The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  “I can send for another.”

  She shook her head and took a swig from the bottle. “Hmm. Not bad.”

  “It’ll do.”

  She smiled at that. “You must be the only person in Tir with mead, Thomas Rymour. Be grateful for that if nothing else.”

  He nodded. She was tanned, more so than usual, her hair bleached from the sun. “So where have you been?”

  “In the Angles,” she said. “A job took me there and I stayed for a few months. Then Neirin found me. Asked me to take him to you.”

  “So it’s you I have to thank.” He lifted his glass. “Neirin told me all about his quest for the sword.”

  “I didn’t think he’d wait. He’s not the patient sort.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  “Try travelling with him.”

  “I’d rather not.”

  Her expression turned serious. “So you won’t go?” She looked at the bottle instead of him.

  Katharine had been trying to get him to travel with her since she’d first found him wandering through that forest with half his mind gone. That had been when he was sent away from Faerie. But he was old. He was tired. He was a man a hundred years out of step with the rest of Tir. Travel was a young man’s game.

  She shook her head. “I didn’t think you would.”

  “Sorry.”

  “At least I know you mean that.” She offered him a smile. Then she looked away again. “I’m a little surprised, though. I thought you’d want to find Faerie again.”

  “It’s tempting,” he said. “But no-one knows how to get there. We’d be wandering Tir for the rest of our lives.”

  She tutted at him. “Thomas Rymour, do you think I’d take on a job without having a few ideas?” She swigged from the bottle and put it on the floor. “Don’t forget you’re talking to Tir’s greatest Pathfinder.”

  “You think you know where Faerie is?”

  “I do.” She seemed pleased with herself. “We have two options. There’s the forest where I found you or there’s the Lannad Sea.”

  Tom frowned. “The forest I understand. If that’s where you found me there must be a Circle nearby. But the sea?”

  She nodded. “There’s a place in the sea that sailors won’t go. They say any ships that go in don’t come out. Most sailors blame the merrow or say it’s a gateway to the Isles of the Dead.”

  “But you think it’s an entrance to Faerie.”

  She shrugged. “You did say you saw a ship there once.”

  It was true. Not long after he’d arrived he’d seen a fishing boat drifting on the Glittering Sea. But being unable to speak meant he’d been unable to ask about it. “What if it isn’t?” he said. “What if it’s just rough waters?”

  “I’ve spoken to sailors,” she said. “Old Erhenni who know rough waters from calm. Any who have sailed that way say the water is calm as anything and covered in fog.”

  The space between Tir and Faerie was filled with a sort of fog. Tom tried not to get excited. “There’s probably a lot of fog on that sea.”

  “Fog that doesn’t move with the wind,” she said. “Fog that isn’t cold or wet.”

  It did sound right. But Tom couldn’t be sure. “And if it is fog?”

  “Then it’s fog.” She shrugged. “But it’s something new. You could do with something new.”

  “I’ve had enough new to last me a lifetime.”

  “No, you haven’t.” He opened his mouth to reply but she talked over him. “Tom, I’ve met a lot of old men in my travels and there are two types. There are the ones who sit in a chair by the fire all day waiting to die, and there are the ones who go out every day and work. Do you know what the difference between them is?”

  He shook his head.

  “One sees only the fire every day. The other sees the world. One hurries you to the grave. The other keeps you alive.” She waved her arms around the room. “You’ve been invited into one of the oldest cities in Tir and what do you do? Sit in your chambers and drink mead by yourself.”

  “Maybe that’s what I want.”

  “Maybe that’s what makes you feel safe.” She leant forward and jabbed a finger at him. “You lost the world you knew. Got kidnapped into a strange place full of strange beings and kept silent for seven years. And a hundred years passed in the mortal world. That’s a lot to deal with. But you’ve been back for four years. It’s time to start living your life again.”

  Tom bit back his anger. Living his life. What life? His wife and child were long dead. His friends, his whole life was gone. What was he supposed to do? Faerie was the only place he could go now. All he had left was the hope of going back.

