Faolan gazed at her for a long moment. Gwen kept her chin high and maintained eye contact. Finally, Faolan nodded.
“Very well.” A slight pause, and then, “And was your mission successful?”
Gwen sighed.
“I don’t know yet. My uncle won’t come without his family, and they can’t leave the Forbidden Lands. Aidan and Kelan have stayed to devise a way to make the magic-dampening spell portable.” Gwen straightened her shoulders. “But until then, I am here.”
Faolan did not hide his doubt at the likelihood of Aidan solving the centuries-old conundrum, but he said nothing, for which Gwen was grateful. He merely nodded once more, then turned to Bran.
“How does the battle progress?” Bran asked. He leaned over the map.
“Well, but Corann is proving to be a tricky opponent. He knows the lay of the land and is keeping Isolde on her toes trying to second-guess him. However, our army has many different strengths and we are using every one of the magics at our disposal.”
“Can I help somehow?” Gwen asked tentatively. “It is the battle for my throne, after all.”
“Absolutely not,” said Faolan. Then he collected himself and said with more composure, “You are very precious to our cause, and I do not want to risk further harm to you. As well, you have no formal battle training. I recommend that you take some rest, so you are ready for your eventual coronation.”
A rumbling groan accompanied a shuddering of the ground. Gwen clutched the edge of the table and stared with wide eyes at the lanterns, which swung wildly and cast crazy shadows on the furs lining the tent.
Pale faces glanced at each other, and even Bran looked shaken. Faolan cleared his throat.
“Please stay close and out of the fighters’ way, Gwendolyn. We will need you immediately upon our success, but our forces needs focus.” He waved an attendant forward. “Guard, please escort Gwendolyn to a sleeping tent.”
Gwen felt the weight of her adventures press down on her like a lead coat, and she gratefully followed the guard outside. Howling winds took her breath away and she scuttled hastily after the guard.
He held the tent flaps open for her on a small pavilion close to the main tent. By the dim lantern light, two pallets emerged from the gloom, both spread with thick furs. Gwen almost moaned with longing at the sight of a bed. The hard floor of Finn’s cottage had not allowed for much sleeping, and she was tired despite the early hour.
“There is a chamber pot there.” The guard pointed to the corner. “And if you wish to leave the tent, please summon me with this.” He put a polished purple stone the size of Gwen’s thumb on the floor by the pallet. “Simply touch it with your magic.” He bowed and left the tent.
Gwen kicked off her boots and burrowed into the cold furs, coat and all. Her eyes closed immediately. She gradually grew warmer and warmer. Just before she drifted off to sleep, she thought of Aidan. She pictured his concentrated face, frantically trying to find a solution, and she squeezed her eyes tightly shut.
“Please, please, please let it work,” she whispered.
***
Gwen woke with a start. In her sleep-fogged mind, it felt like a herd of cows was stampeding on the roof. Then her eyes opened. Above her, the tent swayed wildly, and her pallet shuddered. She sat bolt upright, heart racing, all sleepiness forgotten.
“Another earthquake,” she whispered to herself. As she said it, the rumbling and shaking died. The commotion outside, however, did not.
Gwen shoved her feet into her boots and flung her hood over her head. Her eyes caught the purple stone despite the dark, and she grabbed it. She pushed her magic hastily into the stone, which glowed before she tossed it back on the ground.
Moments later, her guard appeared.
“Come on,” said Gwen. “I want to see what’s going on.”
“Mainly a change of fighters,” said the guard as he followed her out of the tent. “But their reports are not encouraging. The other side is crafty indeed.”
“Indeed,” Gwen muttered. She pulled her hood on more tightly against the driving snow. Breenan were everywhere in the darkness, rushing about and shouting, wrapped in furs or woolen capes or long coats of oiled canvas. A woman stumbled by, holding her bleeding arm, and another escorted her into a nearby tent. Gwen’s heart dropped. Was this what a winning battle camp looked like, with desperation written on every face?
Then across the clearing, Gwen spied two familiar faces. She raced their way.
