The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  Idris blinked. Opened his mouth but could only offer a jerky nod. Tom gave him a solemn nod too. No father deserved to lose their child to his own folly.

  “I don’t know if I can do this,” Dank said, staring at the covered jar in Six’s hands.

  But it wasn’t safe to reunite him with his sprite. “You can do this,” Tom replied. He stood next to him, trying to offer support without letting the boy dwell on his separation from the fay. Tried to ignore how terrible he felt. Tried to forget the impossibility of what they were about to do.

  “Let’s go.”

  There was no tug. Instead there was a ripping, like a scream without sound. Like the air itself was being torn. Like Dank was trying to haul every one of them through the fabric of the world with his bare hands. The magic was a suffocating sheet, drowning them, filling their lungs and spilling out their thoughts until they ran together, mixed and diluted. Tom could feel Six’s triumph. Gravinn’s faith. Draig’s anger. Dank’s loneliness. Katharine’s uncertainty.

  And another. Someone who was afraid, warm and hungry too. Tom quested towards those feelings, and they quested back, clutched at him, curled up inside his thoughts.

  A little girl.

  Katharine was pregnant.

  The story continues. Don’t miss out on the next thrilling book in the Realm Rift saga; sign up for updates at jamestkelly.com/readersgroup!

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  The Northern Wastes

  The Realm Rift Saga: 3

  Copyright © 2019 by James Kelly

  Cover Illustration copyright © 2019 by Annah Wootten-Pinéles

  Cover design by Annah Wootten-Pinéles

  Map illustrations copyright © 2019 by Howard Coates

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Skerry Books Ltd

  www.skerrybooks.co.uk

  For Phoebe.

  Chapter 1

  The maelstrom of magic was worse than being inside the monoliths. It felt to Thomas Rymour that the whirling magics were scratching and tearing at everyone’s very thoughts, pooling them, blending them to the point where it was hard to tell whose thought was whose. Who felt that this would be the end of them, that he had killed them all? Perhaps that was Six. All Tom knew was that this would have been easy if his sprite wasn't trapped in a jar. No, that wasn’t his thought, it was Dank’s. Dank who strained against the world, trying to take them all to Faerie without his link to the fay.

  But Tom knew, without a doubt, that it was he that marvelled at the beautiful little life he had discovered. The little girl that Katharine carried inside her. The how and when didn’t seem important. Just the marvel of it. He quested towards her, swimming through the pool of thoughts and fears to her alone.

  She was panicking, a nameless, wordless, formless fear of the chaos around her. Shush, he told her. Shush. It will be okay.

  She wrapped her feelings around that thought so hard Tom thought he might cry out. So tiny. So helpless. It unmanned him in a moment, filling him with a terror he'd never felt before. Someone needed to keep this little life safe from sickness, hurtful words, cruel looks, from every man who would look her way? And who was he? Just Thomas Rymour. He wasn’t enough.

  But he shielded her from the fear that stripped every ounce of courage he had, and instead conjured for her every good feeling and thought he could imagine. He wrapped her in every little pleasure he could think of. A soft blanket, a held hand, a beautiful warm morning, laughter and smiles and dancing and running for the sheer pleasure of running under warm sunlight.

  And a promise. I will do anything to keep you safe. No matter what, I will protect you.

  Then the maelstrom was gone and he was on his back, staring up into a blurry twilight sky, cheeks warm and wet.

  "Tom?"

  He blinked, pushed fresh tears down the side of his head. Tried to lift himself. His body ached. Exhaustion. Pain. And loneliness. He couldn’t sense the child any more. Couldn’t wrap her in comfort or protection against any distress.

  "Tom, what happened?" Gravinn, trying her best to lift him. She looked pale, sick. So did the others. But they all looked at him, concerned, worried.

  Except Katharine. He couldn't read her expression. "We have to hurry," she said.

  Yes. That little girl would need a home. And clothes. Money, for food and toys. She would need teaching too.

