The Iron Sword (The Fae War Chronicles Book 1)

by Jocelyn Fox

  “—should be placed with the archers,” Emery finished. I felt a flush of pride, that I was included in the battle plan. Even though my archery skills weren’t quite up to Sidhe standards, I had been itching to experiment with taebramh-lit arrows. It would be interesting to see their affect on the creatures.

  A Sidhe I didn’t know personally sat between Emery and Donovan. He was the largest man I had ever seen, mortal or immortal; and only his rugged handsomeness saved him from being incredibly frightening. He was intimidating just because of his size anyway: he barely fit in the chairs that comfortably held the other Sidhe, and he wore a leathery vest that looked like it was made from an entire deer hide. A necklace of sharp, dagger-like teeth hung around his massive neck. As Emery spoke of me, he looked over at me as if seeing me for the first time.

  “So, the mortal blood is what I sensed,” he said with a heavy accent, almost something like Russian.

  Every gaze in the room settled on me, and I struggled not to flinch beneath their expectant weight. The giant Sidhe— man, I corrected myself, because I wasn’t entirely sure he was Sidhe at all—unfolded himself from his chair, standing by the table. Watching him stand was like watching a massive pine tree grow in the blink of an eye. His coal-dark eyes glittered as he appraised me.

  “She is not very big,” he said.

  Ramel drawled, “Well, Kavoryk, you cannot expect every woman to be a giantess like your wife.”

  I felt my eyes widen—what in the world was Ramel doing, offending a man as huge as Kavoryk? But to my surprise, Kavoryk’s black eyes sparked with amusement and he grinned, showing very large, white teeth. “True,” he said in his thick accent. “Very true, my friend. Not all women can be….” He searched for the word, and instead resorted to speaking with his hands, sketching the outline of a huge, feminine torso.

  “Blessed with size?” Ramel suggested, raising one eyebrow.

  Kavoryk let out a guffaw. “Yes, I like you even though you are small too,” he said between laughs, “because you know the words.”

  Ramel laughed. Emery and Donovan chuckled, and even Finnead smiled a little. After Kavoryk’s amusement faded, he considered me seriously again. Ramel’s attempt to divert his attention had failed.

  “But why should we trust her? I smell her mortal blood, and it is a smell that reminds me of death,” he said darkly.

  I straightened my shoulders even as I wondered why mortals reminded Kavoryk of death. This huge man could snap me in half like a twig, if he wanted. What could any mortal possibly do to him?

  “She possesses the taebramh,” Ramel said. “And she is trained in the bow and sword.”

  “One more able body to fight,” said one of the other men.

  “Or more of a hindrance than a help,” said another dismissively. “Women of our race fight well, but mortal women have seldom proven their worth in battle.”

  As I bristled at the harsh words, I instinctively sought the comfort of Gwyneth’s pendant. Just thinking about it, I could feel it warm against the delicate skin of my chest. And as the metal circle pulsed with power, I received a memory, faint and distant, faded like an old photograph just pulled out of the drawer—my heart leapt as the image clarified in my mind’s-eye, because at the center of the memory was my ancestress, a tall woman clad in tight black breeches and a belted white tunic, silver glittering at her wrists and throat and ears. Gwyneth stood at the center of a raging battle, her white shirt stained with black blood, wielding a decidedly ordinary sword. As she whirled in a movement of deadly grace, I glimpsed another sword-sheath, this one larger and broader, strapped to her back, the hilt visible below the nape of her neck. That well-beaten black sheath, I knew suddenly, was the sheath of the Iron Sword.

  As I watched, Gwyneth drove her sword through one of her attackers, a hideous troll-like creature with mottled green skin and matted gory hair. The creature howled its death-keen, face twisted in anguish, and blue fire ran down Gwyneth’s sword, flowing from her wrists and whipping around the throat of the creature. Acrid smoke rose from the creature’s body and it writhed, dropping to the ground in agony. She pulled her sword free, the blade slick with gore. And then she turned and looked directly at me—or whatever part of me was in her memory.

