“Tom.” The elf couldn’t stop saying his name. Now he’d taken Tom’s reins. As if Tom was a child who couldn’t ride. He could ride. He’d been riding since he was a boy. He’d been nervous when they’d left Cairnagan but he’d got better. He was a good rider. Wasn’t he?
He tried to take the reins back but his hands were numb. His fingers felt stiff and unresponsive. He pawed at them instead.
“Stop.”
They were his reins. He was a grown man. He could hold his own reins.
“Stop, everyone!”
“Quiet,” Brega hissed. “You’ll bring the entire Western Kingdom down on us.”
“What is it?” asked Siomi.
“Something’s wrong with Tom.”
Tom laughed. Perhaps there was. He could see his life in three parts. The first part he’d spent looking for an easy life, avoiding work and responsibilities where possible, and it ended with Maev taking him away. The second part he’d spent in Faerie, living amongst immortals and not being allowed to say a word. It ended with Maev sending him away. The third part was back in Tir, moping that he’d had to leave Faerie and then joining some fool’s quest just so he could get back. And that had ended with Maev letting him leave Faerie without a word of protest. So what part was he in now?
He was off his horse and wrapped in a fur. “I’m hot,” he said.
“He is.” Brega’s face was close to his, staring him in the eye. “Look at me,” she snapped.
He’d never been so close to her. She smelt exotic. Like spices.
She slapped at him. But he could barely feel it, as if his face was numb with cold. His breath fogged and he smiled at it. How was he making that steam?
“I’ve seen this before,” Six said.
“Have you?” Neirin was always so scornful, especially of Six. But they were both elfs. They’d been a single people once. The two of them should have been friends.
“It’s the magic.” Six tugged Brega away and Tom could see the others crowded around him. “Do you have any fakeroot?”
“Fakeroot?” Brega sneered. “I’m a battlefield medic. Fakeroot is for bunions.”
“And for magic withdrawal.” Everyone spoke in hushed tones.
“Is that what this is?” Katharine was stood away from the circle around him but watching all the same. She hugged herself. Poor Katharine. He had done her wrong. He should make it up.
“Yes.”
“He was like this before,” she said. “When I first met him. I found him wandering through a forest, talking to himself and laughing and crying like an idiot.”
“What happened?” Six asked. To Brega he said, “Either you have fakeroot or you don’t.”
Brega scowled and disappeared. Katharine said, “I looked after him. Fed him, gave him shelter. Kept him safe.”
She had. He’d been forced out of Faerie and left to wander. He remembered now. Most of the time he couldn’t. He remembered walking between trees and there’d been a tug and then the sky was wrong and the trees were wrong and the air was wrong. And he’d cried. And he’d laughed, because he was breathing mortal air and it was a change and it felt good. And he’d called out for other fay but they hadn’t answered him. And he’d spoken to the trees and the trees told him where he was and offered to let him stay with them. Had they spoken? He couldn’t remember a voice. Had it been in his head?
“Most people would have taken him to a madhouse or a prison.”
“He didn’t seem mad,” Katharine said. “He seemed lost.”
He was lost. He didn’t have anywhere he could belong. The fay wouldn’t have him back and Tir was too changed to have him. Where did that leave him?
He saw a figure in white robes bound near a tree. That tree, just behind Katharine. And a fire, and the others sat around it.
“We should camp,” he said.
“He’s right,” Six said. He sounded surprised. “He can’t travel like this.”
“We can’t camp,” Neirin said. “We have to keep moving.”
“He’s not going anywhere.”
The figure in white was an elf.
“There are elfs in these woods,” Tom said. “Patrols.”
“See?” Neirin said.
“You believe him?” Six asked. “He’s ranting.”
“He sees things yet to come.”
“And it does him no good,” Tom said. All the things he could see but could he see a path for himself? Why had he gone with Maev? Why hadn’t he gone back to Elaine, been the good husband, been a good father? He couldn’t remember his son’s name. “No good.”
