The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  Fire, they echoed.

  And sudden pain, he snatched his hand away and cried out, scrambled to his feet away from the twig that now had merry flames dancing over its length.

  It was burning. It was on fire.

  He had made fire. He held up his hand, throbbing and painful. He had made fire.

  He looked up, found the others watching him. Found Ambrose and told him, "I did it." He grinned. "I did it."

  Mennvinn fussed over to him, took his palm, tutted, pulled him away from his success and closer to the larger fire, pushed and prodded at his palm.

  "I did it," Tom repeated.

  "Yes," Ambrose said. He didn’t move. In fact, he didn’t seem pleased at all. He looked like a man who had just seen the door to his cell close. "You have done it."

  "What’s going on?" Six asked.

  "Your friend just performed magic," Ambrose replied.

  "Tom did magic?" Emyr was sat beside Katharine, the pair of them laid out like invalids. "You’re teaching him?"

  Jarnstenn snorted. "The lad burnt a twig. We calling that magic these days?”

  "Stop." Ambrose didn’t speak to anyone. But everyone fell silent. "None of you are asking the right questions."

  The right questions. The one Ambrose had said he would answer once Tom had burnt the twig. "How are you still alive?"

  The old man just nodded. "Yes. That is the right question."

  Everyone waited for the answer. And, as they waited, Tom felt something. It was dark and cold and hard and it settled down in his soul. Like a black pebble on a white sandy beach. "Magic," he said.

  Ambrose nodded. "You see it now, don’t you?"

  "It’s a trade," Tom replied. "You use up part of yourself to perform magic."

  "Yes."

  Touching that pebble was like touching darkness itself. It was lonely and empty. Hopeless and dead. Was that why Ambrose was the way he was? “Is that how you kept yourself alive? You’ve used yourself up?”

  "Not quite." Ambrose smiled a wry smile, like he had a secret he’d kept from the world. "There is more to it than magic. The secret lies in the thing we hunt."

  Emyr said, "Orlannu."

  “What is it?" Six asked.

  Ambrose turned to Kunnustenn, who blushed and cast his gaze to the ground. But Tom caught the look in the dwarf’s eyes; there was a hunger to be heard there.

  So Tom said, “Tell us about Orlannu, Kunnustenn.” And the dwarf smiled, even as he refused to meet anyone’s eye.

  “There isn’t much written about it. The texts all agree that it’s a cauldron. Some call it a trap or a seal. And there are some ancient children’s stories that say the seal is so tight that even death can’t open it up."

  "Yes," Ambrose said. "A cauldron made of the same stone as the monoliths. Anything inside cannot die, because the elements cannot escape.”

  Cannot die. Tom kept his gaze away from Katharine even as his heart began to hammer inside his chest.

  ”We’re looking for a cauldron?" Jarnstenn asked. “Adalstenn's balls, I could have made you a dozen cauldrons without getting out of my chair at home."

  “But how many could you make from the same stone as the monoliths, master dwarf?" Ambrose asked. “And how many of them could cheat death?”

  "There ain’t no cheating death," Jarnstenn replied. "We eat, drink, suffer, get our pleasure where we can, and die. That’s life."

  "You don’t think that," Kunnustenn said.

  "You know I do."

  "You know I do not."

  "That’s why I like you."

  "But why do we need it?" Katharine spoke like she hadn’t even heard the dwarfs’ exchange. "Is one of us going to cheat death?"

  Cheat death. Tom met Six’s eyes. The elf was thinking it too.

  "In a manner of speaking," Ambrose replied.

  Tom could feel his cheeks rising and fought his grin down. There was a way out. A way for Katharine and their daughter to survive this.

  Six looked like he wanted to smile too. But he forced a frown and said, "So this is what we’ll find at Cairnarim?"

  "We gave it to Rimestenn," Emyr replied. "It was his duty to hide Orlannu where none of the fay could find it."

  "Where?"

  "We left that to him. He had the finest knowledge of magic other than Ambrose."

  "No," Jarnstenn shook his head. "Rimestenn was no sorcerer."

  "He studied the monoliths. He knew the stone. And he’d studied Caledyr too." Emyr nodded to the blade at Tom’s hip. "All magic."

