The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  “Oh, you care.” Six’s grin was sour. “But you’re like the Easterners. You see us all as a means to an end. You care as long as it serves your purpose.”

  Purpose. Like the fay.

  “You used Neirin’s quest to help you scurry back to Faerie.” Six wrinkled his nose. “And now you’re using it to make my people suffer, the way you think they made you suffer.”

  How had he not seen it? How had he not seen that Six was just like every other Westerner? “You put me in a rat pit.”

  “No, Tom,” he said, condescending, pitying. “The elf that put you in a rat pit is on the other side of the Lannad Sea.”

  Tom shook his head and took a shaky, deep breath. His hand was on Caledyr and he had to resist the urge to draw the blade. “If Storrstenn says your idea will alienate the Proctor, then we shouldn’t do it.” He took a single step back, out from under the elf’s nose. “I won’t undo everything we’ve been through for the sake of a few animals.”

  Six shook his head. “You have no idea.”

  “And you do?”

  Six lifted a lazy hand and wiped, with two fingers, a line through the paints on his cheek to reveal his tattoo. “Obviously.”

  Tom’s anger popped like a bubble, replaced by burning curiosity. Is this why Six had been exiled? He thought back over Six’s words and actions since they had met. Had the elf been on a secret crusade to free dragons all this time?

  “I see you, Tom.” His voice was a low threat. “Perhaps the others see a great man, bearing Oen’s sword, invoking Faerie friends, scrying the future. But I see a selfish, vengeful little man who doesn’t deserve the trust he’s been given.” He swept away, leaving just one parting shot. “Don’t expect that trust to last.”

  Tom found himself shaking. How dare he? How dare he, as if he was so much better? They had found him swindling men out of their money with dice. Who was he to sit in judgement? Tom wanted to send his own volley, to have the last word. But he could hear Katharine’s words joining Six’s. Liar. Coward. Selfish. Vengeful.

  Instead he took a breath and let it fill him, pushing away his anger and his outrage. Tightened his grip on Caledyr and drew on its calm, its readiness. Let them think what they willed. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Cairnagwyn.

  All that mattered was pulling the crown off Idris’ head.

  They left as the sun set. Gravinn said quiet goodbyes to the other dwarfs. Brega spoke in hushed tones with Neirin, perhaps offering counsel or receiving instructions. Tom sat alone on his horse.

  Not alone. Dank was mounted beside him.

  “No fond farewells, Tom?”

  “No.” He glowered at Katharine and Six, turned away from everything else. Heads tipped towards each other in secret conversation. No doubt Six was sharing his low opinion of him. Let them mutter. If he had been what they wanted him to be, they would never have made it this far.

  “We have long wondered why you counted them as friends.”

  “I suspect they wonder the same.” He felt a pang of loneliness. Without Katharine and Six, without Draig or Siomi, he didn’t have a friend left.

  “Would you like to hear some news of Faerie?”

  The words were like a balm. “Please.” He gave the boy a smile.

  Dank smiled too. “Our king talks of a Wild Hunt. Mab doesn’t want him to go. They have long, loud arguments that go on for hours.” Dank spoke as if he had seen it. Which, in a way, he had. “The argument has become the talk of Faerie. Who will win? It’s all very entertaining.”

  Arguments. Tom couldn’t help but hope. Perhaps Mab would turn to Tom. Whether for comfort or to anger Melwas, what did it matter? He felt an urge to leave Tir, leave the mortal problems for mortal people.

  But he could feel Caledyr at his hip and the little angry urge inside himself. He had to see this through. He had to see Idris kneel.

  “Why are you helping us?” Tom asked. The question came as a surprise to both of them. Tom looked at the sword, as if it had planted the words on his lips.

  “Who are you asking?” Dank didn’t try to hide his amusement. “The fay? Or us?” He tapped his chest with a finger.

  “Both.”

  Dank nodded. “The fay are helping you for the same reason they do anything: it amuses them to do so.”

  “And you?”

  “We could tell you that our queen ordered us to.”

  “Would it be true?”

