by M. J. Putney
The cloud was a mixed blessing. The soldiers couldn’t see the girls, but the girls had to move more slowly since they couldn’t see their footing. Tory tripped and almost fell more than once. It was a relief to cross the line of march and start climbing the hill on the opposite side of the narrow valley.
The hillside was even steeper than Tory had realized, and scrambling up toward their meeting place took all her concentration. She swore to herself when they reached the final stretch, which was an almost vertical bluff.
She paused to catch her breath and glanced down at the French troops. Then she wished she hadn’t looked, because the drop below was dizzyingly long and steep. But they were now so high that it was unlikely any of the enemy would notice them.
She turned back to the hill and cautiously started to climb. The bluff was a mix of vegetation and rock. While there were plenty of hand- and footholds, the surface was unstable. Once she almost fell when a foothold broke away under her weight and she barely managed to find a new hold. Even though she could float, the near accident made her heart race.
Tory resumed climbing. Cynthia was above and to her right, Elspeth lower and to the left. Cynthia reached the top and pulled herself onto level ground. “I did not expect mountain climbing,” she muttered in a voice that carried to the girls below.
Tory grinned. What would they do without Cynthia, who spoke aloud what Tory and Elspeth were too polite, or too inhibited, to say?
Tory reached the top and hauled herself over, gratefully accepting the hand Cynthia offered. “I’m really, really glad I’m wearing trousers,” she gasped as she folded onto the grass at the top of the bluff.
“At least we get a rest now.” Cynthia leaned over the edge to offer a hand to Elspeth, who was nearing the top.
“The things I do for England,” Elspeth said wryly as she reached for Cynthia.
Their hands almost met. Then the earth crumbled away under Elspeth. She gasped and scrambled for better footing, but without success. She lost her grip and pitched down into darkness with a bone-chilling cry.
Tory and Cynthia watched with horror as their friend fell, slid, banged, and rolled down the bluff and most of the hill below. Her fall ended when she came to rest in a motionless heap against a tree, almost invisible from their height. It had happened so quickly that Tory had no chance of flying to catch her.
A French voice called to his fellows that there was someone or something just up the hill. Two men broke away from the column and started hiking up to investigate.
“Dear God!” Cynthia cried, pressing her hands to her mouth.
Tory dumped her bag and leaped to her feet. “I’m going after her,” she said, uttering a silent prayer that Elspeth hadn’t been killed in the fall. Why, oh why hadn’t Tory stayed lower than her friends so she could catch anyone who slipped? “Cynthia, conjure some mist around where Elspeth is lying!”
Not waiting for a response, Tory dived off the bluff into the darkness to rescue her friend.
CHAPTER 11
As she fell with terrifying speed, Tory reached for her magic and the inner “click” that triggered her floating ability. It was taking too long, too long, too long …
Click! She stopped falling just in time, gliding into a hover no more than a yard above the ground. Heart hammering, she moved the dozen feet to where Elspeth was lying crumpled against a tree. The two French soldiers were stamping toward them, complaining about how the squadron hadn’t been able to land in Bristol because of the dangerous currents around the city, so they were stuck in this wilderness.
Not even checking if Elspeth was alive, Tory slid her arms under her friend, then swore when she realized she wasn’t strong enough to lift a weight equal to her own. She reached for magic again and managed to get to her feet with Elspeth in her arms.
Glancing up, she wondered if she had the strength to carry Elspeth up the whole height of the hill. The last time she’d rescued someone, they’d been going down, not up.
One of the soldiers exclaimed, “Sacre bleu, Pierre, it’s two little girls!”
She’d run out of time. Tory reached out to Allarde to draw some of his power to her. He was startled but instantly sent magic through the bond that connected them.
As Tory gathered herself for the flight upward, mist began rising from the ground. Thick mist, so dense that Tory couldn’t even see Elspeth’s face. Mist so sudden that the French soldiers swore in surprise.
Giving thanks, Tory rose smoothly upward, Elspeth a limp weight in her arms. For the whole time they were in the air, her shoulders were tensed as she half expected musket balls to slam into her spine.
