The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  “It is a bit.” Tom looked up at the sky. White and grey clouds peppered the blue and hid the sun.

  “Glad I am that we do not travel in winter, if this is your summer.”

  “Are the Eastern Angles much warmer?”

  “Yes. We seek shade during these days. It would be glorious hot.”

  That didn’t sound glorious to Tom. Too much heat meant sweat and stickiness. At least when it was cold you could wear more clothes. But he shook his head. The weather was not what he had come to discuss. “Draig, I almost died today.”

  “I would ask you of that. See you the things to come. Could not you see what that man would do?”

  Tom shook his head. “It doesn’t work like that. I told you.”

  “Yes.” Draig nodded, brow furrowed in thought. “Can not you see what you want to see?”

  “No. If I could, that man wouldn’t be dead.”

  Draig smiled as if a weight had been lifted from his mind. Had he thought Tom had set out to kill? “Yes.”

  “I only survived because of luck.” It could easily have been him lying in the ground instead of Topknot. Would anyone have eaten his wrongs? He doubted it. That act didn’t seem to be practiced these days. “I might not be so lucky next time.”

  “Angau watches,” said Draig. “But he protects not. We must do that for us.”

  “Exactly,” said Tom. “So I’d like you to help me.”

  “Help you?”

  Tom nodded. “Teach me how to handle a sword.”

  Draig seemed uncertain. “I am no teacher, Tom. No master of swords.”

  “But you are a soldier.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you know more than me.”

  “But we can protect you.”

  He thought of the brief foresight he had seen in the Woods, battling that black figure in the white tower. “But you won’t,” he said. “Before this journey is over, I’ll have to fight for my life.”

  Chapter 9

  They reached the edge of Cairnacei as the sun set and followed the lights of the town ahead. Katharine identified it as Cei’s Cove, a fishing village. She told them they might find rest here but little else. Once, she said, it had been a thriving town, on its way to being a true city. But the Whispering Woods cut off its access to the north and the east. Now it could make small trade with the coast of the Marches. With those shores filled with Western soldiers, they were limited to fishing the sea and sending their catch down to Cairnalyr.

  “Will it be safe?” Tom asked. “What if they want Regent’s reward too?”

  “Don’t worry, Master Rymour,” said Neirin. “We will protect you.”

  Tom exchanged a look with Draig but said nothing.

  They smelt the sea before they saw the village, the briny smell making Tom feel fresher; it seemed to scour the air of the phantom stench of blood. They left the poppies behind, the ground turning to heathland, and they crested a rise. Katharine was right. This was indeed a small village. The sun was setting and Tom counted only a dozen lit windows and two dozen roofs. He could see small fishing boats anchored in the water, rising and falling with the waves that crashed on the beaches. The remains of a jetty could just be seen in the fading light, rotted and collapsed.

  The street, for there was only one running through the length of the village, was cobbled but filled with lichen, muffling the horses’ hooves. There was no-one to be seen. Katharine led them to the tavern, identified by the only visible sign. It was a single storey. The windows were open holes near the roof, light and noise spilling out into the night. There were no stables, just a patch of grass with a wooden bar to tie a horse to. There was enough room for their mounts, just, though the feed and water that had been left out was obviously old.

  Neirin walked into the tavern like he owned the place. It was packed, filled with more people than Tom would have imagined. The smell of the sea was in the air, a mixture of fish and brine. The villagers stopped and stared as Neirin strode to the bar.

  “Good woman,” he said to the terrified girl wiping tankards. “Fetch me the innkeep.”

  She nodded and ran into the back. Neirin waited as if he didn’t have a score of men, women and children staring holes into his head. Tom and the others clustered at the entrance. How many of those Erhenni were weighing Regent’s reward against the number of armed elfs?

  The innkeep, a wretched-looking old man, looked as terrified as the girl. He told Neirin he had but two rooms, not worthy of such fine guests. Neirin waved away his protests and took them. He asked for food and drink and a table. He also asked for a man of the law. Those requests earnt him the largest table in the centre of the room, the previous inhabitants all too ready to move aside for these elfs. Neither Tom, Katharine, nor even their bound prisoners earnt a second glance.

