A wave of dust rushed over them and Tom closed his eyes and coughed. When it cleared, he looked at the scene they had wrought. Rubble. Ruin. All in a moment. How long had it taken to erect? How quickly had they brought it down?
By the time the townsfolk arrived three figures were stood atop their broken monument. Brega, wearing her mask and bearing her stolen knife. Dank, hood and sleeves drawn to reveal his terrifying tattoos. And Tom, wearing Siomi’s mask and holding aloft Caledyr.
These people were not soldiers or watchelfs. They were just people, scared and and angry and confused.
“I don’t know if you speak my tongue,” he shouted over their cries. “So I spoke in a tongue you will understand.” He encompassed the wreckage with a sweep of the sword. “Your king favoured this monument. We have broken it, to show him how it feels to have your world broken.”
Someone yelled, a curse of some kind. Someone threw a rock but it fell short. Tom pointed Caledyr at him and Puck pushed his way through the crowd to bite the elf’s leg. The crowd rippled away from the unseen assailant, the victim howled and flailed. Puck cackled.
“Your king threatens our world,” Tom told them. “He brings us pain and suffering and death. We want to return the favour.” He pulled back his hood, making plainer the skull mask he wore. There were a few gasps and he grinned.
“This is but the beginning.” The crowd was quiet. Still. They hung on his every word, whether they understood it or not. He’d never had so much attention in all his life. His hands raised, almost of their own accord, and he let loose a bellow. “For the king!”
On cue, Stoorworm and Fenoderee lifted the golden capstone from the wreckage, so huge and heavy that even they struggled under the weight. But it didn’t matter. To the crowd, the capstone was levitating. Levitating towards them. They cried and screamed and fled.
“For the king!” Tom cried after them.
“Tom,” Brega hissed. Yes. Time to go. He followed her off the obelisk and ran into the night. He didn’t want to go. But it felt good to run. It felt whole and healthy, his legs strong, his lungs pumping cool, crisp air. His body felt younger and fitter than it had felt in a long time. His heart surged and he had to fight the urge to laugh. He didn’t know why.
They raced away into the birthing morning, back to the Faerie Circle.
Chapter 11
They didn’t return to the others for nine days. Brega had pushed to go back each morning, but each morning Dank told her that there were no Circles nearby; the time it would take to travel to the others would mean they couldn’t make it back before nightfall. And each morning Brega would protest, until Fenoderee stepped and said, “The fay will watch them. We will ensure no harm befalls them.”
It seemed out of character for the fay, but it was enough for Brega.
Their pattern was easy to fall into. At night, they worked together, picking targets, creating plans, and executing them. There was no ego, no jostling for authority or power. Everyone yielded to Gravinn’s knowledge of the land. Everyone yielded to Brega’s expertise in stealth, attack, retreat. Disagreements came more from picking a target over another one; Brega always argued for targets with practical consequence whilst Tom argued for psychological effect.
“I want to hurt Idris’ armies,” she’d said. “You want to hurt his pride.” But she was as practical about compromise as she was about the targets: one of his for one of hers. Tom saw the sense behind it and readily agreed, in part because he was waiting for her to grow angry at his use of Siomi’s mask. But she said nothing and he wore it every night.
He couldn’t deny it lent an air of theatricality and helped drape further mystery over their little band. But it also seemed to help ground him. Wearing it reminded him of Siomi. How, in the end, she had done what needed to be done. It gave him the strength he needed to venture into the Kingdom each night. But he knew he didn’t deserve the mask. He knew Brega did not like to see him wear it. But it wasn’t until after the third night, as they rode away from a burning barn, that she said, “You use her mask to inspire fear.”
Tom’s jubilation withered in an instant. “Yes,” he said. He wanted to add how it linked him to Siomi, too, but Brega didn’t see her sacrifice the way Tom did.
“Is that how you see us?” she asked. There was an odd lilt to her voice and Tom tried to catch her eye. She was trying too hard to sound disinterested.
