Painted Blade || sihtric

49.

   THE next day, Bemia's horse slowed down to a stop atop a hill that showed them an empty clearing below—Tettenhall.

Where Edward's camp was supposed to be simply wasn't and Bemia's stomach churned with anxiety.

"Um..." Finan trailed off, sharing a worrying look with Bemia, Sihtric, Osferth, and Espen. "Is this the place?"

"Yes," Aethelflaed flatly answered.

Osferth raised a brow. "I'm not sure I can see Edward's camp."

Sihtric shook his head. "I'm not sure I can see anyone."

"That's because there's absolutely no one here to see," Bemia groaned, dragging a hand down her face. "What have we done?"

"He will be here," Aethelflaed tried to confidently say as she kicked her horse into a gallop down the hill.

"We're so screwed," Bemia whispered and then her horse was galloping after Aethelflaed's.

The wind pushed back Bemia's braided hair, kissing her skin as the grassy ground turned into a blur past her. And then when her horse jumped over a trench in the ground, the woman laughed in pure delight.

Behind her, Sihtric and Espen were racing each other to try and get past her, but Bemia's horse wouldn't allow them to even get close enough to believe they would have a chance.

After galloping down the hill, the horses slowed down, coming up to the tree line of a thick forest.

"I sent word that the fyrds should gather in the woods," Aethelflaed quietly informed them. "I'll ready them for battle before my brother arrives."

Men yelling sounded from the forest and Bemia lightly tugged on the reins of her horse, stopping it in place between her son and husband when she spotted men in red leaving the forest and heading toward them.

"Lord," Finan murmured and then whistled. "Men!"

Bemia didn't think twice as she unsheathed one of her axes, hearing the other men stop behind her, doing the same.

"That is not a fyrd," Uhtred stated, eyeing up two men on horses that continued toward them.

"And they are not Mercian," Aethelflaed warned.

"You do not look like Christians," Uhtred raised his voice.

"We are men from Wealas, loyal to King Hywel," said the tallest man on a brown horse, stopping close with his men.

"Are you an ally or an enemy of Mercia?" Aethelflaed questioned.

The man grinned. "We are here to fight Cnut, Lady." Bemia, Sihtric, and Finan shared an odd look. "And best the Dane as we have bested the Saxon for so many years."

"Well, I wasn't expecting that," Bemia hummed, sheathing her axe and then telling her son to do the same with his sword.

"And the fyrds?" Aethelflaed asked.

"I put them under the command of the little bald priest."

"I'm not bald!" Father Pyrlig grunted, walking past him and toward Uhtred as Bemia let out a laugh. "I'm certainly not little!"

"Father Pyrlig!" Aethelflaed beamed. "I do not understand?" she added when he stopped before her horse.

"He rode to Wealas to beg King Hywel for his arm," the man explained.

"Edward sent him to find allies," Aethelflaed softly said. "I knew he would not abandon me."

But Father Pyrlig shook his head. "No, Lady," he dreadfully said. "It was your mother who sent me. I have had no word from the King."