The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  Tom pried Caledyr free of the halberd and looked up. There were more elfs coming through. Storrstenn’s bolts were puncturing leather armour but caused injuries rather than fatalities. The elfs had grown wise to Katharine and Brega’s tactics and were now stabbing as they entered, forcing them to retreat with Neirin, who now wielded a captured halberd.

  Close quarters.

  Tom’s limbs were moving before he understood what he was doing. He rolled to all fours; there was no room to stand. He clambered across the barrels, taking a swing at the elf moving to take the place of his last opponent. The swing was a distraction, giving Six and Sannvinn a chance to step in. Tom blocked a swing at his legs, again notching the weapon. This time he took hold of the haft and pushed, sent the elf to the ground. Tom pulled Caledyr free, hopped off the barrel, raised the sword.

  The elf was cowering on his back, legs raised, arms shielding his face. He was young, just a boy. His parents were probably proud of him. Perhaps there was a girl he was wooing. No doubt he had hopes and dreams beyond dying in this cellar.

  Kill the enemy.

  But the memory of Topknot’s face stayed his hand.

  “Yield,” he said.

  The elf spread his hands. He surrendered.

  There was a cry and Tom saw Brega pushing her way out of the cellar, an elf falling from the stairs and knocking Katharine down. He took breath to call for her, but pain exploded between his legs. He doubled, and a blow to the shoulder sent him stumbling back. The elf had kicked him. The elf had kicked him in the crotch. Tom blinked away tears. His stomach clenched and heaved. It was all he could do to stop himself sinking to his knees.

  The elf was reaching for a halberd.

  Kill the enemy.

  Tom didn’t argue this time.

  Caledyr sang as it sliced through the air, almost cutting the elf’s hand clean off. His scream was a boy’s terrified howl, but Tom could barely hear it, as if his head were underwater. He pulled Caledyr free with a tug and stood, watching the boy reach for his ruined arm, hand shaking, too scared to touch it. The elf burbled something in elfish over and over. He was a threat no longer.

  Pain told Tom he’d made that mistake already.

  Kill the enemy.

  He kicked the boy in the face, reversed Caledyr in his hands, plunged the blade into his enemy’s chest. The elf’s muffled whimpering turned to a bloody red whisper that slowed to silence.

  Kill the enemy.

  He stepped over the body to where Katharine was grappling with the elf that had fallen on her. Took a handful of Western hair, pulled the head back, passed Caledyr over a throat.

  Kill the enemy.

  He ran Caledyr up through the back of an elf threatening Neirin with a halberd. Pushed the blade in up to the hilt. Held it until the elf went weak. Withdrew.

  Kill the enemy.

  Six, Sannvinn and Storrstenn had an elf on her back. She kept them at bay with a knife. Tom swung Caledyr like an executioner’s axe, burying it in her face.

  Kill the enemy.

  But there were no elfs left to kill.

  There was a brutal silence followed by a rush of sensations, as if they had all been laying in wait. His crotch was a violent ache, his stomach still heaved, myriad aches and pains vied for his attention, and he was warm and wet. He wiped at his face, red and sticky. He looked around. Bodies everywhere. The others picking themselves up. Katharine was covered in blood too.

  “Are you alright?” he asked. He felt tired, like the life had gone out of him.

  “Yes.” She clambered out from under her attacker and climbed the stairs. Tom became aware of the cloying copper-stench.

  “We should go,” Neirin said and gave orders to the others. Tom waited for his orders, too tired to think for himself, but when they came they were simply, “Tom, outside.”

  He obeyed, stepping over bodies and into cold night air. Brega was waiting for them, with an elf on her knees. She wore the same leather armour as her comrades but her pointed helmet had a brilliant golden bell patterned into the metal.

  “Their captain,” she said, then stared at Tom. “Are you hurt?”

  Neirin replied for him. “The blood is not his.”

  Tom stopped, let Caledyr’s point rest on the ground, leaning on it like a crutch. It sank into the earth.

  Rest.

  Not yet, Tom thought.

  “Are there any more soldiers coming?” he asked.

