by M. J. Putney
She had only an instant to admire what a dramatic picture he made when she realized he was white-lipped with anger. She’d never seen him so furious.
“Justin!” Tory was across the room and in his arms before he took three steps into the taproom. He hugged her hard. He was vibrating with fury, but that diminished as he held her.
“What happened?” she asked.
He ended the embrace but kept his arm around her shoulders as they crossed the room to the breakfast table, where the others waited. “The good news is that I’ve brought a healer who sets bones, and she’s said to be the best in southern Wales. She’s coming in through the kitchen to say hello to the landlady.”
“Obviously there’s bad news, too,” Jack remarked.
“Bran was right,” Allarde growled. “The local militia commander is an inexperienced idiot. He’s dithering and saying nothing can be done until reinforcements arrive and talking of a retreat back toward Swansea. If it’s left to him, the French will be able to conquer the whole of Wales without any resistance.”
Elspeth pushed herself up to a sitting position to join the conversation. “Surely there must be regular troops stationed in Swansea or Cardiff.”
“Yes, but it will take time to send word of the invasion, and more time to march here. Bran stayed in Carmarthen to try to mitigate Dawson’s incompetence.” Allarde dropped tiredly into a chair. “Dawson is not only an inexperienced fool, but an aristocratic snob. He refuses to have anything to do with magic or mages.”
Jack swore under his breath. “So there was no point in our coming.”
“Wrong,” Tory said firmly. “We’re mages, not soldiers, and we don’t have to obey orders from the dithering Dawson. We can do things that no regular troops can.”
Before she could say more, a plump, capable-looking middle-aged woman entered the taproom from the kitchen. She radiated mage power. “I’m Mistress Jones, the healer.” Her gaze moved to Elspeth. “You’re looking right peaky. You’re my patient?”
“Yes, and I’m so glad to see you!”
“I’ll have a look at that ankle now.” Mistress Jones headed toward Elspeth purposefully. “I see you’re all magelings. None of you are healers?”
“I’m the strongest healer, and I’m no good at healing myself,” Elspeth said. “Can you set and heal the bone so I can be up and around today?”
Mistress Jones was taken aback. “That would take a vast amount of power. Usually I give several treatments over several days to knit bones.”
“If we can channel our magic to you, would that help?” Tory asked. “We’re all powerful in different ways, though Elspeth is the only real healer. I’m good at blending magic and channeling it.”
“It’s worth a try, though even if it works, you’ll need to sleep a few hours, lass.” Mistress Jones glanced at Allarde. “Help your cousin onto a table so we can make a circle around her for the healing.”
Allarde lifted Elspeth and laid her gently on one of the taproom tables. The Irregulars gathered around as Mistress Jones examined her patient by slowly stroking the air a few inches above Elspeth’s limbs and torso.
“For a girl who fell down a mountain, you’re in good shape,” she commented. “The only bone broken is in the ankle. If your friends can give me enough extra power, I might be able to heal it in one session, but I warn you that knitting the bone that quickly will hurt like the very devil.”
“Do what you must,” Elspeth said in a thin voice. “I need to be able to help with what comes.”
“You.” Mistress Jones pointed at Tory. “Hold Elspeth’s left hand and put your other hand on my shoulder. Allarde, take Elspeth’s other hand and the blonde’s. Blondie, hold your sweetheart’s hand. His other hand goes on my shoulder.”
“Blondie?” Cynthia said, aghast. Tory almost laughed out loud at her expression.
But Cynthia and everyone else complied with the healer’s orders. When the circle was complete, Tory collected and blended her friends’ energies. In spite of all they’d been through, she was able to send a great deal of power to Mistress Jones.
The older woman’s healing magic had a very different flavor from what Tory was used to. She rested her hands lightly on Elspeth’s ankle, closed her eyes, and poured a river of burning energy into the broken bone. Tory sensed the jagged ends of bone aligning, then welding together like molten metal.
