The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  "Towns aren’t safe," Dank explained. "They’re full of people, and people are entertainment to the fay. We’ll have to avoid them if we want to travel unseen."

  "There are plenty of caves in these mountains," Gravinn suggested.

  "I'm not hiding anywhere," Katharine snapped.

  "I’m up for hiding," Jarnstenn said. He had an arm around Kunnustenn, who was huddled against something more than the cold. "You can keep us company."

  Katharine smiled at that.

  "Are we going to be assaulted by invisible creatures very often?" Menvinn asked. Wisps of smoke from her cigar laced the air with a thick, sweet smell. Of course. How much more frightening must the attack have been without the Second Sight?

  "It’s very likely," Tom told her.

  Mennvinn nodded. "That kind of fear isn’t good for a woman bearing child."

  "But can we really leave someone behind?" Six said, gazing at Tom and daring him to say yes.

  Katharine said nothing, watching Tom, like he was a dog that might bite. He wanted to say yes, they could and they should. But even if he could persuade her, would Jarnstenn then decide to stay behind as well? And Kunnustenn and Mennvinn? They needed the dwarfs to heal Emyr and find Cairnarim. No. They couldn’t discuss this in case the wrong people tried to stay behind.

  "We journey together." He would figure out how to leave Katharine, just Katharine, somewhere safe. But he felt like the worst liar when she squeezed his hand.

  "So it is across the country we go." Draig pointed a finger to Stoorworm. "What is it we do about that?"

  And so they had circled back to Stoorworm again. Dank had no answers. Emyr had no answers. Ambrose had no answers. Either they left the sword behind, and left with it any hope of defeating any fay that came for them, or they tried to take it and Stoorworm began his attack anew.

  "Cut its head off." Six looked disgusted, like the fay’s body was manure he had stepped in. "I’d like to see it heal from that."

  It made sense, but Dank was shaking his head. "It won’t work unless you could do it in one swing," he said. And Stoorworm’s neck was as thick as Draig was broad.

  "Can’t we just leg it?" Jarnstenn asked.

  Now it was Tom’s turn to shake his head. "He’ll catch us," he said. "We’d need to stop him from chasing us." They needed a distraction. "Mount up," he told them, and waited while they climbed onto houses and readied the wagon without question.

  "Ride north," he told Katharine, and pressed Caledyr's scabbard into her hands. "I'm going to give you the sword. Hold it for me."

  He tried to step away but Katharine reached down and took hold of his wrist. "You're coming with us," she told him. Her grip and her tone would brook no argument.

  "I’ll find you." He gave her his best smile, one he didn't feel, and placed his other hand on hers. "I’ll come back."

  "She needs you."

  Did she know how much she unmanned him in that moment? How she washed away his will, his strength to do this thing? For a moment he was afraid to meet her eye, for fear he would mount up and ride away with her, hide in the hills and live out their lives away from everyone and everything?

  But she was right. Their little girl did need him. She needed him to do what was necessary to keep her safe.

  He took a steadying breath and said, "Of everyone here, I can persuade Stoorworm not to follow us." He met her gaze. He could tell she didn’t like it. But she knew he was right. "I need to do this to keep you safe."

  "Come back," she told him. "Or I’ll hunt you down."

  She was serious, and Tom felt a rush of affection that burst forth in a grin. "I will." He squeezed her hand. "Go," he told the others, and nodded in silent approval as Six disobeyed, staying by Katharine’s side while the others followed the wagon north.

  "I don’t need looking after," she told the elf.

  "Who said anything about looking after you?" he replied. "I’m sticking close to whoever’s carrying the sword."

  He was fooling no-one. "Thank you," Tom said.

  Six nodded, but his expression was stern when he said, "Do you really think you can persuade that thing?"

  "I hope so." Tom turned to look at the fay’s prone form, staring blindly up at the stars. "Stoorworm obeyed me when we were in the Kingdom. Maybe there’s a little loyalty left in him." The bruises on Tom’s neck suggested the truth might be otherwise.

  "You stabbed him in the mouth," Six said.