  "Did he perform magic too?"

  Emyr shrugged. "He did impossible things all the time."

  "He was a dwarf of reason," Jarnstenn said, jabbing a finger toward them as if skewering the point. "He built engines of reason. None of this magic malarkey. None of it."

  "I’m sorry if it upsets you, master dwarf," Emyr said.

  Ambrose murmured to himself, "I didn’t know Rimestenn could do magic."

  "It’s what I’ve been telling you, Jarn,” Kunnustenn said. "Magic and reason, they are two sides of a coin. Different roads by which to arrive at the same art."

  "Keep your philisophies,” Jarnstenn snapped. "Rimestenn was the greatest dwarf who ever lived. Don’t drag his name through the mud."

  "I’m not," Kunnustenn protested. "Don’t you see? Think what engines we could build if we opened our minds. Think what marvels we could create with magic."

  "Your stories belong in books. Not out here." Jarnstenn slapped a hand against his chest. “Not in the world."

  "They’re not stories."

  "Yes they are. Fairy stories. And I don’t want to hear them anymore."

  Kunnustenn’s expression closed down. "As you will." He picked up his pack and moved it away from Jarnstenn’s, who watched with fury burning in his eyes. Kunnustenn dropped his pack in the first clear space he found and sat with his back to the fire. Neither dwarf said another word.

  A moment before the silence thickened into awkwardness, Emyr said, "Everything I do now is to stop the fay." In the mouth of another it would have seemed argumentative. Confrontational. But Emyr made it sound like a rallying cry. "I ask each one of you to have faith. Whether or not you believe, in the fay or in our chances, that matters not. Faith will see us through. I ask for your faith, and I give you mine in return."

  Faith wasn’t enough. They needed strength, weapons, power. The fay had all of them and more. But Tom didn’t dare say it. He didn’t dare challenge the old king.

  And then Draig said, "Do I give you my faith, Angau."

  Six gave Draig a grave nod. "I also give you my faith, Oen.”

  Katharine put a hand over Emyr’s and said, "I give you my faith." But she looked at Tom as she said it.

  He could save her life.

  Each of the others echoed the sentiment. And when Kunnustenn got up, knelt beside Emyr and said, "I give you my faith," it looked like Jarnstenn was about to scream.

  There was only the dwarf, Dank, and Tom left. Tom looked at Dank, waiting to see what the boy would do. He was sat on a rock, above the camp, arms folded over his bent knees, hiding half of his face. Staring down at them. And they all watching him.

  "We thought we’d tricked you,” Dank said to Ambrose. “But you tricked us, didn’t you?"

  Ambrose didn’t say anything. Didn’t even look up.

  So Dank said, "You wanted to get here. To this time. But you needed to be sealed away, inside the stone. And you didn’t know how to do it. So you tricked us into doing it for you."

  "What do you mean?" Tom asked.

  "The cell, beside the Nimuë’s lake," Dank replied. "The fay built it. To trap Ambrose. He kept trying to break into Faerie. We tried to kill him, but he was too strong. We knew he’d get into Faerie one day. So we lured him to the Nimuë. Ensnared him. Sealed him away to weaken and wither. We thought we had won. We saw him like this," he pointed at Ambrose, "and thought he was nothing. But you wanted this, didn’t you? This was exactly where you wanted to be." />
  Ambrose looked at no-one, and there was nothing in his voice when he said, "Of all the places I wanted to be, this was none of them. But, yes, this is how things were meant to be."

  The boy shook his head. "All this time Maev and Midhir have been so proud of themselves. Melwas and Mab would make cruel toasts about the lovesick sorcerer. How easy you had been to defeat after all." A slow grin spread across the boy’s face. "And you tricked them."

  Ambrose treated Dank to eye contact and inclined his head in small agreement.

  Dank unfolded himself, hopped down from the rock and crossed the camp until he stood over Ambrose. "No-one ever tricked us."

  Ambrose said nothing. Just met his gaze. Dank searched his eyes, as if there was a secret behind them. The camp was silent but for the crack and fizz of the fire. Tom closed his hand around Caledyr’s grip. There was a strange, almost maniacal energy about the boy. Tom couldn’t be sure what he would do next

  Ready, the sword told him.

