Bran and Gwen followed the others through the snowy woods until they passed through the boundary. The dull roar of the preparing fighters—sharpening knives, talking, stomping feet to keep warm—assaulted Gwen’s ears after the relative quiet of the stormy forest. Bran waved at a nearby group.
“There is your guard. They’re all great fighters, you’ll be well protected.”
“Wait a minute,” Gwen said, panicked. “You’re leaving now?” Her father, then Aidan, and now Bran—everyone was leaving her. She had a horrible vision of herself, standing in a black dress, in the center of the parquet floor of Isolde’s ballroom, alone. She shivered despite her warm furs.
“I have to go with my patrol group,” said Bran. He checked his knife before he looked at Gwen’s face. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure. And look who will be with you.”
“Hello, Gwen,” said Rhiannon. Tristan grinned from behind her. “We’ll be right beside you all the way.”
Gwen sighed in relief.
“Thanks. That’s good to know. Bye, Bran. And good luck.”
Bran patted her on the shoulder and trotted away. His sheathed knife and a leather bag bounced from his belt. Gwen turned to the others.
“When do we leave?”
“We’re waiting for the command,” said Tristan. “Stay on your toes.”
“I need a couple of minutes. Where can I make a small portal?”
Rhiannon pointed at a nearby copse of trees.
“Make it against a tree, so no one walks into it accidentally.”
Gwen hurried over and concentrated on her father on the way. It was a matter of seconds to pull out the magic. A small, ragged portal ripped quietly open. She pulled her phone out of the pocket of her now-suede pants, stuck her head out of the hole, and called her father.
“Gwen?” Alan said urgently.
“Hi, Dad.” It was good to hear his familiar voice amid the strangeness of a battle camp. “Everything is fine here. I’m just calling to check in. Any word from Aidan?”
“No. I’ve stationed myself in a bed and breakfast nearby, but no call yet.”
“I’m sure they’ll be out soon,” said Gwen, even though her father’s words hit her like a punch to the stomach.
“What’s happening on your end?”
“A big battle is coming up.” At Alan’s sharp intake of breath, she added hastily, “I’ll just be watching.” It was sort of true.
“Good.”
Rhiannon waved at her from the tent.
“I’d better go. I love you, Dad.”
“I love you, Gwennie. Stay safe.”
***
They marched in the predawn light that managed to filter through oppressive gray clouds that hung above the snow-covered forest canopy. Gwen and her fighters walked in single file, with Rhiannon at the end erasing their footprints in the snow with magic. Gwen tried her best to match the near-silent footfalls of the others, but the snow squeaked and crunched underfoot. No one spoke a word over the whistling wind through the empty woods.
After a half-hour of walking, just when Gwen was starting to wonder for how long they were planning to move, the terrain grew rough. They climbed up and down hills, but their altitude steadily increased. The trees shrunk and became twisted and gnarled from a lack of soil and greater exposure to the elements.
Before they reached the crest of the next knoll, their leader, Bretta, held up a hand and they all slowed. She crept over the hill and melted into the trees, where she stood motionless for several long moments. Gwen had stopped holding her breath and was starting to fidget when Bretta beckoned.
They resumed their climb over the crest, but slowly and with great stealth. Bretta shimmied into a dense cluster of hornbeam shrubs to their left. Before Gwen followed, she paused at the view.
A steep valley spread before them. The sides were carpeted with thick evergreen forest, but the valley alternated between stands of deciduous groves and stretches of snowy meadows, bisected by a wide, meandering river. Even from her height, Gwen could see ice that clung to the edges of the water.
Tristan chivvied her forward, and she stumbled into the bushes. There was a clearing inside, enlarged by Bretta and Rhiannon as they encouraged growth of the hornbeam into a roomier shape for their covert operation. Branches swayed above them, but inside their snug enclosure they were protected from the wind. Gwen kneeled down on the dirt with relief.