“Rhiannon! Tristan!” she called out. Aidan’s half-siblings’ heads spun in her direction. Tristan’s dirt-streaked face opened in a broad grin, and Rhiannon smiled despite the blood on her lip.
“Gwen! You’re here.” Tristan grabbed her in a quick hug. Rhiannon winced when Gwen embraced her next.
“Sorry,” said Gwen, pulling back. “Are you okay? What’s happening out there?”
“A bruised rib, perhaps?” said Rhiannon. “And a bloody lip. Otherwise, I’m fine. But it’s not great out there.”
“Corann’s throwing everything he has at us,” said Tristan. “And it’s working. Something changed a few hours ago, and every land-based power that attacks us is far stronger than it was.”
“And don’t forget the portals.” Rhiannon took a breath to speak and grimaced at the pain. “Corann’s fighters can make portals. They’ve been flitting in and out of the human world to disorient us and make sneak attacks.”
“What?” Gwen was dumbfounded. “How do they manage that?”
“I don’t know how it works. Some sort of amulet. All I know is that we’re fighting opponents who have a huge advantage,” Tristan said.
Gwen bit her lip in thought.
“I wonder if I could help…” she started, then someone squeezed her around the shoulders.
“Hello, cousins,” said Bran, cheery as ever. He was wearing a sheathed knife on a belt. “You look a little worse for wear.”
“Bran,” Gwen said. “The other side is using portals.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“What if I helped? I can make portals too. Maybe I could look through and watch where they’re going, so our fighters aren’t surprised.”
Tristan looked thoughtful, but Rhiannon frowned.
“Should we make more portals? I heard that Corann’s unwarranted portal-making is accelerating the bad weather. Certainly, there have been more tremors since he started his campaign.”
“Only one way to find out,” said Bran. He steered Gwen toward the main pavilion. “Let’s go ask the king.”
The first thing Gwen saw when she ducked through the pavilion’s opening was Isolde, white-faced, frantically scanning the three-dimensional map on the ground. It was liberally sprinkled with red and gold stars. The figure of Faolan caught her eye next, and he looked almost as strained as Isolde.
“What’s happening?” said Gwen without preamble. Faolan glanced at her.
“Corann is using portals, and excessively. He has given all his fighters a charm to create the portals. I don’t know how it works.”
“May I see?” said Gwen. Faolan handed over a leather loop with a large flat bead on it. Isolde watched her warily as she examined it. There were pictures of both Isolde and Alan on the faces of the bead, and along one side was a tiny piece of black hair. Gwen’s lips tightened.
“I see.” Gwen did not elaborate, and Faolan, after a brief look at her, did not ask further.
“In addition, Corann has managed to subjugate the realm’s room of enchantments, at least partially,” he said. “This affords him an advantage that we are hard pressed to best.”
Up close, Faolan looked exhausted. A tingle of hope ignited in Gwen’s chest.
“Can Corann be king if he can connect with the room?”
“No,” Faolan said shortly. Gwen’s hope extinguished in an instant. “We should have seen an immediate improvement in weather, for a start, but it has only grown worse. He cannot be our answer, unfortunately. However he managed to coerce the room to
do his bidding, it is not a solution.”
Gwen sighed.
“Of course not. I have an idea, though. Since Corann’s fighters are using portals to sneak up on our side, can I help? I could make portals to see where the others are in the human world and alert our fighters…” Gwen trailed off when Faolan shook his head.
“We cannot risk injury to you, our only hope of mitigating this disaster. You must be kept safe at all costs.”
King Gavin nodded, but Queen Brenna frowned.
“Knowing the other fighters’ movements before they happen here would be invaluable. Surely we can secure her person with adequate guards?”
“I agree that she should not be sent off in the main fray as part of a trio of general fighters,” said Queen Ula. “She is our reason for war, after all. But what of our plans for Einion canyon? Perhaps we could install her in a place where she could see the entire valley, while still remaining secure.” She turned to Isolde. “Is there such a place?”
