The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  What if the fay came looking for them? Mab would guess they were headed here. It wouldn’t be safe.

  Katharine and Six could hide. Let the fay pass. He was just trying to find an excuse. He was being a coward.

  Katharine would hate him, and his daughter too. They’d both despise him.

  But they would live.

  His shoulders slumped, as if his heart had shrivelled and the rest of him folded around the void it left behind. His eyes warmed with the threat of tears.

  Katharine’s sleepy voice made him jump. "Is it time to get up?"

  He hid the bottle behind his back. Quick, a lie. No. The truth. "I need to relieve myself." Well. A truth. He stepped out of the room, ducking through the low doorway and closing the door before she could ask any more questions.

  His heart was hammering. Why was he so afraid? Because he didn’t want her to know. He didn’t want to see the hurt and betrayal in her eyes. Easier if he never had to see that. Easier if he could slip away like a coward.

  Funny how he felt like a coward no matter what he did.

  He jumped at Six’s voice. "What are you doing?" the elf asked and, when Tom floundered for an answer, added, "What’s that?"

  Tom lifted the bottle. "Medicine." This was solid ground. "Mennvinn gave it to me. For Katharine."

  "Why?" The low ceiling forced Six to contort into a bizarre stoop. Somehow it made the elf’s size seem threatening rather than comical.

  "It will help her sleep."

  "She hasn’t said anything about trouble sleeping."

  "Does she tell you everything?"

  "Has she said something to you?"

  It was the perfect trap; there was no truth Tom could turn to.

  "Unless you were planning to force her into sleep before we left?” Six asked.

  He was found out. It was all going wrong. "You could stay with her,” he said. Six had to see, he had to understand this was the only way. "Please. You can keep her safe."

  Six shook his head. "Stop, Tom."

  "I’m trying to save her life."

  "I said stop," Six growled. "Stand beside her, Tom, just once. Stop running away and calling it bravery."

  Running? "This might be the hardest thing I’ve ever done."

  "Then you haven’t done anything," Six snapped. "Anything other than running from your problems."

  All of Tom’s muscles were tense with the need to do something, but what could he do? If he now failed to persuade Six to stay, no-one would stop Katharine from following them once they left. "If she’s not with me, my foresight can’t come to pass."

  "And is this the only answer?" Six asked, stepping closer. "Is there nothing else in your foresight you could try to change?"

  Details, subtleties. This would be certain. "This is the easiest."

  Six nodded. "Exactly. Easy. Why do the difficult thing, the decent thing, when you can take the easy path and hurt her. Again." Six’s lip curled and he said, "Abandoning her is a coward’s answer."

  A coward. He was a coward. And a liar. The tension tightened into anger and he snapped, "Don’t." He stabbed a finger at the elf, who stood there and judged him, as if this impossible choice wasn’t boiling within him, too big to contain, too much for him to fix. "Don’t you dare."

  Six slapped his hand away. "I dare, Tom. I dare you to do something. Anything."

  Tom wasn’t wearing the sword, but he could feel its thoughts, its constant desire to fight. His fists clenched and he wondered if he would hit the sanctimonious, condescending elf. "I’m trying!" His voice was raised but he couldn’t help himself. "I don’t want to lose either of them." But every choice seemed doomed to failure, every path led to her hand growing weaker in his. The corridor vanished, just for a moment, long enough to show Tom a great crack in the the world and him trapped within, impassable sheer stone on either side. The foresight faded, but Tom was still trapped. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

  Six seemed unmoved. "Leave her here and you’ll lose them anyway."

  Tom thought of Katharine waking up to find herself alone. Left behind. Abandoned. She would hate him, and she would follow them, and nothing would change, she would still die, their daughter would still die. He squeezed his eyes tight against the image of her hand in his, held in a cry of frustration. He couldn’t let this foresight come to pass, but he couldn’t stop it either. He was powerless.

  "Help me." The words bubbled out of him, frustration crumbled into despair, and whatever resolve had been keeping him upright failed. He rested his forehead on Six’s stooped shoulder, and all the pressure and guilt and fear burst into a sob. "I have to save them."

