Idris was at Riette’s northern watchtower when, above him, a guard shouted, “Horizon line! Blue resin!”

  “Blue resin, that’s Kurellan,” said Riette, abandoning the defensive stance she had been holding against Idris’s hammer blows and walking to the barrier.

  It had been three days since anyone had seen Kurellan or Willard. Idris dropped Black Star into its carry case and followed Riette to the fence where, if he squinted, he could see the glow of a blue fire, burning on the end of a staff.

  “Let’s go out to meet him,” said Riette. “They seem to be moving rather slowly.”

  “I hope...”

  But Idris did not finish his sentence. He hoped that neither of his friends were hurt, and yet he also wanted to be sure that they had found his father, or else his preparations were fruitless.

  Riette put him side-saddle pillion on the back of her horse and together, they rode out across the plain towards the blue glow. The closer they got, the reality became clearer.

  “Willard?” Idris called, his stomach knotted.

  Willard was on the saddle of Kurellan’s horse, slumped in the old judge’s arms. There was blood on his brow and shoulder and his hair was knotted with scarlet scabs on the left side.

  “Bells,” Riette whispered, speeding her mare on.

  When they reached Kurellan, he gave them a stoic nod and shifted Willard up slightly.

  “Master Willard,” he said. Willard stirred, blinked blearily at Idris.

  “Master Dead-Talker,” he said, his speech slurred. “I... I found your pa.”

  “Lady Riette, please swap me with Willard,” Idris said. “Take him to my mother as fast as you are able.”

  “Of course,” said Riette.

  “He tried to walk back,” said Kurellan as they shifted Willard across. “It’s lucky I found him when I did.”

  “Did he tell you what happened?” said Idris. Kurellan hoisted Idris up onto the warhorse; Riette, as soon as Willard was comfortable, set off at a gallop back the way they came.

  “I think I know the most of it,” said Kurellan. During the ride back, he explained.

  Kurellan had caught up with Willard not long after Idris sent the raven away. Willard remained on foot, while Kurellan sped ahead to scout and check for dangers. The raven crossed a mountain, so Willard actually ended up in front of Kurellan for a good half day while he found a path around. When Kurellan got through, it was obvious that they had found Layton’s camp.

  “Idris...” Kurellan sighed, sounding pained. “It is a fortress, Idris. I don’t know how he managed to get it so protected, so quickly. The existing structure must have been there when he arrived, but...”

  “Thralls?” Idris said.

  “Hundreds. At least. Animals, too. Standing in formation, waiting, just stinking and covered in flies. Pentagons everywhere. If I’d taken bells, no doubt they would have shattered. And I suspect that some of his forces were hidden with death curtains. The castle keep is pushed right up against a sheer cliff, we can’t go round the back. We have to face it head on.”

  Kurellan tutted. “Willard scurried in all by himself and got caught.”

  “What hurt him?”

  “A thrall, I think. Surprised him and slammed him to the ground, then started kicking him in the head, as far as I was able to get out of him. He got away by using one of those flower pills you made and then started back for home, which is when I scooped him up.”

  As soon as they returned to the forward camp, Idris went to his mother’s tent. The attendants stood aside for him. Willard was on the treatment table, his legs dangling limply over the side, while Lady Eremont finished taking scissors to the long, golden tresses of the hedge witch’s curls.

  “This is an easy fix, Master Willard,” she said, laying the scissors down. Willard, eyes glazed, nodded. “Sir Idris, while you are here...”

  “Of course,” he said, and did what was natural. He took the bowl of water that was offered, and the cloth, and he began dabbing as the scabs on the side of Willard’s head. “How is that, Willard?”

  “Right nice,” Willard whispered, closing his eyes.

  “Do try to keep those eyes open for me, Master Willard,” said Lady Eremont, tipping a few drops of morning thistle tincture into the water bowl.

  “Aye.”

  “Bells, Willard, I am sorry,” Idris said, watching the water swirl scarlet.

  “Ain’t no bother.” Willard sniffed, rubbed his eyes. “Was my own fault.”

  “That should be clean enough, Idris,” said Lady Eremont.

  “Yes.”

