Up.
He kicked back, at legs and hips until the weight was gone.
Up.
He regained his grip on Caledyr, pivoted again on his knees.
Up.
Lifted the sword, ready to skewer his attacker.
Kill the enemy.
Six was knelt there, panting. Arms at his sides. Glowering at Tom.
Kill the enemy.
Enough.
“What are you doing?” It was only when Tom spoke that he realised he was panting too. The ache in his limbs, the burning in his throat and lungs, the pain of his various injuries, all those dim sensations blossomed now the danger had passed. He groaned. “Have you forgotten which side you’re on?”
“Have you?” Six pointed at the sword. “You said you could control it.”
“I can.” He clambered to his feet. The other elf was gone, the sound of thrashing grass heralding her escape. But he was too tired to chase her. And he couldn’t remember why he needed to.
“You were going to kill her.”
“No, I wasn’t.” Wasn’t he? He’d said it, so it must be true. But what about the sword? He looked down at it. “I needed to scare her. To stop her running.”
“Don’t treat me like an idiot.”
“Don’t treat me like a liar.”
You’re a liar and a coward. Selfish and vengeful.
Where was Katharine?
“You left her alone?” Tom asked.
“I had to stop you from doing something stupid.”
Stupid. Like leaving Katharine alone.
“Katharine!” Tom began to run back, but he couldn’t remember which direction he’d come from. So he called her name again. And again. The run was too hard. He couldn’t get enough air. His lungs felt like they were ready to burst. “If anything happens to her,” he said to Six in a breathless, hoarse whisper, “I’ll never forgive you.”
The elf simply called her name too.
Why wasn’t she calling back?
“Katharine?”
Then, finally, he heard her call, “I’m over here.” Not too far. He forced some life and some energy into his legs, and a moment later almost staggered into her.
“Eirwen’s grace,” he gasped. “I was worried.” He reached for her.
But she recoiled. “I’m fine.”
It had only been for reassurance, just a touch, no more. He curled his fingers away from her, then dropped his arm. “I should have known you would be,” he said. It was hard to keep the hurt from his voice.
“Yes,” was all she said. Both elfs were face down in the grass, hands clasped behind their backs, while she stood over them with their swords in her hands. “Did the other one get away?” She asked Six. Not Tom.
“He almost killed her.”
“Shut up, Six.”
“Are you surprised?” she asked.
What did that mean? “You think I’m a killer?”
“No.” She met his eye with a flat gaze of her own. “I think an apology only counts if you stop doing what you apologised for.”
Unbelievable. He had taken down two of these attackers by himself and where was his thanks? He felt the sword stir. “I just ran back to make sure you were safe.”
“Thanks.” Her tone said everything but. “That’s not what matters.”
He had done her wrong. Six too. He had made mistakes. But he was getting tired of this. “Track her,” he told her. “We need to find where she went.”
“Excuse me?”
“I said track her. Before the trail grows cold.” He turned to Six. “In case Katharine can’t find her, you should interrogate these two. See if they won’t tell us what we need to know.”
“Taking command again?” Six asked.
“Neither of you were coming up with any ideas.” He turned and stalked into the grass.
“Where are you going?” Katharine called after him.
“To find Dank.”
Except he didn’t need much finding. After just a few steps he saw a familiar glow through the grass. He followed it and found Dank, stood like a golem in the dark, his sprite sat in the palm of his hand.
“Hello, Tom.” He spoke in a soft murmur, as if not wanting to startle.
Had the boy been stood here the whole time, listening to them fight for their lives? And all he had was ‘hello’? “What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
“We were attacked.”
“We know.”
“Why didn’t you help?”
“We had no weapon.” But his smile seemed too open, seemed too amused at his own cleverness. Seemed too like a fay.
“One got away.” One Dank could have helped catch.
But the boy shrugged. “Then we’ll follow that one.” Dank launched the sprite with a gentle push and watched her fly away. “We’ll find her.”
