The War of Odds (15 page)

“My father, the king, wanted a representative of each of the great clans to accompany you to Unseelie, Nate. I may be crippled, but I did well in my studies…unlike my big brother, Peat.”

Peat glared, but didn’t argue. “Peat is very strong and large so he was chosen to protect me, while I act as spokesman for the sprite nation.” He glanced around at the different bodies sprawled and slumbering by the two eldritch fires.

“This is what you see here, Nate,” he continued. “Members from the great houses of the Seelie court. Rondel and Rowena speak for the elves, Fang and his lieutenants speak for the dwarves, Hiss speaks for… well, himself, but his kind represent the animal kingdom, familiars that walk between worlds… yours and mine.”

Nate bowed his head slightly, and murmured, “There is no way we…” he gestured at himself and the girls, “could have made it on our own, right?”

Pollo shook his head, but Muriel answered for him, “No, neither the Seelie, nor the Unseelie court would have allowed you to walk through Fae unaccompanied. Most human beings are incapable of walking through our land without help, or some magic to aid them.” She glanced at William who sat, snoring, by a tree trunk. “William is one of the few exceptions, but his instrument is imbued with magic. Most of the time that magic lies dormant, and I suspect that the minstrel sometimes forgets about the power of his fiddle.”

She smiled. “Sylvan and I were happy that he came to us though, because even if William has forgotten, the violin has not. We thought that its music might come in handy on this journey.”

“Can you give me an idea of what to expect, Muriel?” Nate asked.

The nymph stared at the young man for a moment. “You saw the images in Hestia’s globe, just as I did. Much depends on which path we take,” she paused for a moment, thinking hard. “Normally, it might take a half day’s travel to reach Timaron’s court. It is not so far, but the Unseelie king is a contrary creature by nature and has always placed obstacles on the road to his home. Now that we are at war, I suspect the obstacles will be numerous and far more destructive than usual.”

Noticing that her answer to the boy’s questions was unsatisfactory, Muriel added, “Hopefully, Nate, we will be standing in front of the Unseelie king by this time tomorrow. Now, I suggest you get some sleep.”

With those words, Muriel’s cloak of leaves crept up and over the nymph’s head as she rested against a tree. Sara closed her eyes and heard the quiet rustling of her dozing companions, and felt the warmth of Nate’s body as he curled up as close to her as he could get, and still be proper.

The bright yellow eldritch fires turned green, and then blue as Pollo and Peat fell asleep.
 
Martin the toad, who used to be a man, resisted and finally succumbed to his desire to raise his voice and join his brother’s dusky, twilight choir.

*

Two huge piles of boulders sat on the trail to either side of the sleeping army. One was Fruman and the other was Shura. Giants found it difficult to lie down or squat so, often, when in need of rest, they would let their bodies disassemble entirely, and allow their souls to hide within the piles of stone.

The souls of the kind giants guarding the fae army stirred and awoke as two malignant spirits crept toward the camp. Two sets of huge gray eyes opened and watched as a Foul Fairy, and a Soul Shrinker, (both faeries of the underworld who created madness and despair in the hearts and souls of their victims) slunk through the shadows just after the moon rose, painting the clearing in its cold, silver light.

The giants knew there was nothing they could do to stop these creatures. They were, after all, technically not there at all, but will manifesting itself, briefly, in physical form. These faeries were neither Seelie, nor Unseelie but the type of nebulous spirit that hovered between both realms, plaguing all creatures with fear, anger, confusion and doubt.

Fruman growled anyway, and ground his body together as a warning to those who slept. It would not do to let these spirits infect the will and courage of the Seeli/human army before it even reached the entrance to the Unseelie court.

Nate and Fang woke with a start, even as Muriel unfurled herself from her living cloak and sprang to her feet with the Weirding stick held high. There was nothing there though, and the nymph stared at Fruman questioningly.

The mighty pile of rocks shrugged and drawled, “I thought I saw a Shrinker, witch. Beg pardon.”

Muriel nodded and answered, “Our thanks, Fruman. This is twice you and your lady, wife, have saved us from harm.”

Fruman’s mighty eyes blinked once and then closed, as the rest of the company muttered sleepily, and laid back down to resume their slumber. The foul fairy, at best of times a whimsical, and uncertain spirit blinked out of existence as soon as Fruman alerted the others, but the Soul Shrinker made itself small and flew into Peat’s hair. It attached itself, like a tick, to the tiny seashell whorls of the sprite’s large, pointed ear and began to croon its song of misery, jealousy, hostility and hatred.

The sprite stirred uneasily and moaned as Pollo’s words came back to haunt him. What his little brother said was true, Peat knew. Although he was the eldest of Sylvan’s four sons, his head seemed to be filled with wool half the time. He did not know why, but Peat could hardly see past his own shortcomings, sometimes, in his haste to torture and destroy anything that was smaller than he was.

Most of the time, Sylvan made sure that Peat stayed busy so his oldest son kept out of mischief, but harsh times called for extreme measures and Sylvan begged Peat to act as bodyguard to Pollo. Up until now, Peat had felt honored to be chosen for this important mission, but as the Shrinker sunk its nasty toes into Peat’s skin, his pride turned into anger, and his frustration turned into thoughts of violence and revenge.

Hissaphat growled softly as he sensed something change within Peat’s mind and soul. Creeping slowly toward Pollo, Hiss insinuated his body between the two sprites. His large golden eyes watched the older sprite, and his whiskers twitched as Peat muttered angrily in his sleep.