  “Let no one underestimate you,” she said in a language that was not my own, but somehow I understood her. Then another troll rushed at her and she turned, wielding her sword with deadly grace.

  I blinked and took a shuddering breath. It had all taken the blink of an eye—or less, because I heard the last part of the Sidhe’s statement again:

  “…seldom proven their worth in battle.”

  Finnead and Ramel did not respond, and their silence cut me deeper than words.

  Let no one underestimate you. I took heart in the image of Gwyneth, her golden hair shining as she dispatched a troll, her blade rippling with blue fire. She hadn’t even been using the Iron Sword to defeat those creatures, and I thought suddenly that it was going to be very hard to live up to her legacy, no matter what the Sidhe believed about her. I had seen her in action, and that was enough.

  Kavoryk motioned with one giant hand. “There are more here that have their misgivings about the mortal,” he rumbled.

  Finnead gave one grave nod, acknowledging his concern.

  “She is immune to the Weakness,” Ramel pointed out. “She can help heal.”

  “What good is she as a healer if she is the reason that our patrol is being ambushed in the first place?” a broad-shouldered archer asked succinctly. “The Enemy will attack all the harder once he knows that anyone with an ounce of mortal blood is being harbored here.”

  “Then he should have attacked harder when I arrived,” Ramel said acidly. The broad-shouldered archer looked at him unrepentantly.

  “So what do you propose be done with her?” Emery asked the archer in his cool manner. “Should we set her loose in the forest, defenseless?”

  “If she has the taebramh, she is not defenseless,” the archer pointed out.

  “She’s bound to the Queen,” Donovan said.

  “So is she here on the Queen’s orders?” someone asked.

  I cringed at the heavy silence that descended over the room.

  “I put no stock in your Queen’s orders,” said Kavoryk, “no disrespect meant, of course,” he added to Finnead, who watched him with cold blue eyes. “But if this she-mortal will cause more death, it would be simpler to let her fend for herself. It is no less than any other must do in this world.”

  “And you wonder why we call Northerners barbarians,” Ramel said, his eyes burning with barely contained anger.

  Kavoryk growled and made to stand, and Ramel put his white-knuckled hands on the arms of his chair. Finnead stood, and said in a hard voice, “Enough. We are knights and gentlemen, not cave-trolls brawling over a bone.”

  That seemed to shame even Kavoryk, who sat back in his chair.

  “In case you’ve forgotten,” Finnead said, addressing the whole room, “it was the lady’s Gladsidhe scouts that brought us the knowledge of the Enemy’s trap.”

  “The Glasidhe would help in any case,” said the archer dismissively.

  “We would not!” Flora burst out suddenly, springing from my shoulder to hang quivering and suspended in the air just in front of me. Her aura glowed and sparked with her anger. Before I could move, she landed on the table in front of the offending Sidhe, chest thrust out in fury and wings blazing with scarlet fire. “Just because you are bigger does not mean you are all-knowing,” she said fiercely. Her dagger flashed. “And the large feel the sting of a blade just as the small do.”

  “Peace, small one,” said Finnead, not unkindly. “No blades shall be raised against one another here. We have enough enemies to share between us.”

  Flora glanced at Finnead, then back at the
archer. Her scarlet aura faded to orange and she sheathed her dagger, giving a small bow to Finnead. “I apologize for interrupting your council, sir.”

  With that, Flora flew back to my shoulder with a stiff dignity, standing like a soldier at her post. The silence settled over the table again, with both Finnead and Ramel avoiding my gaze. I took a breath, knowing that it was my turn to defend myself. I had to show them that I was worth trusting. “You should trust me, or at least that I can hold my own in battle,” I said, “because I’m a descendant of Gwyneth.” I was about to add that I was a Walker as well, but the surprised murmurings of the gathered war-council rose enough to drown me out.

  Ramel stood and came swiftly to stand by my side, taking my arm. “You should have waited to make that particular announcement,” he said into my ear.

  I looked at him in confusion. “Why?”

  He looked down at me with a grim resignation in his eyes. “Because now they expect a hero.”