“When you first entered Regent’s hall, I found you intimidating,” he confessed. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one.”
She grunted, looked back. Tom followed her gaze. No pursuit. They let the horses slow to a walk.
“Are you angry?” he asked.
In a bitter tone she replied, “About what?”
About wearing Siomi’s mask. About giving Draig to the merrow. About what he said about Siomi’s death.
She sighed. “I meant what I said. If wearing her mask helps these attacks, it is acceptable.” She said something in elfish, like a mantra, a reminder.
“What does that mean?”
“Dennon ypend,” she repeated. “Only the end.”
The ends justify the means. Their means were fear and violence. Tom touched Caledyr and the sword reassured him
Fight the enemy.
“My end is to keep Neirin safe,” Brega continued. “I’m the only one left to do it. So I’ll burn papers, hold up arms trains, break bridges. If the West are looking for us, they’re not looking for him.” She faced him, and what little of her skin was visible shone in the rising sun. “If wearing that mask helps keep him safe, you should wear it.”
But there was no enthusiasm in her voice. Just cold reason. Her philosophy seemed a burden, that she was forced to agree to these things.
“You’re not alone,” he told her.
She looked away.
“I promised Siomi I would keep Neirin safe too,” he said. “That I would keep everyone safe.”
Brega said nothing, just nodded. But that felt the same as gushing gratitude from anyone else.
“Tom.” Dank rode behind them but was stood in the saddle. “The others approach a Circle.”
Before Tom could reply, Brega said, “Then we go to them.”
The Circle took them from fiery sunrise to overcast gloom. They were on a hill, grass long enough to brush their feet in the stirrups, the undulating land below broken only by rocks and wild hedges. Tom could make out the ghostly outlines of five riders making their way along a narrow, overgrown road.
“As you can see, we have kept Neirin safe.” Dank was the only denizen of Faerie to come through the Circle. The fay must have stayed behind.
“Lord Neirin,” Brega corrected. But her relief took any sting from it.
“They haven’t noticed us,” Gravinn said.
“Someone should be riding ahead,” she growled. “And behind. Even a small force could ambush them with ease.” She growled again and trotted down the hill.
“We thought she would be pleased to see her lord and master,” Dank murmured.
“She is,” Tom said. But she was his only protector now. She had placed that whole burden on her own shoulders.
By the time he reached the others, she was berating them all, ordering Katharine ahead and Sannvinn behind. “Your only task is the safety of the Shield,” she told them. “Fail in that duty and I’ll butcher you myself before the Westerners get a chance.”
Butcher. He thought of the cellar.
Neirin gave him a nod from the middle of their little procession. “Tom. How fares our campaign?”
“We’ll need to speak to Storrstenn to know that,” he replied.
In response, the dwarf called, “We shouldn’t stop here any longer,” and spurred his little horse. But, then he said, “We’ve already heard of an arms train being held up. Three figures in black with magical powers that said they were doing this by order of the king.”
Tom frowned. “That’s not what we said.” Stoorworm had cracked open the armoured carriage and carried
the cannons away to the Circle. The Western guards had cowered and Tom had told them they took toys from Idris because he was taking them from the children of the duchies.
“That’s the thing with stories, Tom,” Storrstenn replied. “They take on a life of their own.”
“The effect will be the same, will it not?” Neirin rode beside Tom as much as the narrow path would allow.
“I suppose so.” But he didn’t like the idea of people thinking he worked for Idris.
“Brega, I would hear your thoughts.”
Her summary was longer than Tom had expected; the broken obelisk, the kidnapped Secretary, three burnt record houses, five burnt barns, a sunken ferry, a dammed river, broken bridges, two blocked roads, seven holdups, and nineteen freed dwarfs. It seemed impossible to have done it all in just nine nights and it made Tom feel exhausted listening to it.
When Neirin expressed his own surprise, Brega said, “We work well together. Tom has a talent for this.”
