The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  “Alas I cannot, good ladies, not today.”

  “Pity.” They were so small it was hard to read their expressions. “I suppose you are in a rush to get to Faerie?”

  “I suppose I am.”

  “It is for the best,” she said. “Queen Maev will be most displeased if you are late for Calgraef.”

  “Indeed?” Tom kept his voice flat and disinterested. But Calgraef was the autumn festival and it was late summer now. He couldn’t remember the date. Was there enough time to find Faerie?

  “Oh yes,” said the nymph with a casual air. “She will not suffer to wait, our queen.”

  “Of course.” What if they didn’t find Faerie in time? What if Maev changed into Mab and turned him away?

  “Glastyn wishes you had seen his chase,” said another nymph. “He thought it merry and of great amusement.”

  “I have no doubt,” Tom replied. “What of the men chasing him?”

  “They have stopped,” she replied. “They are chasing you instead.”

  “Chasing us?” He looked back the way they had come. Birds sang, insects buzzed, shouts and cries of ordinary life drifted over the windless air. There were no sounds of pursuit.

  “Yes, men on horses are riding up and down your precious roads.” The nymph gave him a look that seemed born of Queen Mab’s cruel smile. “We should not dally were we you, Thomas Rymour.”

  The fay slipped into the water and Tom hurried to catch up with Katharine.

  They came on Aeryie long after sunset, a candle in the night. Unlike Cairnagan, which would be a beacon surrounded by glowing towers and homes, Aeryie sat alone in the darkness. Many of the nearby mills, Katharine said, created a fine dust that set the air afire if exposed to a flame. Aeryie itself, though, was full of light, though it was not the comfort it might usually have been. Light meant people could see him. Light would identify him to Regent’s men.

  Katharine had shrugged off the fay’s warning. It was almost as if she didn’t believe Tom. “What would you have me do, Tom? Change our plans based on little water people only you can see? Neirin is waiting in Aeryie. That’s where we need to go.”

  They approached from a dirt track into the town which, even at this late hour, was filled with life. Some waved their wares at anyone with coin, some loaded wagons for a late journey, some shops still sold cold food or hot metal. It was busier than any town Tom had been to in his childhood but he could tell Aeryie had once been bigger, brighter. Some of the buildings were dark and dilapidated. The vendors looked tired, as if they’d been trying and failing for too long. The women that stood in alleyways and winked at every man looked skinny and underfed. The buildings towered and sagged towards each other, creating a tunnel out of each street, and the air was heavy with the stink of waste and effluence. Tom was tempted to turn around and walk back to Cairnagan.

  “Here.” Katharine had taken them to the largest building Tom had seen so far, with three stories that he could see, the second and third leaning out over the street and almost touching the building opposite. A man slumped in the gutter outside, sleeping it off, vomit down his front. The sign, where the paint hadn’t peeled away, proclaimed it to be the Four Crowns. “I sent Neirin to stay here. It’s the best inn Aeryie has.”

  Tom had spent too long in court. He felt his nose wrinkle. Yet he had drunk in places far worse than this in his youth. Places where the rushes had rotted and the beer tasted like bog water. But when they stepped inside, it was plain the Four Crowns was a better class of drinking establishment. It was well-lit, with fresh candles in every sconce and a small fire in the place, on which they had placed sweet-smelling plants. The floors were bare wooden floorboards, with just a few discreet piles of sawdust to soak up various fluids. Everywhere else was clean and tidy. The patrons, whilst dirty and tired and raucous, seemed well-behaved. Katharine marched straight to the bar and Tom followed in her wake.

  The barman gave them a great smile from under his enormous moustache. “Katharine. They said you were coming.”

  “Barnaby.” She leant over the bar and kissed his cheek. The man’s skin shone. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “Business must be good,” he said, “to be travelling with elfs.”

  “And the Crowns looks busy.” It was true. There was only one empty table, the largest one, set at one end of the room on a dais.

  “Times are tough but we make do.” He looked past Katharine at Tom. “Good evening, young master.”

  Tom couldn’t help but smile. Young master. The man was maybe five years older than him. “Good evening.”

