“Explain yourself, Thomas Rymour.”
He ignored them. It was a mistake. They would not shut him out. It was a mistake. Robin had it wrong. Maev would tell him. She would let him in.
“We need to go.”
“Go where?”
“Nowhere is there to run.”
“They’re almost on us.”
“Draw swords. If we fall, we fall with honour.”
Tom didn’t care what they were doing. He would stay here. He would kneel. He would show himself to be a good servant. She would realise the mistake.
Hands pulled at him. “Come on, Tom. It hasn’t worked. We have to go.”
He pushed Katharine away. “No.”
“We can’t stay here.”
Western voices called out. They had been heard. Draig stepped forward.
“Stay in the circle,” Tom said.
“If death is for me tonight,” said Draig, “I meet it with dignity.”
“Stay in the Circle,” he said again. He bowed his head again. “Good Queen Maev, I am your humble servant. I beg of you, reconsider. Let us in. We are in mortal peril.”
Voices cried out in elfish. A dozen soldiers, dressed in the white robes of the West, stood with burning torches and drawn swords. “Drop your weapons,” said an elf. “Put your hands behind your head or face the King’s Justice.”
“Please,” Tom whispered.
“They’re Easterners, captain,” said another elf. “They won’t surrender.”
“I am Lord Neirin of the Eastern Angles.”
“The Shield.”
“Should we capture him?”
“Won’t surrender.”
“Archers!”
“Drop your weapons now or we will shoot.”
He heard the stretch of bowstrings. A dozen more elfs had arrived, pushing past the others. One had an arrow pointed straight at Tom’s head. One twitch and he would be dead. Nothing. Not even a memory. He closed his eyes. “Please, Maev,” he said. “Don’t leave me.”
“Kill them,” said the captain. “We’ll ask for Idris’ forgiveness later.”
There was a snap as the archers released their arrows.
Chapter 13
Tom didn’t feel cold anymore. He didn’t hear the shouts of soldiers, the cries of the Erhenni. Just a breeze rustling through leaves. Was this the Isles? Was this death?
His knee ached from where he was kneeling on it. Should his knee ache in the Isles of the Dead?
He opened his eyes. They were in the forest. No, a different forest. They were stood in a circle of trees, but the land was flat. There were no soldiers. The eldritch trees were of a type not seen in Tir. The breeze was of warm midsummer and the sky, visible through the canopy above, was twilight.
Faerie. He laughed. Faerie.
“We made it,” he cried. He surged to his feet and laughed again. “She let me in.”
He turned and saw the others looking confused. “What is this place?” Neirin asked.
“It’s Faerie,” Tom said.
“You never said it was so foggy,” Katharine said.
Tom frowned. The air was clear and crisp, so thick with magic that it almost shimmered. It made him giddy. “What fog?” he said.
She looked at him. She looked hurt and he tried to wipe the grin off his face. But it was no good. Each breath smelled of sweet summer. “It’s all around us, Tom. Can’t you see it?”
He shook his head.
“Ho ho ho, good Tom, she asks if you can see when she can see nothing at all.”
Tom turned. Robin sat in the hollow of one of the trees, toying with a leaf that was almost square. “You said we couldn’t come in.”
Robin grinned, showing off all his sharp little teeth. “And those who cannot see are led by a seer who cannot think.” The fay leapt to his feet, gambolling around all fours. The others stared past and through him as if he wasn’t there.
“At least we are safe,” said Siomi.
“I am not convinced.” Neirin’s face was drawn down in disapproval. “We cannot call ourselves safe if we do not know where we are.”
“This is the leader of your merry band?” Robin drew himself to his full height. Although he was much larger than other brownies, he was still short. His head barely came to Neirin’s chest. “He’s a stiff one.”
“That is Lord Neirin, Shield of the Eastern Angles. He seeks an audience with Queen Maev.”
“Who are you talking to, Thomas?”
“Ah, our fair Queen. We fancy you seek an audience of your own, good Tom.”
Tom blushed. “It would be good to see her again.”
“Good, good, always with you the good.” Robin tsked. “You of all people should know that it is just another word here.”
