Chapter 40

40

A t sunset, they gathered about a small campfire, and Gwendolyn explained the request she'd made of Málik, as well as the potential consequences of using the Féth to conceal them—the most obvious being the expense of their magic and the loss of any advantage the Fae might have during the battle. Not that glorious orbs of fire would fly from their fingertips. Much to the contrary, despite their ability to summon Faerie flames, their magic was more subtle, lending itself more to strength and accuracy during battle. Without this, they were as vulnerable as any mortal.

"Let them save it for Locrinus," suggested Caradoc. "We will have no need for Fae-born mists in the fenlands."

They would travel through the northernmost reaches of Catuvellauni territory, he explained, and from there, straight into Iceni lands.

The hill fort Locrinus stole from him was far to the south, on the banks of the dark-flowing river for which he'd named his hill fort.

"If we keep to the coast, we will have no trouble from Loc's men. The worst we might encounter are the Iceni themselves."

He drew a map of the region, carving it deep into the sand, making his points, drawing the river that led to the Morimaru, the eastern sea.

"With no ships to guard, he'll have no interest here." He tapped his stick at the wide mouth of a river the Iceni had named Thama, a river flowing directly from Plowonida into the Morimaru. The Catuvellauni once held all territories from Plowonida to the coast, with the Iceni occupying the southern shores of the Wash—the wide mouth of the Thama, where it emptied into the Morimaru.

"Why did you never build a fleet?" Gwendolyn asked, only curious.

"For the same reason the Iceni will not. The Morimaru is a dead sea," he said. "Fishing is better within the river itself. That is why the Iceni hounded us eternally."

He poked at the far northern corner of the isle and said, "Any merchant ships that traverse this sea will travel north to Skerrabra."

He flicked Baugh, then Gwendolyn a glance. "Or to Cornwall. There are flint mines on our lands, but unlike the bounty from Cornwall's wheals, there is no demand for what we can provide."

He cast another pointed glance at Gwendolyn. "And then, to make matters worse, came the Trojans with their damnable alloy."

Gwendolyn cast Málik a glance.

There was a tinge of bitterness to Caradoc's tone, but Gwendolyn could not take offense. She understood well enough why the eastern tribes held Cornwall in contempt. The produce from their wheals was only one of many reasons—all things she intended to remedy once this battle was over. Whatever excess Cornwall produced, she would find some way to share it with these tribes. So long as she had breath, she would not allow this isle to succumb beneath another Red Tide.

"At any rate," he continued. "Those flood tides will have begun already and will continue through Calan Mai. Loc's lands will be boggy by now, and I warrant he has his hands full buttressing his Troia Nova ." He spat the words with no small measure of disgust, for these lands were stolen from him and his people.

Gwendolyn once promised him a new name for Plowonida—Lundinion after his fallen son. She intended to fulfill this promise or die trying.

As Caradoc continued, he marked potential weaknesses in Locrinus' stronghold, as well as the entrances to the fogous carved beneath the hill fort itself—of which, despite the sodden ground, there appeared to be many.

With every line he etched into the sand, Gwendolyn could too easily imagine their troops moving into formation, the swings of their swords, the cries of war, and her heart ached for the blood still to be shed.

Every one of these soldiers was someone's son.

Someone's husband or wife.

Someone's brother or sister.

Her gaze lifted to Málik, then to Bryn.

Bryn met her gaze and held it, the flame from the firelight casting a soft amber glow over his youthful features. But he was no longer that same boy she'd once followed about like a lost pup.

He was a man grown, prepared to put down his life for this cause.

And Esme… with the fire's flames dancing in her bright, green eyes. Gwendolyn longed to know better.

And Baugh…

So much had changed for Gwendolyn, and she had so much to live for—so much yet to learn.

Caradoc continued, bringing her back from her reverie, advising them now how best to fight in the bogs—how to avoid quagmires, how to use the land to their advantage.

"No doubt, he will have found the fogous ," he said. "He may send his women there, but if the battle goes poorly, he may retreat there as well."