  Brega shook her head. “She only speaks Western.”

  “I thought elfish was elfish.”

  “The tongues share a common ancestor,” Neirin said. “But there are many differences.” He didn’t take his eyes off the captain. Smart. Tom watched her too. She had gaunt, hawkish features and her eyes were defiant and scared.

  “We need Six,” Tom said.

  The elf emerged with a halberd in one hand and a bag in the other. “You look awful,” he said to Tom.

  Speaking was too much effort. All he could manage was a weary smile.

  “We need to know what she knows,” Brega told Six. “Who sent her? Do they know who we are? Are more soldiers on the way?”

  Six shook his head. “These aren’t soldiers,” he replied. “They’re city watch. We wouldn’t have beat soldiers so easily.”

  Tom wasn’t sure it had been so easy, but both Brega and Neirin nodded. “Very well,” Neirin said. “Find out what she knows.”

  The interrogation was swift. Tom didn’t know what Six said, but the way the defiance bled from her eyes and the colour from her skin suggested it wasn’t pleasant. She cast a fearful look at Tom and the sword and shook her head, then spoke for a while. Six translated. “They thought us outlaws. They had only the barest descriptions. They didn’t know who we were. No-one will come until they’re missed, which won’t be until the shift change at dawn.”

  “What happens then?” Neirin asked.

  Six asked and received a short answer.

  “It depends on the city prefect. Procedure would be to escalate it to the Proctor.”

  “What does that mean?” Brega growled.

  “It means we could have every watchelf, soldier and guard on the lookout for us.”

  “If they’re not already,” Neirin said.

  Six shook his head. “I don’t think they are.” He spoke in elfish and earnt a lengthly response. “She says the only statewide warrants are for a pair of dwarfs.” He turned to Storrstenn and gave him an acid smile. “You’re famous, little dwarf.”

  “Does she think procedure will be followed? Will the Proctor be alerted? “ Neirin asked.

  The captain shrugged when she replied. The longer the interrogation went, the smaller she seemed, like something inside her was deflating. She looked like she might cry. “A lot of the best watchelfs were conscripted into the army when the war began,” Six said. “The city prefect is new, as are many of her elfs.”

  Tom thought of the boy he had killed. Perhaps this had been his first assignment with the watch. He waited for the guilt to come, as it had with Topknot. But he felt nothing.

  No. Not nothing. They had attacked. He had defended. He felt justified.

  “We can take no risks,” Neirin said. “How long until dawn?”

  “Two hours,” said Katharine. She had wiped the blood from her face but her clothes were soaked with it. She would need new ones.

  “Storrstenn,” Neirin called.

  Sannvinn and Dank emerged from the cellar carrying the food that had been left for them. Storrstenn emerged with armfuls of knives and pouches and trinkets.

  “What have you there?” Neirin asked.

  “Have you been looting the bodies?” Six’s face wrinkled in disgust.

  “Their need for mortal wares is passed,” the dwarf replied.

  “You profane their bodies.”

  “They are meat now, and no more.”

  “Meat?”

  “Silence,” said Neirin, then, “Master dwarf, how far to the city?”

  He scowle
d at Six but his response was civil. “An hour, my lord, maybe two.”

  “How well do you know this place?”

  “I have visited only once, my lord, but I have in waiting dwarfs who will hide and shelter you while I conduct my business.”

  “It will have to wait,” Neirin said.

  “Time is of the essence, good lord.”

  “Indeed it is.” Neirin nodded to Brega. “Bind her. Gag her.”

  “We’re taking her with us?” Tom asked.

  “She can’t be left to betray us,” Neirin replied. “Wouldn’t you agree, Brega?”

  “I do, my lord.”

  When they had last taken a Westerner hostage, Siomi had advised against it and Neirin had asked Tom for his advice. Now Siomi was gone and Neirin didn’t seek his counsel. “I haven’t seen this elf in our party,” Tom said. “I don’t think she comes with us.”

  It made Neirin falter. But a glance at Brega was enough. “Nevertheless,” he said. “I have spoken.” But he said it as if it were a regret.