Elspeth gave a strangled cry and squeezed Tory’s hand with numbing force. Tory cringed at the pain in her friend’s voice, but she kept channeling the combined power until Mistress Jones said with satisfaction, “Done! I’ve never fixed a broken bone so quickly. You magelings are a powerful lot.”
“Thank you,” Elspeth whispered. Her face was white and sheened with sweat. “That was … interesting. Different from what I do.”
“There aren’t many healers with the special bonesetting talent, and I usually don’t have enough power available to do such a quick, intense healing.” Mistress Jones released the circle, then wiped her sweaty face. “Morgan, this young lady will want to sleep like the dead for a few hours. Show Allarde what bedroom to put her in.”
Allarde carried Elspeth as the landlord led the way upstairs. Tory sank wearily into a chair. Thank heaven for Mistress Jones!
Now it was time to plan how the Irregulars could counter the French invasion.
CHAPTER 15
Olwen Morgan brought out a huge pot of steaming tea and a plate of griddle cakes with currants. “This might help perk you up after all that work.”
Tory started to thank the landlady, then recognized a glow in the older woman’s energy field. “You’re a mage yourself, aren’t you?”
“Aye, though not so strong as you or Gwyneth Jones, the bonesetter,” Olwen said. “I’m the village counselor, with a bit of hearth witch magic as well.”
“Join us,” Tory suggested. “We’re going to have a council of war when Allarde returns. You and your husband have local knowledge, and you’re a mage as well. Together we can decide the best course of action.”
“In that case, we’ll need more tea mugs.”
Olwen returned with the mugs as Allarde and Morgan came downstairs. Allarde gravitated to Tory’s side. She poured him a cup of tea, adding milk the way he liked it. “I’ve invited the Morgans to join our planning session.”
“Good.” He sat beside her and took a grateful swallow of tea before glancing around the circle. “We’ll have to leave troops and battles to the authorities and hope the dithering Colonel Dawson listens to more experienced men. Our biggest weapon is the weather. Jack and Cynthia, what can be done with that?”
Jack made a face. “Storm work is more effective over water. Since the French have already landed, we can’t damage them as we did the fleet that was heading to Ireland. The most we can do is make them wet and uncomfortable.”
“Even a giant soaking rainstorm will be difficult,” Cynthia said. “I’ve been studying the weather patterns for hundreds of miles around, and there isn’t a lot to work with. In fact, the weather is so calm that I suspect French weather mages cleared the skies. They obviously have other mages working besides the ones we burned out.”
“Would it be possible to do a small, localized weather attack rather than a large storm?” Morgan asked. “I think I know the cove where they must have landed. There are some bad rocks there. If a violent squall hit the ships, they’d have to put out to sea or be crushed into the rocks.”
“I like that idea,” Allarde said thoughtfully. “With no ships, the French troops have lost their means of retreat. That should make them more inclined to surrender if they feel their position is hopeless.”
Jack and Cynthia looked at each other, conferring silently. “We could raise a nasty little squall, I think,” Cynthia said. “Enough to smash the ships or force them out to sea. What can we do to convince the French their situation is hopeless?”
“I’ve an idea that might help,” Tory said. “Their ammunition is stored in the hill fortress. I
f it blew up, they’d have very little left to fight with.”
Allarde’s brows arched. “You’re thinking that together we could fly up to the top of the crag and set off their arsenal?”
“Exactly. I wouldn’t know what to do with that much ammunition, but I suspect you would. The two of us working together should be able to manage it.”
“You can fly?” Olwen said with amazement. “You must be some of the most powerful magelings in Britain!”
“I haven’t met enough other mages to know,” Tory said. “But I do have floating ability and Allarde has great lifting power. When we work together, we can rise to the top of the crag.” At least, she hoped so.
Allarde’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “We’ll have to wait until dark.”
“Not necessarily,” Tory said. “When Elspeth fell down the cliff, Cynthia created a splendid dense mist around her so the French couldn’t see where she lay. If Cynthia can fog the fortress, we won’t have to wait for night. Would you have enough power to do that while also creating a squall?”