  Idris moved away so his mother could work her aria. She placed her hands on the ragged scar in Willard’s skull, took a deep breath. Almost immediately, springtime tunes of simple breezes began to flow through her nostrils, and Willard sighed and relaxed into it.

  “That’s right nice,” he murmured.

  Lady Eremont gave him some mixtures to drink, afterwards, and wrapped the wound. Idris lamented about Willard’s hair.

  “Kinda like it all halfways like this,” said Willard, perking up. “Keeps it out of my eyes, eh?”

  Willard relayed much the same story as Kurellan had – he had taken the lead through the mountains and come across the fortress in the stone. He had thought he might be able to get closer if he was quiet, but he found a contingent of thralls building a barrier and accidentally alerted one to his presence. The thrall simply used the rock in its hand and tried to stave Willard’s head in.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Them kill-pills are pretty good,” said Willard. “Pushed it right in and it did its work, and I think I ran. Things are fuzzy after that. Thank King and Circle for the Old Honour.”

  “Quite,” said Idris.

  “Sir Idris,” said Lady Eremont briskly, “while I understand your position, my patient has head trauma and must rest.”

  “Yes, you are right,” he said, getting up from the stool. His mother gave him a look that said, ‘well of course I am’, and he knew there was no arguing with her. “Willard, my mother will take good care of you. Please try not to worry about anything.”

  “I didn’t get to draw you a map or nothing,” said Willard, but Idris shook his head.

  “I will get Kurellan to do that, and you can amend it when you are well.”

  Kurellan was already working on the map when Idris came into Cressida’s tent, with Lila at his side holding the ink box.

  “Willard, is he -?” she began, seeing Idris.

  “He will be fine. Mother is tending to him with her usual bedside manner, meaning it is likely an easy job. He is alert and awake and rather bright, actually. My mother made a mess of his fine hair, though.” He paused. “Where is Cress?”

  “Her Majesty,” Kurellan corrected, not looking up from his map, “is drilling the troops. She will be here.”

  “How are the fae creepers?”

  “Growing fast,” said Lila, nodding. “Joa should be able to use them by tomorrow, judging by the size, sir. We have a good perimeter of them.”

  “Ah, Sir Idris,” said Cressida as she came in. “How is our fae princeling?”

  “He will be on the mend within the hour, I should expect,” said Idris, bowing as he was meant to.

  “I am glad to see you, Judge Kurellan,” she added, touching him lightly on the elbow.

  “Majesty. Much to report. Where is Lady DeTrentaville?”

  The Gleesdale Court was called into attendance, and Kurellan relayed the geography surrounding Layton’s fortress. It was a good day and half on foot, through a mountain pass that opened out into the basin where he was residing. According to Kurellan, there was a crumbled castle keep, low and sprawling, with decent walls and lookout points. In front of that stood Layton’s army of corpses, protected by pentagons and barricades.

  “This is a suicide run,” said Riette. She pointed to the pass Kurellan had drawn. “We cannot get our men reliably through here without using stone magicians, and they would take days to make adequate tunnels through.”

  “Willard said he found a tunnel, although he was not speaking much sense at the time,” said Kurellan. “Perhaps we can scout that out.”

  “Either way,” she continued, “with the cliff at the back like this, we run right at Lord Vonner and everything he wants to throw at us, and we already know he has some reach. We are walking into a trap. He controls the battlefield.”

  “Well...” Idris hesitated. “Well, there are two options. One is that I go in alone.”

  “Which we are not going to do,” said Riette firmly.

  “That way,” he said, “Layton thinks he is getting what he wants. All I have to do is get close enough to him to drive Black Star into his chest. The second option is that the Eremont healers get together and perform a cleansing.”

  “Interesting,” said Cressida. “If we neutralise the necrotic energy before we even approach - “

  “Then we can get our soldiers in safely and draw Layton out,” finished Kurellan, standing straight and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I like the second option better,” said Cressida. “This is what we will do. Kurellan, you will take Lady Eremont and her best disciples through the tunnel Willard said there was. From there, they can perform a cleansing without being spotted. Lady DeTrentaville, you will follow behind with my contingent of stone magicians to widen the tunnel. Sir Idris, if you lead a force with Lila through the pass, it will effectively distract Layton. I will go with Willard and Joa and see if we cannot get some fae input on this. They might be able to spirit me in without any difficulty and give us the element of surprise. How many days of preparation do you think we need? Three?”

