The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  Tom placed a blanket over Katharine, snoring ever so gently to herself, and stood. His legs cramped and his back ached from being bent almost double. Emyr blocked the aisle towards the head of the carriage, so Tom walked to the rear. He wondered if he should check on the wagon and the horses, but his stomach turned at the thought of stepping across to the next carriage and seeing the ground flying by beneath. Besides, what could he do if it needed doing? If the wagon had come loose, it would likely crush him before he could do anything. And how do you calm a horse in an unsteady, enclosed space? Either they were fine or they weren't. So he stood by the door, watching the world fly past at speeds he could never have imagined. The industry of dwarfs.

  "Can not you sleep?" Draig had ghosted up behind him, head ducked and shoulders hunched, shrouded in a blanket. He kept his distance and his voice low, one hand on an empty bench to counter the swaying of the carriage. Tom had a sudden vision of Draig pushing him through the door, and wished he hadn't left Caledyr in his seat.

  "No." He took a step further into the carriage, kept his hands free and tried to balance with just his feet.

  "Make strange do these dwarfs." Draig waved a hand to encompass the carriage. "No elf would build this thing."

  Was he trying to make conversation? Or lull Tom into a sense of safety? With so much to worry about, he didn’t need to be guessing at Draig’s motives. Perhaps it would be easier to make peace with the elf. After all, Draig had been a friend, had comforted him after he had killed a man, had shown him how to handle a sword.

  Had fought him to a standstill, had given them up to Gerwyn. Had left them in rat pits. "Why are you here, Draig?"

  "Why ask you for medicine from the healer?" Draig’s expression betrayed no emotion in the dark.

  "I won’t say."

  Draig just nodded. "Have you no trust in me. Just as have I none in you."

  The words pricked Tom’s anger, though he knew there was no benefit to it. "So you followed us here because you don’t trust me?"

  Draig tapped his chest. "Broke I an oath, for Tir. Not Angles, not Kingdom, not fay or dwarfs. Does my loyalty lie with Tir."

  "You think mine doesn’t."

  "Freed you dragons. Freed you fay. Did you embrace Mab on that hill."

  Tom felt his cheeks grow hot. "I stabbed Melwas."

  "But not her."

  No. Not her. His chest tightened and his breath quickened. How dare Draig stand there with doubts and talk of loyalty as if he hadn’t cast them into rat pits?

  But he wasn’t angry with Draig. He was angry with himself. The elf was right; he should have stabbed Mab just as he’d stabbed Melwas.

  Draig nodded. "Think I that you want to stop the fay," he said. "Fear I that she will stay your hand."

  Tom feared it too.

  "Some people don’t deserve our love," Draig said, repeating the words he’d said in Faerie. Tom had known that the elf was right. Yet he still hadn’t lifted his hand against Mab. Was he incapable of doing so? Or was he just afraid?

  "I want to stop the fay," he told Draig. "I want Katharine and our child to be safe."

  "You will kill Mab?" Draig asked.

  Could he? Could he cut her down? He couldn’t touch Caledyr for strength. So he reached for the memory of the thoughts he’d shared with his daughter. He would protect her. So, if Mab threatened her, he would kill the Faerie Queen. He would. He could.

  He opened his mouth to say so.

  The world lurched, throwing Tom against the elf and sending them both tumbling to the floor as a sickening scream rent the air. The carriage shuddered and jolted and spun, people were thrown from their seats, bags and cases tumbled onto their heads. Tom could barely hear the cries and panic over the sound of metal wailing, bending, snapping.

  "What happens?" he heard Draig cry.

  Tom pulled himself to his feet. Their journey had stopped and engine was silenced. But the carriage juddered and shook, hanging at a strange angle. "Everyone out!" he bellowed, climbing over seats towards Katharine. "Get out now!"

  He reached Katharine, looked her over. There was no blood, no obvious injury. She was okay. They would get out. They would be safe. He took her hand and drew strength from her touch.

  The carriage shook again, a savage jerk that knocked Tom from his feet. Then all movements, all sounds stopped, and in its place a great breath was drawn followed by mournful roar. A roar like a reverse wolf's howl, that pitched high and fell, ending on furious melancholy.

  Mester Stoorworm.