“I think so,” Cynthia replied. “Wales is generally very wet, so there’s a good bit of moisture to work with even if the French have diverted the larger storms.”
Tory glanced around the circle. “Does anyone have other plans to consider? Mrs. Morgan? Mr. Morgan?”
After a long silence, Cynthia said, “I can do something with hearth witch fire, but I’m too tired to think what. Do we have time to sleep? I’ll need rest before I can do weather work.”
“We all need rest,” Tory agreed. “But the French are so close! I’d rather not wake with them shooting out the windows.” And she did not want to meet the war mage again.
“I can help with that,” Olwen Morgan said. “As a counselor, I’m good at feeling other people’s energy even if they’re some way off. Since you told me about the French, I’ve been able to sense them. Rather like a swarm of angry hornets buzzing in the distance.”
“Do you feel the energy of a very powerful French war mage?” Tory asked.
Olwen closed her eyes and mentally searched. “I feel an intense, hostile energy that might be the one you’re looking for. He’s not close, though. Several miles away and thinking of something entirely different, so you’re safe for now. I’ll sense if he or the troops march this way, so go along and get some rest. We have two more guest bedrooms, one for you lasses, the other for you lads.”
Allarde asked, “Do you know someone who can take a message to Bran Blakesley in Carmarthen? I want him to know where we are since we seem to be turning the Royal Oak into our headquarters.”
“There’s a lad down the street who will be glad to take a note.” Mrs. Morgan got to her feet. “Come along upstairs, my girls, and I’ll show you your room.”
“Lead on, madam.” Tory was so tired that she didn’t even mind that she’d be sharing a bed with Cynthia.
* * *
The sagging mattress of the bed in the girls’ room meant that the smaller Tory tended to slide down toward Cynthia, who would then shove her away. That didn’t matter. Tory could have slept on a pile of rocks.
She woke to find herself alone in the bed and Cynthia standing at the window and gazing out at the sky. “What time is it?” Tory asked.
“About noon. Since we arrived here so early, we still have half the day ahead of us.” Cynthia nodded at the cloudy sky. “I’ve been pulling in what wind and rain I can find. We’ll be ready to blast that cove with a nice squall by the end of the afternoon.”
“Allarde and I should go for the arsenal around the same time. Hit the French two different ways at once.” Tory rose and poured water into the washbasin, then splashed her face. She was glad her voice was steady, but inside her nerves were knotted. Flying into the French fortress was a good idea, but she didn’t expect to enjoy the experience.
Cynthia said from her window, “Bran Blakesley just rode up to the Royal Oak. He’s in his Royal Marines uniform and looks very handsome. Also furious.”
“Let’s see if he has news.”
As they left their room, Tory tapped on Elspeth’s door, then looked in. Her friend sat on the edge of her bed and rotated her injured ankle in wonder. “I wish I could do bone healing!” she exclaimed.
“No matter how good we are, there are always things we can’t do,” Tory said philosophically. “Come on down. Blakesley has just arrived.”
Downstairs they found Blakesley updating Jack and Allarde on what had happened. In his uniform, he looked older and more commanding. Though he nodded a polite greeting to the girls, he was seething with anger, as Cynthia had observed.
“The French have been pillaging farms inland,” he said grimly. “No reports of farmers being killed, but there was a skirmish between some French soldiers and local volunteers. Several men were killed and more were wounded.”
“How many British troops do we have?” Allarde asked.
“About three hundred militiamen, a little over two hundred of the shire yeomanry, plus I spotted two revenue cutters off the coast and took a boat out to tell them about the French invasion. The cutters contributed about a hundred more men. Still nowhere near enough,” Bran said glumly. “It will take days to get reinforcements.”
“We might be able to improve the odds for you,” Allarde said.
As he outlined their plans, Blakesley began looking more optimistic. “Mr. Gwillim, a substantial farmer just outside Tregwilli, will loan you horses, I’m sure,” he said. “If they’re hurt or killed, I’ll compensate him.”