Tom nodded. He knew. Morality was a curiosity. Right and wrong stood inferior to fun and entertainment. “I had not forgotten. But Robin, please, why do my friends think they stand in fog?”
“A seer who sees nothing.” Robin gave a theatrical sigh and threw an arm over his face. “The tragedy is too much for us.”
“We must assume we are in Faerie, my lord,” said Siomi. “We know that Thomas sees things we cannot. Perhaps we cannot see Faerie.”
“Ho ho ho, the elf has it aright!” Robin giggled and scampered about her. “A wise one here. Or a fey one. Which is it?”
“So we are unable to see the entire realm?” Neirin snorted. “I find that hard to believe.”
“Ah, if she follows this Neirin then it follows she be wise, for no fay could follow that act.”
“Lord Neirin, Siomi is correct.” Tom tried to be soothing but he couldn’t help but smile at Robin’s antics. He had his face up against Neirin’s, examining him with mock concentration. “You have not been granted the Second Sight. That is why you cannot see Faerie.”
“Hmm. A prickly one.” Robin tugged at Neirin’s hair on one side then another, causing Neirin to wave his arms as if fending off bees.
“Robin, please.”
“What is that? Is that a fay? I am Shield of the Eastern Angles!”
“Robin, please, stop it.”
Robin hopped away to crouch at Katharine’s feet. She was watching Tom, a distant look on her face. “Ah, and this must be the one who bedded our Tom.”
“You know about that?”
“There is little we do not know.” Robin peered up at her. “She’s no beauty. Rather plain, I would say.”
“She’s the most beautiful woman I know,” he snapped and then wondered at his own words.
“Ho ho ho, and what of our queen, good Tom?”
He took a deep breath and forced a smile. “She is not a woman, is she?”
“A fey answer, good Tom, a fool’s answer.”
“You would know.” He suddenly felt out of sorts, grumpy and uncertain. “Enough fooling. Grant my companions the Second Sight.”
“Orders, Tom? You would give us orders?”
“Do it, Robin.”
The smile fell from the brownie’s face. “We will do it.”
Katharine started and stepped back, able to see Robin sat at her feet. The others blinked and it was clear they could see too.
“We thought we were your boon companion.”
Tom wasn’t in the mood for it anymore. “Stop sulking, Robin. It doesn’t become you.”
The fay sighed. Then giggled. “No, it doesn’t.” He leapt up and scampered away. “Come on, then, let’s get you to our queen.”
The fay. Only they could so quickly forget an upset. Despite himself, Tom smiled.
“Are you okay?” Katharine stepped forward but stayed out of reach.
He nodded. “Are you?”
She shrugged and gave him a weak smile. “We’re here.”
Tom took a deep breath and tried to forget his sudden temper. He tried to be like a fay.
“Yes,” he said. “At last.”
They didn’t see another fay as Robin led them through the forest. That was unusual. The fay had a
n affinity for trees; they made for natural hiding places. Robin would not be drawn on the matter, but Tom got the feeling it was excitement rather than evasion that prevented him from answering. He scampered on ahead, disappearing from sight for minutes at a time only to run back to them and berate them for being so slow.
“Why do we not ride faster?” Siomi asked.
“Appearances,” Tom said. “Reputation.” He’d smiled at Katharine but she didn’t seem to appreciate the joke.
Tom told the others that Robin was Queen Maev’s envoy for want of a better word, and so Neirin tried his best to formally introduce himself to the brownie. Robin just laughed and made jokes at the elf’s expense.
“Robin is also Maev’s fool, Lord Neirin.” Tom made no attempt to hide his grin. “I would save your breath and your formalities for Maev herself. She might appreciate them better.”