  I bristled a little, watching as Donovan tried to restore order. “And who says I can’t be a hero?” I retorted.

  Ramel shook his head. “Tess, it’s all well and good that you have Gwyneth’s blood in your veins, and you wear a trinket she left behind. But think, for once,” he said, his gaze burning into me. “There are some things that are better left unsaid.”

  “Oh, like the fact that you and I used to play in the blue rose garden when I was a child?” I asked acidly. “Things like that?” I nodded caustically. “I completely understand.”

  Ramel blinked at me, a wounded look surfacing in his eyes for an instant. I jerked my arm from his grip and turned to face Kavoryk. “If you doubt me,” I said, raising my voice so that it rang clearly over the murmurings, “then I have a challenge for you.”

  “Speak of this challenge,” Kavoryk said.

  I saw Vell at the door, eyeing Kavoryk and then me, her golden eyes wary. I turned my attention back to the giant man, squaring my shoulders.

  “I’ll beat you in a fight,” I said clearly. A stunned hush fell over the room. I spread my hands, smiling even though my stomach felt as if it had just been filled with ice-water. “Surely you aren’t afraid of such a small mortal.”

  Kavoryk shook his head. “I would kill you.”

  I shrugged. “Then wouldn’t that be because of my own stupidity? It would save Malravenar’s beasties the trouble later, too.” Then I tilted my chin, as if an idea had suddenly occurred to me. “Or, if you prefer not to fight me, a wager then.”

  Kavoryk loomed silently, waiting, his arms crossed over his massive chest.

  “I wager,” I said slowly, “that I can throw you across this room.”

  The giant shook his head and waved one huge hand at me dismissively. “Impossible.”

  “Then what harm can it do to accept the wager? If I cannot, then I will get back on my horse and ride back to Darkhill, or into the forest, whichever the council decides.” My heart came up into my throat as I said the words. “But if I succeed, then I fight, and you cannot question my loyalty or my mortal blood anymore.”

  “Someone get her saddle ready,” Kavoryk said dismissively.

  “Then you accept?” I asked.

  “It is your stupidity,” he replied indifferently.

  Gwyneth, don’t fail me now, I pleaded silently as I directed the huge man to an open spot beside the table. “Stand there, please.” I turned to the rest of the council. “Will you all act as witnesses?”

  “This is a childish dispute,” one of the Sidhe said. “We have greater matters to which we must attend.”

  “It is not childish assuring the loyalties of all our forces,” Emery pointed out coolly. “If Kavoryk questions the loyalty of the mortal, she has every right to prove herself in whatever way she chooses.” Behind his words, I heard the faintest tinge of suppressed amusement. So Emery understood what I was about to do. Sure enough, he winked at me and then folded his hands in his lap, watching impassively.

  “Very well,” said the dissenter.

  “Witnesses all, then,” confirmed Donovan. He was watching me intently—he hadn’t seen Ramel thrown across the room earlier.

  I turned my back to the watchers and untied the leather thong from around my neck, slipping the iron circle into my palm, hiding it from view. Kavoryk watched me, plainly unconcerned.

  “A handshake?” I said innocently, offering my hand.

  “No hard feelings when you are riding away,” said Kavoryk, not unkindly, gazing down at me with his coal-black eyes as he stepped forward and extended his hand.

  “No hard feelings when you’re sailing through the air,” I replied coolly, and pressed the circle to his palm. With my free hand, I pantomimed a throwing motion, and with that, the big man was airborne. My little mimicked toss gave the scene a very nice theatrical flair, in my opinion.

  Admittedly, I wasn’t able to throw Kavoryk across the entire room. But that was a minor detail that the witnesses forgave, as they saw a man three times my size lifted up halfway to the ceiling and tossed like a rag doll past the table. I winced a little when he landed with enough force to jolt the table. Someone hastily righted the candle that tipped over. I slipped the iron circle into my pocket, a rush of adrenaline singing through my veins. This must be what professional magicians felt like, I thought a little dizzily, except my magic was real.