  “Yes.” Dank smiled. “But it wouldn’t be the whole truth.”

  Tom knew enough about that.

  “Queen Mab came to us after Calgraef was over,” Dank said. He looked down at his palms. Even those bore tattoos. “The festivals are odd for us. We don’t change like the fay do, but we feel it. The air of Faerie changes. Sometimes it feels like it gets in our head and changes our thoughts.”

  Tom nodded. He had often wondered if the changes at Calgraef and Calmae had an effect on him too. He would do a thing and wonder if he would normally do it, or if the moods of Faerie had influenced him somehow.

  “So we like to be alone. This year we went swimming in the Glittering Sea. We saw Mab waiting on the shore, so we swam to her. She said she wanted someone to go with you. We said we had heard you were staying. She said that she knew you better than you knew yourself. And that you would be doing something important, and she wanted someone she could trust to see that you succeeded.”

  Tom felt a moment of dark foreboding, and he remembered Fenoderee’s words: they have a purpose. Why do the fay want to break the monoliths? “You are one of her trusted, then?” He tried to keep his tone light and casual. “Odd that we never met.”

  Dank shook his head. “We have never much belonged to king or queen,” he said, and tipped his head back to look at the sky. The sun had died for the day, only the glow of the funeral pyre sunset remained on the horizon. “We were surprised when she said she could trust us.”

  Tom felt relieved and wasn’t sure why. “What did she ask you to do?”

  “Take you to the sword. Stay with you while you carried it. Help you however we could.”

  “So she did order you.”

  “No.” Dank almost sounded sad. “We have lived a long time, Tom. We have seen many things. But we saw those things because we wanted to see them.” He looked back at his hands, as if he was struggling to say what he wanted to say. “But we want to see other things. Things we don’t want to see.”

  “I’m sorry, Dank, I don’t understand.”

  The boy looked at him and his eyes were wet with frustration. “We know.” And he smiled. “We are the sprite and we are the boy. And we are one being. But we are also separate.” The last almost sounded like a question, and he seemed relieved when Tom nodded. “We had heard of you, Tom. Before, when you were in Faerie. And we weren’t interested in you. Neither of us. Don’t take offence,” he said quickly, and Tom wondered if he had looked hurt or angry. “We had seen many mortals come to Faerie. You were just another.”

  Just another. It made him feel small, like he was just another dog bought to replace the dead one.

  “But when we heard you had come back, we were interested,” he said. “Not us. Just us. The boy, I mean.”

  Tom nodded, but he was still stung so he said nothing.

  “No mortal had ever come back. Some had tried. None had succeeded.” Dank shrugged and looked down. “We wanted to meet you.”

  “And that’s why you agreed?” He tried to keep his tone from his voice and failed.

  “But now we want what you want.” The boy’s voice hardened. “They put us in pits covered with iron. We want retribution.”

  It was gratifying to know he wasn’t the only one. But he asked, “Why not seek it from Gerwyn?”

  Dank smiled. “If Puck buried you while you slept, would you seek retribution from him?”

  Did Dank know that had happened once? Thankfully Tom had awoken before the fay could cover his head. “The Puck is the Puck. It’s his nature.”

  Dank
nodded and lifted his reins. “You blame the master when the horse kicks you. Not the horse.”

  “So you blame Idris for Gerwyn’s actions.”

  “He holds the reins.” Dank placed a fist against his chest. “It was Idris that put us in those pits, by sending Gerwyn to that island.”

  He was right. And he was wrong. Tom would be wary of a horse that kicked him even as he sought the master. And the Marchmen killed unruly horses and ate them, that they might serve another purpose.

  He felt an idea growing in his mind. And when Brega came to join them and said, “Shall we go?” he nodded and said, “And I know where we should go next.” He watched Six and Katharine ride away. “Back to Cairnalyr.”

  Chapter 12

  They argued the night away in the fog of the Between. For Brega it was a matter of logistics. “It’s a fortified building, filled with soldiers, with little strategic importance to the Kingdom.”

