“Let us prepare our forces for immediate departure, on my command. There is no time to waste.”
King Weylin nodded brusquely and retreated to an inner door.
“But your work with the room of enchantments,” Queen Kaie said tentatively. “It is going well, is it not?”
“Yes, very well,” said Corann. He stared at the glowing map on the table. “But I need time to work, and Faolan is proving a distraction. The sooner we vanquish his forces, the sooner we can restore the realm.”
Queen Kaie nodded without much conviction.
“And we will defeat Faolan’s forces, have no doubt.” Corann reached for a carved wooden box that lay on the edge of the table. “I have a secret weapon that Faolan cannot use, and the half-blood Gwendolyn will not use.” Corann turned to the courtier on his left, who was the only one who did not look perplexed by Corann’s words. “Tanguy, distribute the weapons to each fighting group and explain their use. I would do it myself, but it is time to conquer the room of enchantments once and for all.”
“Yes, my lord.” The courtier bowed crisply and strode across the ballroom. A tiny quake caused him to stumble but he recovered quickly and continued walking. Besides a few stifled gasps, the others made no comment. Corann ignored it completely.
“As for the rest: Varney, I would like you to oversee delivery of provisions to the fighters. Queen Kaie and Lady Selma, perhaps you could continue to examine the map for potential defensive maneuvers.” He made a gathering motion with his hands and the map condensed into a glowing blue ball, which he then tossed to a female courtier on the far side. “I suggest the small banquet room for your comfort.”
One by one, the courtiers bowed and left the ballroom. Corann stared at the door to the room of enchantments with an expression of distaste.
As if it could sense Corann’s notice, the door rattled against its latch. Corann grimaced then snapped his fingers. Sparks showered onto the table, and moments later a servant appeared with the tired-looking man and a woman, both disheveled and looking frightened.
“Here are the humans, my lord.” The servant bowed and glided away. Corann sighed and gestured to the door.
“Come on. Let us conquer this room today. Time is running out.”
“I―” The man swallowed and glanced at the woman, who nodded encouragement. “I have an idea about that.”
“Truly?” Corann brightened. “It’s about time. Come in to the room and we’ll test it.”
***
Gwen and the others sat in silence in the boat for a long minute. The current pushed them downstream in a meandering way. The sleet had stopped, and the wind was mostly blocked by the mountains, but Gwen was still wet from the caves and starting to shiver as the adrenaline left her body. The darkness of a winter’s night was closing in, and all she wanted to do was sleep.
“I know the Breenan are good at hiding their houses, but I find it hard to believe anyone lives on the river’s edge,” said Aidan. “We’ve seen nothing.”
“Should we get out and start walking?” Bran said.
Gwen shook herself and thought.
“Yes,” she said slowly. “Loniel showed us a map of the Forbidden Lands, and the village is right in the center.”
“We’re almost there now,” said Aidan. “But the river curves away from it soon. We’d better paddle to the left bank and hike in.”
Gwen heaved a sigh.
“So, we keep walking. Story of my life in the Otherworld.”
“Makes you wish for a horse now, doesn’t it?” said Aidan.
They paddled to the shore and pulled the boat up on the muddy bank, partly frozen in the cold weather. The ground was easy to traverse, for which Gwen was very thankful. After a few minutes, Kelan paused.
“Do you hear hoofbeats?”
Gwen stopped and listened closely. Through the breeze whistling in her ear, the distinctive clip-clop of a single horse emerged. A thrill of fear traveled through her body. Friend or foe? What were the inhabitants of the Forbidden Lands really like? All Gwen knew of them was that they were magically volatile and trapped within these mountains. What sort of people would come out of that combination?
She strained her eyes through the dark to make out the solitary figure riding a wooden cart pulled by a resigned-looking horse. A lantern swayed from a pole on the cart. The figure was bundled in a thick cloak and carried a bulky bundle on its front. As the cart approached, Gwen realized that it was a young woman with a sleeping baby slung against her chest.
“What do we say?” Gwen hissed.