  None of the Sidhe went to help Kavoryk up; they were too busy staring at me. I lifted my chin a bit and took a breath. “Any questions?” I asked sweetly. Emery coughed and Finnead hid his smile behind his hand. Donovan narrowed his eyes and shook his head at me, eyes dancing with suppressed mirth.

  “Well done, well done,” Flora said quietly and excitedly into my ear.

  “I do not believe there are any more doubts about the mortal?” Finnead asked in his smooth, authoritative voice. I heard my own heartbeat in the dead silence that followed his question. Kavoryk glanced at me, more confused than anything else, as he walked back toward the table. I stood my ground. He strode right up to me. I barely reached the middle of his chest.

  Then his massive hand descended on me, and before I could flinch he’d laid it on my shoulder, huge and warm. “This one I trust,” he announced. “And I will protect her power, from this moment on.” He looked down at me, and nodded, and stumped back to his chair, settling into it with no trace of embarrassment.

  I needed fresh air, so I caught Emery’s eye. He nodded slightly, and after the conversation resumed, I walked toward the door, where Vell still stood. She turned noiselessly and followed me into the other room, and out the door into the cool dusky air.

  “Impressive,” she said quietly. Beryk padded out of the shadows, pink tongue lolling between his teeth. He grinned at me, showing his white canines.

  “I know you have sharp teeth. Stop smiling at me like I’m Little Red Riding Hood,” I told him, taking a few more deep breaths of the refreshing air. Even though there was no way Beryk understood my reference, if he understood me at all, he only grinned the wider.

  “So you found the edge of the barrier? That was fast,” I said.

  “Beryk is the fastest wolf in all the North,” Vell said without any trace of arrogance.

  “How far?” I asked.

  “Not far enough,” she answered grimly. She glanced back toward the door with her honey-colored gaze. “No battle plan in all the world will save them.” This, too, she said with no conceit, no sarcasm, her voice even and firm. Looking at me, she said, “You could still escape, if you wanted. Iron won’t do anything to you.”

  I clenched my jaw. “I won’t do that to them. I can’t.”

  “Misplaced sense of honor. Lovely,” Vell muttered. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her loose, flowing trousers.

  “Are you thinking about leaving?” I asked. It occurred to me that I didn’t
know whether Vell was entirely Fae.

  “I have near enough Sidhe blood in me that I’d get horridly sick if I tried to cross, but I’d make it,” Vell said quietly, gazing into the distance. “I’ve half a mind to do it. What respect have they ever given me?” she asked angrily. “Anyone that isn’t purebred isn’t anyone to them at all.”

  I thought of Molly. “Unless they can do something useful.”

  “Unless they can do something useful,” Vell amended with a trace of bitterness. “I’m some kind of mutt, Tess. Got some maenad-blood, some Northwitch, and of course the wolf-kin.” Beryk pressed his head against her knee.

  “At least you don’t have any mortal blood,” I said light-heartedly.

  “That would really tip the scales,” Vell agreed darkly before she realized I was joking. I shrugged and smiled a little to show her I wasn’t offended. “Sorry. No harm meant, but that’s all I would need.”

  We stood silently and gazed into the deepening dusk.

  “Shouldn’t someone send a message back to Darkhill?” I said. “The Queen would surely send some help if she knew of Malravenar’s plan.”

  “Perhaps she would, and perhaps she would not,” Vell replied quietly. Beryk spotted a rabbit and he shot off into the growing darkness, merging with the shadows as he chased after his prey. “I put little stock in their Queen.”

  “If you’re part Sidhe, isn’t she your Queen as well?”

  “She sent us no help when the Dark One spread his shadow over the North.”

  I took a breath, pushing down the fear sinking its icy claws into my spine. “So what shall we do?”

  Vell shrugged. Beryk came trotting back through the long grass, the rabbit in his jaws, still kicking futilely. “We can hide in the barracks like frightened little creatures,” said Vell, taking the rabbit from the wolf carefully, its blood running over her hands as it kicked fitfully, marble eyes glassing over, “or we can stand and fight valiantly, though we stand little chance.” She snapped the rabbit’s neck in one quick, violent motion. Its legs stilled. “Either way, we will die.”