  True. If the fay held a grudge, staying behind might well be akin to digging his own grave. Or worse. "I’ll need to give him a reason for keeping us alive." Tom looked north, spotted that the wagon was almost over the hill. "Be ready," he warned them as he released Katharine’s hand and stepped over to Stoorworm.

  He felt Caledyr’s distracted insistence as he got closer. Stay, it told him. Fight. And almost he wanted to. Stoorworm had endangered Katharine and their unborn child. For a moment he felt the old anger, the urge to tear the enemy to shreds, to best them and bring them to their knees and end them.

  Kill the enemy.

  But the sword was just a sword. It didn't understand. So he took a breath, and another. Calm. Calmness of the soul until death.

  He reached up and took hold of the hilt. Caledyr's thoughts surged against his own.

  Fight. Kill the enemy. Stay.

  The father and the prayers, and fasting and charities, and calmness of the soul until death.

  He pulled the sword free, leapt back, waited for Stoorworm to spring to life.

  The fay didn't move.

  "Go!" he cried, and dashed back up the hill. Katharine held out the scabbard, Tom slid Caledyr home with a hiss, and he waved them on as he stepped back and bid them again, "Go."

  Six whipped his reins and tugged Katharine’s horse into a gallop too. "Come back to us," she called as she raced away.

  He could make no such promise. So he just murmured, "Be safe," as he watched her go.

  Stoorworm’s groan turned Tom’s head.

  "You tried to kill us." The fay spoke with a slur, rolling onto his elbows like a drunkard. His tail twitched and flicked as if trying to remember how to move.

  "I tried to stop you." Tom countered. Emyr’s black bones he was tired. He felt a sudden urge to lie down and sleep. Focus. Fight, as the sword would say. "You tried to kill me."

  "Kill you?" Stoorworm reached out for a rock, wrapped his claws around it and hauled himself a little more upright. He held his head in the other paw, like it had a headache. "No." He opened one eye, peering out from between fingers. "We want to hurt you first. King Melwas has promised us we can play lots of games before you die."

  Tom had to make his case. Quickly. The twitching tail was less spasmodic, stronger. Stoorworm pushed himself upright, though he still leant on the rock. "I didn't want to hurt you," he said. "And I don't think you want to hurt me now."

  "We do." Stoorworm let go of his head and his lip twitched in a snarl. He clenched his claws at Tom. "We really do."

  "But won’t it be more fun to see what I do next?"

  That gave the fay pause. "What do you mean?"

  "You know what we’re looking for, don't you?"

  The fay nodded. Gingerly.

  "You know it better than I do."

  Another nod.

  "But we both know it will be a hard road. Challenging. That it might be too much for me."

  "How do you know that if you don't know what you're looking for?"

  Because he had seen Katharine dying in a dark tunnel. He couldn't imagine how he could continue after that. "Because nothing about this journey has been easy."

  Stoorworm grinned. Tom couldn't help but notice how sharp his teeth were. "Yes. That's right. But everyone says the Forgotten Road is dangerous. You might get hurt. Or die. And then we can't play games."

  "You can take me to Faerie before I die." Though the thought of being snatched away from Katharine made his stomach tighten. "And won't it be fun to watch me struggle?"

  Stoorwo
rm leant back on his tail, stared into his hands as if an answer was written there. "More fun than games?"

  "You can play games after, can't you?"

  Stoorworm's delighted grin was all the more frightening for its lack of malice. "Oh, yes!"

  "So you'll let us go?"

  Stoorworm’s smile turned to a troubled frown. "You hold one of us in a cage." He lowered himself to the ground, slithered closer with each word. "And you hurt King Melwas." The fay's muzzle nudged Tom's belly, its breath hot on his thighs. "That's not very nice." A moment, a simple snap, and the fay could snip off his legs or chew through his gut. But Tom had faced down a dragon. He could stand his ground.

  A fay was much more dangerous than a dragon.

  "You want to hurt us." Stoorworm sounded like an upset child, and all the more threatening for it. "Why do you want to hurt us?"

  Time for the final card. "Do you think I could hurt her?" he asked. "Do you think I could cause Maev pain?"