  “But what will we do with her?”

  “What we will have to do to the other elfs that know of these events.”

  “Which is?” Six asked.

  Neirin’s voice was firm. “What we must.”

  The ride to Cairnalyst was a gallop along narrow and muddy roads with little light to show their way. They had left the watch horses milling together in the cold but, before they could depart, Storrstenn had disappeared. As they wondered where he was, he had come running back, little legs pumping as hard as they could.

  “Ride,” he had called. “Ride!”

  “What is it?” Tom asked, reaching for Caledyr. Just touching it pushed at the dead fatigue he felt inside, strengthening him. “More elfs?”

  But Storrstenn had spurred his horse as soon as he was mounted, galloping away and leaving the others to follow. They had, at a pace, until there was a whump behind them, and they halted their flight to watch flames pillar into the night sky.

  “What did you do?” Six demanded.

  “Punishment.” Storrstenn let out a dark cackle. “He won’t cross a dwarf again anytime soon.”

  “You idiot!”

  But Neirin had demanded they ride instead of argue. The fire might have been visible from Cairnalyst. That meant the watch might send someone to investigate. “We must assume we do not have two hours,” he told them. “We must assume we have no time at all.”

  So they had pushed the horses as hard as they could. But they were not Withed stock; by the time they reached the outskirts of Cairnalyst they were exhausted, unruly and trembling. They dismounted and walked them into the city.

  Cairnalyst was not what Tom had expected of a Western city. He had expected gleaming white stone, delicate architecture, shining spires and beautiful glass sculptures everywhere. Instead he saw colour, almost garish at times, square buildings painted in reds and blues and yellows and greens. The walls were decorated with art, some of it beautiful, some of it ugly. The streets were paved with stone, greyed and pitted with age. But, while the city didn’t have the fluid, organic feel of the merrow city, neither did it have the cheap, regimented feel of the duchy towns. Instead it felt more like a patchwork of individuality. Some structures were no more than a block with windows and doors. Others had round windows, or porches, or tiny gardens. But in one respect they were all the same; they all featured bells, either in fact or in decoration. Painted bells, carved bells, wooden bells, metal ones, individuals or in groups. There were bells everywhere.

  But there was no time to ask why. “Which way to the watch house?” Neirin asked.

  Seeing her city had stilled the captain’s tongue.

  “Your cooperation determines how we treat you and your fellow officers,” Neirin explained. “There is more than one way to ensure our anonymity.”

  She answered with a simple shake of her head. She had been stripped of her armour, left shivering in her undergarments, but Tom had to admit in that moment she exhibited more dignity than many a lord or noble.

  But she was a Westerner. No doubt she had planned to leave them to rot in another cell. Or use them to further her own station. Tom imagined her presenting Caledyr to Idris like a trophy and he felt himself sneer.

  “Very well.” Neirin turned to Storrstenn. “Take her to your shelter, master dwarf. Sannvinn, Dank, Tom, you will accompany them.”

  “And what will you do?” Tom asked.

  “Six and Katharine can find the watch house,” he said. “Brega and I will deal with this.”

  “If we may, Lord Neirin?” Dank stepped forward. “We can help you. Our sprite can go unseen. We could act as both huntsman and spy.”

  Tom nodded. “He’s right. And it can fly; it’ll have a better vantage point in a search.”

  Neirin nodded. “Then he will accompany us.”

  “So will I,” Tom said.

  “We have no need of your gifts, Tom.”

  “But you might have need of a sword.”

  Neirin cast a greedy glance at the blade, sheathed at Tom’s hip. “Brega is better with a sword.”

  “Yet I can wield it well enough.”

  “Yes.” A strange look passed over Neirin’s face. Fear? Distrust? Suspicion? Tom couldn’t be sure. “You can.”

  “My lord.” Brega’s voice was hushed, soft. Too like Siomi’s again. A cloud settled over Neirin’s expression as she said, “We cannot debate this all night.”

  Neirin growled, “Of course.” He pointed a finger at Dank and then at Tom. “You will come with us. The rest go with Storrstenn.”