  A man of the law was, it seemed, a boy with the beginnings of hair on his chin and a withered, twisted left arm that ended in an unnaturally clenched fist. He introduced himself as Judge Hullworth, but the quaver in his voice suggested it was the first time he had done so.

  Neirin, to his credit, showed no scepticism. “Judge Hullworth, we were attacked by these men. We slayed one in self-defence and captured these two. We wish to release them into your custody.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “Yes, m’lord,” he said. Then he looked at Tom. “And this man, m’lord?”

  “He is with me,” Neirin said. “Under my protection.”

  Hullworth cast a nervous glance over their party. “Begging your pardon, m’lord, but we heard he was a fugitive from Duke Regent’s justice.”

  Neirin fixed Hullworth with a steady gaze. “He is under my protection,” he repeated.

  The boy nodded. “Yes, m’lord.” He pointed to the captives. “We’ll take these men,” he said. “Send them to Cairnalyr in the morning.”

  “You will not try them here?” Neirin asked. Hullworth seemed appalled and Tom almost laughed.

  “No, m’lord.”

  “But you’re a judge.”

  “Judges got the Duke’s authority, it’s true. But we don’t have no arena. Can’t try a man with no arena.”

  Arena? What sort of justice did they practice here?

  “So all of your criminals get sent to Cairnalyr?”

  “Don’t have many, to be truthful, m’lord.” Hullworth shrugged. Although he seemed awed by the elfs, it was obvious he didn’t yet know how to act around his betters. He scratched his backside.

  “I see.” Neirin nodded. “We may as well keep them with us, then, as we are headed that way.”

  “Want me to come with you?” Hullworth didn’t seem sure if he wanted to. “I should, if you’re giving them to us.”

  “Very well.” Neirin waved a hand, dismissing the boy. “We will call for you in the morning.”

  Hullworth scampered back into the crowd as the barmaid brought bowls of lacklustre fish soup. Neirin made no attempt to hide his disgust. It didn’t taste too bad, though. It couldn’t compare to the overly rich offerings Tom had eaten in Regent’s court, but what it lacked in flavours it made up for in simplicity. It was Tom’s sort of food, and he would have enjoyed it more if he hadn’t felt every pair of eyes on his back as he ate.

  The men were put in a tiny empty cellar; apparently the tavern also served as a gaolhouse. The innkeep showed them to rooms that were small, cold affairs with a simple wooden bed and no fire. The man bemoaned again how unworthy these rooms were.

  “I agree,” said Neirin. He sent the man away and divided the party. Tom and Katharine would stay in a room with Neirin and Siomi. Brega, Draig and Six would stay in the other room. Tom wondered why he had been afforded the supposed honour of staying with Neirin. The answer soon became clear.

  “Draig tells me you have asked for lessons with a sword.”

  Tom nodded. He and Katharine were lying on the floor, bedrolls beneath them and a large fur over them. Katharine had placed her hand in his, making him feel very uncomfortable. Siomi had already climbed into
the creaking bed; she hadn’t undressed beforehand but Tom had seen her hand emerge from under the covers to place clothing on the floor. Tom supposed it was more to do with modesty than temperature. In contrast, Neirin towered topless over Tom. He was unembarrassed, though Tom imagined if he had the same physique he wouldn’t be shy either. The elf was slender but muscled, his dark olive skin covered with tattoos that looped and swirled from one shoulder down to the opposite hip. They disappeared down into his voluminous breeches and Tom was certain they continued down his leg. He stood with his hands on his hips, waiting for Tom’s answer.

  “I have, my lord.”

  “Do you not feel protected?” he asked. “We will look after you, Master Rymour, you have my word.”

  How could he say that after he’d had lain there mumbling to himself as Tom had been forced to kill a man? If that was what his word was worth, Tom wondered how much stock he could put in anything Neirin said.

  “He also said you knew you would have to fight before this journey was over.”

