It had been too long since she’d tasted honey. “Honey as well?”
Cerul cast her glance down to the ground. “I’m afraid I already ate the honey, my Queen. I’ll remember to save the next batch for you.”
She clapped her hand on Cerul’s shoulder. “Keep your honey, Cerul. You’ve more than earned the treat.”
When she judged the troops rested, Clíodhna turned to Grimnaugh and caught his eye. He saluted her and drew out the large triple-curved ram’s horn from the sling over his back. He held it to his lips and blew hard. The sound shot bright and clear across the plain. Her host raised their weapons in salute and celebration.
Though she didn’t see the details from the low hill she occupied with her honor guard, Clíodhna watched the troops moving below, like waves on the ocean moving back and forth in a wicked tide. The ebb and flow of those who had pledged their lives to her poured toward the enemy.
The front lines marched forward, their spear tips pointed to the enemy. Bodach’s troops responded with a growl. They shook their own spears in retaliation and defiance.
When the two lines met, the clash and crash of the weapons grated in her ears. She wanted to clap her hands to keep the sound of her own Fae dying out, but she mustn’t. Clíodhna owed it to them to hear their cries, to acknowledge their sacrifice for her and for Adhna.
The battle lines wiggled and bent, first toward the fortress, and then back to her. A contingent of mounted Fae made an incursion into the marsh Fae, but the bog-oak people flanked from the left and repelled the attack. Though the mounted Fae hacked the bog-oak limbs with abandon, the tree folk continued to stomp stolidly forward, tramping their enemies underfoot until a clever Fae set a torch to one’s branches. They retreated to regroup while the mounted knights advanced once again.
An ululating cry from the right caught Clíodhna’s attention, and a single marsh Fae ran for her, a bone sword held over his head. She froze, unsure what to do, but then fumbled for the bronze sword at her side. She considered trying to remount her horse, but it would take too long. Grimnaugh shouted and jumped in front of her, his only weapon the triple-curved horn. Cerul, however, was better armed, and sliced down on the marsh Fae with her elegant bronze blade. The attacker fell and sizzled into a puddle of black ichor.
With a curl of her lip, Cerul washed her blade until it shone, once again pristine. “I suggest you remain mounted, your Grace. That creature should never have gotten so close. You are safer there, and while you will be a more visible target, the lone attacker will have a more difficult path to you.”
Still staring at the oozing puddle, Clíodhna swallowed hard. Then she grabbed the saddle and pulled herself up, patting the sword once again in its sheath at her hip. She smiled in thanks to both Grimnaugh and Cerul before she assessed the battle below again.
Clíodhna glanced at the clouds Cerul had provided her and decided to add her contribution to the battle. She drew upon the font of power within the air of Faerie, though it seemed much diminished in this dead place. Clouds swirled and darkened into a thunderhead, and she pushed it toward his fortress, building the lightning within it.
The light dimmed further as it blocked out what little light burned in the ambient glow of the hills. Roiling clouds flashed and crashed as the first strike of lightning hit the tallest spire of the tower.
It crumbled into bits, and Clíodhna grinned in intense satisfaction. The falling stone crushed several of Bodach’s troops, as her own armies hadn’t yet advanced to that point, so she experienced no guilt as she prepared another volley of lightning. She lifted her hands, felt the power crackle through her skin and bones, and dropped her arms to bring the strike into the tower again.
A bellow of rage and anger drifted across the cacophony of battle. This made her grin even more widely.
She prepared a third strike.
Something shimmered to her left, between her troops and Grian’s. Clíodhna steadied her gaze to assess this new attack, or perhaps a side effect of her own hosts’ magic. A glowing fog grew along the edge of her army, curling around the dead bits of land like a man caressing his lover’s curves. Human-like Fae resolved out of the shining mist, but they looked confused and terrified.
“Grimnaugh! Who are those new soldiers there? Are they our troops or Grian’s? Or some trick of Bodach’s?”
He peered down into the mist. “I’m not sure, your Grace. I’ll find out from Gabha.” The frog-like Fae ran after the War Chief, and Clíodhna studied the new troops. She couldn’t make out many details, but one looked like he wielded a scythe. Others didn’t look armed at all. Their clothing looked more like what human farmers would wear, rather than lesser Fae.
When Gabha rode to her side, she knew what he would say. “Those aren’t our troops, my Queen. Nor are they of Grian’s or Bodach’s forces.”
“They’re humans, aren’t they?”
“Yes, my Queen, from what I can tell.”
“Why are they here? They’ll get horribly killed in this battle.”
He studied the newcomers, now forming a circle against the strange creatures around them. Their fear came clear in their posture and tentative swipes with the few weapons they had.
Grimnaugh pulled at his large ear. “This must have something to do with the midsummer veil growing thin. The sheer amount of power in this concentrated area must have ripped a doorway into the mortal world. These might just be hapless peasants from that side.”
“Sweet Danú, they must be terrified. Send a contingent of mounted Fae to protect