  "We tried to get us as close as we could." Dank wiped his mouth. The sour tang of vomit was in the air. "To Emyr."

  Oh. Suddenly their daring raid to rescue wounded King Emyr from Faerie didn't seem so important.

  But they were all waiting on him. "Right." Tom hauled himself to his feet, wiped the tears from his face. Stared at Dank until he took the lead.

  The boy had done well. They were in the barrows, the low, undulating hills that surrounded Emyr’s resting place. The fay didn't much like the barrows, so they were mostly deserted. But Tom knew that, even if there were no eyes to see them, they were discovered all the same. The fay had a deep link to their realm. The fay would know they were here.

  Once he'd worried about merely requesting entry. Now he had broken down the door. Maev would never forgive that.

  The clearing was empty. Emyr lay on his white stone bier as always. But Ankou, the hooded fay who tended to the old king, was nowhere to be seen.

  Ankou never left Emyr’s side. Ever. Tom didn't know what this meant, but he was sure it wasn't good. He rushed to the bier, touched Emyr's hand. Did the old king seem older than last time? Did his wound bleed less? Emyr's eyes fluttered open and there was peace in them for just a moment before the pain came rushing back to him. He took a breath through gritted teeth before his gaze fell on Tom.

  "I thought you left, son?” he asked. So tired, and in so much pain that Tom’s resolve faltered. Who was Thomas Rymour to decide that it was time for Emyr to return, to fight the fay and protect the people of Tir again?

  But who else was there, if not Emyr?

  "We did,” Tom said. “We came back."

  "So soon?"

  "My king, there’s no time to explain. I'm sorry." And Tom put an arm under Emyr’s head, around his shoulders, and lifted him. Fresh blood oozed from the wound in his stomach and he cried out.

  "What are you doing?"

  "Taking you back to Tir."

  "No." He pushed weakly at Tom."I'll die."

  "The dwarfs can heal you."

  "No." He shook his head with the violent panic of a man who thought he was facing his final moments. "They can’t."

  "They can." Tom realised what he had said, and added, "I can't lie, remember? So, if I can say it, it must be true."

  That stilled Emyr's protests and he sat dumb as Tom lifted his legs over the edge of the bier. The others crowded around them and Tom looked for Dank. "Ready?" The boy nodded and Tom turned to Gravinn. "Where do we go?"

  But before the dwarf could speak, another voice said, "There is nowhere we cannot find you, little Tom."

  Too late. Of course it was. The others turned, parted, and Tom saw Melwas stood at the entrance to the clearing. Tall, handsome, proud Melwas, king of the winter fay, wearing a furious smirk and cruel, black armour. Attended by Herne. Followed by two Faerie hounds. Foul, ugly things, slathering, skinless beasts with enormous fangs. They stood as tall as Melwas' waist, their flayed flesh leaving blood on the grass as they followed their master. Tom had seen them eviscerate aurochs in seconds, their jaws
powerful enough to snap a man's limb from his body as easily as plucking a leaf from a tree. And while Herne was smaller, he was no less dangerous, muscles bunching beneath filthy skin and eyes glowing red and murderous within his hart-skull head. Tom felt his guts twist and freeze with fear. Had he led them all to their deaths?

  "We must admire your spirit, little Tom." Melwas stepped into the clearing, stalked by his horrific retinue. "We had not imagined it of you. To be so bold, so rebellious." Melwas stopped and gave them all a flawless grin. "To show so little fear in the face of our wrath."

  Don't show him how scared you are, Tom told himself. Don't give him the satisfaction. "You used me."

  He clapped his hands together and tipped his head, a condescending gesture. "Bravo, little Tom. We did."

  "You used me to help you terrorise Tir."

  "You seemed to enjoy it."

  "I was wrong."

  Melwas opened a hand, palm up, as he said, "Right." Opened the other hand and said, "Wrong." Then he flicked his wrists, dismissing the ideas with a careless flourish. "Mortal concerns, little Tom. Such things bore us. You must know us poorly if you think we care for them."