  “That is true, my lord. I have seen foresights of myself, fighting for my life.”

  “Do you win?”

  “I don’t know,” Tom said.

  Neirin frowned. The candlelight threw ugly shadows over his face. “But you know how to fight?”

  “No, my lord. But I will do. So someone must teach me.”

  The elf shook his head. “I don’t understand. If you see the skills in your foresights, can’t you teach yourself?”

  It was difficult to explain. The future could influence the present but the present was always in thrall to the future. “It doesn’t work like that,” he said.

  Neirin was not satisfied. But he just grunted and climbed into the bed. There was a huff and the candle went out.

  Katharine moved closer. She put her arm over his chest and nuzzled into his shoulder. “Are you okay?” she whispered.

  Of course he wasn’t. He’d killed a man. And he’d given in to her. After all these years, when he was this close to getting Maev back, he had slipped. And he knew it had meant just one thing, while Katharine thought it meant something else.

  “Don’t worry,” she said to his silence. “It will get better.”

  She had no idea. “Have you killed a man before?” he asked.

  A long pause. “Once.” She moved her hand to his chest. His heart thumped beneath it. “In self-defence.”

  The tone in her voice said he hadn’t been trying to steal her purse. Tom wished he hadn’t asked. He didn’t want to hurt her. “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “I still think about him. Whether I could have spared him. But it was a choice between killing him or letting him do what he wanted to do.”

  He felt her shrug and then she snuggled back into him. “Some choices are no choice at all,” she said.

  Hullworth was waiting for them the next morning, mounted and with his prisoners in tow. He seemed excited, eager, but desperate to hide that behind a smooth and professional demeanour. It made him seem manic.

  There was a road, worn into the heath by many footfalls, that would take them south to Cairnalyr, he said. They would pass a few more villages and then they would board the ferry. This would take them out to the Harbour, the island off the coast where Cairnalyr sat. Neirin took the lead, with Siomi at his side as ever. Katharine took Tom with her behind them, leaving the others to fall in behind.

  “I trust you are feeling better today, Master Rymour?” Siomi asked him.

  He hadn’t slept well. Every time he had closed his eyes he’d seen Topknot, face flecked with his own blood, gasping and gurgling, eyes staring at nothing. When he had slept he had woken often, thinking someone was trying to gut him with a knife.

  “Somewhat,” he said. Because he knew he hadn’t had a choice. Topknot had drawn a sword and attacked him. And a man risked death when he drew a sword.

  “Do not be afraid to be upset,” she said. “It took me many nights to come to terms with my first kill.”

  Tom nodded politely. He didn’t want to ask. But she told him anyway.

  “She was an assassin, sent to kill Lord Neirin. It was the dead of night and I heard the door to his chamber open. I had moments to act. I threw a knife, hit her in the shoulder. When I attacked her, she cut me here.” She pointed to her side, running a finger from front to back. “A step to the left and I’d have been dead. I dashed her head against the wall until she stopped moving.”

  “You saved Neirin’s life,” he said.

  “His death,” she said, blue eyes smiling. “He was just a boy, asleep. It would have been shameful for him.

  Neirin grunted his agreement, eyes ahead.

  “Not for her? The assassin?” Tom asked. “To kill a boy in his sleep?”

  “She died with a knife in her hand,” she replied. “It was a good death. And I had given it to her. I had seen only seven summers. I received much praise.” Seven. Seven with blood on her hands. What did Tom have to complain about? “But I had nightmares about her. I dreamt she was coming again and I had to kill her, over and over, for many months.”

  Neirin turned in the saddle. “You did not tell me this.”

  Siomi shook her head. “I did not want to burden you, my lord.”

  “You will never be that.”

  He said something else in elfish and she bowed her head. Tom could tell she was pleased. Then he turned away and she said to Tom, “If there is anything I can do, you must tell me. I know the burden you bear.”

  It was more than a trite platitude. She wore her concern freely and Tom felt touched by it. “Thank you,” he said.

  She nodded and made to move away.

  “Siomi,” he said and she stopped. “Have there been many assassins?”

