She nodded at the guards and they let him pass. She jerked her horse round and continued at an amble towards the city, forcing Tom to ride alongside. “Your lady Pathfinder said you might come to me.”
“Katharine knows the urgency of our purpose.”
“Of your purpose.” She flashed him a glance, disapproving. “I know the stories surrounding you, Thomas Rymour. Supposedly kidnapped by the fay, kept prisoner for centuries, sent back in disgrace and spinning false prophecy for a few coins. But I know the truth.” She stopped her horse and stared at him. It made him feel an inch tall. “You are a Faerie pet. Their whipped dog. You come here to beg me to return you to them. At my cost. At my detriment. Erhenned should suffer so you can go back to your Faerie masters. Am I wrong?”
She was wrong. She was. It was just the wind that made his eyes water, that took his voice away.
“I work for an entire duchy of people,” she said. “I need to worry about the safety and well-being of thousands. Do not trouble me with your selfish desires.”
She jerked her reins and continued on. Tom sat still for a moment, blinking hard. He wasn’t their dog. He was a subject. More than that. More than that.
“Your Grace.” He found his voice, joined her again. “Will our purpose not aid Erhenned? If we break Idris’ hold over the dragons, it will even the terms. You can’t fight a dragon. But you can fight an army. You can beat an army.”
“Wishes and dreams,” she said. “You have no proof you can do this thing.”
“Neirin believes he does,” he said. “And even if he doesn’t, spread the tale. Make it known what we are doing, that you are helping us. Give hope to your people and give Idris something else to worry about. If he’s chasing us all over Tir, he’s not persecuting Erhenned.”
That gave her pause. “You think he would believe it?”
Tom shrugged. “Could he afford not to?”
She could see her weighing the idea. “You would have me lie.”
“Yes.”
“If I am already lying then I need not give you a ship at all.”
“Because you know it’s worth the risk. That’s why you offered us one.”
“Then why are you here?” she demanded. “What more do you want?”
“Time, Your Grace.” He spread his hands, tried to look as honest as he could. “Even a few days delay could scupper our chances.”
“Will the fay run out of scraps?”
He tried to ignore the insult. But it stung. “Who will believe your story if they know you made us wait for days?”
Bold words but supplication hadn’t worked. Her face was cold, her lips downturned. But then they quirked. “Do not think you are playing me. I see what you are doing.”
“I would not seek to play you, Your Grace.” Tom spread his hands before him. “I want something. You want something. So why not help each other?”
She shook her head. “Truly you do have a silver tongue,” she said.
Maev had said the same when they had first met. He had said something ridiculous and charming to her and she had laughed, a deep throaty laugh that had made him forget all about his mortal life.
“Leave me,” she said. “Be ready to sail tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Your Grace.” He hesitated. He ought to tell her he had seen Cairnalyr conquered. But if he did, she might not help them. Why bother if it would not save the city? So he bowed his head and smiled and pulled back.
Siomi was waiting for him, escorted by guards. She seemed unhappy. “Lord Neirin is angry,” she said. It was hard to hear her muffled voice over the wind. “You should not have done that.”
“We have our ship,” he told her. “Neirin has what he wants.”
Her head jerked back and her eyebrows rose, disappearing under the folds of her robe. “What did you say?”
She called me a Faerie pet and then I told her to spread lies and bring down the wrath of Idris on us. On you. Because I will let you leave Faerie without me and face the consequences of what I just did. That was the truth of it and that was why he said nothing.
“I will say this, Thomas Rymour,” she said. Her eyes were smiling now. “I would not have thought of you as persuasive.”
Tom offered her a smile and tried not to think of Western soldiers scouring the land for her.
Neirin was still angry but he couldn’t rebuke Tom for securing them a ship. Katharine, on the other hand, looked hurt. Perhaps she had thought herself in competition with Faerie and that bedding him meant she had won. She tried to hide her hurt behind congratulations, but he could see it all the same.