They did not have to ride long before they emerged out of the forest. The ground sloped down into a plain where there were arrayed tables, fires, lounges and sofas. Fay bustled about, carrying flagons, cauldrons, furniture. Other fay hovered in the air above, shouting instructions or simply playing, chasing each other and getting in each other’s way. Fay of all shapes and sizes, from the tiny sprites that could sit in your hand to the enormous woodkin, tree-shaped fay with bark for skin and leaves and moss for hair. Tom spotted fay he knew, such as the Cauld Lad, Cluricaune and Glastyn, as well as some he knew only by reputation, such as Gentle Annis, The Night Man and the Brown Man. Delicious smells wafted up to them from below, while across the plain Tom could see the landmarks mostly unchanged. The Glittering Sea was still and clear as ever, though a statue had been raised in the shallows since he had left. Another forest began on the far side of the plain, mountains rising up in the very great distance to the north. Robin danced and pranced and giggled with glee before them.
“Oh it will be a good Calgraef, Tom. We have not had mortals for Calgraef in many a year.”
“Do not eat anything,” Tom told the others. “Do not drink anything. Remember that all fay share a mind. What you say to one will be known to all the others too. So treat each fay as if it were royalty.”
Robin finished his dancing and pulled himself to his full height. “Then bring us our crown, fool Thomas, and a bucket of flower wine. I shall decide later which to drink and which to wear on my head.”
Tom ignored him. “Following these rules isn’t about manners,” he said, turning his horse so he faced them all. “It will be the difference between being allowed to leave again and being kept here. Forever.”
Brega rolled her eyes. “Until our dying days?”
“No,” Tom replied. “Longer than that.”
She rolled her eyes again.
“I need you all to swear that you will follow these rules and do as I say, without question,” he said.
Each of them agreed, some more readily than others. Neirin was silent. “And you, my lord? Will you swear to do as I say?”
Neirin looked like he would rather have been anywhere else at that moment. “I am Shield of the Eastern Angles.”
Tom held in his sigh. “I know, my lord. But here you are a guest, a guest in a world you do not understand. Obeying me could be the difference between life and death.”
“Ho ho ho, good Tom, you think so harshly of us? Kill? Death? Let harm befall our guests? What hosts we must make.”
“You see?” Neirin wore a smug smile. “They will not do us harm.”
“Perhaps these fay will not.” Tom tugged his horse closer. “But you know they will change after Calgraef.”
“They will abide by their word, though.”
Tom shook his head. “If Robin Goodfellow gives you his word, Robin Goodfellow may be bound by it. But the Puck is not. The Puck may resemble Robin in appearance and manner but he is a very different beast.”
Robin popped up at Tom’s side, leaning against the horse. “He’s right, you know.” He wore a charming smile, making his words all the more menacing. “Goodfellow I may be, and an honest Puck for sure. But while I may be two, one’s word belongs to one only, no more.”
Neirin recoiled from the brownie. “Very well, Thomas Rymour,” he said. “I shall do as you bid. While we are in Faerie.”
Tom nodded. “Thank you, my lord.” He looked down at Robin. “My companions have sworn their obedience. Will you take us now to Queen Maev?”
Robin rolled his eyes. “Oh, Tom, we have Calgraef to celebrate first. Can this all not wait?”
Tom shook his head. “Rules, Robin.”
“Rules, rules, these are things for someone other than Robin Goodfellow to worry about.” But the brownie hopped away and loped down the hill. Despite his protests, he was as bound by the rules as every other fay.
Robin led them straight through the preparations, as if to be as difficult as possible, disrupting what he could and stealing any food left unguarded. The other fay, though, paid more attention to the mortals in their midst. Many of them recognised Tom and gave greeting. Tom knew just what to say to each one. Formal greeting to this one. Bawdy joke to another. Gracious acceptance, flirtatious compliment. He was in his element. He could feel it. The fay welcomed him and were happy to see him and he slot into place. He felt happy, at peace, excited, anxious and calm all at the same time. The magic seemed even thicker in the plain and he felt light-headed from it, almost drunk on it.
He watched two woodkin haul an enormous wooden effigy of Cei into place above a bonfire. Although the fay knew the truth, they followed mortal traditions more than they would admit.
“Why are they getting ready for Calgraef so early?” Brega asked.
“Time moves differently in Faerie,” Tom replied. “We may only have been here an hour or so, but weeks will have passed in Tir.”
“I don’t understand.”
Tom shrugged with a grin. “Neither do I.”
