by Jane Yolen
The illusory soldiers looked even more so, but he didn’t want Jack Daw to get too close a look at them. He had no idea what the old drow knew of major illusion. The moment Jack caught a sniff of it, they were all dead.
But before Aspen could lead his contingent toward the enemy’s lines, there was a commotion back by the fire. He spun his horse around to see what was happening, afraid the Unseelie troops might have sneaked around behind them.
The young Poppy Clan soldier—what is his name, again? Oh yes, Alicanson—was muscling his way through Mishrath’s soldiers.
They do not disappear when touched. Aspen allowed himself a small smile. Mishrath, you have outdone yourself!
“Sire, wait!” Alicanson shouted. “You’ll want to see this.”
“Is it important?” Aspen said, letting impatience turn into anger. I sound like my father, he thought. That is not good.
“They seem to think so, sire,” Alicanson said.
Then Snail and his mother burst through the crowd, and Aspen felt like the sun was rising for a second time that day.
22
SNAIL ADDS TO ASPEN’S PLAN
The queen, who’d been by Snail’s side, wrapped in her cloak and her royal presence, suddenly took three quick steps forward and then ran toward Aspen, arms out.
She gathered him in, almost drowning him in the folds of her heavy cloak, and saying quite audibly, “Oh my son, my dearest son.”
He squirmed out of her reach and whispered something to her.
Snail was sure it had to do with decorum or danger. Or both. Either way, they pulled themselves apart, and the queen handed him a shiny object, which he put on his head.
A crown? For a battle? So everyone will know where to aim? Snail could hardly credit it. With an army on their doorstep, the queen had taken time to bring his crown, as if Aspen was a small boy who’d forgotten his warm coat or gloves.
Suddenly Snail wondered whether she’d ever noticed the queen carrying the crown. Only then did she realize that the queen had a crown perched atop her head as well.
It must have been Balnar’s doing, she thought. He must have hidden the crowns in secret pockets in the queen’s cloak. He might not be a wizard, but clearly he does know sleight of hand tricks. She smiled, thinking, He and Odds will like one another.
Snail caught up with Aspen and the queen but didn’t force her way into their intimate circle, until Aspen, seeing her waiting, signaled her to him.
This king stuff, Snail thought, is incredibly annoying. It was so much easier when Aspen was the prickly Hostage Prince. Or even the needy minstrel, Karl.
Nonetheless, she went over to them.
“Why did you bring the queen here?” Aspen said, his face fighting between joy and anger. “She should not be set in the teeth of an ogre, though we may all be there soon enough.”
“Because she insisted,” Snail hissed. “Have you ever tried arguing with a queen? Or the mother of a king?”
“Do not talk about me as if I cannot hear,” the queen said. “I may be getting old and worn down by my stay in your father’s dungeon, Ailenbran, but I still have all my faculties. Besides, I have some magic I can add to this army’s meager supply.”
“I did not know you had magic, Mother,” Aspen said, turning slowly to look straight at her.
“All the Astaeri royal family has magic.” The queen allowed a small smile to play across her lips, but Snail could see that she controlled it. “Minor nobility has some as well. Have you not retained any of those history lessons your first tutors drummed into you?”
“The only tutors I remember, Mother, are facing us across that stream. I hope it is river magic you have. Raise the river and drown them all.”
She shook her head. “Alas, no. I have . . .” She hesitated as if telling him might spoil her surprise. “I have woman’s magic. Never to be scorned, of course. But not highly cultivated. Your father did not approve of me using magic at court. I am not sure if it will work in battle, but I am certainly willing to try.”
Snail found she was liking Aspen’s father less and less. Just as well he’s dead, she though savagely.
“I practiced it a bit in my . . . um . . . discommode.”
The dungeon, Snail reminded herself. And then she grinned. The queen had practiced magic in the dungeon. She vividly recalled her own stay in the Unseelie king’s dungeon. I could have used magic—even woman’s magic—there, she thought.