  Six was stiff, unmoving. His voice was hard when he said, "Promise you won’t abandon her."

  "I promise."

  "I’ll help you."

  "Thank you."

  Six placed a hand on Tom’s back. "For her."

  "For her."

  Chapter 8

  The tavern seemed empty and cold in the light of morning, despite the flurry of activity. Jarnstenn stood on a chair in the middle of it all, directing, pointing, demanding. It was only a small room, but there was still plenty of room for dwarfs to rush in and out carrying meats, breads, casks. The ceiling was higher here, but the room was still designed for shorter heads, leaving humans and elfs stooping. The old owner spoke in dwarfish to young boys and girls, who leapt to their instructions with the urgency of an expected reward, and Gravinn marched about and issued her own orders. It was chaos, and only the dwarfs seemed to thrive in it.

  "Hard tack and dried meats," Gravinn demanded. "We can soften them in soups. No fruit, it will only freeze."

  "Beer," Jarnstenn pointed at barrels in a corner. "And whiskey too. That’ll keep us warm."

  "Or leave us frozen in a drunken stupor."

  "If you can’t handle your drink, milady, don’t drink it."

  Tom would have left the dwarfs to their preparations, but they both deferred to him, and he was forced to agree or encourage as he imagined Emyr might. He tried not to think of the old king’s words: the same potential as his son. The son that shattered a kingdom with one rash, ill-conceived decision.

  His feelings of doubt and inadequacy weren’t helped by Six. The elf hadn’t left his side that morning and, while it rankled, Tom didn’t dare say anything for fear that Six would tell Katharine about his plan to abandon her. Besides, he needed the elf. He needed someone to help him find a way out of that terrible foresight.

  Katharine sat on a small crate of tea that Mennvinn had requested. She was eating, again, finishing off the heavily salted cold pork from prior night’s dinner. An oasis of calm and potential amongst the madness. "Do you need anything?" Tom asked her.

  "I could eat another pig."

  Tom caught a young dwarf as he dashed past and said, "Please fetch us some more pork."

  The dwarf bobbed his head and scampered off. "I don’t need it," Katharine said.

  "Then you can eat it later." Tom gave her a smile that felt hollow and fake. "Whatever you need, I shall do my best to give it to you."

  Katharine returned his smile and took his hand, her fingers still greasy from the meat. "I would find you. You know that, don’t you?"

  He froze. She’d heard. She’d heard him talking to Six, heard his plan to leave her behind.

  "I know you worry," she said. No signs of hate or anger. Yet. "But plenty of children are born on the road. I’m coming with you. If you haven’t already thought about leaving me behind, you will. And you know I’ll find you, and you’ll regret it."

  Tom waited for Six to say something. But the elf remained silent, and Tom just nodded.

  Katharine patted his hand and said, "Good." She sat back and sighed like she was sat on the softest divan in Tanabawr, not a rough, wooden tea crate in a tavern. "That’s settled then."

  He opened his mouth to apologise. But he knew she didn’t want to hear that. So instead he said, "I want to keep you safe."

  "Thank you.
" She smiled but didn’t open her eyes. She looked so tired. He should find her somewhere more comfortable to sit. Instead he was about to put her on a scrawny horse and lead her into a frozen wasteland.

  She shouldn't be travelling. Not in her condition.

  "Don't," she murmured. She didn't even open her eyes.

  "Don't what?"

  "Don't pity me." Then she did open her eyes. Her tired, sad, determined eyes. "I'm going. That's the end of the discussion."

  "You're uncomfortable."

  "I am."

  "You can't ride."

  "Not really."

  "It isn't safe."

  "At all."

  "And yet you would still come with us?"

  "You’re going."

  "I am."

  She shrugged. Looked aside, as if she didn’t want to see his face when she said, "Your place is with me. So if you’re going, I have to go too."

  She seemed so small, so vulnerable. And he had made her that way. He had forced her to follow him, because he wouldn’t stay. He tipped his head, sought her eyes with his. "She won’t be safe until the fay have been stopped."

  "I know." She met his gaze, struggled with something for a moment. "I just wish-” But she stopped, took a breath, let it out in a sigh.