“Draig, scout the area,” Neirin said. “See if there are any Westerners out there. Siomi, set up camp.”
“I’m sorry,” Tom said. He could see Elaine, sitting in their home, no more than a hut, with a baby in her lap and waiting for her husband to come home. But he’d been in Faerie. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, Tom.”
“I let everyone down.”
“No, you didn’t.” Six took his hand. “It’s okay.”
It wasn’t okay. He’d been chasing a dream. As if Maev could love him. A sad little mortal man, who abandoned his wife and child. What could an immortal queen see in him? A plaything. A lapdog. A pawn.
“We’re being played with,” he said. “Chess pieces. That’s what we are. Black.” He pointed to Neirin in his black furs. “And white.” He pointed at Six.
“He’s raving.”
“Melwas loves chess,” he said. Faerie was littered with sets, small sets and enormous sets where the pieces stood three times the height of a man. There was a monument in the south of Tir called the Malvis Board with stone chess pieces the size of a man. Tom had always wanted to see it. “He won Eirwen in a game of chess.”
“Yes, he did.” Six patted his hand.
Everyone had dispersed and just Six and Katharine were left. She stood in the same spot, cheeks flushed with the cold. He smiled at her. “You are beautiful, aren’t you?”
She looked away. Who could blame her? But he saw her lying in the dark, breath ragged, hand like ice in his. “You should go,” he said. “You should run away.”
“Not everyone runs like you do.”
“I’m here.”
“Good for you.”
Brega came back. “Here,” she said. She seemed embarrassed. “It’s just in case. You never know.”
“Good thinking. We need a fire, to heat some water.”
“I’ll do it.” Katharine was quick to leave. He needed to make it right with her. Before it was too late.
“She’s going to die,” he said.
“Who is?” Six asked. “Katharine?”
“It’s my fault,” he said. If he hadn’t joined them they wouldn’t have got into Faerie. Neirin would have found a different way to wage his war. Katharine would have got other work. She’d have been safe.
“The future is written.” The old man again, the one he kept seeing in his foresights. “Like the past.”
“No,” he said. “Things can be changed.” He realised he was speaking in the now. The foresight showed only the old man’s side of the conversation. That was new.
“A nice idea.” The old man was like a stone, a stone in the shape of a man. “But if that were true, we would not be here.”
“Who are you? Tell me what I have to do.”
His eyes were black, like slices of night. “Accept what has to happen, Tom,” he said. Was he talking to Tom from the future? How was that possible? “Play your part. It is all you can do.”
“I don’t want to.”
He shrugged. It was awkward, as if he had seen others do it and was trying to mimic the gesture. “I cannot remember my past, Thomas Rymour. But I suspect I once thought as you do. But when all you remember are the things to come, you realise that there is no fighting destiny.”
The foresight was gone. He felt a hand on the back of his head, tipping it up. “Drink this.”
The water was hot and bitter. He s
pat. “Drink it, Tom. Drink it.”
He forced it down. It warmed him, spreading out through his belly. He felt calm.
“He’ll sleep now.” Six gave the cup back to Brega. “When he wakes he should be better.”
“Good.” She looked around. “We can’t stay here, Westerner. Too many of your kind here.”
“Too many exiles travelling with the enemy?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
The calm and the warmth spread into his limbs and his head and his eyes drooped. It was good to see Six like this. No snarky quips. No hard edges. Where had they gone?
The elf touched Tom’s forehead with two fingers. “May Oen guard your dreams,” he said.
Tom fell asleep.
He didn’t dream. Not really. But he felt a nothingness. He couldn’t see anything but it wasn’t dark. He couldn’t hear anything but it wasn’t quiet. He wasn’t cold or hot because he couldn’t feel his body. And though there was no up or down, no left or right, he could feel the constant rush of Tir on one side of him and the potent magic of Faerie on the other. And he stood inbetween, still and alone. The end of all things.
There was noise. At last. It was like a balm and he smiled. He smiled that he could smile. He opened his eyes and closed them again against the bright light. Then his aches and pains came back. And he was cold and stiff. And his head hurt. Everything smelt wet.