  “A room for you two?”

  “Please,” Katharine said. Was that one room? Would they be sharing? Wouldn’t that be awkward?

  “You’ll enjoy your stay, young master,” Barnaby said. “Mattresses as soft as those in Cairnagan. Good sturdy bed.” He winked at Katharine when he said that. “Clean and safe; you won’t find better locks in Cairnagan. And we’ve got the best food and drink you’ll find in the Heel.”

  “As good as in Cairnagan?”

  Barnaby grinned. “You’ve stayed here before?” Then he laughed, a hearty laugh that filled the room. Tom laughed too. The man reminded him of Old Jep, the barkeep in Pebbleston, where Tom had drunk away many a night before Maev found him. Old Jep always had a smile and a kind word for anyone who visited his tavern. He hadn’t been the smartest of men, but he had the loyalty of every man in the village. Even Tom, who had been loyal to very few. It pained him to think of himself at that age, feckless and unreliable, his only concerns being those for himself. He’d been a poor husband. A worse father.

  Katharine nudged him. “Come back, Tom.”

  He shook his head. “It wasn’t foresights,” he said. “Just memories.”

  “They didn’t look like happy ones.” She handed him two mugs and pointed towards the dais. He walked ahead of her, weaving his way through the tables. Now he was closer, he could see that some of the furniture had seen better days.

  “They weren’t.” He pictured Elaine sitting and waiting in their tiny, one-roomed hut. How long had she waited for him to come home?

  “We’ll have some time before Neirin comes down,” Katharine said. “Apparently he’s been hiding up in his rooms.”

  “Too good to mingle with the humans?”

  Katharine shrugged. “He is aloof. But then he is the Eastern equivalent of royalty. Does Regent go drinking with the commoners?”

  “No. More’s the pity.” Tom looked out over the bar. These people were struggling to survive but Regent had abandoned them, preferring to parlay with elfs than help his own people.

  He should have stayed with Elaine. He should have been a better man.

  “Tell me about these bad memories.”

  Tom shook his head. “I’d rather not.”

  She lifted her mug. “It’ll pass the time. Maybe make you feel better?”

  She had such an honest face. It made Tom want to tell her everything, just so there would be no secrets or lies between them. She smiled and it made Tom smile too.

  But, “No.” He shook his head. “I don’t think I’ll ever feel better about this.” He stared out over the bar. The scene before him faded and blended into another, the same view but a different day. The atmosphere was tense, the room subdued. As the drinkers eyed each other, fay slunk unseen between the tables, brownies and hobgoblins and sprites. They drank from unattended mugs, untied shoelaces, pilfered from pockets. An argument broke out in a corner, accusations of thievery and dishonesty. Barnaby looked fraught, unable to find something, and as he rummaged for it a brownie uncorked a barrel and let the beer spill all over the floor.

  “I know a thing or two about magic.” The inn was gone and instead an elf sat hunched over his bound wrists, as far away from any tree as he could get. Which was not easy. The trees were thick, the branches above them so dense that it was almost dark.

  “Of course you do.” It was one of the Easterners, the other female. “And I’m
sure you’re an expert in magic water too.”

  “Six is right,” Tom said. “Perfectly round pools of water are not to be trusted.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Because they’ve been put there by someone else,” the elf replied.

  Then his vision was filled with two dark eyes boring into him. They appeared with such suddenness that he cried out, and the foresight fled, and the present returned with a rush.

  “Welcome back.”

  Tom looked up. Katharine smiled at him, but it was an Easterner that had spoken. A giant with a voice like thunder, he’d clearly been in conversation with Katharine until Tom had interrupted. His face was bare, revealing broad, flat features. He dwarfed his chair and made the glass he held look like a thimble. But he offered Tom a friendly smile.

  “Hello,” he said.

  “Hello,” Tom replied. He offered his hand and realised he’d spilt beer on it. The elf looked at it with a quizzical smile. Tom wiped it on his hose.

  “My name is Draig.” The elf spoke with a thick accent, his speech halting and careful.

  “Tom.”