  "What do you wish?"

  She shook her head, a tiny, scared gesture.

  "You can tell me," Tom said.

  She hesitated. Drew breath.

  "We’re ready." Jarnstenn bustled in, pointing a finger to the crate Katharine sat on. "I’m afraid we’re going to need that."

  She stood, stepped aside from the bustling dwarfs that came lift the crate away. They took the moment with them.

  When they left Cairnoher, it was Katharine who rode in the wagon. She raised little protest, which in itself was enough of a sign to let her take Emyr’s place. Emyr himself, on the other hand, grinned like a fool. He had to be lifted onto horseback and he was sweating by the time he was seated. But he didn't acknowledge the glittering pain that showed in his eyes, nor suffer Mennvinn’s doubts and protests.

  "I ride," he said. Like it was a great victory. He took a deep, careful breath, tipped his face up to the weak, ineffective sun. He was wrapped in furs, his hair and beard shaggy and wild. He almost looked a bearman from the old stories.

  "Would you like to carry your sword, my king?" Tom touched the pommel, ignored the thought from Caledyr: do not give me up.

  "Not my sword, son," Emyr replied. He patted a simple iron affair that was sheathed and strapped to the saddle. "This will serve me well enough."

  Part of Tom was glad for the refusal. But he felt obliged to say, "It might make you feel stronger."

  "It might." Emyr raised his eyebrows at Tom. "But at what cost?"

  He couldn't argue with that. And when he took his hand away from Caledyr’s pommel, he did his best to ignore the sword’s satisfaction.

  It was easy to forget the blade, though, in favour of the pleasure of seeing Emyr ride. Tom had only ever seen the man on his back, bleeding and weary. And while he was still deathly pale, and slow and careful in his movements, he sat astride a horse with such obvious pleasure that it was infectious. Emyr waved to children as they rode through the city, exclaimed at stalls or shop fronts, pointed at the great balloons with a child’s glee, took deep breaths as if the air was clear and crisp and clean.

  The road continued out of the city, winding its way west, but Gravinn urged them off the road as soon as they were out of the city and led their party north. Scratchy grass that seemed to grow out of spite and stubbornness undulated ahead of them, rising sharply into great mountains, peaks lost in the clouds, grey and white monoliths of rock and snow. Tom remembered all the foresights he’d had where he’d been numb with cold and felt a shiver.

  Did Katharine’s death wait for her in those mountains?

  Tom had thought they’d be up a mountain peak by nightfall, but Gravinn turned them away from every climb she could. Some were forced upon them, but where there was a chance to descend, she took it. It made Tom feel like they kept doubling back, losing a chance at making progress by climbing down what they had just climbed up. By the end of the day he felt more tired than he should have, and in the mood to be left alone.

  So it felt inevitable that Ambrose shuffled over and said, "We must speak."

  Tom sighed. The sun had long set. He was hungry. He was tired. In no mood for cryptic conversations, and he needed to get Katharine from the wagon and settled before he could rest. "A moment."

  He waited for Ambrose to argue. But he just nodded, and waited. Tom was almost too surprised to nod and walk away.

  "I’m so glad we’ve stopped." Katharine was already clambering to her feet. "Another hour in here and I’d have lost my mind."

  Tom took her arm and her weight, almost losing his balance as she hauled herself up. "It’s been a long day," he admitted. He helped her navigate around crates and chests, clamber down the steps at the back of the wagon.

  "You’re tired," she said.

  "Not as tired as you are, I’m sure."

  "You’ve been tired since the attack on the train."

  Had he? He hadn’t felt any more or less tired.

  "Something’s weighing on you."

  Be loyal and honest and save her life.

  "Don’t worry about me," he told her. "You have to focus on the baby."

  "I can focus on two things at once." She smiled the moment her feet touched the ground. As if she drew strength from the world. "I am a woman, after all."

  "And a very fine one at that." That made her smile even more, and Tom smiled to have made her smile. "Let’s get you some food."

  "I could eat a horse."

  "Perhaps we should have brought a spare."

