“I’ll inform Lieutenant Walford as best I can,” said Effie. She stared off to where she’d last sensed the man. All Fey Craft relied on the presence of fey blood. The more collected in a single place, the stronger the effects became. With Jaelyn standing near her, Effie could cast out her senses almost thrice as far as she could alone.
But she could not speak directly through Fey Craft. Instead, she shaped images and vague impressions of smells and sounds. As a Grundbairn, the effort came naturally to her, more so than other fey.
She found the lieutenant not far from where she’d last sensed him. The impression she crafted was simple: an image of Tam Lorrie’s silent face and another of the grindylow. To these she added the image of an old plow horse plodding along a dull and lifeless road, its head bent, the flowers in the fields next to the road withered.
The lieutenant had no way of responding to her, nor she of knowing whether he was aware of or understood her sending.
Jaelyn took a final glance at the grindylow as she started back the way they’d come. Her footfalls fell without sound, picking a path through the muck and bracken toward the base of the hillock. Effie’s bones ached from the cold as she followed, but she was glad to leave the rotting stench of the creature behind. She held the cane under an arm and rubbed at her hands as she strode. Gwendoline took to the night air. Gareth stayed at her heels.
Gentle, his name meant. Effie thought it suited him well. Jaelyn had wanted to call him Mutton, proclaiming he had more akin to a roasted haunch of sheep than anything else. Effie had laughed at that. She hadn’t expected Gareth to stay with her long. He’d joined her in Glasgow at a time when a formal treaty between man and fey seemed all but lost. But they’d won a victory there and kept hope alive.
They’d won a victory at a high cost. Effie traced a finger along the grain of the cane that had belonged to Jack Canonbie. Memory of the churlish amusement that always seemed to sparkle in his eyes returned to her, and she lost herself in thought.
Ahead of her, Jaelyn’s soft tread scraped the dirt. The brownie tensed, halting their march, and cocked her head to the wind. Effie blinked and cleared her mind. She felt a host of fey appear at the fringe of her senses, just as a ball of fire erupted into the night sky, coming from the same location.
Effie gasped, not knowing whether to be frightened or relieved. The fey host had been full of foul creatures—trows, wulvers, and some other races she did not recognize. The blast had engulfed them. The blast had slain the enemy.
3
The explosion’s concussion boomed across the hills, echoing against the steep slopes. Gouts of smoke followed the distant flames. Grey wisps curled and danced on the wind. Some of the fey host winked from existence, yet Effie sensed a score remained. She had just the flicker of a moment to regard them before they too disappeared.
“I couldn’t tell what they were, other than foul,” she said.
“Aye,” said Jaelyn. “Except for a pair. Did ye feel them as well?”
Effie shook her head. She hadn’t. It had happened so fast. She caught Edgar glancing between them, but the man remained silent. He’d grown used to being left in the dark when it came to matters of Fey Craft.
She was about to inform him, but Jaelyn raised a hand and gestured for her to remain still. Just as she did, a sensation of dignity—like that of a proud stag atop a rise, gazing over the open land of his domain—washed over her. In her head, a horn blasted a long and tranquil note.
“Caledon,” said Jaelyn. “He calls from afar.”
Effie nodded. She recognized the steward of the Seily Court. The impression altered, and the stench of burning sulfur filled her nose. An image sprang to mind of two does racing not away from a fire but toward it. Effie almost laughed when she saw one had an owl perched on its back. As they raced, other deer appeared and joined them, until they formed a herd.
The impression ended abruptly, replaced by another. An oppressive weight pushed at her flesh. Her bones turned to lead. She could not move, not even wiggle her fingers. In front of her, a cloud of gas shimmered in prismatic colors.
Effie didn’t grasp the meaning of the oppressive weight, but the gas she recognized. Thought of its destruction filled her with cold dread. The fey matter held the Sidhe Bhreige imprisoned in the Downward Fields.
“Aerfenium,” she said. “It was Aerfenium that exploded.” Her throat tightened, and she had to force herself to remain calm. She needed a level head. Three caches of the fey matter had been destroyed when Sir Walter Conrad rediscovered the substance a few years earlier. Each destruction had freed one of the Sidhe Bhreige. But each destruction had also sent a ripple of searing pain into those with fey blood.
No such pain had come this time. Hope of what that meant bubbled inside, forcing back her fear.
Jaelyn’s expression turned pensive. “I don’t know what the thing means,” said the brownie, answering the unspoken question.
“Then we must find out,” Effie replied. She turned to Edgar. “Our night’s work is not yet done. The steward has need of us. He’s bade us to hurry to where that explosion occurred and join him. A host of fey creatures have destroyed a cache of Aerfenium.”
Edgar’s eyes widened. He turned to the remnants of smoke billowing over the hills. He sucked in a deep breath. “Aye, all right then.”
Effie expected Jaelyn to object, but the brownie trudged off without a word. Effie stamped her feet a few times to wake them from the cold, and followed. They cut a direct path. There was no need for stealth. Though the fey host hid their auras, they could undoubtedly sense Effie and Jaelyn’s approach.
As they stomped through fields of wind-blown grass and clambered over jagged outcrops of stone, Effie wondered if the grindylow had been part of the host. She assumed its aura would’ve been as foul as those she’d felt. Perhaps the creature had stalked them all along, rather than they it. The thought brought little comfort.
They rose gradually to a ridge. As they did, smoke filled Effie’s nose—charred wood and burnt grass blending with a hint of something acrid. A stand of pine trees ran along the ridgetop, with snow gathering in small drifts at their base. Jaelyn edged toward the trees and motioned for Effie and Edgar to hunker low and remain at her heels.
Gareth whined, nostrils twitching. His head rose to the wind. Effie reached out with her senses to soothe him. She wished he could tell her what else he sniffed, or better yet, from whence it came. Might as well wish for Gwendoline to pen her a letter. Fey Craft had its boundaries, despite its wonders.
She padded forward as softly as she could, peering through the trees. On the far side of the ridge, the land dropped steeply. Sharp crags were left bare where the higher ground had slipped into the ravine below. She pressed her palm against the rough bark of a pine. Her breath puffed in tiny clouds. Even in the twilight, it was not difficult to spy evidence of the explosion. Fresh churned earth formed a circle on the ravine floor. Shattered stone ringed the churned earth. Sprawled amid the stones were the bodies of a dozen fey creatures.
A few had large eyes and small, floppy ears, with ashen skin and heads overgrown for their wee bodies. Trows, Effie recognized. Those would stand no taller than Jaelyn. But some of the other creatures would cast shadows over Edgar. Thick around the waist and shoulders, they had flat noses and tusks protruding from the bottom rows of their teeth.