Without the sprite, the dark took a firm hold. Tom shivered. The grass shielded him from any breeze but he was conscious of the sweat of the fight on his skin growing chill.
“Don’t listen to them, Tom,” Dank told him.
He opened his mouth to say ‘who’. But he knew.
“That sword is strong,” Dank continued. “It makes you a good fighter.”
“It wants me to kill.”
“It was made for killing.”
“I don’t want to kill.” He thought of Topknot, then of his foresight. He would profane the man’s grave. “I don’t want to be a monster.”
“Is that what the sword is making you?”
Yes. Except the word wouldn’t come. Like an awful truth he didn’t dare speak, he couldn’t form the sound. And, when he couldn’t, he felt the sword crow victory.
I help.
Tom hushed the blade.
“Many men have borne Caledyr.” Dank spoke with the air of someone who has come by this knowledge from a book or from another’s recollection. “The sword made them all great. But whether they were a great hero or a great villain was determined by the man.”
Tom wanted to touch the pommel but thought better of it. “I don’t want to be great.”
“Maybe they didn’t either,” Dank whispered up to the stars.
What was it Emyr had said? As long as you’re stuck with your burden, you may as well do your best with it.
Tom followed his gaze up. The stars looked different here. He recognised some of the constellations, Emoddir, the Eagle, the Fey Dragon. But they were crowded with unfamiliar ones. It was like seeing your home village built up into a foreign city.
“Homesick?” he asked.
“A little.” Dank’s voice carried a smile. “It’s exciting to be here. But it’s hard not to miss home.”
Tom thought of Faerie and waited for the familiar feelings. Homesickness. Loneliness. Longing. Even lust. But they were all muddied by suspicion and distrust. What had Fenoderee done? Why wouldn’t Dank tell him? What was Mab’s purpose?
Why did the fay want to break the monoliths?
“Pack away your fears, Tom,” Dank said. “We’ll be home soon.”
We are using you. That’s what Fenoderee had said.
Tom touched the sword. But it had only one thought.
Find the enemy.
Six’s interrogations didn’t go well. Once they’d realised he was trying to find out where their little group was hidden, the two Westerners began to cry out for help. With no rope and no gags, and the threat of a blade having no effect, Six had resorted to knocking them out with a rock. Tom could see the blood even in the dark.
“Are you sure they’re not dead?” The bodies seemed too limp. Too lifeless.
“Yes.” But Six didn’t sound convinced.
Katharine had better luck; even in the dark she’d been able to pick up a trail. Dank’s sprite had helped, offering some light. So the rest of them trailed behind her, dragging their reluctant hostages by the heels.
“We won’t have endeared ourselves to these elfs by hurting their people,” Tom grunted. This elf
was heavy and an unpleasant aroma wafted out of his boots.
“Killing them wouldn’t have done the trick either,” Six countered.
“I needed her to stop running.”
“We all know how little the dead enjoy a good run.”
“Quiet.” Katharine hissed. She was examining some grass. Took a few steps. Crouched and looked at the ground. Progress was slow. But Tom marvelled at how she could tell the difference between this grass, that grass, or any other grass.
Then he remembered he was supposed to be angry and stopped marvelling.
Dank refused to walk in their little line. Instead he meandered back and forth behind them, emerging without warning, sometimes with his sprite, sometimes without. Each time Tom went to drop his prisoner and draw Caledyr. Each time Dank smiled, like a small child whose childish pranks appear to work on the adults.
Katharine stopped.
“Everything okay?” Tom asked. He didn’t drop his charge; it was harder to pick them up again than to wait.
Katharine said nothing. Just crouched and examined something.
“What have you found?” Six asked.
“A brooch.” She lifted it, showed it to them. It looked cheap and tacky, the glass catching the starlight.
“We must be on the right track,” Six said.
Caledyr stirred. Be ready.