  The elf nodded. “Is it every time like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “You were like dead. I spoke but you did not hear me.”

  “Oh.” This titan of an elf spoke to him as if they’d been friends for years. It made Tom feel oddly embarrassed, as if he’d fallen asleep during a conversation. “Yes. Sorry.”

  Draig shrugged, an easy gesture. “Say not sorry, Master Rymour. You did not know I was here.”

  “Draig came down ahead of Neirin for safety,” Katharine said.

  “Ah.” Tom nodded. Then, as his time at court had taught him that small talk was the polite thing to do, he asked, “I hope Lord Neirin is well?”

  “He is well. Thank you for the asking.” Draig’s smile made it seem as if he was truly grateful. The elf was open and earnest, as if he was pleased to be in their company. It made Tom feel awkward and cold, that he was not so happy.

  “Can I ask a question?” Draig said.

  “Of course.”

  “You did not see us. This.” He pointed to the three of them. “Can not you control these sights?”

  “No, I can’t,” said Tom. “The future comes to me in glimpses, as it wills.”

  “You are at its mercy?”

  “In some ways.” He often felt like it. He could not stop his foresights from coming, even in the middle of conversation. “Though if I’m relaxed I can sometimes encourage them.”

  Draig nodded as if he knew all about it. “It is difficult.”

  “At times, yes.”

  “You would like them to be gone?”

  Give them up and be rid of all the people who demanded he perform for them? Never have to explain that he didn’t foresee everything nor could he on demand? “No,” he said. It was his only link to Faerie. A gift. A Faerie gift and so, as the saying went, bad as much a boon. But a gift nonetheless.

  Draig waited for more and, when it did not come, said, “Can not you lie.”

  “The other part of my gift,” Tom said.

  “Difficult also.”

  “It is,” said Tom. “Very much so.”

  Draig smiled. “My thoughts are women do not like that much.”

  “Not so much, master elf.” Tom smiled at memories of many slaps. “It’s hard to pay a compliment when you can’t exaggerate or tell a pretty lie.” He glanced at Katharine but she wasn’t listening; her gaze was drifting over the room. Tom was about to ask her what she was looking for when the room went quiet. Conversation didn’t stop, but it faltered. Everyone was trying to look like they weren’t staring at the staircase. Tom followed their unsubtle gazes to see Neirin standing at the top, looking down on all of them. He wore his most haughty expression, his hands on his hips, magisterial in black and silver robes with his coronet gleaming on his brow. Siomi stood in front; her veil was up but Tom recognised her figure. The other female stood close behind him, veiled and hooded too. Draig stood up. They did not move for a long time. What was Neirin looking for? Tom surveyed the room. The conversation stuttered and withered. People drew into themselves, huddling under collars and hoods.

  Finally Neirin made a small gesture and Siomi led them down the stairs, which creaked and groaned in the quiet.

  “Good evening, Master Rymour,” Neirin spoke with the easy grace he had used at court. He sat himself with his back to the wall, somehow placing himself at the head of a round table. “Miss Katharine. I am pleased to see your escape met with little misadventure.”

  Tom glanced at the tables below them. How could Neirin be so indiscreet? “And you are well, my lord?”

  “I am, thank you. Pleased to be ready to continue our journey.” He turned to Katharine. “We have kept your maps safe, Katharine, that we might find our next path.”

  The other female handed over a wooden tube. Plain to the casual observer, with only a few carvings in the stained wood, Tom knew that it was actually an expensive artefact in itself. Sturdy and waterproofed, it was home to Katharine’s greatest treasures for, while a Pathfinder carried a trove of knowledge, their maps were the sum of their lives. It was a sign of great trust that she had let Neirin take them; Katharine rarely let them out of her sight. Her relief at having them in her hands was palpable.

  “Thank you, Lord Neirin.”

  “Thank you,” he replied. “Your trust in us was a great gift.”

  Katharine undid the clasp and removed the hinged lid. It opened with a pop and she reached in, pulling out a single sheet of paper, also a rarity even in this modern age. Being careful to avoid Tom’s spill, she unrolled it over the table. It primarily showed the Heel, but with the northernmost regions of Erhenned and Tanabawr as well.

