Effie’s flesh curled as she took in the largest of the fallen fey. Tattered wisps of hair clung to its bald head. Pale flesh hung loose about its frame. Sight of the thing conjured up memory of the rotting stench.
“Grindylow,” she said as quietly as she could.
“Fools.” Jaelyn spat the word. Effie caught where the brownie’s gaze fixed and sucked back a curse of her own. Coming through the ravine, almost in a straight line, were a dozen men. Each wore the bright red coat of a queen’s soldier. Bandoliers crossed their chests, clinking with every step. Muck covered their high, black boots. They held their rifles at the ready, though it appeared they had not yet seen the fey bodies. At their head, Effie recognized the stiff gait and neatly trimmed whiskers of Lieutenant Walford.
“How?” she asked. She could not sense their auras and had not felt their approach.
“Masked, the same as the host,” said Jaelyn. “By the host, I suspect. So we could nae sense them. So we could nae warn them.” The brownie snarled, revealing her snaggled teeth. “The trap be well set.”
Effie’s eyes widened. She rose and cried out. “Lieutenant!”
“There!” shouted Edgar, at the same time. He thrust a finger at a shadow below.
The fey that emerged from behind a boulder along the ravine floor stood a head taller than the lieutenant. His arms and shoulders looked as if he’d spent the better part of his days tending to a forge. Ginger hair covered his body like a pelt. His face reminded Effie of carvings of the Green Man, though with a ridged brow bent more toward fury than peace.
With a bellow, he waved a thick, basket-hilted sword high over his head. The fey host stepped from their hiding places along the ravine, a troop of creatures full of tusks and snouts, hairy pelts and sickly grey scales. They clutched rusted hooks and broken plows for weapons. Some howled, while others hissed, hopping about under the rising pale moonlight.
Lieutenant Walford barked, and a dozen rifles cracked. The reports echoed down the ravine. A pair of the fey dropped, and Effie thought she saw the large one flinch. But the host turned its frenzy into a charge, swarming the soldiers from all flanks.
Effie lofted her cane and scampered down the brae. Blood rushed in her ears. It almost drowned out the cries of the men below and the howls of the fey host. Jaelyn and Edgar’s footfalls thudded beside her.
Gwendoline screeched, swooping past Effie’s vision. The movement drew her attention to a pair of tusked fey. They’d emerged from a deep shadow at the base of a large moss-covered outcropping of stone. One wore a coat of seashells, the other a gentleman’s coat and trousers similar in style to Jaelyn’s. Both brandished rusted tools, a hook and a shearing blade.
The shells of the coat clacked together as the pair stormed toward Effie and her companions. Jaelyn reached them first. Her dirk swept through the night and clattered against the shells. Its wearer squealed and leapt aside. The other launched itself at the brownie.
Effie’s legs churned. She raised her cane, ready to lash out at the shell-encased fey, but a sharp hiss snapped her attention to the shadowy outcrop. A bolt of brilliant blue streaked from the darkness toward her. Its tail crackled as it met the cold night air, sparkling in a thousand tiny lights. Her boots skidded on the frigid ground as she struggled to dive from its path.
Edgar was less graceful. He slammed into her, knocking them both over and sending them tumbling down the brae. Effie’s knees crunched into rock and root. She flung out her hands and jarred to a halt.
The bolt sizzled as it streaked overhead. Effie blinked to clear away the spots left by the blinding light. She tried to fathom what it had been. But only one thought, as confusing as it was absurd, sprang to mind. She sat up in a stupor, rejecting the notion. Her palms burned from scrapes and her knees throbbed. She’d lost the cane and could only make out a flurry of shadows where Jaelyn fought.
Help her! She sent the message as best she could to Gareth and Gwendoline. She sensed the hound slink forward and heard the screech of the owl high above.
Edgar groped the turf around them. His hand came up with a muddied pistol. He peered up the slope and levelled it, only to curse and let his arm drop.
“I cannae see,” he said. Scrambling to his feet, he raced toward Jaelyn.
Effie pulled herself into a crouch. Below, chaos ruled. Grunts and cries rang out, but the rifles had fallen silent. The soldiers swung wildly at unseen foes, falling off balance and tripping over one another. A few ripped at their clothes, trying desperately to shed their coats, while others lay still.
The fey surrounded them, poking with their weapons but not engaging the soldiers directly. They were content to keep the men penned together. Trapped like hares, exhausting themselves until they collapsed, Effie realized with alarm. It had to be from glamours. The fey tricked the soldiers into seeing things that weren’t there.
She could not sense the Fey Craft, but she had no doubt of its use. Above, Gareth yelped. Jaelyn barked something at Edgar, and a pistol cracked. Effie scanned the outcrop but saw no movement. Whatever the bolt’s origin, it had not been a glamour. Something had fired the thing at her. Something in the shadows, no doubt with the power to do it again.
She bit her lip. Above or below. Her companions or the lieutenant’s men. She had not the time to aid them both, not unless she conjured a glamour of her own. Reaching out with her senses, she pulled in as much power as she could, wracking her mind all the while for an idea of what to craft. She needed something to scare off the fey host, something to free the soldiers from their madness.
The gathered fey blood provided a wealth of power. It mattered not friend or foe. All was available to her, and she drank it in. Her body lightened. Her head swam. A tingling ran through her limbs like a soft kiss of butterflies on her flesh.
She began to shape the glamour, but as she did a tall and lithe fey with high cheeks and almond eyes stepped next to her. He appeared in a blink, as if popping into existence from the thin air. Effie startled and lost her concentration.
Another fey appeared next to the first. This one she recognized. A dear friend and mentor, his hooked nose and rugged handsomeness stood in contrast to the first fey’s delicate features. Both held a regal bearing, and their fine dress possessed ornate scrollwork better suited for a city fete than a country brae.
“Caledon,” said Effie. She felt the power of the steward press against her. It dwarfed all she had gathered from the host.
The steward nodded to her in greeting. His eyes twinkled with mischief as he worked his Fey Craft, and she felt a warmth return to the night air. It came in a sudden pulse. The fey below howled. The soldiers flinched, snapping free from their confusion. They scurried to find their rifles and close their ranks. Glamours no longer befuddled them.
Caledon’s companion eyed Effie. His lip twitched, fighting not to curl into a sneer. “Remain here, Sithling,” he said. His voice was calm but sharp. He drew a long and slender blade from a scabbard at his waist. It had a hilt of silver and quillions shaped to resemble a pair of falcon heads. As he marched down the brae, he flung up his free hand, fingers stiff, in a gesture reminding her not to follow.
When his arm dropped, Effie felt the power of the gathered fey blood ripped from her. She was left empty and with a slack jaw. Though they fought the same enemy, it was clear he did not trust her to do anything but stand back and watch.