by Jane Glatt
She recited the spell and the two of them disappeared from sight. “Keep a tight hold of Ronan’s hand. You might not find him if he wanders off. The spell should last until dawn.”
“I’ll stay with him,” Ronan said. “I can’t see Pater no more. Am I really invisible?”
“Looks like it,” Pater said. “Let’s go find yer ma, Ronan. Brenna, keep out of trouble, if ye can.”
Brenna heard the two of them walk away. With a sigh, she turned back to the camp. It was still shrouded in fog and she took a few moments to send messages to both Wils and Dasid telling them that she’d been successful. Now it was time to hide herself in plain sight.
She snuck back to Pater’s spot at the end of the line of men. This far north, just entering the mountains, the night was cool in the late summer. She wrapped Pater’s coat more tightly around her. Quietly, she clamped the shackle to her leg and lay down.
Brenna drew in a deep breath. She’d been thinking all day about how best to do this spell. In the end she simply pictured Pater in her mind, as he’d looked all day, and whispered her spell. She felt energy flow around her for a moment and then - nothing. There was nothing to view her reflection in so she had to trust that the spell had worked. She rolled over to try to get a few hours of sleep before she put her magic to the test.
Spelling herself to look like Pater hardly seemed necessary, Brenna thought as she trudged through the mud. It had started raining at first light, a cold rain that held the threat of snow. The prisoners were even more miserable and dejected than yesterday and the guards had barely looked them over. They did count them though, and Brenna was thankful that she’d been able to get Ronan away last night. What would have happened had they’d counted one extra child? Some of the older children looked around the wagons when the count was finished, perhaps trying to find the boy who’d been caught yesterday, but none of them said a word to their captors.
There were twenty men, twelve women and fourteen children spread amongst the two wagons. Many of them looked familiar to Brenna and there was one woman she was sure she’d seen a few times at Mistress Took’s laundry, but none that recognized as one of her old patients.
The wagons continued to climb towards the sharp peaks of the Godswall and Brenna needed all her energy just to keep putting one foot in front of the other on the slippery trail. At times a wagon would get stuck in the mud or caught against a rock and the line of men, including her, would be shoved ahead to push the wagon free. Pater would not have been able to manage such a strenuous task and Brenna tried not to think about what would have happened to him if he’d still been chained up.
The men around her were silent, each in their own pocket of misery. Brenna remained silent too – she didn’t think she could disguise her voice.
She tried to watch the guards, hoping to pass along their routines to Dasid, but the treacherous footing meant she had to keep her eyes on her own feet most of the time.
By mid afternoon all the prisoners, even the children, were covered in mud and the guards were cursing loudly and often.
Each time a wagon was stuck on the mud-filled track the children had been unloaded from under the tarps – finally the guard in charge decided that having the children travel on foot would be no slower than continually putting them on and off the wagons. Brenna saw the hope and relief as the smallest children were handed to the women. The men trudged past them to push and pull the wagons up a steep incline.
If she could make sure that the children were not in the wagons when Dasid’s men arrived it would be so much easier to keep them safe. Brenna peered up at the drizzle and then around at the muddy slope. She smiled as she remembered one particular lesson with Mistress Utley.
“Kane.” Brenna reached out through the old steel and until she found him. “Kane, can you talk?”
“Brenna, thank the gods. You were supposed to contact me last night.”
Despite the wet ground and rapidly cooling air, she felt a surge of warmth from him.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I ran out of time.”
“Brenna.” Kane paused. “What are you doing? Have you done something that’s put you at risk?”
“A necessary risk,” Brenna said. “The wagons were on a different route and Wils, Neemah and I came across them before Dasid.”
“And you didn’t wait for them,” Kane said.
“They caught Ronan,” Brenna said. “And Pater was with them. I couldn’t leave them.”
Kane was silent for a minute and Brenna huddled into her borrowed coat. She could feel his worry and disappointment.
“And what is that you did?”
“I got Pater and Ronan out safely and then took Pater’s place,” Brenna said. “Using magic.”
“You took Pater’s place in a slave train?” Kane asked. “Are you safe?”
“I’m safe,” Brenna said. “Dasid agreed with this plan.”
“Did he?” Kane asked.
She felt his anger subside a little but he was afraid for her and she felt a pang of guilt.
“He did,” Brenna replied.
“All right,” Kane said. “When will Dasid and his men be there?”
“Another day, maybe a day and a half,” Brenna replied.
“Be careful, Brenna,” he said. “Don’t do anything to attract attention. Let Dasid and his men do any fighting. Don’t try to use your knife in a fight – not unless you need to defend yourself. And even then make sure you call for help. You cannot win against a trained swordsman.”
“I know,” Brenna said. “All I want to do is help those people.”
“But you are far too important to risk.”
“The precious prophecy.”
“To me,” Kane replied gently. “I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you, especially with you so far away.” Kane ended their discussion, leaving Brenna to try to catch her breath.
She knew she was important to him, knew he cared for her, loved her, but she’d never before really thought about what it would do to him if she died. Kane had never talked about it but she’d overheard talk that he’d gone berserk when she’d been taken by Thorold’s men. Even Dasid had been careful around him after she’d been rescued. Kane had killed over a dozen men trying to get to her. She shuddered. If she couldn’t take better care for her sake, she should do it for his.