She almost wept with relief when they were safely over the edge of the bluff. There were no shots or shouts to suggest that they’d been seen.
Tory stumbled with fatigue and folded to her knees when she landed. She barely managed to lower Elspeth to the grass without dropping her.
“How badly is she hurt?” Cynthia said as she knelt on Elspeth’s other side.
“I don’t know. But before I forget, that was a good job on the mist. Otherwise they would have had us.”
Cynthia gave an awkward nod. She wasn’t good at accepting compliments, so Tory made a point of giving them when earned.
Almost afraid to learn the truth, Tory lifted Elspeth’s limp wrist and searched for a pulse. Nothing, nothing …
She shifted her hold, then exhaled with relief when she found a steady beat. “Thank God! She’s alive and her pulse is strong. Can you give me a mage light and remove her illusion spell? I need to examine her and the illusion is confusing.”
With a snap of Cynthia’s fingers, Elspeth’s illusion of dull hair and gown vanished, leaving her pale, dressed as a boy, and looking very young. After removing the illusion, Cynthia tugged off Elspeth’s carrier bag, which had been slung around her torso so it survived the fall. Then she formed a mage light in the palm of her left hand.
The light revealed masses of bruises and abrasions on Elspeth’s face and hands. Her hat was long gone and blood stained her pale blond hair.
Praying that common sense would compensate for the fact that Tory had only modest healing ability, she began her examination with Elspeth’s skull. “She’s going to have the devil of a headache, but the cut on her head is shallow and there doesn’t seem to be a major injury. I’ll see if I can stop the bleeding of her scalp.”
She managed to halt the blood but didn’t try to close the wound, which needed to be cleaned first. With the bleeding stopped, Tory gently skimmed her hands over Elspeth’s limbs and torso. A broken bone might be noticeable, but she would be no use diagnosing internal injuries unless pressure caused enough pain for Elspeth to react.
Elspeth shifted a little under Tory’s exploring hands, but there were no signs of pain until Tory touched her left ankle. Elspeth whimpered and pulled her leg away.
Not touching the ankle again, Tory asked, “Elspeth, can you understand me?”
Her friend’s pale green eyes opened. She seemed disoriented, but after blinking several times, she whispered, “What happened?”
“You fell off a cliff,” Tory answered. “You were almost at the top when the soil crumbled away.”
“Glad it wasn’t my own clumsiness.” Elspeth touched the wound on her head and winced again. “How did I get up here?”
“I brought you.” Since Elspeth was their best healer, Tory continued, “Can you tell how badly you’re hurt?”
Frowning, the other girl moved her limbs and fingers, smothering a cry when she moved her left foot. “I’m in better shape than I deserve to be except for my ankle,” she gasped. “I think it’s broken.”
“Can you fix a broken bone with your healing power?”
“Healers aren’t usually very good at fixing themselves.” Elspeth tried moving her ankle again and bit her lip to smother a cry of pain. “I need a bonesetter. If the bones aren’t straight when they’re healed, they’ll never be right again.”
Cynthia dug ou
t her canteen of water and wet a folded handkerchief. As she gently cleaned the scraped skin and grass stains on Elspeth’s face, she asked, “Can you reduce the pain, or should Tory and I do that?”
“Please.” Elspeth closed her eyes, her face white. “I’m having trouble focusing to do anything for myself.”
Tory laid one hand on Elspeth’s knee above the injury and used the other to take Cynthia’s hand. As she sent white light to block the pain, Elspeth’s expression eased.
When they finished, Tory said, “Now that your ankle isn’t hurting, I’ll bind it so it won’t get worse.”
Elspeth nodded, so Tory dug into her bag and pulled out her only spare shift. Oh, well, Elspeth’s need was greater. After tearing the muslin garment into wide strips, she wrapped the fabric around the injured ankle.
Just as she finished, Allarde and Jack arrived, looking worried. “What happened?” Allarde demanded. “You drew a lot of power fast, and that’s never good.”
