" Now, tell me everything.”
He chuckled and leaned against the door. “That’s a comprehensive command! Where to begin?”
“With Galdran. How did he die?”
“Vidanric. Sword,” Bran said, waving his index finger in a parry-and-thrust. “Just after Galdran tried to brain you from the back. Neatest work I’ve ever seen. He promised to introduce me to his old sword master when we get to Athanarel.”
“’We’? You and the Marquis?”
“We can discuss it when we meet for supper, soon’s he gets back. Life! I don’t think he’s sat down since we returned yestereve. I’m tied here by the heels, healer’s orders, but there’ll be enough for us all to do soon.”
I opened my mouth to say that I did not want to go to Athanarel, but I could almost hear his rallying tone--and the fact, bitterly faced but true, that part of my image as the ignorant little sister guaranteed that Bran seldom took me seriously. So I shook my head instead. “Tell me more.”
“Well, that’s the main of it, in truth. They were all pretty disgusted--both sides, I think--when Galdran went after you. He didn’t even have the courage to face me, and I was weavin’ on my horse like a one-legged rooster. One o’ his bully boys knocked me clean out of the saddle just after Galdran hit you. Anyway, Vidanric went after the King, quick and cool as ice, and the others went after Debegri--but he nearly got away. I say ‘nearly’ because it was one of his own people got him squarely in the back with an arrow--what’s more, that one didn’t sprout. Now, if that ain’t justice, I don’t know what is!” He touched his shoulder.
“What? Arrow? Sprout? Was that somehow related to that strange humming just as everything started--or did I imagine that?”
“Not unless we all did.” Bran looked sober for a moment. “Magic. The Hill Folk were right there, watching and spell casting! First time I ever heard of them interfering in one of our human brangles, but they did. Those arrows from Galdran’s archers all sprouted leaves soon’s they left the bow, and they fell to the ground, and curse me if they didn’t start takin’ root. Soon’s the archers saw that, they threw away their bows and panicked. Weirdest thing I ever saw. That hilltop will be all forest by winter, or I’m a lapdog.”
“Whoosh,” I said, sitting down.
He then remembered the cloth under his arm and tossed it into my lap.
I held up yet another tunic that was shapeless and outsized, but I was glad to see it was plain, thick, and well made.
“Found that in someone’s kit. Knew you hated wearing these.” Bran indicated his own tunic, another of the Renselaeus ones.
Thinking of appearing yet again as a ridiculous figure in ill-fitting, borrowed clothing, I tried to summon a smile. “Thanks.”
He touched his shoulder with tentative fingers, then winced. “I’ll lie down until Vidanric gets back. Then, mind, we’re all to plan together, and soon’s we’re done here, we ride for Athanarel--all three of us.”
“Why all three of us?”
“There’s work that needs doing,” Branaric said, serious again.
“What can I possibly do besides serve as a figure of fun for the Court to laugh at again? I don’t know anything--besides how to lose a war; and I don’t think anyone is requiring that particular bit of knowledge.” I tried to sound reasonable, but even I could hear the bitterness in my own voice. "

― Sherwood Smith , Crown Duel (Crown & Court, #1)