Page 76 of Fang & Fury

This wasn’t just a war for territory. She needed to make sure Lara understood that.

The day was waning, although the rain made it feel darker than it should have. Already, braziers had been lit on the walls. And as they drew closer still, they encountered a makeshift town of sorts.

An army—a large one.

Clusters of hide tents ringed smoking cook fires, and groups of warriors turned to stare as they rode through their midst.

Aye, they must have made for a strange sight: the four of them clad in green like Ghillie Dhu—forest sprites.

However, most of the warriors were looking at Fern. She hadn’t glamored herself, which surprised Ailsa. Surely, riding in here as a Shee upon a stag was an invitation for trouble?

But then, Ailsa remembered that Fern’s brother was the prince consort. Aye, those at Duncrag knew the huntress. And as such, even though some of the stares weren’t friendly, the warriors let them pass.

The road snaked around the base of the great fort and took them in through a wide archway.

The market ground lay beyond.

The rain was coming down faster now in great sheets that hammered the clusters of roundhouses with sod roofs inside the sheltering walls. The Sweeper was hitting them with its full force this afternoon.

Darach muttered something under his breath and reached up, pulling the collar of the fur around his shoulders up a little to try and keep the rain from running down his neck.

Blinking water out of her eyes, Ailsa glanced at where Fern rode just ahead. Kayla brought up the rear of the group, Thicket’s heavy hooves making sucking sounds in the claggy mud.

They’d traveled hard today, eager to reach Duncrag before nightfall.

Lifting her chin then, Ailsa took in the sheer size of the fort. It felt even bigger now that they were inside. They followed a wide road called The Thoroughfare. Up and up and up through the various tiers.

The metallic odor of iron lay heavily in the air. They passed plenty of forges on the way, where hearths glowed, and smiths worked, sweat gleaming off their brawny arms. She wasn’t surprised to see such industry. They would need a great number of blades, arrowheads, and spearheads for the clash that was coming sooner than they thought.

However, the stench of something else hit the back of her throat then. “Gods,” she choked. “This place reeks.”

Darach snorted. “It does … we’re not far from the midden pits.”

“I know them well,” Fern called out, twisting on Cern’s back to glance their way. Her features were pinched; Ailsa wagered the reek of iron was bothering her far more. “I was once a prisoner in this fort, forced to wheel muck all day.”

Darach muttered something under his breath. “We both know what that’s like, don’t we?”

“We do,” Fern replied.

“The air will get fresher farther up,” Darach assured Ailsa. “The head men and elders don’t want to breathe in a foul stench all day.”

“Thank The Mother.”

“Nothing quite prepares you to see the capital for the first time,” he replied. “Ready to meet the High Queen?”

“Aye,” she replied with a huff. “But are you?”

He grunted, his body tensing slightly against hers. “She thinks I’m dead … I’ll have a bit of explaining to do.”

“You’re telling her about the clag-doo then?”

He turned his head, giving her his profile. “Will you tell her about the bavaan?”

“Aye,” she said before she had time to even think about it. “I intend to fight for Lara, but I won’t hide what I am.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Then neither will I.”

They were heading up the final incline. The roundhouses had grown larger and more sturdily built now, one or two of them bigger than the rest. And as Darach had indicated, the air smelled fresher up here too.