“Elspeth fell down the mountain. She isn’t too badly hurt, but her left ankle might be broken,” Tory replied. “She can’t walk.”
Allarde looked over the edge of the bluff, his expression appalled when he saw how far a fall would be. “Thank heaven she’s alive! Jack and I can carry her since she’s just a little bit of a thing.”
Elspeth’s eyes opened. “I am no one’s little bit,” she said tartly.
Allarde squeezed her hand. “You’ve just proved that you’re not badly hurt, little cousin. Are we ready to head on and hope to find the Blakesleys at home?”
Tory got to her feet, brushing off her trousers. “The sooner we tell the local authorities about the invasion, the better. Did you discover any weak spots during your scouting expedition?”
Jack shook his head. “Nothing obvious. The other side of that crag is really steep. No one is getting in that way. Except possibly you, Tory.”
“Let’s come up with a better plan than me floating into the middle of a French army encampment,” Tory said dryly. “The fact that I can get inside doesn’t mean I can do anything useful when I get there.”
Jack said, “Allarde, I’ll take Elspeth for the first shift if you take my knapsack.”
Allarde added Jack’s knapsack to his own. “How far is the Blakesley house?”
Jack closed his eyes as he thought. “Maybe two miles. We should be able to reach there before dawn.” He bent and gently lifted Elspeth. As she put her arms around his neck, he asked, “Are you comfortable this way, Elspeth?”
She gave a lopsided smile. “I’m rather enjoying it.”
Cynthia said caustically, “Just don’t either of you enjoy it too much!”
Jack laughed. “I wouldn’t dare, Cinders. Now onward!”
* * *
After another stiff hike up and down rugged hills, Jack led the Irregulars to a substantial stone manor house. The grounds were well kept, but no lights showed inside, not surprising given that it was well after midnight. “I hope someone is home,” Allarde muttered. He’d been carrying Elspeth, but he transferred her back to Jack. “And I hope I can convince whoever is here that Blakesley Major and I were schoolmates at Eton.”
“What’s his first name?” Tory asked.
Allarde shrugged. “I have no idea. He was Blakesley Major, his younger brother was Blakesley Minor. If there were more brothers, they’d be Maximus and Minimus.”
“Boys are just weird,” Cynthia said flatly.
“And girls aren’t?” Jack asked as he adjusted a sleeping Elspeth in his arms.
Cynthia didn’t deign to reply, though she touched Elspeth’s shoulder to send a little more painkilling magic. They’d taken turns treating Elspeth so that the broken ankle wouldn’t hurt too much from all the jostling.
Tory thought ruefully how much they relied on Elspeth for their healing. Now that she was the one injured, they couldn’t do much for her.
They reached the front of the house, so Allarde led the way up the front steps of the portico, Tory beside him. He wielded the door knocker.
No answer. Not surprising at a time when all sensible people were asleep.
Allarde knocked again. The sound boomed hollowly inside the house, but again there was no response. “Do you think I should shout, ‘The French have invaded’?”
“That will probably work better if it’s shouted inside.” Tory put her hands over the lock and used her magic to unlock the mechanism of the door. It was a trick she’d learned from Allarde.
“Let’s hope no one inside is armed with a shotgun,” Allarde muttered as he opened the door. “Stay behind me, Tory.”
She obeyed, not only because he was large enough to be an effective shield, but because he had the ability to deflect bullets by magic. Very useful in a war zone.
Allarde stepped inside and created a mage light that revealed a paneled entry hall with a carved wooden staircase descending on the right side. “General Blakesley?” he called. “General Blakesley, raise the local militia! The French have landed!”
A voice snarled, “Who the devil are you, and what are you doing in my house? Hands up or we’ll blow you to hell!”
Despite Allarde’s protective magic, Tory’s heart jumped into her throat as she saw two men descending the staircase with shotguns in their hands. Both were half-dressed, but their expressions were deadly serious. She raised her hands and tried not to look terrified.
Allarde also raised his hands, but his voice was calm. “It’s an old schoolmate. Assuming you’re still willing to acknowledge a mageling, Blakesley Major?”