  “Ample time,” said Riette.

  “Then we march at dawn in three days’ time,” said the Queen.

  Preparations began in earnest. Lady Eremont and her healers utilised the courtyard in the forward camp, practising sigils and stances like bendy willow trees, the healer arias inherent in their bodies flowing in sing-song streams every time anyone walked by. Willard, head bandaged and hair half-cut, settled himself daily by the thick-growing creepers and coaxed plant life into being with ditties and golden sparkles from his fingers; Joa and a contingent of fae followed soon after, and built a small twig-hut with remarkable speed. Lila, Kurellan and Riette drilled with the soldiers in the day and at night, assisted Idris with everything he might need, from kill-pill manufacture to hare’s foot practice. Cressida, imperious as ever, watched over it all with the confidence of a woman who had every certainty that everything was going to end well.

  By dawn of the third day, they were as ready as any army could be. Lila opened Idris’s tent and laid down his leather armour as he tugged his best boots on.

  “One last practice?” she said.

  In response, he kicked his shin against the edge of his cot bed, hitting the spot where the pin held his prosthetic in place with perfect accuracy, and kicked his leg hard, outwards. The bronze foot, attached boot and all, flew off to the tent entrance.

  “You’re getting some distance on that now, sir,” she said, as he picked up the hare’s foot and pushed it into place without a second thought.

  “I think that is fast enough,” he said. “My boot?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Will you help me?”

  Lila tied and clipped his leather armour on, on top of his peasant shirt. The boots were lined with plate, so he did not need to worry about injuries to his legs, and the coat Cressida had made for him two years previously was still in good condition, but it was heavy on his shoulders and back. He would have to shrug it off for casting. The whole ensemble made him look suitably intimidating – the dark-grey coat, the large black clematis embroidered all up the arms and on the breastplate. With his hair tied and Black Star in his hand, he supposed he was ready to go to war.

  Idris ducked out of the tent. Willard and Joa were already there; the appropriate greetings and deferential bows were given, and Willard assured Idris that Cressida would be well-protected with them.

  The final stop was to Riette and Lady Eremont. Kurellan had his hands full with the soldiers not far off, but Idris was loath to bother him.

  “Commander,” he said, as Riette approached.

  “A moment of your time, Sir Idris?” she said, with a breezy smile.

  “Certainly.”

  “I will have your horse prepared, sir,” said Lila, bowing her head.

  “Some privacy?” said Riette.

  They walked just outside of the forward camp, into Willard’s dividing line of wild grasses and flowers. Riette smiled, trailed her fingers over some of the leaves of a huge flowering foxglove.

  “He is clever,” she said quietly.

  “Truthfully, he is a better magician than I,” said Idris.

  “No. Fae magic is different, I suppose.” Riette pursed her lips, sighed. In her full armour, she shone – her ashen hair seemed silver in the overcast dawn, like the high polish on her pauldrons. “I will protect your mother with all of my being, Idris,” she said.

  “I thank you. She is demanding, but she is by all accounts rather good at what she does.” Idris glanced back to the bustle of the camp. “I... I did not want it to come to this, Riette.”

  “I know. But for what it is worth, I am glad that this will be over, soon. One way or another. I...” She hesitated, and Idris was reminded of the evening of Cressida’s birthday party, where he could have been braver and was not. “I would like, very much,” she said quietly, “to see you across the ballroom again.”

  He smiled. “I would like that, too.”

  “Do you like the opera?”

  “Well,” he said, “it is an odd experience, to hear music outside of myself. But I do like the opera.”

  “If I purchased two tickets to the winter performance, would you escort me? I would enjoy the pleasure of your company.”

  It would have been easy to be cowardly, again. Instead, Idris nodded firmly.

  “Yes. I would love to come to the opera with you.”

  “It is a date then,” said Riette, with her glowing smile.

  “It is.”

  He hoped he would be alive in the winter.