Their camp was made up but he was laid outside on and under some furs. He pushed them off. He felt sweaty and dirty, as if he hadn’t washed in days.
More noise and he could see Draig dragging a figure in white. A Western soldier. His robes would have been excellent camouflage if not for the gold patterns around the edges. His hands and feet were encased in white boots and white gloves. A white scarf flapped free and Draig had his hand clapped around the elf’s mouth.
“Rope,” Draig demanded and Brega had some, binding the elf’s hands and feet together.
“What have you done, Draig?” Neirin asked. He seemed as cool and collected as ever, but his voice spoke of an anger brewing.
“This one saw me,” Draig replied. He balled the scarf and pushed it into the captive’s mouth. “A thousand apologies, my lord.”
“You were meant to stay out of sight.”
“Yes, my lord.” Draig pushed the soldier to his knees and Brega bound his ankles and wrists together. Then Draig knelt before Neirin. His hood had been knocked back and his hair steamed. He bared his wrists, offering them up to Neirin. “I have failed you.”
“You have.” Neirin tapped both wrists with the edge of his palm. Draig flinched. It must have been some sort of reprimand. “Nevertheless, we can use this prisoner for information.”
Tom tried to climb to his feet. But everything seemed too far away and he failed to manage more than a sitting position. He was parched and ravenous and exhausted.
“You’re awake.” Katharine pushed him back and offered him a smile. Had she forgiven him so quickly?
“Just about,” Tom croaked.
She offered him a flask and Tom drank greedily. It was just water, old water at that, but it was beautiful and delicious. “How long?”
“Have you been asleep? Two days.”
“Ah.” He handed back the flask. “That’s why I feel this good.”
“You smell it too. Be glad it’s so cold or you’d have brought the whole garrison down on us.”
“Garrison?”
She nodded. “The West have taken Cairnalyr. They’re using the ferry to ship soldiers to the mainland and more ships land every day.”
“And now we have a prisoner.”
“Yes.” She watched Neirin circle the kneeling elf. “Soon they’ll know someone is in these woods. We probably have hours. At best.”
“Then we haven’t any time to lose.” He struggled to his feet.
“Six said you weren’t to get up right away.” But she didn’t move to stop him.
“Six isn’t a doctor.” He pulled some clothes out of his sack and walked away. He didn’t go far, but far enough that he couldn’t be seen. Then he stripped, the freezing air biting his sweaty, filthy skin. Only once he was naked and his feet were burning in the snow did he start taking handfuls of the stuff and rubbing it all over himself. It was cold. Then it hurt. But it was better than the nothing he’d felt in his strange non-dream. He tried the same on his hair. It didn’t work quite as well but he didn’t feel as dirty. Then, shivering and numb, he pulled his clothes on.
“Impressive.”
Tom jumped and turned to see Draig standing behind him.
“I didn’t take you for a voyeur,” he replied.
The elf laughed. He didn’t seem embarrassed at all. “No, I was being sure you are okay. You sleep for two days and walk away? It worries.”
“You don’t need to worry about me,” he said. “I feel better.”
“That is making you better?” Draig pointed at the snow.
Tom shrugged. “It’s how we used to wash when I was a boy,” he said. “Not that it snowed often. But when it did, heating water used a lot of wood.”
Draig reached down and picked up a handful. He rubbed it between his gloved hands and shook his head. “Never have I seen it.”
“Snow?”
Draig nodded.
“The Angles are warm?”
“Hot,” he corrected. “Very hot. We have deserts. Fields of sand, no water. Sun, not weak like yours. Strong.”
“You must hate this.”
Draig wiped the snow from his glove. “Yes. And no.” He grinned. “It is different. So white. So peaceful.”
Tom had to grin too. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s get back.”
Neirin was attempting an interrogation. Tom couldn’t fathom how he thought that would work with a scarf in the prisoner’s mouth.