  And if they didn’t let him in? If they spurned him? Then he would have nothing.

  Katharine set her lips and sighed through her nose. “One day your body is going to give up, Tom, and you’ll go to the Isles of the Dead like everyone else. Why waste your time here? Why not make the most of it?”

  “Make the most of what?” He sounded bitter and petulant even to his ears.

  “Tir,” she snapped. “It’s full of miracles and marvels and people and places. Far more interesting than these damned walls.”

  She was right. He knew that and she knew it too. But he didn’t dare start a new life. The fay were everywhere. What if one saw him, living his life as if he didn’t miss Maev? She’d never take him back.

  Of course, she wouldn’t take him back if he didn’t try to return in the first place.

  Katharine made a disgusted sound and stood. “I’m not stupid,” she said. “I know you’re only quiet when you want to lie. You know I’m right, you just don’t want to agree.”

  She was right. She wasn’t stupid. Just persistent.

  “Katharine,” he began.

  She held up a hand. “I don’t want to watch you try to worm your way through the truth,” she snapped. “We’ll find Faerie without you.”

  “Wait,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry for what?” she asked. But the world was gone a moment later, replaced by a foresight of dark tunnels. He was sat by Katharine’s side. She was laid on the cold stone ground, wrapped in blankets and furs and anything else that was to hand. Her eyes were full of pain and she held his hand.

  “I love you,” she said. And he said nothing. And she closed her eyes and her grip grew weak.

  The foresight was gone and she was glaring at him from the doorway. She was waiting for an answer. What had she said?

  Too late. She left without another word. Tom called after her, got out of bed to chase her. But she was quick. Out of the rooms and nowhere to be seen; the corridors were empty. She deserved better than that. She had his best interests at heart. But she didn’t understand. She couldn’t.

  He blew out her candle and slept. He dreamt of that awful foresight, her hand growing cold and limp in his, over and over.

  He woke to Glastyn sitting by his bedside.

  “Emyr’s black bones!” Tom swore.

  Glastyn smirked. His hair was in disarray, his clothes creased and crumpled. “You should go,” was all he said. “The woman is right; there’s an entrance in the Lannad Sea.”

  Tom’s heart continued to race, but now it was for a different reason. “Will she take me back?” he asked.

  “Would I tell you to go if she would not?” he said, before he ghosted out of the room.

  Chapter 3

  “A truce in exchange for your help?” Regent said it again, as if he had trouble believing it.

  Tom nodded. “The fay aren’t given to charity. He’ll stand a much better chance with me there.”

  Regent frowned. They were in his private chambers, as cold and hard as the rest of the castle with ageing furniture and supposed antiques. Tom stood in the centre of the room while Regent stared out through an arrowslit. The duke wore his finest, all golden yellows and azure blues, with a small, simple crown. They were due to meet the elfs in audience. To that end, Tom had been dressed to match, yellow h
ose and doublet with Regent’s arms in blue, the crown over crossed, downward-pointing swords. He felt silly, like a fool in motley.

  “And you think he’ll agree to peace?”

  “I do,” said Tom.

  Regent stroked his beard some more. “A truce with the Angles would give me a chance to strengthen my position in the west,” he mused.

  “And you would be a hero to your people.”

  Regent shook his head. “A minor concern.”

  Tom had spent his entire youth telling lies and tall stories. He recognised one when he saw it.

  “But you are a very great asset,” Regent said.

  “Not so great,” said Tom. “Perhaps in name only.”

  Regent said nothing, confirming what Tom had long suspected: Regent wanted Tom for the prestige, nothing more.

  “You sing a different tune this morning, it seems.”

  Silence. Silence was his ally. He met Regent’s eye with an even and steady look of his own.

  “You think I should hand you over.” It wasn’t a question so it didn’t need an answer. Regent’s face darkened. “For the Heel?” He stood. “Or for you?”

  “With peace in the east you can better meet the Western forces,” Tom said. “And you can spare more knights for your journey to the border. A show of strength might make them think twice.”