  Whereas Tom saw it as a great psychological target. “It’s a symbol of the Western presence in the duchies,” he said. “Bearding Gerwyn in his lair will send a message to everyone that the West can be fought. It will weaken their hold on Erhenned, maybe even the Marches, and everyone in the Kingdom will know Idris is not as strong as they thought.”

  “They won’t know, because we’ll be captured the moment we set foot on The Harbour,” Brega said. “And they’ll throw us into those rat pits again.”

  Tom forced a smile, though his stomach was churning. “Exactly.”

  The sense of familiarity was so eerie it felt like a dream, like he was reliving the moments of the past. That was despite the fact there was no snow on the Harbour, and the forest was a barren blend of bare soil and bare trees. The four mortals stood, without horses or weapons, in the centre of the Circle and waited.

  Nothing. Just still silence.

  “Let’s go.” Tom’s whisper felt like a shout, and he waited for someone to cry out, for Western soldiers to fall on them. But there was nothing. So they crept through the forest, moving as quickly and as quietly as they could. Tom’s heart hammered harder the longer they walked, and he felt a sudden urge to cough, stand on a twig, anything to make a sound. He could feel a thousand eyes watching him, but there was no-one. Just Brega and Gravinn, picking their own silent path behind him, and Dank ranging ahead, leading them to Nimuë’s place. Tom had expected the merrow’s song to guide them. But she was silent, which only increased his unease.

  The air warmed, the green returned, and their breath no longer fogged. They emerged into the clearing and Tom saw they were too late.

  Nimuë sat on a rock in her little lake, stroking the fins on her head, looking for all the world like she was combing the hair she didn’t have. She gazed into the water, slumped, broken, devastated. Tom could see why. The pile of rocks that had been Ambrose’s cage was shattered. Bits of the black rock were everywhere but Tom got the sense this hadn’t happened recently. Something about this scene suggested it had been in place for many weeks.

  “Well met, Lady Nimuë,” Dank said.

  She didn’t look up. “He said you would come back.”

  There didn’t seem any point in staying, in saying a word to her. After all, Ambrose was gone. And the merrow had tried to execute them because she had hidden herself. They had been forced to give up Draig because of her.

  But then giving up Draig had been for the best.

  “When did he leave?” Tom asked.

  “A few weeks after you left,” she said.

  “Where did he go?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  Tom wandered over to the scattered stones. Their effect felt stronger now. It felt like the monolith. Dull and dead and still. The stone reached down into the ground, making a small hollow, a rat pit without water. Was this how Ambrose had managed to live all this time? By building himself a rat pit out of this stone? He reached down and picked up a piece, a shard no bigger than his thumb. Touching it made his fingers numb.

  When the foresight came on, it was weak. Washed out. Layered over the present instead of washing it away. So Tom could see his hand holding the stone and also see a figure, cloaked, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and leaning heavily on a stick, hiking up the coast. His steps were slow and awkward, as if the skills needed were long-forgotten. But he walked with an air of purpose. He was muttering under his breath. “Go,” he said. “Don’t wait. Go. Just go.”

  The foresight faded. Had Ambrose been talking to him? Or to himself?

  The effect was the same. “We’re done here.” Tom went to toss the stone back amongst its fellows but stopped. Something told him he’d need that stone. It wasn’t a foresight. No magic directed his hand, but he slipped the black rock into his pocket without knowing why.

  Brega and Gravinn hadn’t ventured more than a step into the clearing, but Dank stood on the waters edge. “You did not tell us Ambrose had left,” he said.

  “We knew what would happen if we did,” Nimuë replied.

  “Your charges are gone.”

  The merrow just nodded and Dank looked troubled, as if he didn’t want to say something but had to.

  “What is this?” Tom asked.

  But before Dank could say anything, Nimuë said, “It was a trade. They would let us remain if we guarded their treasures. Now we have nothing to guard, so they will consume us like all the others.”

  “Consume?” The fay didn’t eat. They didn’t need to.

  But she didn’t answer Tom. “Might we swim?” she asked Dank. “In the sea? One last time, before we go?”