They rode into the city, the squat buildings breaking the wind and allowing them to hear something other than a constant roar. The city, supposedly evacuated, was still busy. Some last trades were being finished, Western jewellery, foods and bolts of cloth fetching exorbitant prices for its war-created rarity. Smiths were still working, fixing armour and weapons for the tense-looking soldiers. Tom noticed two types, one in iron armour with pikes and bows, the other in little metal at all and carrying knives, swords and hooks. He guessed the latter fought from ships, where heavy armour would be more lethal than wearing none.
A few men and women hurried back and forth, messengers of some kind. Very few children. The odd street urchin who had eluded the evacuation. A trader’s child, working with their parents. It made the city seem quiet and sad. It made him wonder what sort of life his own son had, only two years old when his father had been taken into Faerie. Had he hated Tom? Had he even missed him? Perhaps Elaine had taken a new lover, who had adopted the boy as his own. Would he find their graves in Tanabawr, arranged in a neat row? Mother, son and father, with no space or memory for him. Not that he deserved either, of course.
“We should have grown beards,” said Six.
“Why?”
“The Erhenni think a man without a beard is no better than a boy.”
Tom looked down from horseback at the city folk. Now that Six mentioned it, Tom could see that every man wore a beard of some sort. The older, great bushy things down to their chests; the young, shorter and more groomed. Tom stroked his own chin. Just a few days growth. Probably not enough. “Is that true?” he asked Jago.
The boy nodded, looking miserable. “More or less.” How frustrating it had to be, to carry a weighty title but only patchy stubble to go with it.
Foresight intruded on his vision, an image of Jago, older, bearded, fierce. “The law is the law,” he said, with a savagery that surprised Tom.
The foresight was brief and faded quickly. “Then you will make an impressive Erhenni,” he said.
They left Jago at the Judge’s office, filling in forms and signing mounds of paper. To Tom’s surprise, Ria was made to sign some papers as well.
“They will be tried tomorrow,” she said. “I take it Hullworth has your version of events?”
“Our version of events?” Neirin scowled. “It is no lie, I swear to you.”
“I made no suggestion that it was.” Many might have quailed under the elf’s anger but Ria didn’t even seem to notice it. “Judge Hullworth, you will submit your testimonies to Judge Ironkey.” She turned back to Neirin. “He’ll sit in judgement tomorrow. Justice will be done.”
Neirin seemed placated by that. Tom turned to Jago and asked, “What will you do now?”
“Return to the Cove,” he said. “I’m not needed for the trial.”
Tom felt uneasy, as if he had seen a foresight of danger to the boy but couldn’t remember it. It happened. Sometimes he wouldn’t remember until weeks after he’d seen a person and then he would feel guilty that he hadn’t warned them. Not, of course, that warning them would change the outcome. “Be safe, Jago Hullworth,” he said. “May the grace of Emyr go with you.”
“Calm waters and clear skies, Thomas Rymour.”
Ria led them through clear, straight streets, none of the winding or chaotic arrangement of Cairnagan. This city had a clear design, laid out to be what it was, no more
and no less. Tom saw no additions to the buildings, no tacked-on structures or attempts to knock down any of the pre-existing buildings. This place had probably gone more or less unchanged since Sir Lyr the Sailor laid the first stone. Their street cut through the quiet city to its very edge, where one path ran up to the castle and onwards to the ruined bridge, and the other cut down to the docks at sea level.
“The castle is a castle,” Ria told them. “Right now it is filled with my soldiers. You can stay with us or seek finer accommodation in the city.”
Neirin wore a fake and gracious smile. “Whatever would most please Your Grace.”
“It makes no odds to me,” she said. “The Kyru’s Song is meant to dock tomorrow. We will load it with the supplies it needs and then it will leave. Be on the docks at dawn. I will see you then.”
It was a dismissal and Neirin failed to hide his scowl. He inclined his head, perhaps not as much as he should have. “Your Grace.”