  Chapter 5

  "Move move move." They had to get out. The sounds of rending metal and splintering wood had started again and Tom knew with absolute certainty that the monstrous fay was ripping his way through the carriages. Inside, there was no room to fight, no possibility of escape. Outside, they had a chance, to flee or to hide. He pulled at Katharine, shouted to Six and Draig to carry Emyr, to the dwarfs to run. Ambrose remained seated, watching them as if they were all very curious.

  "Ambrose, get out," Tom called to him but didn't wait, half-ushering, half-pushing Katharine to the door, forcing it open. The carriage shook again and Tom leaned past her and peered out. Mester Stoorworm was tearing at the neighbouring carriage with his mouth, worrying it like a dog with a bone. The fay was strong, his arms powerful enough to break a man in two, his mighty teeth sharp enough to sever limbs, and his scaly, snake-like body could keep pace with a horse. They couldn’t fight him, couldn’t outrun him. But there was a pile of boulders nearby. They could hide. Tom pointed them out to Katharine and she nodded.

  Stoorworm shook the neighbouring carriage and the floor thrashed beneath their feet. Then the fay paused, tipped his head back to admire his work, and Tom whispered to Katharine, "Go."

  She lowered herself to the ground as quietly as she could. Tom felt sure the fay would hear her. But Stoorworm kept chewing at the metal in his mouth, and Katharine crept away into the dark.

  The carriage shook again and Tom almost fell out. There was a cry from inside and he looked back to see Six and Draig had lost their footing, dropped Emyr.

  The shaking stopped.

  Mester Stoorworm peered at their carriage. He had heard them.

  Tom's limbs filled with dread and froze, his mind utterly blank with fear, as the fay raised a claw and plunged it into the carriage roof.

  The wood splintered, metal bent, talons poked through and scrabbled in the air, one tearing Dank's shoulder, another catching Mennvinn's cloak and lifting her into the air. Everyone dropped to the floor, forcing themselves flat or into nooks and crannies to avoid the fay's sharp grip. Finding no spoils, the hand closed and pulled. Tom saw Kunnustenn reach for Mennvinn, take her flailing hand, hold her and keep her as Mester Stoorworm hauled on the roof, peeling it away, failing to notice the dwarf he almost took or the torn cloak flapping in his hand. Instead he peered through the rent roof, his muzzle open in a dog-like grin.

  His gaze fell on Emyr and he purred, "You." But Stoorworm made no effort to attack, no move to retreat. Just basked in the sight of the old king. Everyone was silent and still. The only sound was a deafening, thundering heartbeat.

  No. That was Tom's own. And the world wasn't quiet. The dwarfs were shouting, panicking. They couldn't see the fay. They didn't know what was happening.

  Then the fay tossed aside a piece of the roof and began to clamber into the carriage, reaching for Emyr with his claws.

  Tom’s feet were moving before he could think. "Stoorworm!" he bellowed, snatching up the sword and pulling it free as best he could in cramped quarters. The fay stopped, saw the sword, and his eyes grew wide in fear. He snatched at Emyr, trying to haul him out of the carriage. Emyr howled as claws pierced his skin and tried to pry himself free.

  "Hold him," Tom cried, scrambled into a bench and flailing at Emyr's ankles. Six and Draig jumped for the old king, but Stoorworm already had another hand in the carriage, grasping Emyr's belt. The fay had already won. He had Emyr. He would take him back to Faerie. They ha
d lost.

  Take the fight to the enemy.

  The sword was right. They were trapped in here, rats in a cage. Stoorworm had the advantage. So Tom struck the pommel against a window, once, twice, then the glass broke and he kicked it away, clambered through the small opening, ignored the hot streaks of wet pain it opened in his scalp, his hands and legs. He tumbled to the ground into the cold night, dragged himself to his feet. Mester Stoorworm was hanging from the side of the carriage and all it took was a few staggering steps, a clumsy swing, and Caledyr rent a deep gash through Stoorworm's flesh.

  Stoorworm howled. It was so full of pain, hurt, mourning, that Tom felt his chest tighten for the fay. Then the tail flicked across his arm, parting cloth and skin and knocking him to the ground. Tom could hear a relieved cry from inside the carriage; they had Emyr. Stoorworm reared out of the carriage, collapsing on the ground, eyes rolling until they found Tom.