Brega’s eyes flashed but she said nothing. Somewhere a lute began to play and Robin grabbed hold of a piskie and began to dance with her. She dropped the bowls she can been carrying, flower petals spilling everywhere.
“Oh Robin!” she cried but her grin put paid to her complaint. Not unlike a brownie, but silver-haired instead of brown, taller and more refined, she attempted to dance as a human might while Robin’s dancing was more like a happy dog’s.
Tom jumped down from the saddle and began to gather the petals back into the bowls. The music was infectious, the rhythm quick and carefree, and he began to hum along. He must have heard the tune before.
“Thank you, kind Thomas.”
Tom bowed his head. “My pleasure, good lady.”
“Bah. A silver tongue will not earn you a piskie’s kiss, good Tom.” Robin giggled and let go of the other fay. “Action. That’s what they respect. Isn’t that right?” He snapped his teeth at the other fay, who demurely tucked some fur behind her ear and tried to hide a smile.
“We would rather a kind-hearted gentleman like Thomas over a rogue like you, Robin.” But Tom could see that was not the case. She took the bowls. “Thank you again.”
“You’re welcome.” Tom bowed again. “Come on, Robin. Take us to Maev already.”
Robin sketched a bow. “Of course, our liege. Forgive our trespass against our duties. Will you lop off our head now?”
“Would it make any difference?”
“Ho ho ho!” The brownie skipped away. “We’re so glad you’re back, Tom. Faerie has been so dreary of late.”
Robin led them past the festivities and towards a tiny copse on the edge of the plain. Made of perhaps two dozen willow trees which had grown together to form a small structure, it was the closest thing to a building they had seen so far. The entrance was masked by the hanging branches, which sported ethereal white leaves.
“Here we are, good Tom. Queen Maev will see you.” Robin took a post by the entrance, squatting like a gargoyle.
“Thank you, Robin.” Tom dismounted and waited for the others to do the same. He said to them, �
��We walk in and kneel. Do not speak unless spoken to.”
He waited until he was sure everyone had understood and then parted the branches and stepped inside.
The branches hung inside as well, illuminating the room with their glowing white leaves. Autumnal leaves formed a red carpet down the middle of the room, leading up a small incline to two wooden thrones which looked like they had grown from the ground. Both were high-backed, looking not unlike Emyr’s throne in Cairnagan, though without any of the carvings or decorations. One sat empty, with no signs of the usual occupant save a copper spear leant against the back. The other was home to Queen Maev.
She was as lovely as he remembered. Lounging in her throne, dark tresses spilling over her shoulders, she wore an emerald dress that stretched from ankle to neck and back down to wrist. There would have been little of her alabaster skin on show had a slit not revealed almost all of one shapely leg, stretched over the other. She watched them all with an amused smile, beautiful dark eyes dancing with secret laughter and ancient knowledge. Just seeing her set Tom’s loins to stirring and he knelt more to hide that than anything else. He cast his eyes down.
“My queen.” He was almost breathless. His thoughts vibrated and the air shimmered with magic. He wanted to say more but words seemed fruitless.
“Sweet Thomas.” Her voice was deep, seductive, dangerous. “You have come back to us.”
“I have.”
“You were gone for so long.”
“I was.”
“And you have brought us other mortals.” She made a satisfied sound. “Such gifts.”
He’d forgotten about the others. He didn’t want to talk about them. “I trust you have been well, my queen?”
“We are immortal, Thomas Rymour, unchanging and eternal.” She was bored, her words a rebuke. “We keep the same as we always do.”
“Yes, my queen.”
There was a rustle. She had stood. She stepped down, bare feet stepping on the leaves. She stopped in front of him and knelt. Her closeness was a torture. He wanted to touch her.
“You have aged,” she said. Did she sound disappointed?
“It has been seven years in Tir, my queen.”
“Has it?” She sounded surprised. She touched his chin with one long finger, lifted his head to meet her gaze. Others might have been distracted by her generous bust. But her eyes were far more alluring. A deep, dark green. Like no other green he had ever seen. How had he forgotten this shade? How had he forgotten how they pulled at his heart and made him yearn to promise them anything and everything?
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 20