  “We have two options, my lord,” she said. She ran a finger from Aeryie to the Marches then south, down the coast. “Erhenned is our destination. The Erhenni are the only people with ships that can cross the Lannad Sea. If my information is correct, there is an entrance to Faerie in the middle of that sea?” She looked at Tom for confirmation.

  Tom nodded. “A fay told me that Katharine was right.” He almost smiled at the thought of returning. “We can find an entrance there.”

  She nodded. “So we can travel west, into the Marches, then hug the coastline down to Cairnalyr, capital of Erhenned.”

  Neirin shook his head. “The Marches are not an option, Katharine. It is occupied by Idris’ forces.”

  “Regent is there too,” Tom said. “He’ll want to stop us if only because of me.”

  “Indeed.”

  Katharine nodded. “Then our path is to the east.” She traced a line from Aeryie back into the Eastern Angles, south and then back west, through Tanabawr and into Erhenned. “It is a longer road but a safer one.”

  Tom frowned. Both paths had avoided a large wooded area in the south of the Heel. “You said the coastal road isn’t used anymore,” he said. “But it’s the quickest road south.” He ran a finger from Aeryie directly south, through the trees.

  “The road is gone,” Katharine said. “The Whispering Woods are impassable.”

  “Impassable?” he repeated. “It didn’t used to be.”

  “Trust me, Tom. It is now.” She shook her head at him. “Many have gone into those woods to find a path. No-one ever comes out.”

  “That strikes me as somewhat dramatic,” said Neirin.

  Katharine shook her head. “There are some places in Tir that don’t belong to men, elfs or dwarfs,” she said. “Other things live there. Dangerous things. The Wastes, the Harbour, the Whispering Woods. They’re all places no Pathfinder will take you.”

  Neirin shook his head with a condescending smile and opened his mouth to reply. But something caught his eye. He frowned, then stiffened. When he spoke, it was with a low anger. “Brega, Draig,” he said. He rose to his feet and lifted a magisterial hand, a lazy but demanding finger pointed across the room. “There. Bring him to me.”

/>   Tom followed the finger to a figure in the middle of the room. Hooded and cloaked in a worn and faded grey, he stood like a thief caught with his hand in the valuables. He stared back at Neirin for a moment before he bolted.

  Draig and Brega leapt from the dais, Draig ploughing through the tables like an aurochs through a chicken coop, Brega leaping from table to table, her billowing robes making her look like a terrible, avenging shadow.

  They wouldn’t catch him. He’d had a head start. He’d probably been sidling out since they’d arrived. He was too close to the door and Brega and Draig were too far away. Why were they chasing him? Why they didn’t just let him go? As if reading his mind, Brega stopped her pursuit, standing from atop a table and watching the chase.

  Their quarry was at the door. In a moment he’d disappear into the streets. It was over.

  Brega drew back a hand and there was a knife in it. Did she mean to kill the man? She threw it and the sound of the blade burying itself in the door made everyone jump. The hooded man jerked back in surprise and wasted a moment looking back at Brega.

  That moment was all Draig needed to tackle him to the floor.

  There was no fighting, no wrestling. Draig was just too big. Any efforts to fight back would have been the beating of a moth’s wings against a storm. The man knew that and went limp, allowing Draig to pull his hands behind his back and haul him to his feet. Draig looked over to Neirin who nodded and waved them forward. He then turned to Brega and shouted across the room, “Tell the owner that we will, of course, pay for any damage and for any drinks spilt. But before you hand over any money, ask him why he’s harbouring a Western scout.”

  Careful murmurs bubbled amongst the patrons and Tom frowned. Western scout? He examined the hooded figure as Draig hauled him up to the dais. What made Neirin think he was a Western scout?

  Draig pushed his captive down into a seat and yanked back his hood to reveal a male elf of a delicate build. Handsome, certainly, with golden skin marred only by a tattoo on his cheek. His lips seemed accustomed to wearing a smirk, as they did now, and he wore long, blonde hair in a simple tail. It was the elf from his foresight. Six.