Chapter Three A Spell of Disbelief #2
I rubbed my hands over my eyes. Okay, I told myself, you’ve been training your whole life for this.
I knew the series inside and out and, just as importantly, I understood books.
I’d committed my life to character arcs and plot in a way I never had for accounting.
I just had to follow my instincts. Find a wizard with a side quest or a village that would trade information for help.
I could...show them how to make electricity?
I realized I didn’t really know how to do that either. Maybe Sorrel had given me money.
I crouched at the side of the trail to dig through my bag. Right on top was a sheathed dagger with a lovely scroll over the grip. I exposed the blade slightly—yep, it was real—and set it aside.
Then I turned my attention to the three unfamiliar zipped pouches that filled the rest of the bag. The largest held pants, a tunic, and underwear. Something told me those skimpy styles didn’t fall within the world-building guidelines.
Another pouch had a collection of snacks and a reusable water bottle, filled. I took a long drink, easily polishing half of it off.
The third pouch was divided in two. One side held a mess of loose papers, quills, and a tightly stoppered bottle of ink.
The other, toiletries. Oh my God. Was that lubricant?
My cheeks reddened. I’d never owned a bottle before.
I almost called out to Sorrel to berate her—or ask if she’d be watching—but stopped myself in time.
The dress had proved difficult to navigate the woodland in, so I pulled the pants out of the bag.
The corset was an odd thing to unfasten, but the dress came off easily enough overhead.
The forest, comfortable just moments before, now felt cool.
I neatly rolled the dress and put it into the organizer.
A twig snapped.
I left the bag on the mulchy forest floor and straightened. I froze, looking left and right for any dangerous beast. Then I saw it.
Him.
“Hey!” I barked. “What do you think you’re looking at?”
A man in forest green garb and a short thicket of black whiskers flinched.
He was young, my age, his skin a deep umber, and he turned to advert his eyes.
“Begging your pardon, only you shouldn’t be in this part of the forest. Go home to your husband, woman.
” He stared pointedly at the ground exposing neat cornrows on the top of his head but didn’t leave.
I hurried into the long pants and tunic. “You don’t tell me what to do,” I snarled. In all my haste, I’d overlooked the fact that, by and large, this world was one of patriarchy. “I don’t have a husband. I’ll go through this forest if I want to.”
“Well,” his voice hummed, “that might be impossible, as there is, in fact, a battle going on.”
“There is?” I brushed leaves off my stockings and shoved my feet back into the lace-up boots.
“I was checking the perimeter when I saw a flash of white. A light hart, I thought, only—”
“Okay,” I cut him off—what he saw was my milky-pale skin.
Dressed now, I let my eyes linger on the man.
He was my height but might have been a farmer before he was conscripted to war.
I could tell cords of muscle lay beneath his shirt and those thighs were nice and thick.
I was never so open with my gaze in real life.
Even now, I felt myself blush. But if part of my purpose was to grow more accustomed with—
I took a breath.
No, I told myself, eyes on the prize. Ironclaw. If I could figure out who was fighting who, that would tell me where I was and, just as importantly, when I was. From there, I could deduce where Ironclaw was most likely to be.
“Take me to the battle.”
“My good woman...” The man seemed uncertain as to how to address me, still staring pointedly at the tracks. “Are you a woman knight?”
That was as good an in as any. “Yes. Take me to your liege lord. I wish to offer my services.” I had never been in theater, but I was starting to enjoy myself. After all, this was exactly like the little show I played before my eyes as I fell asleep, except it felt real. So real.
“You may look,” I said.
He looked up. I saw his mouth twitch under his dense black beard, his eyes skeptical. “Where is your horse? Or your armor? You’re hardly ready for battle.”
I patted the dagger I had just tied to my hip.
I had purchased a few decorative fantasy knives online and had a passing feel for them.
I’d be fine. “All I need is—” I floundered for a name, “—Madame Morningstar here, sharpest of the bright.” Shit, I have to step up my banter. “I’m on a quest to find Ironclaw.”
The man looked at me strangely, shadows under his eyes, and for the first time, I realized the sun was setting. “You’ll not find Sir Ironclaw here, Lady Knight.”
Lady Knight. I liked that.
“Well then, what is your cause? Mayhap I can help you win your battle before nightfall.” I was quite impressing myself.
“You wish to help us?” He ran a hand over his face. He looked exhausted at the idea.
“Why not?”
He muttered something that sounded like, “Why indeed?” but led on through the trees. I checked the ground once more to make sure I left nothing behind, and took several large steps to catch up.
“How did you get on the Mock Pass? We have a battalion at both ends.”
I shrugged. “I cut through the forest. What’s your name?”
“Jerrald.” His voice was nice.
“Were you a farmer before all this?”
He looked at me with concern. “No,” he said shortly.
“You didn’t”—I gestured generally at him—“work on an estate, growing...wheat? Lifting bales?”
Jerrald shook his head. “No, Lady Knight.”
“Oh.”
