The sergeant drew his pistol but did not fire. Their foe was still too far distant for the accuracy of the weapon. Instead, the man put a whistle to his lips and shrilled a single, long blast. From near the crofter’s cottage came the reply. A dozen riflemen stood at the ready, flanked by a pair of gnomes from the Order of Freiwald.
Effie watched the blur of red coats hustle past. Metal clinked and boots thumped as the men formed ranks. She spotted Brandon’s familiar face among them, but of Sweet Tom Reedling, she saw no sign.
Sergeant McGrady barked an order. Rifles snapped into firing positions. Barely had the sergeant grunted the command than did the air near Effie explode. The tang of gun smoke filled her nostrils. She flinched at the fury of the volley. Bullets hissed. They whistled across the field and thunked into flesh.
The charge of Unseily slowed, but it did not turn back. Effie glanced toward Lieutenant Walford’s position. Red coats spotted the tree line, but none had crossed the ground to the hillfort.
“What is keeping them? They must advance!” she cried above the din. Her gaze swung back to where the thurs gathered near the grindylows. The giant beasts roared and thumped their chests but made no move to join in the fight. The collection of spriggans and bogills and wulvers around them remained equally as motionless.
Waving at the sergeant, she stepped forward. “If we do not engage those atop the hill, they will be in Elphame before the duke arrives!”
“We have no field guns to reach them,” shouted the sergeant. He met her gaze with uncertainty but pulled straighter as he realized her intentions. His eyes hardened as he took her in. His mouth clamped shut, and he nodded.
Effie did not wait for his command. She hefted her cane and started forward. Gaelyph and Freiherr Jörg strode at her sides. Rose, she knew, would remain near the cottage. But she felt the fey woman still linked with her. Together, they pushed back the onslaught from the grindylows in a silent struggle.
A thought came to Effie. “Call down your glamours on the hilltop,” she said to Freiherr Jörg.
The gnome looked at her askance. “The Unseily will know them for a trick.”
“Yes,” she agreed. Peering over her shoulder at the soldiers fanning out behind her, she grinned. She almost felt her eyes twinkle. “But they will not. Give them something to encourage victory.”
Freiherr Jörg’s eyes did twinkle with mischief, though he didn’t break stride. A rumble built overhead. The clouds began to swirl. Effie’s flesh prickled at the power of the glamour. The winds gusted. Static built in the air.
The sky crackled with energy, splitting apart in a slash of brilliant white. The lightning forked as it struck along the hilltop, its thunderous boom deafening. Those above barely moved, but that did not lessen the effect among the soldiers. They cheered in wonder and broke into a trot, rifles leveled.
Effie let them pass before speeding her own pace. Rifles cracked before her as lightning slashed and thunder boomed. Wulvers yelped as bullets tore through them, flinging them aside. But still they came.
The bogills outpaced their trow cohorts. One reached the soldiers and swung a thick blade. His target scrambled aside and only barely managed to bring his rifle up in defense. Steel clunked into wood. Before the bogill could swing again, another of the queen’s men shot him in the back.
It pained Effie to know the bogill might be an unwilling fey. Whether each Unseily they encountered was like Tallia or Clara Bowman, they had no means to uncover. But Effie could not let the guilt distract her. She knew well enough it was a price they would have to pay, and hers the lesser.
She wished they’d time to decipher Tallia’s thunderstone. What she would give to be able to hurl stardust at the grindylows above! As she drew closer to the base of the hillfort, she spied more of them. They had crawled out from some dank hole, no doubt, the same as where their master hid.
Gaelyph’s sword whirled before her. The blade slashed through a wulver who’d tried to backpedal on its hind legs. Its snarl vanished as it toppled over. The warden’s blade kept its arc and glanced off the leather jack of a bogill.
A pistol popped. The bogill grunted and dropped to its knees. Effie barely had time to take in the sergeant before a trow leapt before her. She swung her cane with both hands. The trow darted aside. Its narrow eyes pulled wide, ears flopping like a rabbit’s as it bounded around her.
Swinging again, her arms rattled as she connected. The trow swayed in a daze. Effie spun the cane and drove the tip of it into the thing’s chest. As she did, the trow’s aura popped into her awareness. A flood of the Unseily followed. She flinched at the suddenness of the host’s presence. Her footing slipped, but she caught herself.
A cold bead of dread ran down her spine. She could think of only one reason the Unseily would unmask themselves. They prepared the invasion.
Her legs churned. She blurred past a bogill. A pair of wulvers chased at her heels. She was only vaguely aware of Gaelyph hounding after, sword slashing out, keeping the beasts at bay.
As fast as she rushed, she knew she would not reach the grindylows in time. If they had begun the invasion, the hilltop would be empty by the time she reached the second ring. The battle would rage in Elphame, and the Barrow Witch would no doubt slink into whatever hole she desired and vanish until victory was hers.
Something flitted past her vision. Effie didn’t make sense of it until a second spear landed at her feet. Its haft was thin and short, and tipped by crude stone. She skipped aside to avoid impaling herself. Gaelyph knocked into her. Grunting, she sprawled, landing hard.
Spears rained down from above. She heard the spriggans cackling in delight as they set about their work. The warden grabbed her shoulders and yanked her back onto her feet.
“We must reach the protection of the slope!” he shouted. He breathed heavily. His face was pale. He had not yet recovered from saving her.
She muttered no reply but scurried forward, an arm futilely raised to protect herself. The dread she felt pounded within her. With every glance above, she thought she saw less of the Unseily host gathered. But the angles had changed. The host moved, warping and flexing in her line of sight. She could not tell for certain they had gone, and she convinced herself not to abandon hope.
Lightning flashed, blinding her. Spears fell like raindrops. The clap of thunder and rattle of distant rifle fire mixed with bellows and cries of alarm. Effie no longer smelled gunpowder and wondered if that meant Sergeant McGrady’s soldiers had fallen. If she tried to glance back, she knew she would tumble, so she kept going forward.
It wasn’t until she reached the embankment of the hillfort that she realized her hands were empty. She had left Jack Canonbie’s cane where she had sprawled. There was nothing for it but to carry on. She could not go back for it.
Pressing herself against the grassy slope, she craned her neck upward. Something struck her in the forehead. She flinched, trembling, until she recognized its icy kiss. It was a snowflake.
30
Freiherr Jörg’s glamours had masked the approaching storm. Snowflakes swirled in the wind, melting where they kissed the ground. With her back turned against the embankment of the hillfort, Effie saw Sergeant McGrady and his men. Less than a handful remained upright. Those formed a line just out of reach from the falling spears. Bullets whistled past as they fired at the spriggans and other Unseily above her head.