“Before we modify the vegetation much more,” said Rhiannon. “Make sure this is a good spot for viewing in the human world.”
Gwen nodded and opened a portal in the direction of the river. A pile of rocky debris met her eyes.
“Let me try over here.” Gwen moved to the far left to avoid the human-world rocks. Now, a valley spread before her, but quite different to the Breenan side. Trees were scarce and fallow fields predominated, well cropped by grazing sheep. A small village lay on the riverside with a paved road running east, deserted at this time of the day.
“Here. This is good.” Gwen drew back and the Breenan clustered around the portal. Gwen considered the terrain—what else did they want to see?—and made another portal in a different direction.
“Anywhere else?” asked Gwen to Bretta. She shook her head.
“That ought to do it. All right, I need a pair of eyes on each portal, and one on the valley. Shore up the bushes while you’re there so we can’t be seen. Devin, set up the map.”
The Breenan moved into position. Gwen looked at Bretta.
“What about me?”
“Look through the portals if you wish, and make sure we are interpreting the human side correctly. Otherwise, stay still and quiet and we’ll do our best to pull you through this in one piece.”
Tristan caught her eye and gave her a lop-sided smile. Gwen shrugged and turned to watch Devin spread a roll of leather on the ground and place a set of colored stones in a pattern on the center. He saw her looking and waved at the stones.
“They’ve been spelled to create the map only if set in a certain way on this particular piece of leather. In case it falls into the wrong hands.” He placed the last stone in the center and a glow resolved into a three-dimensional depiction of the valley below. Golden dots were sprinkled liberally across the eastern end of the valley. Gwen peered closer.
“Is this us?” She pointed at a dot high on a tiny brown hill. Devin nodded. Gwen gazed at the map for a moment longer then shuffled to Tristan, who stared out of a small opening in the branches. She gazed at the unmoving scenery, dimly lit by the hidden sun.
“According to our map,” she whispered to Tristan. “There are dozens of our fighting groups spread across the valley. Where are they all?”
“Don’t worry, they’re there,” he said quietly. “You wouldn’t see us, either, if you were looking.”
“What’s the plan, anyway? Why are we all focused on this valley? Why would Corann’s forces necessarily come here?”
“We’ve seeded the idea in some of his released fighters. The story is that we are planning a concerted attack on the castle via this valley as a last effort to win the war.”
“That’s kind of true. Where’s the strategy?”
“They think we’ll be marching, not preparing to spring an ambush. The hope is to take them unawares.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” Gwen sat more comfortably on the cold earth and spread her gloved hands behind her in support. “What will this battle look like? Nobody has guns or swords.”
“I don’t know what guns are, but hardly anyone bothers with an ungainly sword, not anymore. Knives are much defter. Arrows are decent for long distance, but I don’t favor them because it isn’t often you can see your opponent until they’re too close for arrows.”
“What do you mean?” Gwen had been picturing medieval warfare with lines of armored cavalry, swords drawn, advancing on one another. Of course, no one looked like that here, and there were hardly any horses, but she had supposed it would be similar. “What does a battle look like?”
“Fighters are mostly hidden. The element of surprise is crucial, which is why the other side’s use of portals is so damaging.”
“It sounds horribly tense.”
“That’s the fun.” Tristan grinned. “But knives and arrows are only part of the story. Magic weapons are key to any battle.”
“Like what?”
“General spells are helpful, like ones to trip opponents, throw rocks, or cause general mayhem. But where magic really excels is in the secret spells of each realm, those that have been developed to enhance the strengths of their people. Wintertree, for example, has perfected the spell stone, small nodules of wood polished with a spell of attack, like immobilization, confusion, disarming. They will trigger when thrown with good aim and better concentration.”
“So much for secret weapons,” said Rhiannon from her post at a portal, but she was smiling.
“Do they work as well for you if you’re only half-Wintertree?” Gwen asked.
“It’s more a function of training than predilection, thankfully. As much as we like to emphasize what realm we’re from, we’re really not all that different.”