  “And what did Neirin offer you to make you change your mind?”

  “He offered me nothing, Your Grace,” Tom said.

  “So you’re giving yourself up in an act of selflessness?” Regent jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “Everyone wants something, Tom. What are you getting out of this?”

  Regent jabbed at him again and he stepped back. It was the most violent thing he’d suffered in years. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Tell me,” Regent demanded. “What do you get out of this?”

  Tom had to redirect the conversation. “If it helps the Heel what does it matter?”

  “I am Regent here, Rymour.” His words grew into a shout. “I shall decide what matters.”

  “You are Regent,” Tom agreed, backing away.

  “And you are my subject.”

  That wasn’t true. He belonged to Maev.

  The pause wasn’t wasted on Regent. He balled a fist and placed it against Tom’s chest, knuckles to breastbone. It was an oddly threatening gesture, with a subtle strength that intimidated Tom. His words were low and deliberate. “Are you,” he said, “my subject?”

  He couldn’t say yes. He daren’t say no. “I am loyal, Your Grace,” he said.

  Regent glared into Tom’s eyes for a moment before stepping back. “You cannot lie.”

  “No, Your Grace.” But he could mislead with the truth.

  “You are lucky,” Regent said. He turned to a mirror and smoothed his beard. “That’s a gift that makes you trustworthy.”

  Tom nodded and took a shaky breath.

  “Let’s see what the elfs have to say.” Regent stepped out of the room and Tom followed. The halls were chilly even in the late summer morning. Despite Regent’s short stature his pace was brisk, leaving Tom to scurry after him. People bowed as they walked past and Regent greeted them all by name.

  The elfs had been put in the audience chamber. It was the most fluid of the rooms in Regent’s castle, the furniture, decoration, even the temperature regularly altered to achieve Regent’s desired effect. That day it was cold, the windows open and shaded so there was a breeze but no sunlight. The furniture was limited to hard wooden chairs save for the throne; it sat at the head of the circle in all its golden glory. The elfs sat facing it, huddled in their robes and trying not to look cold.

  “The Angles is all desert and sun,” Regent whispered to Tom as they stood in the doorway. It was all the explanation he offered before striding across the room. His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, only slightly dampened by the tapestries on the wall. More supposed antiquities. Everything in the room reminded you of King Emyr, perhaps to remind the elfs that Regent was the caretaker of his throne.

  Neirin stood. His face was bare, his hair tied back and home to a slender silver coronet. He smiled and bared his wrists. Regent bowed.

  “Good morning, Lord Neirin,” he said.

  “Duke Regent.” Neirin didn’t sit until Regent and Tom had. Tom’s chair was furnished with a cushion. He offered a silent thanks to Emyr.

  “On behalf of me and my people may I thank you for your hospitality?”

  “You may,” said Regent, brisk and uninterested. “So you want Tom’s help?”

  Neirin bristled but his smile didn’t falter. “Indeed,” he said. “Tir is in very real danger. King Idris will put us all under a Western yoke.”

  Regent offered a sweet smile. “Indeed.”

  He said no more and Neirin faltered. “Well.”

  “Tir has only one rightful ruler,” Regent said.

  “Yes.” Neirin’s smile returned. “And it is he that shall set us free.”

  “In Emyr we trust.”

  Neirin made a small noise. Frustration? “Or, if not Emyr, then his blade. Caledyr. We have reason to believe it can break the monoliths.”

  “An odd goal,” Regent said.

  There was a click and a creak as the door opened. All heads turned, but only Tom saw Glastyn step inside. The rest saw a confused guard who offered an apology and closed the door again.

  “An odd goal,” Regent said again.

  Glastyn walked around the room, seeming to admire invisible decoration. He held his hands behind his back and his pace was slow, relaxed, as if he were taking a stroll through the gardens. Tom watched the fay, dressed today in deep greens. Traditional Faerie colours. He wondered why. What was he doing here? Glastyn didn’t turn or meet his eye. He cast only an occasional glance towards the conversation as if it was barely of interest.