  "No-one ever tricked them," Dank whispered again.

  Then he turned and said to Emyr, earnest but casual, "You have my faith." And he clambered up onto his rock again and stared out into the night. He didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Was he keeping watch? What was he thinking?

  Dank had spoken of himself in the singular.

  "Does he now stand with us,” Draig murmured, nodding to himself as if everything was as it should be. But all Tom could hear was the implication that Dank hadn’t stood with them before.

  And Tom couldn’t help but think that there was something in a jar that might change Dank’s mind again.

  Still, it was hard to worry about what Dank may or may not think. Tom’s thoughts were filled with Orlannu. A way to cheat death. A way to save Katharine. He passed the rest of the evening with a smile on his face, and when she announced that she was tired, he followed her into their tent, lay next to her and asked, "Have you thought about names?”

  It was dark and Katharine was facing away from him, so he couldn’t see her expression. But he could hear the surprise in her voice when she said, "Names?"

  Tom nodded. "My first thought was naming her after one of our mothers. But now I’m not so sure.” He touched Katharine’s belly and felt a kick in response. It was always a marvel to feel their daughter kick. As if she was here before she was here.

  “I don’t want to use my mothers name." She spoke like Tom was a rabbit, easy to spook.

  "We’re making our own family. We should pick our own name." A dozen possibilities passed through his thoughts, all good names. But they all seemed too small. Somehow none of them seemed capable of encompassing his daughter.

  "I like Rose." Katharine’s voice was small, quiet, tentative.

  "Rose." Tom smiled. He imagined calling out to a little girl playing with sticks in a field. Calling ‘Rose’ and her running in for dinner. "Rose Delham. I like it." He placed a kiss on the back of Katharine’s head and took in a deep breath. Everything was going to be okay.

  He drifted off to sleep, and he slept well. And when Draig woke him for his watch, Tom didn’t uncover the jar.

  Chapter 11

  They found the river halfway through the next day, and it was apparent to all that there would be no following it, and no crossing it.

  Gravinn had been less than gracious. “This was a waste of time,” she said, both angry and satisfied at the same time.

  "Water is worth the time," Katharine replied. But it was clear she was annoyed. She’d wanted to be right.

  But their little rivalry seemed unimportant; Orlannu could save Katharine’s life. What else mattered? Tom smiled as he brought her a flask of cool water. "Drink," he told her.

  "Have you got something a little stronger?" She rolled her eyes at his surprise. "I’m joking. Help me." He lifted her into an almost-sitting position while she drained the cup. "Can I have some more?"

  They rested by the riverside for a time. It was cold, but there were green trees that shielded them from the worst of the wind and the sun was out. It felt almost pleasant to sit and take an meal before it was scheduled, a stolen treat. Gravinn unrolled maps and began to explain to Emyr why they had made a mistake and how they could rectify it, and the old king sat and listened and nodded while he chewed his dark bread. Katharine sat apart from the others, and Tom sat with her, hand in hand, just enjoying a quiet moment. But Katharine grew more and more agitated until she pushed herself to her feet and joined Emyr and Gravinn.

  By the time Tom caught up, Katharine was angrily pointing up the hill and telling them, “That path will take at least two days longer than this one.”

  Gravinn scowled. "You don’t know that."

  “I know my trade," Katharine replied. “I’m reading the land."

  "My path keeps us from the worst of the cold. And we save no time by climbing even higher into these mountains."

  “We’ll save plenty of time because we’ll stop doubling back on ourselves,” Katharine snapped. “How many times have you lost your way on this journey?"

  Gravinn’s eyes couldn’t have spat more fury. "You are questioning my abilities."

  "No. I’m saying your abilities aren’t good enough."

  Emyr stepped between the two, saying nothing but somehow his mere presence was enough to stall the argument. When it was clear he had their attention, he said, "Gravinn, you showed me some maps. You said you knew our path."

  "I do."

  "Katharine, what makes you think you know better?"