Estrildis would hide there, no doubt, and Gwendolyn had a moment's odd consideration for the son she did not bring, relieved to know he would be safe in Loegria with his grandmother.

She still did not know what she would do with the boy, but as they continued to discuss the course of this battle, she knew beyond any doubt that she could not end an innocent child's life for the sins of his father.

"If Loc's attention remains on the hill fort—as mine so oft was—there is no way he's been able to spare enough men to keep the tunnels clear. But those tunnels will collapse without proper care."

"Can we seal them?" Baugh asked.

Gwendolyn shuddered, imagining Estrildis entombed within—and all her previous outrage over the woman's treatment of her turned to pity.

Caradoc lifted a shoulder. "It would not be worth our effort, but… if we do, we should wait till he retreats there with the women, and then seal them all within…"

"The white-livered fool is too fastidious to get his hands so filthy," scoffed Bryn. "I'd not count on him retreating into those fogous ."

Esme winked at him, then grinned, her porbeagle teeth on full display. "Dearling, you'd be surprised at what men would do when frightened. I've seen many a grown man piss himself only to glimpse my smile."

Bryn's cheeks flushed red, but no one else seemed to note the affection with which Esme delivered her rebuttal.

Gwendolyn did, and so did Málik, but Málik only lifted a silver brow at Gwendolyn. He had been silent this evening, leaving Gwendolyn to explain even those things he had told her about Fae magic—perhaps because he understood how important it was for her to establish her authority amongst these men.

Alas, there was no guarantee any of them would survive this battle with two thousand fewer men than Loc. They still needed the Iceni to bolster their numbers.

Gwendolyn gave Caradoc a pat on the back, and said, "So we follow the coastline till we reach the Wash, and from there, we travel south-southeast?"

Caradoc nodded. "To where the River Tas meets the River Yare. That is where we shall find the Iceni village." He peered up at Gwendolyn, then added, "And you should be the one who approaches. They've no love for Cornwall, or your father, but they will despise the Usurper all the more."

"I will accompany her," said Málik, his tone brooking no argument.

"Yes, of course you will," agreed Caradoc, giving him a toothy grin. "But do not worry, King of the Fae, they'll hear our queen's appeal, particularly once they note the support she has garnered. I have faith they will call their banners and join us." He was quiet a moment, then added. "Rest assured, if they refuse her, the Iceni chieftain will grant safe passage from his village. I know this man well enough to know he fights with honor—after all, it was not he who stole our lands," he said bitterly.

Gwendolyn nodded somberly, her thoughts drifting to her conversation with Locrinus on the night she'd first met him.

He had so gleefully, and without the least compunction boasted of his plans to seize Plowonida, and even then, she had known this would be a terrible mistake—one that would see him defeated if the gods allowed.

"The Druids should also accompany you," said Caradoc. "All of them. Amergin, as well. The Iceni have much respect for the Old Ways."

They would welcome Emrys and Lir before anyone, he explained, and Málik would lend credulity of the Fae's support.

"And don't forget your flaming sword," he said with some mockery, because, of course, he had never witnessed this for himself. He smirked then. "But leave Esme. She'll never further your cause."

Esme rolled her eyes, glaring at him. "Simply because I have injured your manful pride does not mean the Iceni will have skin so thin."

"Esme stays," Málik agreed, and Gwendolyn also nodded her agreement. She hitched her chin at Caradoc, then said to Esme, "I'll need you to keep this one on his best behavior."

"With pleasure," she allowed, crossing her arms, and she and Gwendolyn shared a private smile. This morning, they'd found the occasion to speak again, and Gwendolyn understood all the reasons Esme had done what she'd done. If she could forgive Málik and Bryn for their deceptions, she could forgive the sister who'd risked so much to protect her.

When all of this was over, Gwendolyn would welcome the opportunity to know Esme better, not as a sour-mouthed conspirator, but as a loving sister.

And, if Bryn survived, those two would be… interesting… together. The thought gave Gwendolyn a lift to her lips.

So that was that.

They retired early and rose before dawn.

And then, as Caradoc suggested, they skirted the coastline for two days… only to arrive and discover black plumes rising over the Iceni village.