“Anything,” Aidan answered. He looked pale but determined. “We have to find Finn. Nothing else matters.” Before Gwen could reply, he stepped forward and gave the woman a wave. “Hello! Can you help us? We’re looking for someone.”
The woman stopped the horse and considered their group with curiosity.
“It’s not a pleasant day to be searching. Have you come here from a marking ceremony? I didn’t realize any of the realms marked in the winter.” Her eyes raked over their faces and came to rest on Kelan’s, for he was clearly a few years too old to have recently received his coming-of-age tattoo at the Sacred Mountain.
“No, we are not tribeless ones,” said Aidan. The woman’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, so he continued hastily. “We’re looking for Finn Sayward. Do you know where he lives?”
At Finn’s name, the woman’s expression cleared.
“Finn! Of course, our long-lost Finn. He only came back a few days ago. We’re so happy to see him, Nialla most of all, his wife of course. We had such a feast yesterday! I’m returning to the village from dropping off some celebrants who live further afield and came in for the party.”
Aidan glanced at Gwen, his face alive with hope. Gwen clutched his hand and spoke to the woman.
“Please, can you tell us where to find him? It’s urgent.”
“Of course.” She waved at the cart. “I’m going back to the village now. Climb in and I will take you there.”
Gwen could hardly believe that their luck had finally turned. They stammered their thanks and piled into the cart, where they even found blankets to wrap themselves in.
Bran perched near the woman to chat, who introduced herself as Mabina. Gwen lay against Aidan in the back and let her weariness take over. She was almost fully warm for the first time in hours. Her eyelids dropped.
***
Faolan paced the tent, deep in thought. It was a large pavilion, lavishly hung with furs for insulation and containing orange magical fires in hanging lanterns for warmth against the raging storm outside. The sides of the tent flapped tightly but were firmly tethered to the ground and let no errant winds inside.
The floor was spread with a thickly woven rug, upon which lay the three-dimensional map of the Velvet Woods. Isolde and Queen Ula of Longshore leaned over a section of the map.
“Send warning to this fighting group.” Isolde pointed to an orange dot that inched imperceptibly along the narrow blue line of a river. “The Beast of Sand and Mist has its lair on the western bank. It is docile unless otherwise instructed, but certainly Corann will have it on alert.”
Queen Ula nodded and touched a green stone to the dot.
“That will alert all three fighters in the group to danger directly ahead, thanks to the connection with their battle belts. A sensation of heat will warn them to the direction of the danger.”
“Good,” Isolde murmured. She continued to scan the map for other pitfalls.
“Are the selected groups nearing the Guennola Falls yet?” Faolan asked without looking at the map. Queen Ula replied.
“Presently. They are moving slowly due to the infestation of kelpies in that stretch of river.”
“The kelpies will not attack unless Corann subverts the room of enchantments for his own purposes,” said Isolde. With a sidelong glance at Faolan, she added, “I have been assured that is nearly impossible.”
“Let us hope so,” said Faolan. He stiffened when Kin
g Gavin of Whitecliff entered the tent in a flurry of snow. His cheeks were red with the cold.
“King Faolan, Queen Ula, I have stationed my war singers along the canyon cliffs, out of sight.” He swirled his index finger in his other palm and a dozen golden stars twinkled into existence. He blew them gently and they drifted into position on the map. “And a few at the Glenway bridge. They will attack at the first sign of Corann’s forces.”
“Excellent, King Gavin.” Faolan nodded with a satisfied smile. “Your singers are a formidable force to be reckoned with. I still recall the avalanche at the battle of Greenhall against the Northern Kingdoms.”
King Gavin’s face cracked in a grin.
“What a battle that was! The Northerners routed, of course.” King Gavin rubbed his hands together. “Queen Brenna has almost completed her preparations, from what I understand. Some of her traps, well, they’re so ingenious they might have been human-designed.”
“It’s possible,” said Faolan. “Riverside guards its secrets jealously, and it would not surprise me if Queen Brenna had ancient plans deep in her vaults, to pull out at the opportune moment.”