  Her gaze turned inward into memory. “I have been fortunate,” she said in a quiet voice. “To give someone a good death is a great honour. That honour has been bestowed upon me a great many times.” She lifted her eyes to meet Tom’s. “Try to remember the gift you gave that man: he will be remembered well.”

  She rode ahead to join Neirin.

  “Puts things into perspective, doesn’t it?” Tom said.

  Katharine nodded. “Their culture is very different to ours.”

  “I’m beginning to see that.”

  The day was windy and Tom found himself cold despite the sun. Their road took them on a winding path, sometimes venturing inland over heath, sometimes venturing right up to the edge of the coast. Tom kept his eyes on the road; while the view of the sea was incredible, the view below was of a sheer cliff with sharp rocks and violent waves crashing below.

  Once they had moved inland again they stopped at a river and watered the horses. Tom caught sight of Asrai swimming under the surface and made sure to keep out of the water; the fay’s touch could burn and mark for life. She surfaced and smiled at him, showing rows and rows of sharp teeth. Asrai had no nose and pale blue skin and hair but, aside from her touch, was quite friendly, happy to chase fish for you if asked. Her darker self, Jenny Greenteeth, was quite another matter.

  “Won’t you swim with us?” she asked. “It has been so long since we saw you.”

  “Not today.” He offered a weak smile.

  She nodded, sweeping her short hair back. She wore water weeds around her lithe body. “Perhaps for the best,” she said. “Dally with us too long and you’ll be late. Our Queen would not be happy.”

  Tom bit back frustration. “I’m doing my best. We’ll be there as soon as we can.”

  “We hope so, Tom. Maev does not like to wait.”

  Could they not see he was upset? A man was dead by his hands. Could they not offer sympathy instead of goading him along? “Away, little fay,” he said.

  “We were here first.” A toothy grin.

  “Away!”

  She splashed away with a hooting laugh, leaving Tom feeling alone and unloved.

  Draig sat down next to him, chewing on a strip of dried meat.

 
; “How are you?” he asked.

  Tom nodded. “I’ve been better but I’ve been worse,” he said.

  “It is good,” said Draig. “Worried I would be had you said ‘fine’.”

  Tom didn’t want to talk about it but he sensed Draig was about to. “I’ll be okay,” he said.

  The elf shook his head. “No,” he said. “Do not think you will be same as you were. You will never be. That man’s face will be in nightmares. Look at your hands, you will wonder how you did what you did. You will do these things until you go to Isles of Dead, Angau willing.”

  Tom couldn’t help but smile. “That’s not very comforting.”

  Draig finished his meat and laid a giant hand on Tom’s shoulder. “You are good man. You are honest man. I should be honest with you.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Good.” Draig clapped him on the cheek. It stunned Tom. “I have killed many elfs, many men. All of them I see. I can not forget them. None will let me rest.”

  “You’re a soldier,” Tom said.

  “Yes, killing people is what I do.” Draig shook his head. “But a person tell you it bothers them not?” He chopped a hand away from his chest. “They lie.”

  “Does it bother Brega?”

  “She lies.” Draig grinned and Tom grinned too.

  “If it bothers you, why do you do it? Why not do something else?”

  “Neirin’s father, he ask why am I a soldier.” Draig shrugged. “I tell him I am good at it. He say if that is only reason I should leave and never come back. So I tell him I want to protect people. Do terrible things so they do not. And he say it is best answer he hears.”

  Draig fell silent. He wore a small smile, making him seem gentle and soft, at odds with his tremendous size. But Tom couldn’t help but wish Draig had done the terrible thing for him. Then he wouldn’t have to remember that glassy stare.

  “Neirin’s father was good elf.” Draig’s voice was soft, the voice used when a person is speaking to memory rather than the person next to them. “Strong. Confident. Leader. He say a thing and it was obeyed. You feel that he would do it but he think you are better elf for task. Made you feel good about you. And always with people. Never in tower or library, brooding and distant. Always smiling. Like friend.” Draig looked pained, like he had suffered a personal loss.