“How many soldiers?” he asked. “One hundred?” He paused. “Two? Three?”
The prisoner glared at him. His hood had been thrown back to reveal his golden skin and fair hair. Not unlike Six’s. Only this elf was harder. There was no fat on him. He was almost gaunt. And there was no tattoo on his cheek. But he said nothing. Revealed nothing.
“Are there any other ways off this island?”
He couldn’t smile, not with a scarf in his mouth. But his eyes did. His eyes laughed at Neirin.
Neirin growled.
“My lord,” said Tom. “A moment?”
“Tom, you’re awake.” Neirin nodded. “It is good to see you recovered.” Ever civil, ever the noble, even while frustration bubbled beneath his tone.
“Tom, you shouldn’t be up.” Six came over. “You need to rest.”
“We don’t have time.” He pointed to the captive elf. “If he’s here, it means he’ll be missed. They’ll start looking for him. So we need to be gone.”
“We cannot leave,” Neirin said. “Not without the sword.”
Tom shook his head. “No, we can’t. So we need to fetch it, now.”
“You need to rest,” Six said again.
“I have to go with them,” Tom replied.
“Why?”
“Because Emyr told me to carry it.”
There was a moment of silence. Six looked at Neirin, waiting. Tom turned his gaze to the elf too. He kept his face blank, trying to suggest nothing.
Neirin was not happy. “This is my quest, Tom. Not yours.”
“I agree.”
“I should bear the blade.”
“You should. But Emyr asked me. I cannot deny him.”
“And you can deny me?”
A wrong answer could unleash the elf’s temper. His eyes had grown cold and hard. “He is my king,” he said. “A man must obey his king.”
“He has not been a king for a long time.”
“No,” Tom said. “He’s been the only true king.”
Neirin growled.
“It is the wish of Angau that I bear the blade,” Tom said.
“My lord.” Siomi ap
peared at Neirin’s side. She moved like a cat, silent. “We do not have time. The Westerners will be on us soon. Anyone can carry a sword. Only you can lead us to Cairnagwyn. I cannot risk your life.”
She was good. Neirin relaxed, nodded. “Good,” he said. It was the best they’d get. “Get everyone together.”
“What do we do when we’ve got the sword?” Six asked. “We still can’t get off the island.”
“Dank can use the Circle,” Tom said. “He can take us back to Faerie. Then we can go somewhere else.”
Six frowned. “What if they don’t let us leave again?”
“Why wouldn’t they?” he asked. But it was a danger. The winter fay enjoyed trapping mortals.
“They might decide to keep the sword.”
“We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.” Tom forced a smile.
“My lord, someone should stay with the camp and the prisoner,” Draig said.
“Yes,” Neirin said. “Do that, Draig. Keep watch for us.”
Draig nodded.
“Ready to go?” Neirin asked Dank, in a way that was a command rather than a enquiry.
Dank smiled, amused. “Yes.”
“Then let’s go.”
They mounted and followed the Faerie man through the woods. Everyone came but Draig. Neither Katharine nor Six wanted to miss finding the sword. Siomi wouldn’t abandon Neirin. Brega had planned to stay and help guard the prisoner but Draig had told her to go. “I am in no danger,” he said. “Protect the Shield.” So she came too.
The snow made the forest look all the same. Tom wondered how Dank knew where he was going. But the boy’s path did not waver or meander. It was as straight a line as could be drawn through the trees.
“How are you feeling?” Six asked him.
“Better,” Tom said. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Six said. “Headache?” When Tom nodded, so did Six. “That’s normal. Drink lots of water and you’ll be fine. Let me know if your mind starts to wander; you may need another dose.”
“I don’t want to sleep for two days again,” he said.
Six shook his head. “The first one has to be strong. The doses after are much weaker.”
“What is it?” he asked. “Brega said it was for bunions, didn’t she?”
Six smiled. “I wasn’t sure you heard that,” he said. “Some people mash it into a paste and apply it to their skin. But brew it into a drink or chew it raw and it deadens you to magic.”
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 26