  He had expected words. Protests, outrage, disbelief, vows of vengeance. But Stoorworm uttered no words. Instead he growled. Barked. And Tom watched the gash in the fay’s flesh close and heal in just seconds.

  As the fay reared upright, flexing its arms, Tom knew he should be afraid. But he was staring at Stoorworm's tail. There was no sign he had been injured. No scratch, no blood. Nothing. It was as if the wound had never been taken. He had felt Faerie shake under his very feet and seen Melwas mindless in agony and thought he had bought them all days, weeks of time while the fay recovered. But he had probably bought nothing at all. Only a death sentence.

  Stoorworm lunged, not with his hands but with his maw. Tom slashed blindly, caught Stoorworm's nose and the fay yelped, retreated, slithered down the hillside and circled Tom. Hunted him. Tom clambered to his feet. He was outmatched here. The fay could heal its hurts in moments. But just one blow could end Tom.

  High ground.

  Yes, he had the high ground. But it wasn't much consolation.

  The fay struck like a snake, a rapid dart forward. Tom swung with the sword, wild and unfocused, letting himself fall as he did so. Stoorworm's mighty jaw snapped shut on the air where he had stood, the click echoing on the hills, and Caledyr slipped through the fay's chin. There was no blood. Nothing at all but parted flesh. Tom rolled, came to one knee. But Stoorworm was quicker. He slammed a fist into Tom's chest. Tom flew and, a moment later, his head cracked against the rim of a wheel. The world went numb and dark for a moment, every thought and feeling knocked out of him. Then Stoorworm had Tom's arm in one hand, his throat in another, pinning him against the carriage. He couldn't move and he couldn't breathe.

  Fight.

  It was the only thought in his mind and it wasn't his. But his arm was trapped, and Stoorworm’s scaly hand was pressed too tight against his throat. The only fight Tom could muster was the fight for air. Stoorworm slavered above, chest like a bellows, his jaw gaping open, teeth sharp, tongue almost beckoning him in.

  Fight.

  But he couldn't.

  There was a yell from above and Tom fell to the ground. Grass and dirt on his face. Soil and stone in his hands. Air in his chest. Stoorworm had dropped him. He was free.

  Fight.

  Yes. Fight. He gulped at the air, hauling on it. He reached out for the sword, flailing, finding it. It gave him strength he didn't have, letting him borrow its will in place of his own. He lurched to his feet. Stoorworm was thrashing, rolling on the ground, fighting with something on his back. Trying to shake it off.

  Distracted. Attack.

  A few staggering steps and he was knocked over by Stoorworm's flailing tail. He landed on his back, a rock stabbed at his spine and he groaned.

  Get up.

  Again he surrendered himself to the sword and it pushed him up, guided his steps. He dodged another lash of the fay's tail. Stepped forward. Stoorworm yelped and thrashed onto his back again.

  Tom stepped forward and plunged Caledyr into his chest.

  Stoorworm's scream ripped through the air and through his mind, vibrating with magic and with the pain of a thousand voices. The fay’s body stiffened in agony and panic and shock and Tom took the chance to pull the blade free and plunge it through the roof of the fay's open maw.

  Stoorworm fell silent and his limbs and tail flopped to the ground. Tom let go of Caledyr, leaving it in its new scabbard, and all of the blade's strength left him in a moment. He staggered back, lost his balance, fell. Stared up into the night. A beautiful clear night, the moon heavy and expecting, the stars out in force, and silent. Utterly silent. He closed his eyes.

  "Tom?"

  He opened his eyes. He hadn't slept. He knew that. He had just stopped, just for a moment. He looked up and saw Gravinn stood over him, fear on her face.

  "Is everyone safe?" he asked her.

  She nodded and her fear receded. "I think so." She held out her hand and Tom had no desire to take it. Just to lie there. Maybe sleep. But he thought of Katharine and the baby and he reached up and let the dwarf pull him into a sitting position. He looked over at the Stoorworm’s body.

  "Is it dead?" Gravinn asked.

  "No." He touched her elbow and asked, "Would you find Katharine for me? Please?"