Everyone else bowed their heads. Ria said nothing and rode away.
“A chilly welcome.” Six was the first to speak.
“That’s her way, from what I hear,” said Katharine. “Direct, to the point.”
“What did you two talk about?” Tom asked her.
“Nothing much,” she lied.
Accommodation was hard to find. Most of the innkeepers had left, sent away by Ria to a safer place. What inns were open were playing host to the soldiers whose ships were docked at the Harbour. Katharine finally found one tucked out of the way, small and dank, ignored by soldiers and forgotten about by Ria. Neirin seemed ready to refuse it until Katharine pointed out the alternative was camping in the open, where the wind would likely toss them into the sea.
There were few beds. Tom found himself in a room with Katharine. She climbed into bed naked and he could not say no, as if having said yes once already made it harder to remember why he should refuse her. Once they were done she seemed warmer to him, his wrongs forgotten, and she cuddled into him and slept.
He lay awake, thinking about Faerie. So close. Tomorrow they would set sail. It might be just a matter of days until he was there. Not long now.
He dozed, but kept waking to the smell of smoke, only to realise it was a dream.
It was dark when he heard the cry. He went to the window, a tiny glass thing, and rubbed at the grime. It made no difference. The filth would not budge and there was nothing to see anyway. The moon had shadowed her shy face from the stars that night. Nevertheless he peered for a minute or two. There was another cry. Then shouts. Panicked and urgent. Tom began to scour his limited view, a steady panic rising in him. He needed no foresight to tell him something was wrong. A bell rang, harsh and clanging. More voices. More shouting.
Then a shout from within the inn. Tom turned and had no time to dress before the door burst open and Six tumbled in. “Get up,” he said. “Get out.”
“What? Why?” Tom said.
“Dragon.”
He looked back out the window in time to see a flare of flame in the dark night sky.
Chapter 11
The inn erupted into noise and chaos as everyone stumbled into clothes and scrambled for their things. Tom emerged into the hall to see Siomi struggling to fix her veil in place. It fell and Tom caught a glance of olive skin before she covered her face with a hand.
“What do we do?” Tom said.
“To the docks.” Neirin seemed calm, collected. He strode into the crowded hallway as if he was off to break fast. “We commandeer a ship and leave.”
“Are you out of your mind?” Six said. “Don’t you think all of those ships are a prime target? We’ll be picked off before we leave the harbour.”
Siomi had her veil in place. “We can’t stay here.”
“Why not?” Brega asked. “Place is made of stone.”
“The roof isn’t,” said Draig. It was true. This building had a thatched roof where the old, stone one had collapsed.
“Siomi’s right,” said Six. “Staying here is not an option.”
“Do not forget your place, Westerner,” Neirin stabbed a finger at him. “You are our prisoner, not our leader.”
“If you want to survive the night, you’ll listen to me,” he said. “First things first: get out. Now.”
It was good advice and so Tom grabbed Katharine’s free hand and led her down the stairs and out into the streets. Further away he could see people running to and fro, the air filled with the sounds of panic and fear. More flame lanced out of the night sky. With so much stone there was little to catch fire, but Tom could see smoke rising from several places already.
“We should help,” he said, to no-one in particular.
“If there’s a dragon, the armies won’t be far behind.” Six had followed them out and the Easterners came behind, Neirin looking furious. “We need to get off this island.”
“The ferry?” Tom suggested.
“We can’t operate it,” Six replied. “The chain needs to be pulled by someone in Knight’s Crossing.”
“So unless we’re going to sprout wings we’re stuck.” Brega growled. She was eyeing the skies with a predatory look and a smile in her eye. Tom got the feeling she liked the idea of facing this dragon.
At that moment a terrible screech filled the air. Fire fell from the sky, pouring over rooftops and catching the roof of the inn. They were showered in burning thatch, landing in their clothes and in their hair.
“Move!” Neirin roared. They ran to the rudimentary stable, freed and mounted the horses. Tom slapped at his arm where his tunic had caught fire.