Tom couldn’t help but smile at that.
“Your campaign goes well.” Six rode ahead, and didn’t turn in the saddle when he spoke with his new lordly voice.
“It does.” Tom had been dreading Six’s reaction to their activities and the inevitable argument that would follow.
“Does it feel good?”
What did he mean by that? “We’re damaging Idris’ ability to wage his war.”
“And you get to punish the people who put you in a cell.”
“The people who put me in a cell are in Cairnalyr.”
“Yes.” Six finally turned to fix Tom with a sad stare. “They are.”
The elf’s meaning was clear, but Tom refused to argue the point. “It’s been tiring work,” he said to defer disagreement. “But it needs to be done if we’re going to break that central monolith.” Then, to change the subject, “How has your journey been?”
Six hesitated, before lowering his voice and saying, “I would appreciate your opinion on something. When we reach the barn.”
Tom just nodded and Six turned away. The elf seemed almost embarrassed to ask. And why not? He wore airs and graces and acted like Tom was beneath him now.
No. It wasn’t like that. Tom took a breath. Six was struggling with his loyalties. He hated to see his people suffer, even a little, even after they had exiled him. Tom could appreciate that. He placed a hand on Caledyr and felt the sword urge him: rest. He felt his eyelids droop.
The barn was red and worn, nestled amongst the hills and seemingly undisturbed. There was an old lock that Storrstenn broke with ease before ushering them inside.
“Once this little secret belonged to a little master who dallied with notions of being a smuggler,” he said.
Whatever had been stored here was long gone. Now the barn held only a broken stone floor, bare wooden walls, and deep shadows.
“They don’t use it now?” Six asked.
“Not much,” Storrstenn said with too much glee. “The King’s Justice caught up with her and she was executed. They came to take away all the contraband.” He gave them a grin. “But we got here first.”
“You stole it?”
Storrstenn nodded. “One amongst the many lessons my time here has taught me, master elf: coin opens many doors.”
Six grimaced but said nothing. He dismounted and gave the reins to Sannvinn, who tended to the horse while he stood there. Stood there to be waited on. Then he seemed to remember himself and said, “Tom?”
He followed the elf towards the back of the barn, away from the others. The grey morning struggled to sneak through gaps in the walls, leaving the barn dark and echoing with voices and horse noise.
“What is it, Six?” Tom asked. He wasn’t in the mood for cloak and dagger.
The elf took a breath, held it. He was thinking too hard about his words. Just say it and be done. “You asked me for a favour when we first met.”
Hard to forget. “I did.”
“And you said you would do what you could to free me.”
“I did.” He gestured to Six’s hands.
“I am not free.”
The accusation riled Tom. “Are your hands bound?” he asked.
“You heard Neirin. I am still his captive.”
That much was true, but Tom didn’t like it. “I stood up to Neirin for you,” he said.
Six raised his hands. “I appreciate it,” he said. “I do. I’m just saying that I helped you. I want you to help me.”
Tom didn’t want another argument, so he said, “What do you want?”
Six frowned and looked away into the shadows. Tom could barely read his expression in the dark. “I want to go to Tartos Valley.”
“What’s in Tartos Valley?”
Six lowered his hands and said, “It’s where Idris keeps his dragons.”
Emyr’s black bones. Tom tried to imagine what sort of place that was. It would have to be a mighty prison, a gigantic dungeon to hold just one dragon. And how many did Idris have? “Why?”
“When we break the monoliths, we’ll free the dragons.” Six stepped closer. Too close. Tom stepped back. “Tom, if you built a house and then I knocked it down, what would you do?”
“I would build another one.”
Six nodded. “So we’ll free the dragons. And someone else will enslave them again.”
Tom shook his head. “What are you saying? That we shouldn’t bother?”
“We need to destroy all the research. All the notes, all the papers on dragon binding.”
“And they’re in Tartos Valley.”
Six just nodded.