He drew the blade, slow and quiet. “No.”
“Tom’s right,” Katharine allowed, grudgingly. “I think this is meant to throw us off.”
Caledyr was twitching in his mind. Suggesting attack plans, guard positions, strategies.
“It’s meant to stop us,” he said.
The soft sound of swaying grass reached his ears. But there was no wind.
“Get behind me.”
Something in his voice must have cut through whatever anger or distrust they held. Katharine dropped the brooch, retreated behind Tom. Six turned, protecting his back. And Dank slipped away again, taking his light with him.
The sound of swaying grass was all around them.
“How many do you think?” Six asked.
Caledyr whispered the answer. “A dozen,” Tom replied.
Six let a frustrated snort out through his nose. Then he took a breath and called, “Athra?”
The elf he’d named. The one that would help them.
The grass stilled. Tom could hear whispers in elfish.
“It’s me, Athra,” Six called again.
Nothing.
Six said something in elfish Tom couldn’t understand. The air was quiet and still. All Tom could hear was breathing. Six’s nervous and shaky. Katharine’s quick and short. And his own, even and calm. Perhaps there wouldn’t be a fight. Perhaps Six was friends with this Athra.
A voice called something in elfish. A bark. An order.
Tom lifted Caledyr into a guard and took a deep breath in and out. Calmness of the soul until death. He listened to the sword.
Fight.
Chapter 17
The elfs rushed them all at once.
Tom had no choice. He pushed aside his fears and let the sword in.
He swung at one elf, cut at another. Parried a blow from a third. Kicked out at the first. Kept Caledyr swinging in a continual arc, never still, always moving.
Calmness of the soul until death.
Punch. Stab. Swing. Parry.
These elfs were unskilled, but they had strength in numbers.
He sliced through a belt like it was butter, letting it tangle around the elf’s ankles. He pulled a shawl over an opponent’s head while he parried a blow from another. Cracked the pommel off the shawled head. Parried three blows from three attackers. Broke the guard of one, threw a fist against their chest. Felt a blow against his own head that sent him staggering.
Do not fall.
Caledyr guided his feet, keeping them underneath him. Helped him swing and parry while his own thoughts were fuzzy. Opened another elf’s guard, kicked them to the ground. Used an arm to block a punch, sliced open clothes, earning a shriek and a flail for modesty. Sent her down with an elbow to the face.
Move.
He almost fell when pain shrieked up his back. Threw a wild swing through thin air. His back was wet with blood and he’d opened the wound in his flank too.
Let me in.
He blocked another blow, threw a punch even as he swung the flat of the blade against another elf’s head.
Someone kicked him in the back, sending him down to his knees.
Up.
He swung blindly, clambered to his feet, spun. Blinked away sweat and blood.
Too slow.
A blow, another blow, three swinging swords that drove him back. Leaving Six and Katharine unprotected. He had to get back to them. He had to keep them safe.
Let me in.
He’d lost his rhythm and now they had an advantage. He was hurt and he was scared. Calmness of the soul until death.
Let me in.
Calmness of the soul until death, calmness of the soul until death.
He was struggling. His limbs burned. His thoughts were mud. He couldn’t keep this up.
Let me in.
The thought was a needle, too sharp and quick to defend against. It drew back his arm and flung Caledyr at his attackers.
The sword had abandoned him. Why had it abandoned him?
Run.
He was charging before he realised his feet were moving. The elfs shied from Caledyr, which clattered uselessly off their raised swords. Then Tom threw himself into their unguarded bellies, bringing them all to the ground. He caught a knee to the side of his head, a pommel-blow to his hip. Swords were abandoned and fists fell on him instead.
Up.
He ignored the hail of blows to push himself to his knees.
Disable.
He caught a fist, twisted it, punched the shoulder. It wasn’t a strong blow but it was enough to elicit a scream. He took a blow to the back of the head. His thoughts were fuzzy, but Caledyr was clear.
