Day 9 of Midwinter, Sunset
Outskirts of Findrias, Emain Ablach
Annwn
“Faster!” Nemain screamed as we rode from the outer wall of the castle to where the line of Fae formed a blockade around the city.
I was mounted on a chestnut cob named Efa. She had dark brown stockings that melted into white boots on all four legs. And she could run! Even before we had bolted out of the main gates higher up in the city, she had tossed her head, as if in anticipation.
Nemain’s Fiacha flew in a wedge shape around us, with their blades drawn. Nemain rode her black and white mare in the lead. The horses wore only minimal tack, as we were going for speed.
The line of former Cloudfair citizens was coming up fast. It occurred to me that we were about to cut through and trample the line of admittedly dangerous fae. But was I prepared to just ride through them? The answer didn’t take long to come.
As the Fiacha began to position their blades for killing strikes and Nemain lowered herself in the saddle, I extended my hand and concentrated on my Control Energy boon. There was a pulse at the center of the crowd that knocked a huge gap in the line of people. Many of the fae tumbled outward in different directions, but I didn’t see any that were likely to have severe injuries.
Though a few of the Nemain’s fairies were briefly knocked out of formation from the blast, they quickly regained their flight path. Nemain and I pounded through the now-open countryside. The goddess looked over her shoulder at me with something that resembled the People’s Eyebrow. I just tilted my head to the side and continued riding.
There were fourteen of us in all, riding and flying like crazed banshees, though I would imagine the term “crazed banshees” probably took on a literal meaning in Annwn…something I didn’t want to think about too hard. Nemain didn’t slow for what seemed like an hour. We finally stopped to rest and water the horses.
My knees ached from the gallop, so after dismounting, I began to look at Efa’s stirrups, wondering if I should adjust them. The horse nuzzled against me in between drinks from the creek. While I appreciated her fondness, my shirt was quickly soaked on one side.
“She likes you,” came a voice from behind me. “But she thinks you ride like Fomorians dance the slip jig.”
I turned to find that Nemain had left her horse to check on me. “I’m guessing that is a bad thing?” Nemain didn’t smile, though she approached and helped me lower the stirrup. It appeared that even when joking, she wore the same stern expression.
“We are still a few hours out from our main camp. There, we have 600 swords waiting for us, with my sisters in command.”
“Were you really going to ride through those people?” I asked. I knew this was a hard right turn from what she was saying, but I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. It was true that they were blocking one of the sovereign lords of Cloudfair from leaving the city, but two weeks prior those people had been peaceful citizens living and working among them.
She stared at me for an uncomfortably long moment, before finally speaking. “Have you forgotten where you are?”
“What do you mean?”
“Morias is being held captive by Fomorians in a city that we are going to take back by force. He may be alive, or he may be dead. But one way or another tomorrow ends with blood on everyone’s hands… Blood from the end of a sword. I am that sword.”
“What does that have to do with the Fae from YOUR city?”
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“I don’t have the luxury of deciding when to be the sword. I would have thought you understood that by now.” She shook her head at me, then gave Efa a scratch behind the saddle.
I stared, shocked at her callousness. “And I would have thought, after years of being the sword, you would know the right time to use it.” Don’t get me wrong, I was still intimidated by her. But even though Nemain was probably the scariest person, other than Balor, that I had met in Annwn, something inside of me could not let that blockade line go.
“Right and wrong…” She let those words hang from her lips as if disgusted by them. “Don’t be naive, Bren. There is the law. And without the law, there is chaos. Perhaps your brother isn’t the only one in the family who values lawlessness.” She stalked away, leaving me beside Efa with my words stuck in my throat.
I wanted to say something snappy. I wanted to make Nemain see that running over her own people was wrong. But it seemed that her past and her role in this world as part of the triad war goddess had blinded her to the things my more peaceful upbringing highlighted.
We rode hard for another few hours and took minimal stops. Neither Nemain nor I made any attempt to continue our conversation, and when we arrived at camp, she went immediately to see Badb and Macha.
The forward camp was huge. I had envisioned a Civil War-style camp like I’d seen in the movie Glory, but as the troops weren’t planning to be here more than a few hours, they had foregone tents entirely. There was a clear line of lookouts around the perimeter made up of mostly changeling soldiers. A small contingent of Fiacha fluttered near Nemain, following her wherever she went. The others milled about with the other soldiers.
I headed with Efa to the makeshift stables, where some of the horses were being tended to after long hours on the road and others were grazing. A stablehand handed me a brush, and after removing Efa’s saddle, I began to brush her, the repetitive movement surprisingly soothing.
After some time, I thought I was getting the hang of grooming my horse. Every once in a while, Efa would turn her head and nudge me. I, of course, stopped what I was doing and gave her the affection she seemed to require. As I scratched the side of her head, something she seemed to particularly enjoy, I saw the stablehands nearby back away. When I heard a polite cough behind me, I knew someone from the council had come for me.
“Bren,” a feminine voice said quietly. “We have convened the war council if you would like to join us.”
I turned to find Macha standing with her hands crossed in front of her, looking not at all like she had traveled most of the afternoon. She had the same dark features that her sisters and mother had, but she was more delicate. What was she the goddess of again… fealty?
“Does Nemain still want me to come to your little powwow?” I said, with a large helping of misplaced snark.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what a powwow is, but we all feel it would be beneficial to have you present for our planning session.”
I said goodnight to Efa and followed Macha to a campfire that was fairly removed from the other soldiers. The rest of the camp was settling down for a short rest, and those who were not on patrol were already tucked into whatever constituted a bedroll in this world.
Badb, Macha, Nemain, and I sat on one side of the campfire and began to discuss what we knew of the state of Gorias.
“I am told the Fomorians have only taken the keep. The rest of the city is untouched,” Macha said.
“And the citizenry?” Nemain asked.
“There are reports of the citizens sieging the castle on behalf of Breo-Banríon,” Macha responded.
It appeared Macha had been briefed by the scouts before Nemain and I had arrived. Badb and I sat quietly, listening to the other two sisters talk for several minutes.
I watched Badb under the cover of darkness. The campfire’s flickering light was the only thing that could have given away my night-time voyeurism. Badb didn’t appear to have much to add to the conversation. She sat quietly, appearing deep in thought. It struck me that right now, she did not appear the all-knowing prognosticator of prognosticators that I had thought of her as.
As I thought that, her eyes flicked to mine and she spoke suddenly, cutting off her sister's mid-sentence. “If the citizenry has risen up to defend the castle, we should not take three companies into the city.”
Nemain and Macha looked surprised by Badb’s sudden declaration. Nemain was the first to speak. “What do you suggest, sister?”
“A party of nine shall make a party of ten.” Badb had a faraway look as she spoke. I glanced at the other women to judge their reactions. Nemain nodded, her eyes darting around the campsite. Badb continued, “The forgotten guardians will be your deliverance.”
Badb furrowed her brow at that, appearing to confuse even herself. Nemain continued looking around the camp, counting softly as she did. She sighed. “It seems a full frontal assault is out. ‘A party of nine…’ Normally, I would take five Fiacha with me. Bren will no doubt join us. That is seven. Badb and Macha must stay with the army.”
I nodded to Nemain. “Who are the other two?” I asked.
Before Nemain could answer, Macha gracefully moved from a seated position to a kneeling one. In her hand, she held an athame identical to the one Nemain carried. She looked at each of us in the dark and slowly dragged the blade down her palm.