“Woman’s magic, Mother?” Aspen asked, almost through gritted teeth. “Curdling milk? Pulling herbs? Hedge witch tricks? And why did I not know this?”
“Well,” Snail said sensibly, “how could you have known? Stuck away in the Unseelie Court and kept under Obs’s lock and key.” She was beginning to lose her temper with all of them. “Maybe you should just ask her to show it to you, not dismiss it unseen. Oh, and ask me what news I bring of the professor and his army of changelings.”
The queen’s hand went up to her mouth. If Snail didn’t know better, she would have said the queen was smothering a smile.
Like a weathercock, Aspen turned back to Snail. “Yes, yes, I meant to ask—what news?”
He was flustered now, and Snail pitied him. Pitied them all. They were outmanned and outmastered. Though . . . she thought, sounding—even in her own head—a bit too much like Odds, though not without mastery of manners! But at least she could give Aspen some good news, even though it might—like the human army—be coming too late.
“Odds and his people are perhaps two days behind.” She looked around at the army spread out across the field. “With them and this army you should be able to drive Old Jack Daw all the way back to King Obs’s Keep. Though,” she snapped, “he’s probably renamed it Jack Daw’s Keep by now.”
Aspen looked momentarily confused, then followed her gaze to the army Mishrath had made, who were still as firm as an actual army. “Oh. Them. They are not real.”
“What?”
“It is a wizard’s trick, an illusion cast by a dying wizard and made the stronger thereby. Or so both he and I hope. It’s a long story. I will tell it to you at battle’s end.”
“You didn’t . . .” She trembled even thinking about it, but asked anyway. “You didn’t kill him?”
“Me?” Aspen’s voice broke on the single word. Then he added, “How could you think . . .”
“I never . . .”
“He was already dying and he said his death in the making of the illusion might give it added strength and he was willing to try.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
“He said he would be remembered for it.”
“If it works.”
“So far . . . pretty good.” He suddenly scrunched his eyebrows. “Two days away, you said?”
Snail nodded. “Yes. And they are pledged to you as long as you fulfill your promises to them.” She’d never doubted his promises, just doubted whether he would have the luck and time to make them come true.
“Freedom, land, equality?” Aspen said. “Yes, of course. As long as I and mine live, that promise stands. I shall put it in writing and send it through the Seelie lands. As soon as . . . as soon as . . .”
“I promise as well,” said the queen. “For what that is worth.”
“Madam,” Snail said, before Aspen could answer, “it means everything.”
The queen looked at Snail in a manner that seemed to suggest she was measuring her. Snail could only wonder what her final reckoning would be.
Smiling, the queen inclined her head gracefully. “You do not credit yourself enough, Snail. You are smart, courageous, sometimes willful, and always speak your mind. You will do, girl. You will most certainly do.”
Do what? Snail wondered. She knew she had no magic to offer the army and no knowledge but that which was in her hands. She’d already done
what she could, convincing Odds to bring his people here. But she’d no guarantee they’d arrive in time. She didn’t know if Odds would actually keep his pledge any more than she could be sure Aspen would be able to keep his. All she could do now was sew up what wounds could be sewn, give comfort and herbal sleep to those who would die, and . . . She bit her lip. And hope to live. That was all.
But before she could think further about this, there was the loud clarion of a war horn.
“Jack Daw!” Aspen said, and turned to face forward, with the rest of his army of make-believe warriors at his back.
He looks, Snail thought, young and vulnerable. He looks frightened. He looks . . . ready.
She hoped that the wizard hadn’t died in vain.
And that Odds would get there in time.
23
ASPEN FACES AN OLD ENEMY
Aspen rode toward the enemy lines, Snail on his left side. Behind him rode Molientien, still bearing the flag of parley, as well as Croak, Snarl, and Bite, who bristled like hedgehogs with the innumerable amount of weapons they had managed to clip to their belts or sling over their shoulders or stuff into their boots, gloves, helmets, and sundry other hiding places.