Isolde nodded slowly.
“Yes, there is.”
“And would a contingent of at least four fighters be able to join her for protection?” asked King Gavin.
“Yes.”
“You wish to do this?” Faolan said to Gwen. “Join the battle?”
“Of course not,” said Gwen. “I don’t want to be in a battle. My father will be appalled, that’s for sure.” Faolan’s eyebrow twitched. “But we need to win, and if this is how I can help, then I’m ready.”
“Spoken like a true queen,” said Faolan softly. “You are certainly proving your suitability for that tiara I gave you.” He turned and addressed the other rulers. “Is it decided? Gwendolyn will join the battle at Einion canyon?”
The others assented, and Gwen took a deep breath. How had she found herself going to war?
Chapter 15
Bran led Gwen out of the tent after the rulers had pelted her with advice.
“Watch behind boulders and hills, they’ve been scuttling out from them and startling our fighters.”
“The river Kennocha winds through there. Any sign of watercraft on the human side, you tell someone.”
“Don’t let them dominate the ford.”
“Whew,” said Gwen to Bran once the tapestry closed behind them. “There’s no way I will remember all that. What if I forget and mess everything up? Lives are at stake.”
“You’ll be fine,” Bran said. “Your fighters will be doing most of the watching, I don’t doubt.”
“That’s true.” Gwen felt a little better. It wasn’t entirely up to her—she was simply the portal maker.
“I wish I could see it,” said Bran with a faraway look. “I love portals.”
“You won’t be there?” Gwen hadn’t even considered that Bran leaving her side was an option. Ice filled her stomach.
“I’ll be one of the fighters you’ll be watching,” said Bran. “If you can spot me, that is. I’m excellent at camouflage.” He caught sight of her downcast face. “But don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll be in good hands.”
Gwen felt a prickling at the nape of her neck, then a gentle tug on her core. She gasped and clutched her chest.
“What is it?” asked Bran. “Are you all right?”
“It’s weird. Like I’m being drawn in this direction.” She pointed and started to walk that way, almost involuntarily. Bran followed her with curiosity written all over his face.
“It could be a trap by the other side. But they haven’t been close enough to you to cast a spell, that we know of. Not since conclave, anyway.”
“Should I stop?” Gwen felt a strange mix of panic and calm. “I don’t know if I can stop.”
“We’re almost at the boundary. Let’s take a few steps out before I break the compulsion.”
“You can do that?” Gwen said, aggrieved.
“Probably. Likely. Oh, look, we’ve crossed.”
“Bran!” Gwen said in exasperation.
The bustle and clatter of a camp full of fighters cut off suddenly and left only the howling of the wind. Gwen’s eyes darted from tree to shadowed tree and her unease grew with every reluctant step she took.
A dark movement at the edge of her vision brought her to high alert. She jumped, and her heart thrashed about in her chest. Then she squinted through the snow.
“Loniel?”
The wild man smiled at her, his silver fur cloak wrapped tightly around him against the cold. His cheeks were painted with broad stripes of red.
“Hello, little bird.”
“What are you doing here?”
“The portals are increasing in number, hour by hour. Too many humans have stumbled through. A few makes for a pleasant diversion, but now—you know my feelings on living in your own world.” He raised a hand and Gwen glanced at it curiously before he dropped it. “I preferred the world the way it was, so we have come to lend our numbers to your cause.”
“Who’s ‘we?’”
“Gwen?” Bran tugged on her sleeve. “You know these people, right? They’re friendly?”
Gwen whirled around. In a semi-circle around them stood a crowd of Breenan, dressed in a motley assortment of leathers and furs, although a few had capes of feathers. The women had red swirls on their faces, and the men had stripes to match Loniel’s. It gave them a primitive, wild look that did not inspire comfort. Gwen recognized some faces from that wild night in May, dancing with Aidan at Loniel’s bonfire. She blushed at the memory.
“Mostly, I think,” Gwen answered. Loniel laughed lightly.