“What are we looking for?” said Gwen, bringing them back to her original question. “If all fighters are lurking in the shadows?”
“Hidden is the goal, but when the spells start flying, you’ll see the skirmishes.” Tristan stretched his arms above his head and winced when his hands touched branches above. “There’ll be plenty of sparks when things heat up.”
“But for now, we wait,” said Rhiannon.
***
Bran braced himself in the crook of a tree, its branches leafless but plentiful. With his gray pants, silver-brown fur cloak, and a hood to hide his distinctive hair, any observer would be hard-pressed to find Bran. He remained motionless, and only his eyes flickered, watchful.
Crevan was nearby, as was a Riverside fighter of their group, but they remained hidden even to Bran. His fingers twitched in readiness. Fighting was fun—waiting was the hard part.
A cawing arose from a nearby tree, and three crows flew in a burst of black wings above the canopy. Bran tensed, and his fingers crept to his belt. One hand grasped a slingshot and the other reached into a small bag to extract a spell stone.
The copper and gold tracker ring on his finger grew warm in a succession of pulses. Bran nodded to himself. Crevan had seen their opponents but guessed that Bran would have the better shot. Bran placed a spell stone in his sling and crooked his arm in readiness.
Noiselessly, three fighters emerged through the snowy woods. One wore a heavy wool coat with flowers embroidered on the bottom edge. Another wore a thick fur cloak, black and coarse, and the last a lighter brown fur coat with a green hood.
Bran waited until the three figures were only a few trees away. Then he pulled the sling taut and released.
The spell stone struck the green-hooded fighter from the Velvet Woods on the shoulder. She spun in a circle from the blow, her hand clutched over the injury. Then she froze mid-spin and toppled to the ground, motionless.
The others dove into the trees while the spell stone was still whistling through the air. Bran grinned, until a rustling noise made him turn his head. A vine crawled toward him, growing lush green leaves and fat flower buds as it approached, incongruously fertile in the barrenness of the wintery wood. Bran’s smile became uncertain, and he shrank away from the advancing foliage. A bud near him opened swiftly, lushly.
Bran sprang to a lower branch before the flower spat a shining jet of magical venom in his direction. The vine followed him with unnatural rapidity, and two more buds prepared to open.
Bran leaped out of the tree. Behind him, the flowers puffed clouds of glittery pollen. He rolled away and ran to avoid the dust.
Crevan dropped to the ground beside him.
“To the river,” he hissed. “We want them to follow us there.”
A snarl overtook Crevan’s final words. The brothers spun. A wolf bared its teeth and advanced with deliberate steps. Bran drew his dagger and held it ready. Crevan looked around while they backed away, until he spotted a shadowy figure with a shaggy fur coat lurking behind a nearby tree.
“Ha! Take that!” Bran shouted as he lunged at the wolf. It released a blood-curdling growl. Crevan whipped his slingshot out of his belt, loaded a spell stone, and fired.
The wolf’s expression changed from predatory to confused. A yelp revealed the Midvale fighter’s position.
“What did you do?” he yelled.
“Lessened your connection to the animal,” Crevan shouted back. “Now what do you have for us?”
Their attacker retreated without another word. The wolf whined.
“Bah! Away!” Bran gestured at the confused animal, and it ran away with its tail tucked under its belly. Bran laughed in delight.
“Nicely done, Crevan!”
A figure dropped from a nearby tree. Her woolen coat was gray to blend into the forest, but the lining flashed a deep blue.
“Where did they go?” the Riverside fighter said without preamble.
“I’m not sure,” said Crevan. “Let’s go to the river, draw them there. I’m not comfortable with our location now exposed.”
“Good idea.” She nodded. “The Longshore fighters are stationed nearby.”
“Exactly. Come, the spell stone on the Midvale fighter won’t last forever.” Crevan spied Bran examining the massive pawprint of the wolf with interest. “Come on, Bran. Father would never forgive me if you were captured on my watch.”