As the trees widened from each other, so grew the sound of metal against metal. Jerrald nodded at me to crouch-walk through the long grasses like him. I slipped my dagger out and followed.
The meadow in front of us was filled with perhaps a hundred soldiers, a dozen on horseback. Patches of grass had been trampled. I had no idea how they could tell who was who. To me, it seemed everyone hacked away indiscriminately at their nearest neighbor.
“For Lionsgate!” rang across the grounds.
My heart sped. Lionsgate? I counted forward and backward, trying to figure out when House Lionsgate came east. Sorrel, that rat, had dropped me in at one of the most dangerous parts of the story. At least I knew where Ironclaw was.
“It sounds like they need us,” Jerrald said.
Indeed, the man that gave the rallying cry gave a strangled shout and, as we emerged into the sunfire clearing, I saw why—an arrow sprouted in the thick meat of his neck.
His horse went wild at the smell of blood and ran, tipping him off to the ground.
No one seemed to notice but me; they were all focused on keeping their heads on their shoulders.
Blood drained to my feet and I paused, trying to understand what I was seeing.
I spied the tawny banners of Lionsgate and, there, the gray of Badgerden, which my good host was making for. I stopped in my tracks. Badgerden? They were the bad guys!
Or rather, they were the morally gray clan that had been mistreated in every political alliance Ironclaw fostered, essentially forcing them over to the dark side if they wanted to have any chance of survival.
But for all intents and purposes, they were the bad guys! I couldn’t fight with them. What if Ironclaw saw?
I cut right, intending to lose my host and find the Lionsgate nobility. I’d watched a few videos about sword fighting. I could get through this.
A donkey laden with packs flew by, screaming.
Someone grabbed my wrist—a man, now shouting in my ear, “Whom do you serve?”
“Let go of me!” I kicked at him.
“A woman! What are you doing here? Never mind. I’ll get you to safety at the—” He never told me where safety was because the arm that had grabbed me came clean off.
I shrieked and beat the dead limb away, then looked up at the butcher, tears streaking down my cheeks. It was my Badgerden guard, Jerrald.
If he was disturbed at just having cut a man’s arm off, he didn’t show it.
“Are you sure you’re a knight?” he questioned.
“It was a ruse, goddamn it!”
“Oh.” Jerrald looked abashed, then tugged on my arm, and we spun out of the way of what looked like a suit of armor running at full tilt.
“You’d better get that ready,” he said, gesturing at my sword hand.
I lifted the dagger, now seemingly ten times shorter than it was in the woods, and held it aloft in front of me.
Jerrald straightened my elbow with a glare that told me what he thought of my knife skills.
Then they were on us. I couldn’t fight Lionsgate but the man facing me seemed not to care.
He was out for bloodlust and grabbed me by the neck.
I felt everything I had ever known tumble out of me.
My name. My cat’s name. The fact that Sorrel had doomed me the moment I met her.
All I felt was the squeeze around my neck as I looked into the whites of his eyes.
Instinctively, I swiped his way and the blade bounced off his leather pauldrons.
I brought my knife up again. The hilt hit him in the nose and I felt a crunch.
He dropped me to the grass. Someone else kicked him in the back of the knee and I crawled doggedly away, dagger in hand.
I kept crawling until I came to a sizable boulder and ducked around it.
A moan emerged, and there I found a page or a squire.
He was a boy, his panicked expression mirrored mine, telling me this was his first battle as well.
I must have looked a likely enough protector because he lunged at me, wrapping his arms around my waist. We both cried, sniveling away behind the rock, as the battle raged.
The fight must have faded, for a voice cut through the fading sunlight.
“Omar?”
The boy stiffened in my arms. We both stood slowly. On the other side of the rock, Badgerden soldiers were looting the Lionsgate bodies and digging trenches for their own dead.
“Jerry!” Omar screamed, and ran into my guide’s arms.
His leather jerkin was slashed in one place and his black cornrows shone with sweat. He wrapped his arms around the kid’s shoulders and let the boy sob.
“Jerrald,” he confirmed to me, as if he didn’t like the idea of me calling him Jerry, then took a moment to push Omar back and look him over.
Satisfied Omar was unhurt, Jerrald turned his attention on me.
“I talked to my liege lord about your cause. We’ll take you with us to Castle Creneda where the queen’s military host is gathering. ”
My heart dropped. Castle Creneda? Sorrel was hardly leaving me with any of the good bits. What about the Feast of Gods or the Diamond Tourney? Someplace swoony and romantic where Ironclaw and I could disappear behind a tapestry? As soon as the thoughts came, they disappeared.
“Wait, why would Badgerden be going to Castle Creneda?” I put a hand over my mouth. “To attack?”
“Of course not. We’re treasured allies of the queen.”
That wasn’t right. Lionsgate was a treasured ally of the queen. Badgerden was to fight on the side of the Dark Mage.
A trumpet sounded, and Jerrald looked over his shoulder, already walking, Omar shielded under one arm. “Well?” he said exasperated. “Come on.”