield’s been passed from father to son within our clan for generations, and I’ll be damned if I won’t see it passed on to my own.” He looked up and added, “I’ve finally found my queen, Bran.”

  Bran raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?”

  Taranis had an insatiable appetite for women, and Bran had seen him devour many a maiden over the years. To think of him married was nearly impossible. “You, my friend? Forgive me, but I won’t believe it unless I witness the hand-fasting myself!”

  Taranis laughed. “I’d not have believed it either, not if a thousand druids would have foretold it—but this one’s a goddess, she is—she’s playing cat and mouse with me right now, but she carries my son, and once we’ve won this battle I’ll find her and have her for my queen.”

  “Not of your clan, then?”

  “No, not from any clan within the Great Circle. I don’t know where she’s from, but she’s the greatest beauty you’ve ever seen. On top of that, she can brew ale that near enslaves a man, and you should see her dance! The most bewitching of the faerie could not entice you more.” He winked.