  “My lord,” the dwarf hissed. “This will act as an impediment to my purpose here.”

  “I will not be questioned.” Neirin’s anger was hot, unrestrained. He jabbed a finger at the dwarf as he said, “Your purpose will wait on my pleasure.”

  The dwarf scowled but sketched a bow nonetheless. Tom had expected more of an argument. But Storrstenn nodded as if to confirm his thoughts: there was more fight to come.

  Dank’s sprite pushed its way out of his skin and leapt into the night sky like a shooting star in reverse.

  “Let’s not wait for hit” Tom said. There were too many windows on this street, which itself was too wide and open.

  “He’s right,” Brega said. “Follow me.” She led them further into the city, but via smaller roads and alleys. Neirin’s robes acted as a perfect camouflage, but the rest of them were protected only by the darkness. But even that would not be enough. Westerners would be rising before the winter sunrise, and they would not need to look too closely to realise there were intruders amongst them. Tom kept an eye on the windows and doors.

  They stopped in an alley full of refuse and waste. It stank in a way Tom had imagined a prim and proper Westerner would not tolerate. Something rustled further in the darkness, vermin of some kind.

  “How long will this take?” Brega asked.

  “It’s a big city,” Dank replied. “She’s doing her best.”

  “Let us hope she hurries,” Neirin said. He was peering out of the mouth of the alley, up and down the little path they were following.

  “What is it we do when we get there?” Dank asked.

  “Silence them,” Neirin said. “However we must.”

  “Dead watchelfs will cause an uproar,” Brega warned.

  “It will be an uproar not directed at us.”

  It was a poor time to argue with Neirin, when his jaw was clenched and his eyes spat fire. But Tom couldn’t help but say, “Could we lock them up somewhere? An abandoned basement?” The idea of trapping Westerners appealed to him. Let them get a taste of it.

  “Compassion?” Neirin sneered. “From the man who butchered so many not hours ago?”

  Butchered? “They would have killed us.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “I kept you safe.”

  And Neirin’s anger melted in a moment, and regret rode plain across his features. “Perhaps,” he murmured with more gratitude than Tom wou
ld have thought possible.

  Brega sensed the mood had changed and said, “I didn’t know you were capable of such deeds.”

  Tom couldn’t tell if they were telling him he’d done something wrong or thanking him. “I did what I had to do,” he said. He placed a hand on the pommel. “They were the enemy.”

  “They were,” Brega said. “And you did well. To take on so many. To protect the Shield. I am grateful.”

  So it was gratitude. Worth more for its scarcity. He was almost too embarrassed to mumble, “You’re welcome.”

  With her face veiled by scarf and darkness she was impossible to read. But she inclined her head to him.

  A bright glow dropped from the sky and the sprite alighted on Dank’s palm. The light cast ugly shadows on the boy’s grimacing face as it slid beneath his skin, and then the world was dark once more.

  “She has found it,” he said. “This way.”

  They moved as quickly as they could, as quietly as they could. Dank led them as Brega had, down alleys and paths so narrow they could only progress single file. Should they run into anyone there would be no hiding, but such a risk was traded for the fact there were few doors or windows to be seen from.

  The watch house was bigger than Tom had imagined, a huge, blocky building with a domed roof in the middle of a large square. Like other buildings it was painted and decorated, this time with images of keys as well as bells. The door was flanked by two barred sconces, each home to a lit torch. The many windows, all barred too, bled torchlight as well. There was no easy approach, no dark path in.

  “What now?” Tom asked.

  “Now we cause a distraction.” Dank’s voice was already strained as the sprite pushed its way out before zipping across the square and in through a window.

  “What sort of distraction?”

  The answer was a howl, followed by a crash, capped with general hubbub and uproar.

  “You’ll bring the whole city down on us,” Brega hissed, but already she was moving across the square. Shouldn’t they wait, to see if the noise attracted attention? But the others were following too, so it was too late. Tom broke into a run and, for good measure, drew the sword. But there was none of the usual exhilaration; Caledyr was muted, and Tom felt oddly disappointed as he climbed the steps and followed the others into the watch house.