“Two groups down!” Queen Ula shouted. Faolan and King Gavin leaned over the map and Queen Ula pointed at the tiny wisps of smoke where two lights used to be. “At the Orin cave.”
Isolde’s eyes raked feverishly over the map. Faolan rounded on her.
“You assured us Corann had no knowledge of that hidden cavern.”
“I had no idea, I swear,” cried Isolde.
“Are you on our side or Corann’s, Isolde? Answer me truthfully. I have no use for traitors.”
“Your side, I swear!” Isolde jabbed her finger at a nearby location on the map. “But if he knows of the cavern, he must surely be aware of the eastern exit. Warn the group stationed there.”
Faolan nodded at Queen Ula, who placed a polished violet stone on the glowing dot Isolde had indicated. Immediately, the dot crawled into the cavern. Faolan strode to one wall of the tent covered in a featureless drape of ivy. He touched the vines and they writhed to form a few intricate knots, loops, and bunches of leaves.
“Two groups down,” Faolan said with a heavy sigh. A dot at the edge of a mountain flared once, twice, three times.
“Three of the Velvet Woods fighters down!” Queen Ula said with relief. Faolan put his hand on the branch and once more recorded the casualties.
“Corann will have much to answer for,” he said. “This entirely unnecessary war is already costly, in time and magic, not to mention the injuries sustained by our fighters. I am tempted to take his head as payment.”
“I would not gainsay you,” said King Gavin. When they turned to read the tally vines together, Isolde’s face twisted with dismay. A momentary lapse, then her expression smoothed, and she spoke calmly.
“One of our fighting groups is too near the Cardew pits. If they wish to avoid an unpleasant end, they must walk on the ridge only.”
Queen Ula moved to alert the fighters with her colored stones. Isolde scanned the board. Only her tight lips betrayed her emotions.
***
Tristan lay flat on the snow-free ground under a dense, leafless elder bush, a short knife dipped in a dark substance in one hand and a sack filled with lumpy objects in the other. His chestnut-brown hair was dusted with snow. Rhiannon shifted beside him.
“Where are they?” she whispered over the howling of the wind. “I heard footsteps ages ago. They can’t have left already.”
“There!” Another female fighter with them hissed. “Beside the oak. Three of them.”
Tristan silently picked out three spheres of polished wood from the sack, each no larger than a child’s fist and glowing red. Tristan whispered inaudibly, and the spheres hovered in midair, then whizzed through the whirling snow toward their opponents.
But before the spheres could reach them, the other fighters stepped behind the slender oak and disappeared. The spheres whistled harmlessly by and planted themselves in a snowbank. Muffled thumps and tiny wisps of smoke emerged from the holes. Tristan heaved a sigh.
“I only have so many immobilization spell stones. What a waste.”
“Did you see where they went, Bretta?” said Rhiannon. She squinted at the empty trees in front of them.
“Must have crept behind some bushes,” said Bretta. “Come on, let’s follow them.”
Rhiannon narrowed her eyes but did not contradict the other woman. A small earth tremor gave them pause. Once the world had stopped shaking, Tristan sat up and tied his sack to his belt.
“I want a clean shot this time.”
The bush behind them exploded in a flurry of shouts and sparks. More alarming was the snarling and growling that followed.
Tristan, Rhiannon, and Bretta scrambled out of the bush and adopted fighting stances. Tristan held out his knife and rummaged in his sack for more spell stones; Bretta held an arrow nocked and pulled in a taut bow, the tip of the arrow glowing with violet fire; Rhiannon’s hands were empty but held out in front of her in readiness, sparks dancing between fingertips.
The three fighters they had spotted before ran around the bush. Two huge wolves accompanied them, their silver coats rippling as they leaped forward.
Tristan yelled and threw a glowing red sphere at the nearest wolf. The animal paused in mid-stride, mouth agape in a frozen snarl. Bretta let her arrow loose, but narrowly missed the opponent with a green cloak, who dodged the arrow and then threw a knife at her. The knife flipped through the air, trailing a glowing blue net behind it, which fell over Bretta. She shouted and twisted within her bonds, to no avail. The attacker ran to the left and disappeared.