“Or I will. We can argue about that later,” Allarde said. “Now it’s time to borrow those horses and get to work!”
* * *
Mr. Gwillim had a good assortment of riding hacks, and he was glad to lend them to fight the French. Cynthia’s chestnut gelding wasn’t showy, but it had smooth gaits and an even temper. The other girls had Welsh ponies, while the boys had larger mounts suitable for their height and weight. The ride back to the French landing site would be much quicker than the walk away had been.
They set off in midafternoon, Jack leading the way and Cynthia behind him. The road was eerily silent. As they headed west, they passed farms that had been abandoned. All looked as if they’d been looted, and at one, the barn had been torched. Cynthia’s determination to drive out the enemy became stronger with every mile.
When they neared the French position, Cynthia called to Jack, “Time for some mist, don’t you think?”
He nodded. “You’re in charge of that. Once you’ve created a heavy fog, it will take most of my concentration to stay on course.”
What he really meant was that his magic wasn’t strong enough yet to guide and work weather at the same time, but Cynthia didn’t say that since he hated being weak. Shocking that she was learning tact.
Cynthia had never deliberately tried to create fog before Tory had asked her to, but she’d found it rather fun. Now she had the chance to see how much more she could create. Though there was no rain in the vicinity, the earth and plants and sea were full of moisture. She drew that moisture up into floating ribbons of mist.
The ribbons twined and thickened, growing ever more dense until Cynthia could barely see the hindquarters of Jack’s horse. Sounds were muffled or echoed oddly through the fog. Jack slowed their pace, though he never hesitated over their path.
Cynthia had trouble estimating how far they’d traveled, but finally Jack halted his horse and gestured for the others to gather close. Speaking in a low voice, he said, “The track the French used to carry their supplies inland is just ahead, with the cove to the left and the hill fortress to the right. When we discussed this earlier, we planned on splitting into two teams, but now that we’re here, I have a strong feeling we should stay together.”
“I agree,” Tory replied. “Cynthia’s fog is so dense that we’ll get lost without your finder talent. Allarde, do you have any intuition about the best course?”
“Jack is right, we should stay together,” he said after look
ing inward to consult his foretelling ability. “There’s a grove to the left of the road. I think we should tether our horses there and walk down to the cove.” He glanced at his cousin. “Elspeth, it’s best you stay with the horses. You shouldn’t overstrain that ankle.”
She grimaced. “You’re right, I’d just slow you down. Don’t anyone get injured without me being there to fix you!”
“I have no desire to let myself be damaged.” Cynthia swung from her horse and led it into the grove. The fog and trees concealed Elspeth and their horses perfectly.
After the horses were secured, Cynthia took firm hold of Jack’s large, warm hand and let him guide her into the thick whiteness. Though she’d created the fog and was maintaining it with her magic, she would not like being lost alone in the mists.
Tory and Allarde followed closely, also holding hands. The four of them had to climb another steep hill, and Cynthia was panting by the time she reached the top. A good thing that maintaining fog took less effort than creating it in the first place.
Jack stopped and said in a barely audible whisper, “The cove is just below. You can hear the water.”
Cynthia listened and heard not only waves slapping the shore, but cursing Frenchmen. The soldiers down on the narrow beach had been ordered to carry the last of the supplies to the fort, but they couldn’t see a bloody thing in the bloody bedamned fog.
Her mouth tightened as she listened. “Time to blow them back to France,” she muttered under her breath.
“We need enough breeze on the water to reveal the position of the ships,” Jack said. He raised a hand and a light wind began blowing through the fog that blanketed the cove. The mists thinned and the four ships gradually emerged. They started as dark blobs but soon were clear enough that Cynthia could see sailors on the decks.
She frowned, a bad feeling chilling her nerves as she studied the tiny forms of the sailors. That tall, thin figure …
She gasped with shock, feeling as if she’d been kicked in the stomach. “The war mage is on the deck of the largest ship,” she said in a strangled voice. “That tall fellow in black. And I think he knows we’re here.”