  "You hurt King Melwas"

  "Melwas and I aren't always friends," Tom replied. "But everyone in Faerie knows Maev and I are friends, don't they?"

  Stoorworm's brow furrowed and he tipped his head to one side. He might have looked funny if Tom wasn’t so worried about his teeth. "I don't know what you're saying."

  "I’m trying to say this journey might be a waste of time." What if it was? No, don't think of that.

  "So you’ll find the glarn but not use them?"

  "Is it so hard to imagine that my devotion to Maev might stay my hand?" It wasn't that he had a truth to avoid. It was that he was scared to speak in case he confirmed a truth he didn't want to hear.

  Stoorworm growled deep in his throat. "It's like a test."

  Tom nodded. "In the end, I may suffer and struggle, to your amusement, and still bend the knee to the queen."

  The air was still. Stoorworm didn't move. Tom scarcely dared breathe. If the fay didn't believe this, he had no further ideas, no tricks or counter-arguments. He was lucky he didn't face Puck. The master of wordplay would have interrogated him more thoroughly.

  Stoorworm raised his snout, enough to leave Tom staring into his teeth. "You put a sword in our mouth." The meaning was clear: you hurt me, and I want to hurt you. Now.

  "I am mortal," Tom replied, trying not to imagine Stoorworm snipping off his head. "You are not."

  "We don't want to wait."

  "No." How far had the others travelled? Would it be far enough? "But you’d have time to think of even better games, wouldn’t you?"

  Stoorworm said nothing. Was he thinking? Relenting? Readying for attack?

  Then Stoorworm huffed and Tom failed to hold his ground, taking an involuntary step back. He tried not to show his revulsion; the fay's breath was foul, like old meat dried under the sun.

  Then the fay shrank back, sitting on his coiled tail. "Go away." He looked glum, upset to have been persuaded out of what he wanted.

  There was nothing to be gained from the last word, no sense in giving the fay a chance to change his mind. No dignity to be thought of, no honour in pleasantries. So Tom ran.

  He had no horse, no cloak and the only idea he had as to where to find the others was the direction they had ridden off in. It had to be that way. If he’d been taken or killed, any provisions he’d had would be lost to the others. And if he’d been told their path, it was knowledge the fay could have tortured from him. But it made for a difficult morning. He ran into the hills, keeping to the easiest and widest path under the logic that the wagon couldn't negotiate difficult terrain. But he was cold and tired. He hadn't slept, hadn't eaten or had water in hours. After a time, when his throat and lungs burned with the cold mountain air, he stopped running. Instead he tucked his hands into his armpits and carried on at a stagger. At first he had kept an eye over his shoulder, in case Stoorworm changed his mind. But when the sun rose to its zenith it became clear he had let Tom go.

  The only thing following Tom was his own doubts.

  He hadn't admitted to anything. But he could feel the unspoken truth inside him, somewhere, lurking like a sickness. Despite it all, despite knowing what the fay intended, what they would do to the people of Tir, what they had done to him, his heart still quickened at the thought of Maev. He tried to imagine doing to her what he had done to Melwas and couldn't picture it.

  Tom couldn't believe he would pass his test.

  But he didn't have to. Why else had he brought Emyr back to Tir? All he needed to do was make sure Emyr healed. Then, once Emyr was strong enough to carry Caledyr, he would defeat the fay. Not Thomas Rymour.

  The world around him faded. ”It's why you brought me here, isn't it?" Emyr was stood in a dark tunnel, while roaring and clamour crashed against the great wooden door. "So I could finally sacrifice myself for Tir."

  The foresight faded and Tom felt his guts twist. Yes. That was why he had brought Emyr back. To do what he didn't have the stomach for.

  When he came to a fork in his path he stopped and stared. Both paths were wide and somewhat flat. Neither showed signs of passage. It was entirely possible the others hadn't even come this way. He needed to climb that hill and see what he could spy. But, before that, he thought he might sit for a moment. Sit against the hillside. Lie back. Close his eyes, just for a moment.

  He dreamt of a cage. Cold iron door. Brick walls. Darkness. No light. No soft space. Not even the scurry of vermin for company. Just long, lonely nights.