  "No. I know you don't care."

  "We should go," hissed Six. "Dank, take us away."

  But the boy was pale and stiff, akin to a corpse. The only part of him that moved were his eyes, tracking Melwas around the clearing, tracking the hounds at his heels.

  "Of course, you know we would have had our way, little Tom. Had you failed us, we would have found another mortal to play our game. Him." Melwas pointed at Six. At Draig. "Or him. Or perhaps we would have finally healed Emyr and sent him back. Now that would have been a true challenge." Melwas grinned. "To convince the legendary King of Tir to break the monoliths and help us make Tir and Faerie as one."

  Tom couldn’t tell if it was the pain or Melwas’ words that made Emyr shudder. They had to leave. But Tom couldn’t help but ask, "As one?"

  "As one," Melwas confirmed, petting a hound at his heel, admiring the blood that the flayed flesh left on his fingers. "No more doorways, no more Circles or barriers. Just one playground for our people." It made no sense. How could you take two places and make them into one? But Melwas seemed certain as he said, "Imagine it, little Tom. The great castles felled, the stone used to build mighty thrones for us and our queen. The little cities remade into glorious arenas. And those mortals that do not fight and die for our pleasure will instead turn their toil to building great amusements for us."

  It made Tom’s stomach churn to think of it. He could picture lines of men, women and children queuing to work and bleed and die just to alleviate the boredom of the fay. He couldn’t let that be the world Katharine’s child grew up in. "I’ll stop you."

  "Will you, little Tom?" Melwas gave him a pitying smile. "Or will you stand aside at our queen’s command like a good little pet?" He lifted a finger to Gravinn and said, "If she wished it, would you watch our hounds chase down and devour this little one?" His attention shifted to Dank. "If she told you it would make her happy, would you hold the sharp objects and the burning brands while we tortured him for an aeon?" His gaze fell on Katharine and he grinned. "And would you scrape and bow while our queen exercised her little jealousies on this one?"

  Jealousies that would likely mean eternal misery and torment. And what would Mab do when she discovered Katharine was with child? "No."

  "No?" Melwas tossed his head and laughed, a hearty chuckle that turned to a growl in a heartbeat. "No?" His eyes were dark and furious as he spoke through gritted teeth. "Always have you defied us, little Tom, always have your bows been too low, always has your heart belonged to this one." Melwas jerked his head at Emyr. "But we will change that. We will hurt you, little Tom. We will show you pain you thought impossible to live through." The Faerie King advanced, fingers clenching as if he imagined crushing something of Tom’s. Then he smiled, his voice light and empty of all fury and violence. "Then we will stop, and bring you wine and bread, and you will begin to hope that maybe the pain is no more." A dark delight crept into the fay’s eyes. “But again we will start hurting you. Again we will stop, again you will hope, again we will hurt you. Over. And over. And over. And one day, many centuries from now, we will stop for good. And you will be so grateful, little Tom." Melwas was close now. Too close. Tom had to tip his head back to meet his eye, and the fay lifted a hand, brushed the back of his fingers across Tom's upturned cheek, and murmured, like a lover, "You will swear yourself to us, because we made the pain stop at last. You will love us, little Tom. We will make sure of that."

  I will not break. That's what Tom wanted to say. I will not break for you. But Melwas had eternity to torture him. Who knew what centuries of torment could do to a man?

  Tom swallowed. Forget the threats. Get Katharine and the child beyond Melwas’ reach. Every other concern could wait for another day. But his voice betrayed him, shaking as he said, "Emyr is my king."

  "For now." Melwas sighed a satisfied sigh. "But when we are done with you, a cripple will never compare to our majesty." And he turned his head to smirk at the old king.

  Melwas was quick. Tom knew that. But he was cocky, too. He thought he had won. So he was slow to react. Slow to see Tom push Emyr aside and draw Caledyr. Slow to see Tom thrust the blade toward his chest. Too slow to twist aside and avoid the blade that slipped through his armour like butter and skewered his shoulder with ease.