The moat troll kept pace with the horses, though he did not look as if he was enjoying himself.
And my mother is coming with us as well, Aspen thought, glancing quickly to his right. He was slightly ashamed that she had insisted on riding to the parley, but a bit comforted, too, though he would never admit it aloud.
“I will keep silent, dearest,” she had said, “I promise.”
He did not believe her.
Though in truth, he thought, she is probably the most sensible of us all. And if she were given control of both the kingdoms, then both kingdoms would be well fed, watched over, and wearing something sensible for the weather.
“Would that Seelie mothers were in charge of the world,” he muttered.
As they rode, Aspen told Snail a bit more about Mishrath’s sacrifice and the spell he cast.
“So really all we have is these four soldiers and your mother?” Snail said, keeping her voice low.
“Oh, no,” Aspen said. “There are almost forty more back at camp.” He knew he was exaggerating but not by much. “Though only twenty are real soldiers.” He bit his lip, look slightly discomforted, and added, “And about half of those are boys, probationers. From the Poppy Clan.”
“The Poppy Clan!” Snail said. “Then we are in good hands.” She didn’t elaborate, but she turned and glared at Aspen as if he was at fault.
For some reason the look on Snail’s face cheered him immeasurably. Snail is furious, he thought. All is right with the world.
“You mean,” she hissed, “that there are just three dozen Seelie folk facing that?” She pointed across the stream where Old Jack Daw’s army was arrayed.
“Well, you and my mother are here now, so that’s two more,” he said, looking where she was pointing.
The Border Lords were in the vanguard, colorful in bright tams and battle kilts and armed with a frightening array of overly large weapons. Bogle skirmishers ranged in front of them, testing the ground before the stream for traps both magical and mundane so that nothing would impede their fearsome charge when it came. For the life of him, Aspen could not tell if he wanted that charge to come early or late.
For the life of me! He sighed, wondering idly if his last words were going to be a joke.
On the left flank of the Unseelie army, heavily armored ogres stood with blank looks on their faces. Though he had to admit it was better than their usual expression—a horrible sneer.
On the right, a troop of kelpie cavalry snorted mist from their nostrils, impatient for their own charge.
Jack Daw will hold them till the end. Use them either to break us or to ride down those already broken.
The rest of the ranks were filled out with a motley array of fell creatures, some bearing weapons, others armed only with claws and teeth. But as different as they looked, he knew what they shared was a lust for blood and slaughter.
And there will be more hidden in the woods, strategic reserves of creatures unable or unwilling to come out in the daylight. Jaunty had taught him that. He called it the Ranks of War. Aspen had had to memorize them, make lists, create small wooden sculptures to set out on a battle map. He grimaced. Who knows what foul beasts lurk there?
But he knew. He’d grown up with them, after all. Dark elves, goblins, boggarts, cannibal ogres, vampyrs, banshees, Red Caps, duergar and drow, nickneven and neugle . . . The list went on and on, each creature of the night more horrible than the last.
“But yes,” he said to Snail, “those numbers sound about right.”
She sighed. It was not a comforting sound.
They called a halt fifty yards short of the stream and waited, white flag waving lazily in a weak breeze. They didn’t have to wait long. There was a commotion in the army across the waters, and then the Border Lords’ ranks began to split down the middle to make room—reluctantly, Aspen thought—for a small troop of riders. They were all drow, regally appointed in gleaming armor and blood-red cloaks, hard to tell apart. Probably nest brothers.
At their head rode an ancient one of their race, thinner and greyer than all the rest, wearing not armor but the black robes of a senior councilor. He did not wear a crown. He had no need for it. But even without it, he moved like a king.
Old Jack Daw had come to talk.
“You and you,” Snail suddenly said, pointing at Molintien and Croak. “Stay in front of the king at all times. Old Jack Daw is a traitor and a poisoner. He can’t be trusted even under a parley flag.”