“Probably not,” said Bran cheerfully as they jogged through the woods.
“Quiet,” the Riverside fighter whispered. “We’re here.”
The three slowed and crept behind boulders and a fallen tree. Beyond lay a wide expanse of river, its edges lined with ice but its center flowing dark and fast. No Breenan were in sight, until Bran pointed to a flash of embroidered woolen coat. The Riverside fighter nodded and held up her hand. A moment passed, and then…
“Argh! Get them off!” The Southlands fighter stumbled out from her tree and batted at the air around her head. Crevan leaped to restrain her.
“What does she see?” asked Bran.
“A swarm of wasps,” said the Riverside fighter smugly. “A hallucination, of course.”
“Well done.” Bran nodded with approval.
With a shout, the Midvale fighter ran from the trees. He had no wolf, but his dagger was sharp, and its edge was rimmed with a viscous liquid.
“Crevan!” Bran yelled. He ran out to intercept the fighter. “Behind you!”
Another three fighters burst from bushes and dropped from trees, their clothing clearly marking them as from enemy realms. Their Riverside ally jumped to Bran’s side while he fended off the Midvale fighter with his dagger.
“Retreat to the river,” Crevan yelled. He threw a spell stone at an oncoming fighter, who ducked to avoid it.
The Riverside fighter tripped over a rapidly growing root, and a branch narrowly avoided crashing on her head. Her Velvet Woods attacker laughed. The Riverside fighter threw up her hand and her opponent shrieked and clutched his uninjured leg in pain.
“I don’t have many more hallucinations,” she said to Crevan. She looked pale. “They take a lot of power.”
“Keep going to the river,” he said.
The ground below their retreating feet shivered as dandelions burst forth. Heat from the enchanted flowers rapidly melted the snow. Bran danced with agitation when the heat traveled through the soles of his boots.
“We’re almost there,” shouted Crevan. He flung a spell stone at the nearest attacker, who fell over, stunned.
WHOOSH.
A huge wave rose up from the river. It carried slabs of ice in its watery darkness. Bran and the others dove out of the way, and their advancing enemies fell under the onslaught of icy water. One fighter was sucked into the river and clung to a chunk of ice. The others were knocked to the ground in a stupor.
Crevan an
d the Riverside fighter ran to tie up their waterlogged opponents. Bran scanned the trees until he spotted the silvery canvas cloak of a Longshore fighter. He grinned and waved his thanks, and the fighter waved back.
Bran whipped his head around at a cry in the distance. Crevan put a hand on his belt.
“There are more, over there.” He paled as he understood the information from the pulsing warmth of his belt. “A lot more.”
Bran looked uncharacteristically grim. He gripped his dagger more securely and took a deep breath.
“Then we’d better go help.”
***
Gwen’s tense anxiety gradually faded into utter boredom. Dawn grew to day, and nothing stirred in the valley below except flocks of crows and the ever-present wind. Occasional earth tremors shook their hiding place, but after an hour even these failed to break the monotony.
Until Tristan stiffened. Three crows rose from a tree on the far end of the valley. Instead of resettling on a nearby branch, they flew rapidly away, cawing wildly. At the same time, one of the golden dots on the map pulsed and flickered.
“We’re under attack,” said Devin.
“Eyes on the valley, here and through the portals,” Bretta ordered. “It has begun.”
A howl pierced the stillness, a solitary sound that tore right to Gwen’s heart and sent a shiver down her spine that had nothing to do with the icy weather.
“What was that?” she hissed to Tristan. He kept his eyes scanning the valley but answered her.
“The Midvale realm can control animals. Looks like they’ve found a wolf.”
“What?”
Tristan smiled without humor.
“It’s a formidable power, to be sure. Each person can only control one animal at a time, thankfully, but that still results in a doubling of their forces, if managed right.”
“Three more groups under attack,” called out Devin at the map. “Look to the curve in the river.”
Breenan Series Box Set Page 65