  It took Tom a moment to realise that everything had changed. Melwas was roaring a wordless roar. The ground was shaking and rain was lashing down on them. Tom looked up into dark clouds that had obscured the twilight sky in an instant. Rain in Faerie. He had seen light showers before. The fay would revel in them, dance in puddles, huddle under shelter and watch their realm shimmer under a hundred thousand miniature prisms, emerge to gaze at rainbows made of colours unseen in the mortal realm. But this was something new. This was a storm. There were no storms in Faerie. Not ever.

  Melwas dropped to one knee, Caledyr still buried in his shoulder, and the ground shook. Tom looked down, drenched to the skin already, hair slicked to his forehead.

  Tom twisted the sword.

  Lightning flashed and forked across the sky.

  He realised he could end this right here. Right now.

  "I wasn't sure this would work." Tom had to shout over the noise of rumbling ground and driving rain. Melwas rolled his eyes to meet Tom's. But they were empty things. Tom couldn't be sure the fay understood him. The Faerie King reached for Tom, fingers grasping for a hold, but Tom twisted the blade again.

  The hounds screamed with a shared pain. They were hunkered to the ground, slinking back, slinking away.

  Herne was gone.

  "But I couldn't understand why you’d hidden the sword. Why you demanded I bring it back to you." Tom’s breath was fogging, the air grown chill. Melwas moaned and Tom leaned closer, twisted the sword again. "It’s because it can hurt you. Can it kill you, Melwas? Could I end you right now?" He wanted to. After so many years of dodging the fay’s wrath, after months of being manipulated. It would feel good.

  "Tom!" Katharine screamed and he risked a glance. She was huddled with the others, waving him towards them. "We have to leave!"

  He looked back at Melwas. Felt his fingers twitch around the grip, felt his arms full of anticipation. He felt himself on the edge, ready to pull the sword free and then swing it through the fay's neck.

  The ground shook again and he almost lost his balance.

  "Tom, we have to leave." Dank was in the centre of the huddle. Everyone had a hand on him. "Faerie isn't safe. You're hurting it."

  Hurting Faerie. Because he was hurting Melwas. Tom nodded. He'd always wondered if the fay and their realm were one and the same. "Then I can end this now," he said. He could put an end to years of blind servitude. He’d never be a Faerie puppet again. And Katharine could raise her little girl in peace. Yes. This was how it should end.

  "Not with us inside Faerie. We’re not
safe here," Dank cried to him over the storm.

  "Then go." Let them escape. It would be worth dying here to protect them. "Take everyone to safety."

  They shouted at him, all of them, tried to reason with him. But he knew the rightness of what he did. He knew it now. He had always said the fay were dangerous. Not because they were immortal. Not because they were good or evil; they were neither. The fay were dangerous because they didn't care who they hurt, who they killed, who they manipulated or tortured. They would do whatever entertained them, and the mortal cost wouldn’t even occur to them. But Tom could stop them. Here. Now. Let all of Faerie come down around him. As long as it came down on them too.

  "You kill your queen." Melwas' groan was almost inaudible over the rain and the roar.

  Yes. It would kill her. And he would never see that little girl born. His resolve faltered. He had made her a promise. I will keep you safe.

  Perhaps destroying Faerie would be how he fulfilled his promise.

  He felt hands on his shoulders and arms, Katharine slapping at him, pulling him. "Go," he told her.

  "No." Her efforts jostled him and twisted Caledyr, eliciting dead moans from Melwas. The fay had given up fighting, hanging limp from the sword. It was strange to see him so still. So empty of his strange, malicious drive. "I'm not going to let you do this," she said.

  "You’ll be safe," Tom replied. "Both of you." He shifted his feet. Readied himself for the swing. Would it end with Melwas? Or would he need to kill Mab too?

  "Don’t leave me alone."

  "You’re strong," he told her. He didn’t dare look at her. Didn’t dare test his resolve that way. "If anyone can raise her, it’s you."