There were, perhaps, four more hours left in the night before the sun rose. Hissaphat and his soldiers guarded the camp, willing, with both tooth and claw to protect the sleepers against any that sought to do them harm.

*

The next morning dawned clear and bright. Birds sang and a soft, playful breeze stirred the trees and leaves in Hestia’s woods. Eldritch fire warmed but did not heat food adequately, so breakfast was served cold again, with icy water to wash down the food and douse sleepy faces.

Sara could have killed for a double mocha latte, but she drank her water without complaint. Muriel seemed to miss her hot tea as much as Sara missed her coffee, and she swore that as soon as they left Hestia’s woods, the company would stop and heat water for drinks, both tea and cider. At any rate, there was no reason to linger so the party was well under way before the sun rose over the treetops.

They marched for about four miles and then the woods gave way to a gray, lifeless landscape of rocks, sere fields and lifeless plains. The sun played hide and seek with the clouds and soon, Muriel’s army found themselves immersed within the sticky fog again.

“Great… pea soup again,” Nate muttered.

Martin disappeared into the murky gray mist and then they heard him croak, “Stop, now. The road forks thrice in this spot.”

The small group ground to a stop and peered ahead as best they could. They could see that they had arrived at the foot of a large hill, or mountain. Stunted trees and thorny shrubs formed a wall in front of them, although Sara spied a path that led straight into the underbrush. She also noticed that the bush’s thorns were at least three or four inches long, shiny black and seemed to ooze some sort of red sap that seeped like blood from the tip of each giant sticker.

She shuddered and looked to her left. Another path followed the foothills and this route looked to be easier, on the clothes and flesh of the army, at least. She had no way of knowing, however, if the left turn made its way to the Unseelie court, or if it meandered in the opposite direction entirely.

Looking to the right, Sara followed Muriel’s gaze, as the nymph tried to pierce the fog with her eyes. Clearing her throat, Sara asked, “Muriel, do you know which way to go?”

Glaring, the witch looked to the right and back to the left, undecided. “I have not been to the Unseelie court, Sara. I know you think I must surely know the way, but Timaron is sly. He bars the pathways or changes them up at a whim, even when he is healthy and happy. Now, who knows?”

Muriel looked both ways again. “It has been many years since I came by here, and I remember turning right, but I don’t know if that’s the correct way to go now. Hiss!” she yelled.

At first, there was no answer, and then they heard a cat meow. After a moment, or two, Hissaphat and some of his warriors materialized out of the fog.
 
Hiss walked up to the witch and sat down to wash the fog off his fur. With one leg cast straight up in the air, the cat growled, “Do not go to the right, my lady. Where once there was a path, now there is a cliff. Two of my soldiers fell off the cliff,” he added with a glare. “But they are unharmed and make their way up the cliff walls even as we speak.”

He eyed the human beings and snarled, “I am sure that our human companions would not have been as lucky. Had they fallen, their bodies would lie broken and bleeding in the rocky depths.”

Nate looked ill, and asked, “Well, how about this left-hand path?”

The magical creatures studied the cleaner and better-used path dubiously. Each of them knew that magic was never only good or evil, dark or light, but both at once. The left hand road looked easy and safe, but what perils lurked, just out of sight, around the bend?

On the other hand, the little grove they now faced was new to them as well, and those spiny shrubs looked poisonous. Muriel flicked her Weirding stick at the thicket, and smiled as the tall bushes shuddered and crept away from the beam of pink light. Her smile died, however, as the shrubs seemed to double in height and the thorns grew even longer, oozing their poison into the ground in smoking, bubbling pools.

Muriel gritted her teeth. She did not like the feeling of being manipulated, but she knew that the humans would not survive so much poison, so she growled, “Very well, we go left.”

Chapter 17

The little army regrouped into battle formation. The dwarves held point, Nate and the elves came next, the humans and the nymph stayed in the middle, the giants took up the rear. The cats swarmed to either side, and Tandy walked next to Sara and her friends, horn lowered and glowing red in combat readiness.

Muriel could not shake the feeling that this was the wrong way to go. She gritted her teeth in frustration; taking the humans with them was a necessity, and in some ways a good thing. They were not magical creatures, so the powerful effects of dark magic would not affect them as much as it did their fae companions.

On the other hand, their bodies were frail… they could not sprout wings and take flight if the ground suddenly dropped out from under them.
 
In addition, it was next to impossible, especially under these rough conditions, to heal the teen’s bodies from the kind of poison she could smell within the wall of shrubbery that blocked the forward pathway.

Moving ahead, the dwarves and elves saw that this path was clear and wound lazily around the base of the mountain. It was quite pretty, as well. Willow trees and aspens crowned the banks of a twinkling blue creek to their left, and the foothills to their right seemed to be cleansed of stones and rubble, so there was little fear of an avalanche, or rockslide.

Fruman, however, was grumbling uneasily and his great eyes flitted back and forth in confusion. Hissaphat was nervous, as well. His long black whiskers trembled and the fur on his back rose up in alarm the further they traveled into the serene little glade.

Sara and Chloe lifted their faces to the sun, enjoying the sudden disappearance of the pervasive fog and its clammy embrace. Even Nate let his guard down a bit, thinking that he and his friends were finally catching a break. Muriel, in his opinion, was a grump and an alarmist, prone to negative thinking and declarations of doom and gloom.