“Won’t someone remember how to do it?”
“It’s a complicated piece of magic,” Six said. “It takes dozens of elfs to complete. Perhaps one elf could remember his part, in total, with no mistakes. But a dozen elfs can’t agree on the colour of the sky.” He grinned. Did he realise he was beginning to speak like his old self? “Destroy the work, Tom, and we can make sure the dragons stay free for a long time.”
Tom nodded. “So why do you need my help?”
“Storrstenn is against it.”
“Storrstenn isn’t in charge here. Neirin is.”
“Is he?”
There was something in Six’s voice that made Tom frown. “What do you mean?”
“When did you last see him take charge?” Six asked, voice now a whisper, stepping forward again. Tom didn’t move this time. “Neirin reminds us who he is, but he lets Storrstenn take the lead. He lets Brega make the decisions. He’s a follower now, Tom. Nothing more.”
Someone had lit a lamp, casting a yellow glow over the group. Tom could see Storrstenn talking to Neirin. No. Talking to Brega. And, Tom realised, ignoring Neirin. Storrstenn was letting Neirin listen, but his regard and his interest was focused on Brega alone.
“You have to speak to Storrstenn,” Six told him.
“Or you could talk to Brega.”
Six snorted and the sound was loud enough to earn glances. Six waited for them to turn away and whispered, “I’ll see Cei lauded as a hero before Brega listens to anything I have to say.”
Tom nodded. She would listen to anything that kept Neirin safe. He was sure of it. But that wouldn’t include marching into Idris’ nest of dragons. “So why is Storrstenn against it?”
“He thinks destroying the research will alienate this Proctor he wants to woo.”
“It’s a fair point,” Tom replied. “This Proctor probably wants his own dragons.”
“I’m sure of it.” The light was dim, but it was enough to see a new expression on Six’s face. Fervour. “That’s why we have to do it.”
Tom shook his head. “Storrstenn says this Proctor will help us into Cairnagwyn.”
“The dragons will remain enslaved if we don’t do this.”
“Breaking the central monolith will free them.”
“But if all that research is intact, how long will they remain free?”
“Longer than if we upset this Proctor and the closest we
get to Cairnagwyn is the city wall.”
“And what if this Proctor continues Idris’ war?” Six’s voice was rising and he noticed. He took a deep breath and whispered. “What will we have achieved then? One invader for another.”
Tom knew Six was right. But he also knew Six was wrong. Somehow, he was wrong. Tom floundered. When he couldn’t think of a counterargument, he said, “When did you become so worried about dragons? I thought you wanted revenge for being exiled?”
Six stilled. “Is that what you think?”
Why else was he helping them? “Why can’t you go back to this valley after we’ve broken the monoliths?”
“When the dragons have gone? Attacking, killing and burning everything they can reach of what imprisoned them?”
Tom shrugged. “Sounds like they’ll do the job for you.”
“But there’ll be no way to know. No-one will get within a league of the valley once the dragons break free.” Six’s voice was rising again. “I thought you wanted to free people? Why are you arguing this?”
Because it was dangerous? Because it was difficult? “Because getting to Cairnagwyn is all that matters to me,” he snapped.
His Faerie gift had added the last two words.
Six’s face closed down. “I see.” He straightened, gaining more height over Tom. He looked more the lord than ever. “I wanted to be wrong about you.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“When you came to me, you asked me to lie for you. And I wanted to think you were doing it for the sake of us all. If we hadn’t cut through the Whispering Woods, we’d have ridden right into that invasion force.” He stepped closer, forcing Tom to peer up at him, and he murmured. “But that lie was to get you to Faerie faster, wasn’t it?”
Six’s tone, his posture, the way he looked down his nose like every other smug, superior Westerner made Tom snarl, “Speak your piece and be done.”
“You don’t care about freeing the dwarfs, stopping the invasions, or even any of us, do you?”
“If I say I do, then it must be true.”
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 49