She contacted Dasid. He expected to intercept them the next afternoon. Dasid outlined a plan to capture the wagons and after a few suggestions from Brenna, they agreed on how to proceed. When Dasid suggested she draw some power from him, Brenna hesitated.
“You have a lot of magic to do tomorrow,” Dasid said. “You need to be at full strength.”
“Yes, but so will you.”
“Then contact Gaskain,” Dasid said. “From what you’ve said his new sword is the strongest old steel for you, besides mine. And he’s sleeping in a soft bed - he won’t even notice.”
“I’d feel strange simply waking him up to take his energy.”
“Do it. He’ll be happy to serve. Besides,” Dasid said. “He and I spoke about it a few times while the weapons were being forged - he’s expecting it.”
“All right.” Brenna severed the contact with Dasid and before she could lose her nerve, found the bright beacon of Gaskain’s old steel sword.
He was awake and agreed to her request without any explanation. The connection between her and his sword was so new and solid that as soon as she thought about drawing some of his strength to her, it was done. Once she felt rejuvenated, she stopped.
“Brenna,” Gaskain said. “Take as much from me as you need. Tomorrow I’ll keep my sword close by in case you need more energy. There’s no need for you to ask first.”
“I couldn’t do that.” Brenna was horrified at the thought. How could he expect her to simply reach out and rip his energy from him? She couldn’t, she wouldn’t.
“You can.” Gaskain was firm. “You’ll be in a fight and won’t have time for niceties. I do n
ot want to live with the thought that you could have saved yourself or someone else with my strength and didn’t because you were too polite. I’ll gladly serve you in any way I can. So I’ve sworn to you as my queen.”
Reluctantly she agreed though it didn’t feel right.
Lastly Brenna contacted Wils with instructions for his role in the next day’s clash. Her responsibilities complete, she finally closed her eyes and tried to sleep. She’d done what she could tonight.
She went over again Mistress Utley’s lessons on weather. In the spring, it had been a simple thing to coax rain to fall where she wanted it. She hoped tomorrow’s task wouldn’t be any more difficult.
ten
Brenna squinted trying to see through the fog.
“To your left, Brenna, right behind the large stand of spruce,” Dasid said through old steel. His voice was so clear that she looked around to see if anyone else had heard him. She followed the ghostly shapes of the men she was chained to as they trudged forward. Gently, carefully, she gathered the tendrils of fog behind them and nudged them towards the trees to her left. She heard a grunt of satisfaction from Dasid and knew she’d provided his men with enough cover.
Dasid and his men had caught up to the wagons one hour ago. They’d sent a scout ahead to find a spot to ambush the wagons and were now waiting for him to return.
Brenna quickened her pace hoping the line of men opened up more distance between them and the women and children, who trailed the group. Dasid wanted the prisoners split – that would also split the guards.
“We’ve taken the rearguard,” Dasid said a few moments later.
Brenna breathed a sigh of relief. Eight guards left, along with the three drivers.
“Two of my men are changing into their gear. Will the women come quietly do you think?”
Brenna looked over her shoulder at the huddle of women and children struggling up the slope. “I think they’re so tired they’ll do anything,” she said. “But there are another three guards with them.”
“Thicken the fog between you and the women and children. I’ll let you know when we have them.”
Brenna concentrated, drawing the fog in behind her. Ears straining, she thought she heard the rattle of weapons and a muffled shout. The guard on her right stopped and turned, his eyes scanning the trail behind. Brenna saw a shadowy guard in brown step out of the fog for a moment. The guard beside her, satisfied that all was well, turned back up the slope. Brenna, still staring back down the trail, saw a flash of grey beneath the brown and nodded as the guard behind her finished buttoning his jacket.
“We’ve got them,” Dasid said. “Does anyone suspect?”
“No. I’ll keep the fog dense,” Brenna said. “And let Wils know. He can’t be too far down slope. Last I checked he was about half an hour behind.”
“Tell him we’ll leave two men behind with the women and children,” Dasid said. “He’s to send my men back to me as soon as possible.”
When, half an hour later, Wils let her know that the women and children were safe with him, Brenna was so relieved she almost stumbled. She said a quick prayer for the rest of the plan to go as smoothly.
The scout had selected a section of trail just over the next ridge for the ambush and Dasid had taken ten men ahead to set the trap. Dasid sent a quick message when he was in place and ready. Brenna forced herself to breath slow and steady - she had to be ready when Dasid gave her his final signal.
She scanned the ridge, concentrating on the details Dasid and given her. Grateful for the power she’d drawn from Gaskain, she started to gather up all of the fog from the surrounding area. In moments she’d wrapped fog around the little band of three wagons and the string of forlorn men walking behind them.
“It’s time Brenna,” Dasid signaled.
Brenna’s her heart stuttered nervously. Focused, she recited the spell she’d been working on since dawn. She harnessed a gust of wind and sent the fog and rain clouds skidding away. It took a few moments for the prisoners to realize that the wagons had stopped moving. When Brenna looked ahead, she grinned.