“Where do we go?” he said to Katharine.
“The docks are our only hope,” she said. Six’s protests were lost in the thunder of hooves, the roar of fire and the cries of the burning inside.
The streets were full and Katharine had to lead them on a winding path. Everyone was running in every direction available, some carrying water, others carrying their worldly possessions, some helping, some fleeing. Tom saw all too few soldiers and there seemed to be no attempts to fight off the dragon, which was wheeling in the sky and spitting fire at anything and everything. At one point a jet of flame crossed their path and Katharine was nearly roasted alive. They had to pass by city folk who had been caught by the blast, burnt to a cinder in seconds, and past those who were burning alive. Their screams were horrifying. But what could they do? Tom watched determined men and women pour water on the flames to no effect at all. The fire ignored the water as if it were a gust of air. What help could they give?
People were pouring down the main street and down to the docks. It forced them to slow almost to a halt, passing by a row of shops at a crawl.
“This is too dangerous,” cried Six.
As if in answer, the dragon screamed overhead. The noise was appalling, a mix between a child’s cry and the sound of metal scraping against metal. Six looked up. “It’s a male,” he said.
“How do you know?” snapped Brega.
“I know.” He looked at the people trying to squeeze down the wide road. The dragon swooped over the bay, fire lancing from its maw to catch boats and people alike. Some of the city folk panicked and tried to turn back but were crushed by the oncoming crowd. The air reeked of soot and fish and sweat.
“Help me.” A woman staggered up to Tom and pawed at his leg. “Please, my son, I have to save him, I have to get out.” On her back was strapped a baby, red-faced and wailing. The woman had been burnt on her face, her hair burnt away and her skin melted and stinking.
“I can’t,” said Tom. “I don’t know how.”
“Please.” The woman began to pull at his leg, trying to get his foot out of the stirrup. She wouldn’t stop until Tom kicked at her, then she disappeared into the crowd.
The dragon screamed again and poured fire over more ships. They burnt in the night like little bonfires on the water.
“The docks are suicide.” Six was barely audible over the panicked wails of the crowd. The Erhenni were beginning to r
ealise there was nowhere to go. It was going to get ugly. Where were the soldiers? Why weren’t they trying to stop the dragon?
Six climbed off his horse.
“What are you doing?” Tom asked. The crowd surging around them was dangerous, the elf could get trampled.
“Something risky.” Six kicked at a shop door.
“Looting, Westerner?” Neirin’s smug shout came from down the street. They were getting separated. Where was Katharine?
Six kicked in the door and emerged moments later with a bolt of scarlet cloth and a wooden tube.
“What’s that?”
“Cloth and a roller,” Six said as he clambered back onto his horse. “We need to distract that dragon long enough to escape.”
“Escape to where?”
“Anywhere,” said Six, “but here.”
Tom nodded. “There’s a forest to the south,” he said. “I saw it on the way here.”
“Good. Tell the others.”
Tom turned to Siomi, the nearest person. “We make for the forest,” he said. “South.”
Her eyes were bright, fire reflected in them, but she nodded. She didn’t question him. She didn’t argue. She trusted him. He felt the weight of that trust, almost changed his mind. But she turned and shouted to the others. People below heard them too.
“The forest? Is there a ship?”
“Trees burn, I’m not going there.”
“To the forest, our Duke is waiting for us.”
“Duke Ria orders us to the forest.”
Tom turned back to Six and saw him forcing his way up the street, to the north. “Where are you going?”
“I’m the distraction.”
A roar of fire and the castle was burning. The dragon settled on the gate of Lyr’s Ford, dwarfing the gargoyles. Its enormous head swept this way and that, just a shadow barely lit by the burning city. It spat a puff of flame into the sky like a signal and, with a mighty crack, it pushed the statue from the top, sending the woman and her trident to the ground.
The wails intensified; the Erhenni were just a frightened mob now.
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 17