  She elbowed him and he grinned. He took pleasure in how she leant on him as he led her to a spot near the fire Gravinn was building. He gave her a slice of the strangely pale bread they’d bought, covered in butter and jam. It wasn’t long until Gravinn was cooking bacon, and he made sure that Katharine had the first slices.

  "I can take care of myself," she said. But it was a half-hearted protest.

  "Would you like me to stop?" He held a slice of bacon in mid-air, opened his mouth and made to eat it.

  She snatched it from his fingers with a grin.

  Mennvinn was tutting over Emyr’s stitches, poking and prodding at him as he laid back and stared up at the night sky with a dreamy smile on his face; she’d given him something for the pain he had denied all day. Now he sighed as if contented and said, "All we need is one of Rimestenn’s songs." He sounded like there wasn’t a care in all of Tir that could ruin his peace. "You always liked his songs, Ambrose. Especially the ribald ones."

  Ambrose stood away from the fire, silent, staring at Emyr as if pained.

  "Do you remember when you put an enchantment on his voice? He tried to sing ‘The Maiden of Seamouth’, in that big, deep voice of his, but he sounded like a girl of four summers?" Emyr grinned. Was the legendary King Emyr of Tir really laughing at a silly voice? "Do you remember?" he asked Ambrose.

  But the old sorcerer didn’t have to say anything. Realisation dimmed the smile on Emyr’s face, replaced the humour with sadness. Left him staring at the shadow of his old friend. "You laughed for days," he said in a small voice.

  Tom couldn’t imagine Ambrose laughing.

  "It’s late," Emyr said. "And an old man gets tired easily. Set a watch." And he closed his eyes, and said no more.

  "We can’t leave him out here," Tom said, and Draig helped him carry the old king into his tent. It was awkward work, but despite how they jostled Emyr, he didn’t wake. Whatever Mennvinn was giving him, it was strong stuff. They left him under a blanket before returning to the fire, and Tom could feel Six’s eyes on him the whole time.

  "Could you please tell her to stop eating all the food?" Gravinn asked as Tom sat down; Katharine had helped herself to a piece of the bacon from the pan.

  "I’m
hungry," she said.

  "And you’ve had your full share."

  "She’s with child," Tom snapped.

  "Our supplies won’t last if she eats them all."

  "She can have mine."

  "And mine, if she wants it." Six held out his plate to Katharine.

  "I couldn’t," she said. But it was an empty protest. Six stepped over, flipped his meat onto her plate, and took his bread back to his place at the fire. "Thank you," she said, before taking an enormous bite.

  Tom gave him a nod, and Six returned the gesture as he said, "You’re welcome."

  "Tom."

  Ambrose was still lurking in the shadows beyond the fire, not even looking at them. He was sat on a rock, staring at a space next to him as if someone was sat beside him.

  Tom sighed and said to Katharine, "He wants to talk to me."

  "Go." She waved him away. "I’m warm and fed."

  "Let me know if you need anything," he said. He had a sudden urge to kiss her forehead, almost did it. But he knew Six was watching. And Tom knew he didn’t deserve to kiss Katharine. Not after what he’d tried to do.

  Katharine grabbed his face with both hands and mashed her lips against his. She tasted of salt and meat and metal. When she let him go, she gave him a shy yet mischievous smile and said, "Don’t be too long," before taking another bite of bacon.

  Tom tried to say something, but ended up walking away from the fire without a word, only vaguely aware that everyone was watching. His thoughts were a muddy mess. Was he forgiven? More than that? Did she want him back? Would they have more children? What would Maev think? Why did he care what Maev thought?

  He realised Ambrose had spoken but he hadn’t heard the words. "I’m sorry," he said.

  The old man grunted and took a few slow, unsteady breaths. Was he angry? In pain? Exhausted by travel? But before Tom could ask, Ambrose said, "You have not yet burnt the twig."

  Tom took a weary sigh. "I don’t think I can."

  "Yet I have told you that you succeed."

  Yes. Making it real by foreseeing it. Just as Tom had foreseen Katharine’s death. Tom shook his head, snorted out his frustration, and realised as he did that he was sat in the space he’d seen Ambrose staring at. The old sorcerer had been waiting for Tom to inhabit it.