“Snail,” Aspen said as Molintien and Croak moved in front of him.
“You and you,” Snail went on, ignoring him. This time she pointed at Snarl and Bite. “If anyone makes a sudden move, kill them. Immediately.”
“Snail . . .”
“Troll—if that happens, take Their Majesties back to camp.” She hesitated. “No, all the way back to the palace. Carry them if need be. They will both try to talk you out of it. Don’t listen.”
The moat troll smiled, though whether he understood the instructions or was just happy to be addressed, Aspen wasn’t certain.
“Snail!” Aspen practically shouted. “Jack Daw will not kill me.”
Snail spun and faced him, her face red with anger, her eyes bright. “Why not? He killed your father! He killed your brothers!” Aspen heard his mother’s breath catch as if fighting back a sob when Snail mentioned her murdered sons. “You’re just an obstacle to him. And he will kill you if given half a chance.”
Aspen shook his head. “He will not kill me today.”
“Then you’re a fool, Aspen!” This time it was the soldiers gasping to hear their king addressed this way.
“That is why he will not kill me, Snail,” Aspen said calmly. “In his mind, I am a fool. A young, inexperienced, vain fool, whom he has already tricked once.” Aspen glanced back at Mishrath’s illusory army. “Who does he want at the head of this unexpected host? A general? A wizard? A new, adult king picked by the land?” He stared hard at Snail. “Or a fool whose every move he knows so well?”
She said nothing for a moment, and Aspen watched the storm pass from her face. “Still,” she said, quieter now, “those two stay in front of you.”
Aspen smiled. “Of course. It would not do to take foolish chances.”
They said no more as they watched Old Jack Daw and his drow brothers pick their way across the stream. Drows could cross running water, though they were not particularly fond of it. When they were within a dozen yards, Snail called out, “That’s far enough, Daw.”
A few of the group took a few more defiant steps forward, then Jack Daw raised his hand and they stopped.
Aspen had wondered what he would feel when he was finally this
close to Jack Daw again. Anger? Fear? Sadness? He had thought the old drow his friend, and had been betrayed. But strangely he felt nothing.
Perhaps because so much has happened since the betrayal.
Leaning forward on his mount, Old Jack Daw peered at Snail. “Oh, it’s the little changeling girl!” he said happily. “Slug or something, right?”
“Snail,” she spat at him. “And still alive, despite your best efforts.”
He sat straight again, dismissing her. “Let your betters speak, girl.”
Aspen felt her stiffen beside him, but he laid his hand on her arm. His plan didn’t involve her acting foolish, only him.
“Old Jack Daw? Is that you?” Suddenly his mother was beside him and then past him, drawing her horse even with Molintien and Croak. “Oh, it is lovely to see you!”
“Mother!” Aspen hissed, but she ignored him. So much for staying silent.
“Your Highness,” Jack Daw said, sketching a bow from atop his horse. “You look as radiant as ever.”
“Oh,” the dowager queen tittered, “it is kind of you to say so. I wish I could say the same for you. You look so much older than last I saw you. Perhaps it is time for you to leave the keep and retire to your caves. I know the drow do not do well as they age. They get fusty, get feather fungus, the eyesight goes. And the cunning.”
The drow brothers behind Jack Daw rustled their feathers as if the queen had cursed them. But Jack held up a hand, and they were silenced. Then he sighed expansively. “Would that I could retire, Your Highness. I see you have no need to do it yourself. But I must serve for a while longer. And besides,” he said, looking at Aspen, “I have some business to conclude at Astaeri Palace.”
Aspen barely suppressed a shudder. Fear, he thought. Definitely fear.
His mother sounded unfazed. “Oh, that is a shame. Perhaps I could come with you and we could discuss your business back in Unseelie lands?”
Aspen suddenly realized what his mother was doing. She is offering herself up as a new hostage. He also knew it wouldn’t work. Old Jack Daw was not interested in peace. Or an old dowager queen with no power. It’s time to end this, he told himself.