  She gave him a stiff nod and waddled off. Stoorworm stared blindly into the sky, Caledyr's pommel shining between his teeth. Tom felt a moment of guilt for what he had done. The fay had been gentle and kind and now he had a sword through his skull. He had attacked first, true. But no doubt it was on instruction from Melwas. He was doing his duty.

  Duty done.

  The thought was weak, as if the sword was distracted or busy. But it was right. Tom had done his duty too.

  The body twitched.

  Tom was on his feet in a moment. Was Stoorworm healing? What would Tom do if he rose again? Distract him. Let the others escape. Let Katharine get to safety.

  Stoorworm jerked and said, "Help to me, please."

  No. It wasn't Stoorworm. It was someone trapped underneath him. Whoever had jumped onto the fay's back, who had saved Tom's life.

  "Draig." The Easterner was pinned by Stoorworm’s body, too heavy for him to lift. But he asked, not for help or thanks, but, "Is everyone well?"

  Tom nodded. "I think so." It seemed like days ago since they had said they didn't trust each other. Now it felt petulant to have said so. He put hands under Stoorworm's arm, lifted. The fay was heavy. And while Draig scrabbled out from under the dead weight, Tom kept a careful eye on Caledyr. If it slipped, or fell out, Stoorworm would heal. Tom had no doubts about that.

  "Thank you," Draig said. He was on his feet, though he looked ready to lie down again.

  Tom let Stoorworm drop, watched the sword shake in his maw. "We should move," he said. How long would it be before more fay arrived?

  "I agree."

  But if he took the sword, Stoorworm would heal.

  "I need Emyr," Tom said. "Or Dank. Or Ambrose."

  Draig nodded and began to climb up towards the wrecked train.

  "Thank you," Tom added.

  Draig offered a smile, and it was so like the old Draig that Tom smiled too, pleased for a moment to see the elf he had known, before the memory of Gerwyn and the rat pits soured Tom’s goodwill. Maybe it was petulant to feel this way after the elf had saved his life. But the past hadn't changed.

  The dark hillside blurred into a tent, shaking under a roaring wind. He was knelt beside Ambrose and the old man said, "What you remember today is not what you will remember tomorrow."

  The question of Stoorworm had no apparent answer, so they circled around it. They had checked each other for injuries, discussed the state of their supplies, rescued the wagon and horses from their mercifully unmolested carriage. Mennvinn had asked if she should see to other travellers, and Tom had warned that other fay might come, bringing the conversation back to Stoorworm again.

  "He will heal as soon as the sword is removed," Dank told them. They had all gathered around the immobile fay, speaking in hushed voices as if he was sleeping, or they were attending a
bizarre funeral. "It will only take him a minute or two."

  "That's not enough time," Six said. "We'd barely be over the next hill."

  "Never mind that we don't know where we're going," Gravinn pointed out. She was applying a foul-smelling unguent to a nasty cut on Mennvinn's head, who smoked one of her cheap, slender cigars with shaking hands.

  "We know." Katharine sat close to Tom; he hadn’t let her stray far from his side since Gravinn had fetched her back. He needed to know that she was here, safe, that their daughter was safe. "Our path is to Cairnoher."

  "And you know the path from here to there?" Gravinn’s scepticism was plain.

  "I don’t know it," she replied. "But I can find it."

  "Travellers get lost in these mountains."

  "I won’t." Katharine’s tone made it clear that the matter was settled, but Gravinn was drawing breath.

  So Tom stopped the argument before it could start. "I suggest we go across country," he said. "Avoid cities and towns."

  "That will be a hard journey in this terrain." Katharine shifted often, trying different positions, but anyone could see she was uncomfortable.

  "Can you manage?"

  All traces of discomfort vanished when she lifted her chin and said, "Of course." But then she shifted, rolling onto her side. She was in no state for a hard journey.

  "Perhaps we should find somewhere safe for you," Tom said.

  "I'm fine." Her tone warned him away from that path. But Tom knew he was right. The road was no place for her.

  "There are safe places," Gravinn said a little too quickly. "I know of towns where you might be hidden until your child arrives."

  The air grew quiet and still. Katharine looked at Tom, waiting for him to say no, we won’t leave Katharine behind. But Tom knew he would have to ask Gravinn about these safe places later. So he said nothing, and he felt Katharine cool towards him, and he wished he could just walk away with her and leave all this behind.