“Stop.” Dasid’s voice rang out loudly. “You will hand these prisoners over to us and surrender. You are greatly outnumbered.” Dasid stood, his sword pointed at the driver of the wagon closest to him. Behind him, fifty men dressed in the grey uniforms of her militia stood where the trail narrowed between rocks. Other armed men stepped forward until each wagon driver and guard was at the end of a sword.
“Don’t expect any help from behind you,” Dasid said. Brenna saw the leader of the wagon guards swivel his head back along the trail they’d just traveled. Another large group of men in grey stood shoulder to shoulder along the path. Brenna smiled and the image wavered. She sucked in a breath and concentrated on making the soldiers look solid and real.
Without a fight, the wagon guards dropped their weapons. Dasid’s men tied them together and looped the rope to the first wagon. Brenna dropped her disguise and sighed as she let all her magic slip away. The freed prisoners looked at her in surprise and the wagon guards faces went from shock to anger.
“What witchery is this?” one asked.
“Real witchery,” Brenna said. She walked past the line of men still chained together until she reached Dasid and the leader of the wagon guards. “Used to help people.” The man spat at her feet and Brenna shook her head.
“Grieve here is in charge.” Brenna nodded to the man. “Not very friendly, is he?”
“We don’t need him to be,” Dasid said, eyeing him. “We just need to know what he knows.” He turned to her and winked. “You can get that for us, can’t you? I’m not especially worried if he’s simple when you’re done rooting around in his mind.”
Grieve looked from Dasid’s stern face to hers. “Duke Thorold ain’t payin’ me enough to deal with a witch,” he said slowly. “Nor to lose my wits over one. I’ll tell ye what ye want.”
“You said that Duke Thorold hired you,” Brenna said. She and Dasid had moved Grieve away from the rest of his men and now she sat on a damp log, her boots off and her aching feet bare despite the coolness of the breeze. “I thought this was the church’s mission.”
“Church don’t want folks leaving Kingsreach,” Grieve said. “That High Bishop, he’d like to have a chance with ‘em first.”
“You don’t like the High Bishop?” she asked.
“Like him, don’t like him, I just stays out of his way,” the prisoner said. “That’s one reason why I work for Duke Thorold. The High Bishop won’t be able to have at me or my men if we’re the duke’s.”
“He certainly won’t have at you now,” Dasid said. “Where exactly is it you’re taking these good citizens of Kingsreach?”
“Good citizens?” Grieve laughed. “These folks are from Thieves Quarter. And they’re better of out of Kingsreach if you ask me.”
“I’d watch what I said if I were you.” Dasid’s voice was low and hard. “You were dragging a friend of ours behind your wagon and if anything had happened to him, I’d be a lot less reasonable right now.”
Brenna’s own anger subsided when Grieve gulped and looked away from Dasid.
“So you’re doing them a favor,” she said. “Why not simply let them go once you leave the city instead of splitting husbands from wives and children from mothers?”
“The pay was good.” Grieve shrugged his shoulders. “Half when we left and another half due when we got to the mines.”
“What about Langemore?” Brenna asked. “What did you get to deliver slaves to King Mannel?”
Grieve laughed. “King Mannel,” he said. “I’m not even sure he wants them. I took one group over the mountains to meet up with the trader ships, that’s all. And they seemed mighty surprised to be getting’ them, I can tell you.”
“What?” Brenna said before she could stop herself. She looked wide-eyed at Dasid. If Mannel didn’t want them then why were they being sent to him?
“You don’t think Mannel has requested thes
e slaves?” Dasid asked.
“Hmph. Like I said, they seem surprised like,” Grieve said. “But they took ‘em all the same. Me, I would’ve left them on the coast to fend fer themselves and I told the captain of the ship that. Lots of game and fish round there and I wasn’t gonna take them all the way back over the mountains. Asides, these were the ones the mines already rejected.”
Brenna felt sick. “Those men would have no idea how to fend for themselves,” she sent to Dasid. “Especially with winter coming. They’re city folk.”
Dasid’s mouth tightened and he nodded. “The captain of the ship knew that leaving them there would mean their deaths. I think he took them on board to save their lives.”
Brenna stood, suddenly feeling very tired. “I’ll see if Wils has arrived yet,” she said out loud. “I’m sure Neemah can use an extra pair of hands.”
Brenna added a pinch more witch hazel bark into the mortar and quickly crushed it, combining it with the paste already there. Neemah had already organized the women and children, taking care of the worst of their injuries and now she was checking over the men. While she did that Brenna was making a salve to soothe minor scrapes and chapped skin.
“Let me know if you need any help, lass.” Brenna looked up to see Pater peering down at her, his left foot wrapped with what looked like a piece of her jacket.
“That was my second best jacket,” she said. She stood and hugged him close.
“Sorry bout that.” Pater grinned at her. “Do you want it back?”
“No thanks. But I am surprised Neemah didn’t use some of the supplies from the wagon.” Brenna picked the mortar back up and scooped the salve out of it onto a small dish. “We brought lots of cloths for bandages and compresses.”
