Grimnaugh had assured her she wouldn’t wield the bronze blade at her side. She held it only in case of a direct attack, but her host wouldn’t allow Bodach’s warriors to get so close. Still, Gabha had schooled her in its use.
Her host. That seemed so odd to hear, but she had no other description for the thousands of Faerie troops that marched alongside her. Fae tall and small, human-like and not, tramped forward toward Bodach’s dead land. Grian had assured her she’d join her troops along her own border, but urged her not to cross until the battle began.
When Clíodhna had quizzed Grimnaugh on why, his eyes had grown wide. “Do you not know? This is a time in the mortal realm where the veil between worlds is thin. ‘Tis the middle of the summer season, when the days there stretch the longest and the darkness grows short.”
“Midsummer?” she narrowed her eyes at her assistant. “How does midsummer affect the battle?”
“The veil affects any wielding of power, your Grace. Bodach’s magic can slip into the mortal realm, as can yours. Those mortals might even perceive us if the battle should go into their night.”
She bit her lip. She didn’t want to endanger any humans in her initiative. However, Bodach had discovered her purpose. Grimnaugh let her know he’d gathered his own troops, so she had little choice. If she waited too long, Bodach would make any incursion impossible. She must strike now.
As they grew closer to Bodach’s fortress, the character of the land changed. The almost-butterflies no longer flew beside them. The tall grasses wilted and clung to the ground. Ponds grew into marshes and bogs. Trees grew gnarled and twisted and became dead hulks of lifeless wood. Stones melted into horrific shapes, as if creatures had been frozen into a rictus of intense pain, lined the pathway down into Bodach’s demesne. Each one reached out to grab at those passing by, forever frozen in time. The buzz of insects silenced into the bubbling of noxious gases from the swamps. Those foul gases filled the air with an intense miasma, making her choke and cover her mouth with her sleeve.
The tramp of thousands of feet, hooves, and claws drew toward the fortress, each face set in grim determination. Too many of those assembled had suffered at Bodach’s hands. Adhna remained, as Clíodhna had surmised, well-loved and his imprisonment became enough reason for most of them to march at her command, even if they hadn’t vowed loyalty. This assuaged her conscience that many of them might fall in her fight to save her lover. She battled with the selfishness of this clash, but she could do nothing else. Adhna remained her love and her light, her mentor, and her teacher. She would not betray him by leaving him in Bodach’s care any longer.
His fortress loomed in the distance, a black crag over a bare plain. Small jets of smoke emerged from small holes in the dirt, the smell of sulfur emerging from them. Cerul, riding beside her, wrinkled her nose at disgust and Clíodhna flashed her a half-smile. The beautiful, elegant Fae would be out of sorts in this horrid landscape. But she needed the Fae’s power over the light and darkness of Faerie to support her own weather magic.
Bodach’s troops surrounded his fortress like a dark ocean. They undulated in the half-light, growling and screeching, much like Sanna the marsh Fae had. He must have garnered many of the marsh Fae and the wild Fae, now she had banished their leaders to the mortal world. He must have been preparing for this eventuality for a long time. Perhaps he’d even encouraged the other Fae to revolt in the first place, which set into motion both Queen Áine’s death and her own rise to power.
But why would he want to place Clíodhna into power, only to challenge that power later? Grimnaugh had assured her a Consort couldn’t rule on his own without a Queen. He must have expected her to fall into line, a puppet to his desires, something to play with like a toy. When she’d remained firm in her own opinions, he’d decided she wouldn’t suit as much as he’d hoped, so he kidnapped Adhna.
No, Adhna had been missing even before the prior Queen died, or so Grimnaugh believed. Bodach had been playing a long game. Regardless, he would pay now.
Her troops formed a rough semi-circle around Bodach’s troops, and Grian’s troops stood on the other side, enclosing the area in an inescapable trap. Did Bodach know of Grian’s agreement ahead of time? She hoped that detail had escaped his intelligence. With the other Queen’s troops, they had the numeric advantage, but such things might count for naught if he had time to prepare for a siege.
Gabha had tried, over the course of their preparations, to outline the myriad of disasters that might befall them in this endeavor. They had no way of knowing how Bodach would fight back, react, or what weapons he had. They must engage to find out.
She stood in her saddle, surveying her War Chiefs, with Gabha in the lead. “We must rest before the battle. Take some time to eat, drink, and ensure your arms are in working order. If they do not attack first, let us make ourselves ready for the day ahead.”
Gabha nodded and passed the decision down to the troops. Clíodhna dismounted and massaged her buttocks. As much as she’d practiced, it had been some time since she’d ridden for so long, and her muscles made their displeasure clear. Cerul also dismounted and offered her some bread and cheese. She raised her eyebrows at the rare food.
Her friend chuckled. “I tricked a mortal into an ongoing exchange for bread, cheese, and honey. She only asked that I ensure her cow gave fresh milk through