  Dank nodded quickly and Nimuë bowed her head with a monarch’s grace. “We are grateful.” But before she left, she turned to Tom and said, “The old man lies. And the sword will speak for you, if you let it.”

  Thinking of that was too frightening, so he asked instead, “Tell me what’s going to happen to you.”

  “We are going to die. Again.” She slipped into the lake. Sânuoi had said she’d died a thousand years ago.

  “You’re going to kill her?” he asked Dank.

  It was Nimuë who replied. “No.” Only her head was visible. “We died a long time ago. We just won’t be us anymore. We’ll be them.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Nimuë smiled a small, sad smile. “That is why they like you so much.” Then she dipped beneath the water, leaving only ripples.

  They marched back into the forest, this time making little effort to avoid being seen or heard.

  “What are you going to do to Nimuë?” Tom asked Dank.

  But the boy shook his head. “We will do nothing.” He seemed reserved, his shoulders hunched and his head ducked. Like he was expecting a blow. “Her fate rests with our king and queen.”

  “And what will they do?”

  “What they will.”

  “Iron nails, Dank, will you give me a straight answer?”

  At that Dank straightened, shoulders back, chin up, peering down his nose at Tom. “Remember your place, little Tom.” Melwas, through and through. “You do not command us. No matter how close to our queen you might think you are. You are not king of Faerie.”

  Tom bowed his head. “Forgive me,” he said, though he didn’t feel he needed forgiving. “It’s just frustrating, not knowing.”

  “Hmm.” When Tom looked up, Dank’s Melwas-gaze was fixed on Tom’s hip. Where Caledyr would sit. “And yet we remember a time when you were happy to be ignorant. What has changed, we wonder?”

  It had nothing to do with the sword. Did it? It will speak for you, Nimuë had said. Speak, or think? Tom cast another look at Dank, but Melwas was gone from his features. He was Dank once more.

  “The fay like their secrets.”

  “They do.” But Tom was beginning to feel there were too many things he didn’t know.

  They had discussed this plan before stepping through the Circle and they had all agreed they wouldn’t make it out of the forest before being caught. They’d be taken to the castle and back to the rat pits.
Then the fay would break them out and help them fight their way up the tower to Gerwyn. Take back Katharine’s maps. Lock Gerwyn in a rat pit. Make their escape. It sounded easy, but Tom trembled at the thought of it. To be in the rat pit again, even for a short time, threatened to unman him.

  But he forced himself to walk as if he had no fears, and they left the trees behind without seeing another soul. Even the scrubby plain between forest and city was empty. They walked it unchallenged, unremarked. Tom tried to remember where the dragon had knocked him and Six off a horse but there were few distinguishing features. The wind was strong, whipping away any words they might have exchanged, any sound the city might have to offer. But Tom could see plenty of ships sailing in and out of the Harbour. And Lyr’s Ford was covered in scaffolding. It looked like they were repairing the statue the dragon had broken.

  Tom tried not to think of Heulomar.

  By the time they reached the city Brega was looking twitchy. “I don’t like this.” Her fingers flexed, no doubt itching to hold a sword. “Where are the soldiers?”

  She was right. There wasn’t a single one to be seen. Westerners aplenty, but all civilians. Traders and merchants and sailors, speaking and working and negotiating with the Erhenni. Tom felt the same doubt return, the doubt he had felt last time he was here. Some of the Erhenni harboured dark looks and muttered grumbles. But none of them were chained or yoked. The invasion seemed to be forgotten. They were living their lives.

  “The elfs bring you the light of civilisation,” Gravinn said to him, pointing out a handful of dwarfs unloading a cart. “How long will it be before every human family has a thrall of their own?”

  “Humans don’t keep slaves.”

  “No?” She shook her head. “I imagine they didn’t do that either.” She pointed at a handful of humans stood at a doorway while an elf handed out nothings, a slice of bread or a shiny coin. “They seek their patronage from an elf. Soon they’ll adopt their customs, to curry favour. And one day we’ll be born and bred in a foreign land, killed when we become too old because it takes too much coin to send us home.”