Legs.
He kicked back at his assailant, felt his foot connect with a shin.
Knee.
He braced himself against the ground and kicked again, higher and harder. That elf cried out, their knee snapped straight. Tom felt Caledyr’s disappointment that he hadn’t broken it.
Retrieve the sword.
He needed to get back to the others. He scrambled to his feet, plucked Caledyr from the grass, and left those three to gather themselves. Rushed back to the fight.
Which was over. Six and Katharine were back-to-back. Their attackers were waiting, no more.
Caledyr had already picked the first target. Tom raised the sword, ready to fight.
Except he was tired. And sweating. And out of breath. And hurt.
And he knew this fight would end in death.
So he cried out, “This is Caledyr.” Their attackers paused, and he hurried on. “The legendary sword of King Emyr. King Oen. We want to use it to put an end to Idris’ war.”
He heard whispered elfish. But no-one tried to attack.
“My name is Thomas Rymour,” he said. “I cannot lie. So believe me when I say I don’t want to hurt you. I want your help.”
More elfish. And then a voice said, “You think we’ll help one of Regent’s little pets?” The speaker had a lazy, languid drawl.
Calm. Don’t take the bait. “I’m not Regent’s man,” he replied, searching for the source of the voice.
“You were in his court.” Not any of the elfs before him. Not behind. Where? “Now Regent’s a puppet to the false king. Stands to reason Idris holds your strings too.”
“No.” This wasn’t working. The Westerners were getting anxious. Edging closer. And Caledyr was getting heavy. Urging the attack. “I wanted to bring Idris down.”
“And what do you want now?”
He sought out Six. Katharine. Held her gaze and said, “To free the dragons.”
Did something soften in her expression?
&nbs
p; The voice chuckled. “Problem is,” he said, stepping out of the grass, “it’s easy to say you cannot lie. Trickier to prove it.” Short for an elf, not even as tall as Tom, his skin was deep and gold, his hair unfashionably short. He bore tattoos too, on his neck, and his similarity to Six was almost shocking. “Trickier to prove it,” he repeated, and lifted his chin, making his challenge plain. Now Tom had seen him, he could recognise the same inflection of speech Six had.
“You’re Athra,” he said.
The elf smirked. Six’s smirk, only darker. Meaner. Odd to see it on another face. “So my brother has been talking.”
The other elfs were relaxing. Lowering their guard. Tom ached to lower his. But not yet. “Is that why you attacked us?” he asked. “You thought we’d talk?”
Athra nodded. “I can see why Regent kept you around,” he said. Then he added. “At his feet. Like a dog.”
Insult.
Tom fought Caledyr’s urge to bring the blade to Athra’s neck. But his expression must have betrayed him; Athra’s smirk grew broader.
Don’t let pride interfere with diplomacy. Regent had told him that once. “I’m sure he’d like to keep me again.” He forced a smile. Like the old Six might have worn, when he was playing dice for coin in taverns. “In a cage.”
“Perhaps he’d pay for you?”
“You wouldn’t take his coin.”
“Wouldn’t we?”
“No,” Tom replied. He still held Caledyr aloft and his arm was beginning to shake. It was almost impossible to hold it steady and phrase his response at the same time. To look strong, and to sound like a believer without lying. “Because he serves the elf you call false king. Don’t you think his coin is tainted?”
Athra held his gaze. Searched his eyes for a look, a truth, a sign of betrayal. Tom did his best to keep them as open and honest as possible.
“If you can’t lie, you can’t keep secrets.” His voice was little more than a murmur. Tom couldn’t be sure he wasn’t talking to himself.
He thought of Fenoderee. “I just have to keep them from myself.”
The elf smiled, a boy’s smile, open and genuine. Then he smothered it with that smirk. “Your wit is almost as good as your swordplay.” He raised his voice. “Lower your weapons, brothers.”
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 62