Rhiannon threw balls of fire from her palms at her opponent, who deflected them with a magical shield. A wolf lunged, and their opponent threw a fireball at the same time. Rhiannon fell to the snow to avoid the fire. Tristan sliced madly at the wolf until it snarled and leaped away.
A sudden stillness, and the clearing was empty.
“Where did they go?” panted Tristan. “Curse the Midvale Breenan—beast-taming skills give them a numbers advantage, not to mention the fangs.”
“At least they can only command one at a time,” said Rhiannon as Tristan pulled her to her feet. “But why did they leave?” She bent down to untangle Bretta from her net.
“So we can surprise you,” shouted a smug voice. Rhiannon had hardly turned around before the attackers were on them. Fire blazed and snarls filled the air again. The attackers yelled as Tristan’s knife and Rhiannon’s flames found their marks, but Tristan cursed loudly when a wolf sank its teeth into his leg. Rhiannon pelted it with three rapid-fire spell stones, each hitting the animal’s fur with a blaze of fire until it bounded away with a yip and ran off with its tail low.
“Take that, mongrel!” Tristan yelled, then looked around. “Where did they go? Again?”
“And how?” Rhiannon muttered. “Come on, we need to move, we’re too vulnerable here. Can you stand? Good.” She ran over to Bretta and ripped away the remains of the net. Bretta sat up and rubbed welts where the net had burned her skin.
“There’s something strange going on,” said Rhiannon. She began to jog forward, but a knife whistled by her ear from the left. She ducked, but a moment later another knife flew in from the right. Both times, the grinning face of the Breenan man with the green cloak danced from behind the knife, yet no one ran in front of them.
“How is he in two places at once?” Rhiannon gasped. They darted into dense trees to their left.
“No magic I’ve ever heard of,” said Tristan. “How many are there?”
“Only three that I’ve seen,” said Bretta. She whirled around to check behind them. “It feels like a dozen. How can they move without our noticing?”
Rhiannon did a double-take at the sight behind a nearby tree. A portal shimmered there. It exposed a water-logged field of grass in the human world beyond, at odds with the snow-laden storm of their world.
“They’re using po
rtals,” Rhiannon breathed. Another glimmer directed her eye to a different portal beyond. “Why are there so many here?”
An attacker leaped at them with a yell. Sparks and flames flew, but within moments the three had subdued the one. Tristan put a knee on his chest and gripped his wrists. Bretta sat on his legs. Rhiannon bent her face into his.
“What’s the game here?” she hissed. “Are you using the portals? Why are there so many?”
“I won’t tell you anything,” he spat. Tristan pressed a knee more firmly into the man’s chest. He wheezed, “All right, all right. We were given amulets to make portals, to confuse you and gain the advantage.”
“And where is this amulet?” Rhiannon said with exaggerated patience.
“Necklace.”
Rhiannon ran her hands along his neck until she pulled out a leather strap with a flat bead threaded on it. Inset into clear resin was a picture of a laughing man on one side and a dark-haired woman on the other. A tiny segment of black hair lay embedded on the edge.
“Here.” Rhiannon pulled the leather strap over his head and brandished it at Tristan and Bretta. “They’ve been making portals to get around us.” She made a sound of disgust. “As if we don’t have enough portals popping open everywhere.”
“Anything else you want to know from this one? His fellows don’t seem eager to rescue him.” Tristan nodded at their captive, whose eyes flickered between them with fear. Rhiannon shook her head.
“That’s enough for now. We’ll take him to the king.”
Their captive opened his mouth to protest, but Tristan swiftly bent down and pressed his forehead against the other’s. Immediately, the captive’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell limp. Tristan hoisted himself up.
“We’ll hover him for transporting. Let’s get back to the king.” He rubbed his hands together. “Perhaps they’ll have a cup of warm wine for us.”
Breenan Series Box Set Page 60