  "You couldn't betray us." It was still dark. But somewhere else. And Maev's voice was darker than it ought to be, full of hard edges. Like she was doing an impression of Mab. Or Mab an impression of Maev. "You wounded our subjects. Gutted our king. But you will not lift a hand against your queen. Not even if your world depends on it."

  "No," Tom said. "I won't."

  He was damp and cold when he woke. Fog, thick and wet. The moisture was too close, reminded him too much of the rat pit. He shouldn't have slept. He'd lose his way. He stretched, feeling his back crack and his shoulders click and pop. At least it wasn't as cold. But a shiver still ran across his skin. He’d foreseen himself telling Maev he wouldn't betray her. So he hadn't misled Stoorworm. He would fail, at the end.

  Perhaps the fog was a blessing. If he couldn't find the others, he couldn't let them down. Couldn't let Katharine down. She had the sword. She had Six to look after her, and Emyr. Ambrose and Dank to guide them. What could he offer now?

  Perhaps he should walk away and let them be. Perhaps they'd be safer without him.

  Fight.

  The thought was so faint he wondered if he imagined it. Yes, fight. Fight for her. Fight for his daughter. He wanted to. He wanted it to be his hand that kept her safe. But he would fail. He knew he would. After all these years, after learning the fay's plans, their manipulations, their lies, he still couldn't turn his back on Maev. He was sick. A pet, Ria had called him. A liar and a coward.

  He took a few steps back the way he had come.

  Fight.

  Yes. He would fight. He would take the hard road. Away. He would leave them.

  Don't leave. That was what Katharine had said. And he had made a promise to his daughter: I will keep you safe. Perhaps she would be safe if he walked away. But that’s what he’d told himself about Degor. And he’d been wrong.

  He cursed his heart for joy as he realised he couldn't leave. Turned around and walked forward into the fog, following the siren call of the sword.

  Chapter 6

  Following the sword was like following a voice in the mist. At times he thought he was walking towards it, only for it to grow fainter in his mind. He had to double back, or take a sudden turn. The terrain would grow rough and he would have to climb around, waiting for the moment the sword grew too faint to hear. But as the day began to darken, the sword grew stronger. They must have stopped. So Tom kept up a constant, plodding pace until finally the fog began to glow ahead. A fire.

  They had set up camp in a scattering of rock, the wagon stopped as close as pos
sible, the horses tied together near a patch of thick grass. They’d set up tents, squat pyramids that put Tom in mind of the tombs of the Western Kingdom. Only Six was awake, perched on a tall stone and wrapped in a blanket, keeping watch by the light of the small fire.

  "You found us." The elf's voice was soft and full of surprise.

  "I did." Tom couldn't help but feel glad of it. It had been a lonely day. He had grown too used to company.

  Six didn't move from his perch. "I wasn't sure you'd manage." There was reproach in his tone.

  "I could hear the sword."

  "You worried her."

  "I know," Tom said. "It had to be done."

  "I know."

  "Is she well?"

  Six's expression was hooded in shadow but Tom could tell the elf approved of his concern. "Well enough, with all things considered." He nodded towards a tent. "She went to sleep early."

  Tom felt a stab of guilt. She should be enjoying comfort and rest, not this cold trek through the mountains. "And everyone else?"

  "Tired. Scared. The dwarfs don't really understand." He spoke as if they were children still. "Gravinn says we’re still miles from Cairnoher."

  Cairnoher. A small, unimpressive town according to Katharine. Somewhere the fay might not think to look. Perhaps Katharine could be safe there?

  But Stoorworm had found them just hours after they’d left Cairnakor.

  Tom shook his head. "We can decide our path in the morning," he said. "I need some rest."

  "Sleep." Six pointed to Katharine’s tent.

  Tom wanted to sleep there for a day, but he knew he had to ask, "Who shares the watch?"

  "Just Draig." Six shrugged. "Who else can see the fay coming?"

  Katharine. No, she needed her sleep. Ambrose. But there was so much missing from the old man, and he was slow to react. Emyr needed rest. And there remained a fog of distrust around Dank. He was of the fay, after all.

  And what was Thomas Rymour?