He had a point, so I told him to stay safe, and I went into the tent to see that the others were already getting a makeshift medical station set up. Patrik Boden—the Markis Ansvarig I had spoken with many times when the Älvolk had held Finn’s foster daughter captive—seemed to be heading up the effort, along with a few Trylle healers.

But wounded were already coming. Someone pulled in a Skojare soldier, his body half burnt and bloodied, crying out in pain. One of the Omte that joined my volunteer army—a lovely young woman with dark auburn hair and peach-colored scrubs—dropped to her knees beside him and immediately went to work.

“What do you need?” I asked, since all the other available hands were busy constructing the medical tent and base camp.

“Gloves and gauze to start,” she said. When she glanced up at me, her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re the Queen.”

“And you’re the medical professional,” I said. “Tell me what you need.”

“Gauze, scissors, and disinfectant swabs,” she said, and her focus immediately went back to the patient.

I ran over to the trunks of equipment—helpfully labeled and carried up the mountainside by Vittra hobgoblins—and quickly gathered what she needed. When I returned, she’d moved the patient onto a cot and was injecting him with a painkiller in his unburnt arm.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” she said as she pulled on the gloves I had brought her.

“Call me Wendy,” I said, and I slid on my own pair of gloves so I could assist her.

“I’m Rikky,” she replied with a quick smile. “Rikky Dysta.”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, and went to work helping her.

We got the soldier stabilized—as much as we could given the situation—and the sounds of the battle raged on outside. Swords clashing, fires crackling, monsters roaring, and trolls screaming . . . mostly screaming.

Two more injured were brought in, and Rikky enlisted a healer and Patrik to start doing triage.

Across the canvas covering the tent, a pattering sound trickled above us, and the sound reminded me of hail. The canvas rippled, and I heard a girl scream right outside the front flaps.

I ran out and saw that a pack of spiders the size of fat house cats were on the tent, descending on a teenager. Two of them launched themselves at her—one clung to her leg while she tried to pull another smaller one off her arm.

I focused my energy at them—when I was angry or frightened I had the ability to harness it and direct it at other living things. In other trolls, it caused a pain inside their head, short but intense, like they were being slapped.