“For today. Bring us your father, young princeling of Wintertree. We wish to fight your foes.”
“Go on, Bran. Run and find him. I’ll be fine here.”
Bran gave her one last inquiring look. At her nod of reassurance, he bolted in the direction of the invisible camp. Loniel looked Gwen up and down.
“Your clothes do not look warm enough for a winter battle.” He glanced at his followers. Three women came forward with serene smiles and patted Gwen on her shoulders, her cheeks, her back.
“Different trousers,” said one.
“Furs. Mink, for certain.”
They walked around her. Gwen’s breathing quickened, especially when more Breenan gathered close, many with scraps of material in their hands. The women accepted each piece one by one and gracefully transferred it to Gwen’s body, where it stuck and molded to the shape of her clothing. Piece by piece, the women transformed her cold jeans and winter raincoat into fur-lined suede leggings and a thick coat of soft and intensely warm fur. It remained patchwork until the women stepped away and Loniel placed his hands on her head. A faint prickling sensation and a green glow ran down the length of Gwen’s body, then Loniel stepped back. He looked pleased.
“There we are. We can’t have the heir freeze to death before her coronation.”
Gwen examined her new coat, which was made of a seamless blend of furs.
“Thank you,” she said. She ran her hand down one soft sleeve. “It’s so warm.”
Six figures emerged from thin air, Faolan striding at the forefront with Bran, Isolde, and the other rulers close at his heels. Loniel waited for them with an enigmatic smile on his face, and his followers arranged themselves behind him. Faolan stopped a few paces away.
“Loniel of the Green Woods,” Faolan said. His voice was restrained, possibly a little wary. “My son tells me you and your people wish to fight.”
Loniel gave one slow nod. Faolan waited a moment for him to speak, but when Loniel showed no signs of breaking the silence, Faolan continued.
“You are most welcome. The battle is not progressing as successfully as I had hoped, and I will not turn away an offer of help.”
“It is unlike Wintertree to underestimate an opponent,” said Loniel mildly. Faolan grimaced.
“Too true. Corann has somehow forced the room of enchantments to do his bidding, although as it has not healed the portals, it must not be a true connection.”
“Ah,” said Loniel softl
y. He looked at Gwen. “A true connection to the very earth under our feet is needed.”
Was Loniel trying to tell her something? Gwen stared at his golden eyes but couldn’t fathom any meaning from his words. Neither could Faolan, because he said with even more restraint, “Yes, that is the purpose of our battle—to connect Gwen to the realm.” Bran caught Gwen’s eye and they both smothered grins. If anyone less important than Loniel had said those words, Faolan would not have hesitated to show his impatience.
“Where shall we position ourselves?” Loniel said more matter-of-factly. “I do not wish to interrupt any maneuvers of your people. And it is best to give us our space—once we engage, it is difficult for us to differentiate friend from foe.”
Faolan looked askance at Loniel’s followers but did not ask more.
“We are planning a push in the Einion Canyon at dawn.” Faolan turned to Isolde. “Where would you recommend?”
Isolde thought for a moment.
“The meadow at the sharpest turn of the river Kennocha,” she said finally. “It’s flat and open. They will be forced through there, most of them. And they will expect covert attacks, not—your style of battle.”
“Good. I know it well. We will wait there for the opportune moment.”
Loniel gestured to his followers. Without a backward glance, they all disappeared noiselessly into the trees.
Faolan shook his head in wonderment.
“We are fortunate that Loniel had decided to join our cause. The records state that the last time the Gwerud’s followers went to war was very long ago indeed. Whether it will be enough to turn the tide is anyone’s guess.”
“Is it that bad?” Gwen asked with a sinking heart.
“It takes a great force to overcome the natural defenses of a realm if the ruler has access to their realm’s room of enchantments. We have the strength of five realms’ fighters, but the other side has three realms and the connection. But perhaps with the wild man, and your eyes in the human world, we may yet defeat them.” Faolan beckoned to the others. “Come, my lords, my ladies. Let us complete our battle plans in the warmth.”
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