The young man in the lead lowered his weapon, his expression shocked. He was brown-haired, with a tough, wiry build, and he looked to be about twenty. “Allarde? What brings you to Wales? I thought you’d still be at Lackland Abbey.”
“Usually I am.” Allarde lowered his hands, so Tory did the same. “I’m here with four other Lackland students because we learned the French were invading. Can my friends come in? We’ve had a hard trek tonight.”
“Of course, of course.” Blakesley descended, his companion at his heels. They both had a military look, Tory decided.
Jack entered the hall carrying Elspeth, with Cynthia bringing up the rear. Blakesley’s jaw dropped when he saw Cynthia. She no longer used illusion magic to cover the thin scar on her cheek, but even so, she was a diamond of the first water who could have brought London society to its knees if she’d made her debut. In her tight trousers, she was a sight to behold.
“I’m Bran Blakesley,” he said. “And you are…”
Cynthia and Jack might be bonded like magnets, but she was enough of a flirt to bat her eyelashes and give Blakesley a fetching smile. “I’m Lady Cynthia Stanton, and I’m so very pleased to meet you.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Do you have a sofa where I can lay Lady Elspeth down?” he asked. “Even a sprite starts feeling heavy after a mile or two. She needs a bonesetter.”
“This way to the drawing room.” Blakesley opened the door on the right. “My batman here, Sergeant Williams, can send for the bonesetter.” The man behind him nodded and left the hall. Blakesley glanced around at his guests. “And you all are…?”
Allarde performed swift introductions as they moved into the drawing room, using the girls’ titles and introducing Jack as the most powerful weather mage in Britain. Blakesley looked impressed, which was the point. Allarde ended by asking, “How is your younger brother doing?”
“He left Eton and is now at Rugby,” Blakesley said tersely. “It suits him better.”
As Jack laid Elspeth down on a sofa, Tory found a knee robe to cover her friend. Then she created several more mage lights and tossed them up to hover. A portrait above the fireplace showed an older man in military uniform who looked very much the way Blakesley would in a few years. The general, presumably.
When the introductions were complete, Blakesley asked, “What was all that about a French invasion? They’ve been arming themselves to the teeth in Boulogne, but they haven’t a prayer o
f getting across the Channel. Not with the Royal Navy on patrol.”
“Perhaps not, though it would be foolish to underestimate Bonaparte,” Allarde responded. “But the invasion that brought us here is happening right now, tonight, only two or three miles to the west. Four French ships are moored in a cove there. We’re guessing between fifteen hundred and two thousand well-armed men have disembarked.”
“Here?” Blakesley asked incredulously. “In Carmarthenshire? Why on earth would Napoleon want to invade us? We have more sheep than people!”
“Their original target was Bristol, I think. A larger fleet planned to attack Ireland, but Jack and Cynthia wreaked major damage with their weather magic. This small squadron managed to survive, though they were blown off course and landed here.”
Allarde gave a succinct description of how foretelling and scrying had helped the Irregulars anticipate the invasion, though he didn’t mention the mirror. Like the other Irregulars, Tory kept quiet and let him do the talking. Not only did he know Blakesley, but he always sounded the most convincing.
Allarde ended by saying, “Is your father here? As a general, I assume he can call up the local militia.”
“My father is drilling troops in Lincolnshire. I’m staying here alone with my batman and a few servants who come in for the day.” Blakesley made a face. “I came to Wales because I wanted a few weeks of peace and quiet before returning to duty.”
“Do you have any idea how many men are in the militia?”
“I’m not sure. Between the militia and the yeomanry, perhaps five hundred or so. Nowhere near two thousand men. The militia commander is an idiot called Dawson who bought a lieutenant colonel’s commission and hasn’t a shred of actual military experience. He just wanted to wear a uniform and wave a sword.”
“What about the commander of the yeomanry?”
“I’m not sure who that is.” Blakesley ran agitated fingers through his hair. “I could do a better job of commanding troops than Dawson, but I’m barely a lieutenant.”
“I gather you followed your father into the army?” Allarde asked.