  Neirin was talking. Tom started listening again. “Break the monoliths and the dragons are free.”

  Regent nodded. “And then we can fight back.”

  Neirin smiled. “Precisely.”

  “Except the elfs are at our door, Lord Neirin. Not yours. And so all the fighting will be done by human hands.”

  The elf looked uncomfortable, as if caught in a lie. “We would gladly offer our aid.”

  “To an enemy of three generations?”

  “Enemies are often bound together in the face of a greater threat.”

  “And you think Tom can find this sword.”

  “Master Rymour can take us to Faerie,” Neirin said. “They can tell us where the sword is.”

  Regent shrugged. “Tom tells me there are fay all over Tir,” he said. “He also tells me that they are of one mind. What one fay knows is known to all others. Is that not so?”

  Glastyn smiled as if Regent’s words were foolish fancy.

  “Quite so, Your Grace,” Tom said, then noticed Siomi giving him a curious look from beneath her veil.

  “So you need not take Tom away. He can ask the next fay he sees, can he not?”

  Glastyn walked over to the circle and stood behind Siomi’s chair. She looked up when Tom glanced behind her. “This one is observant,” said Glastyn. “Tell me, Tom, have you ever bedded an elf?”

  Tom didn’t answer. He didn’t need to anyway. Glastyn knew the answer.

  “We were given to believe such a request should be made to their monarchs,” Neirin said.

  “You should consider it,” said Glastyn. “Their long lives give them time to learn all sorts of tricks.”

  “But any fay could tell you the answer, surely?” countered Regent.

  “Of course, not as many as us.” Glastyn placed a hand on Siomi’s head, a paternal gesture and at odds with his words. She twitched at the contact. Fay could be felt if not seen or heard.

  “If I may,” she interrupted. “Apologies my Lord, Your Grace, but I suspect there is a fay here now.”

  Regent shot Tom an irritated look. “Is that so?”

  Glastyn waved a hand. �
�Don’t tell them. It’s less fun to eavesdrop if they know I’m here.”

  But Tom had no choice. “There is, Your Grace. Glastyn.”

  “The fay from last night.”

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “You might have told me.” Regent flicked a hand at him. “No matter,” he said in a tone that belied his words. “Ask him if the fay will help Lord Neirin.”

  Tom waited for Glastyn but the fay just looked at him with a smile on his face and expectation in his eyes. Tom suppressed a sigh. “Will the fay tell Lord Neirin where to find Emyr’s sword?”

  Glastyn shrugged. “It can’t hurt to ask.”

  “I just did.”

  “But I am an exile, Tom.”

  “You still share the thoughts of all fay.”

  “Indeed, but this is not a question I am permitted to answer.” Glastyn wandered around the circle, peering at the other two elfs and at Neirin. “Keep an eye on this one.” He pointed at the other female, face hidden just as Siomi’s. A pale scar ran past her right eye.

  “Why?”

  “You’ll find out.”

  “No, I mean why can’t you tell me?”

  Glastyn laughed. “Tom, it’s been four years. You think Maev wants to talk to you like this? No.” He shook his head. “Do it the right way. Go to her. Beg audience. You know she’ll like that.”

  It was true, she would. He imagined kneeling before her.

  “Besides, Eastern elfs hunting for Caledyr to break the monoliths? That would be an entertaining gift for our queen, would it not?”

  Tom nodded. Entertainment was perhaps the most important thing to the fay. Being immortal, boredom was the closest to death they could get.

  “Well, Tom?” Regent did not hide his displeasure.

  “Glastyn cannot tell us, Your Grace,” Tom said. “He says the queen of Faerie wants to speak to us in person.”

  Neirin smiled, triumphant. It was an odd reaction. Wouldn’t it have been easier to get the answer now?

  Regent, on the other hand, looked suspicious. He squinted at Tom as if he didn’t believe him. “Is that so?” he said.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “So we request the help of Thomas Rymour of the Second Sight, Duke Regent.” Neirin was all formalities now.