  "Her maps are guesswork here." She waved a dismissive hand at Gravinn’s stolen papers and tubes and satchels. "Ask her. She’ll tell you that no-one has documented the mountains this far north."

  "Is this so?" There was no judgement. Emyr hadn’t decided who he believed. He simply asked for the facts.

  And he received them. “Yes," Gravinn said. She didn’t meet his eye. "But there is enough there to make a reasoned guess."

  Emyr nodded. "Katharine, why do you disagree with Gravinn’s guess?"

  "The mountains are getting higher." She nodded up at a peak before them. "The longer we try to avoid climbing them, the longer this journey will take."

  And time was something they didn’t have. They were hunted. And this was not the road for a newborn.

  Emyr nodded. Then he turned to Ambrose. "What say you, old friend?”

  "We enter the mountains." The old man looked tired today. More so than usual. He slouched in the saddle, huddled under his robes, his hat pulled down low. Even his voice, normally so dead and lifeless, sounded old and tired.

  But if Emyr noticed his friend’s discomfort, he said nothing. "We follow Katharine’s path."

  As they began to mount up, Tom took Katharine to one side. “Ride in the wagon,” he told her and, as she began to protest, added, “Gravinn can lead us along the path you chose. And it’s safest for the child.”

  Katharine was unconvinced. “She’ll lose her way again.”

  “If she does, she can ask for your help.”

  “She hates me, Tom.”

  “She’s jealous,” he said. “She wants to be as skillful and respected as you are. And she needs a chance to prove herself. Just as you did when you first chose this craft.”

  Katharine’s gaze lost focus, perhaps remembering her struggle to learn her skills, perhaps thinking of how hard she still had to try to be taken seriously as a Pathfinder. “You’re getting too good at this,” she murmured.

  “At what?”

  “Persuading people to do what you want.”

  It didn’t feel like he could get anyone to do what he wanted. At all. But he said, “So you’ll ride in the wagon?”

  “Today,” she said, to suggest it would be an exception. But Mennvinn had said she shouldn’t ride a horse, and Tom intended to persuade her into the wagon every day from this point on if he had to. That resolve felt cruel as she planted a kiss on his cheek. But he was looking after her, despite herself.

  So he helped her inside, placed b
lankets beneath her head, covered her against the cold, exchanged a few words with Mennvinn before leaving the two inside.

  He was conscious of everyone watching him as he walked over to Gravinn, all of them waiting to see what he did next. He tried not to overthink what he was about to say.

  “You know the path Katharine has advised.” Not a question. He didn’t want to question the dwarf in front of everyone.

  Gravinn nodded, waiting for something.

  Tom nodded too. “Lead on.”

  She didn’t try to hide her smile, almost leaping onto her horse to ride ahead for an advance look at their route. While the others mounted too, Emyr patted Tom’s shoulder. “That was well done,” he said.

  Tom shrugged. “I didn’t do much.”

  “Precisely.” Emyr gave him a broad grin. “It’s as much about what you don’t do as it is what you do. Remember that, son.” The old king gave him a strange look as he clambered onto his mount. “Sometimes the difference between changing the world and damning it is whether you stay your hand.”

  “I can’t imagine Tir is turning on my hand.”

  But Emyr shook his head with a knowing smile. “The hand that bears Caledyr, resurrects Emyr and Ambrose, and assembles a quest for the glarn?” He flicked the reins and his horse bore him away. “You’re a lot more than you think you are, son.”

  Katharine’s path was trickier than they were used to. It twisted and undulated as before, but it rose ever upwards. They struggled to find routes wide enough for the wagon, and they were often forced to move boulders or dismount and push the thing when it got stuck. The horses seemed unfazed by any of the terrain, which was a mercy. But it grew colder. By the time they stopped for the night, the air was freezing and the wind was up. There was no chance of lighting a fire, and the tents flapped and shook so much that Tom half-expected them to leap off the mountain and sail away.

  Katharine must have sensed his concern. ”Don’t worry, we’ll be safe." Her tone suggested she wasn’t in the mood to discuss it further; she was struggling to lay out her bedroll.

  "Can I help?"

  "I can do it,” she snapped. ”Give me some space."

  He retreated to the entrance, but that wasn’t far enough. So he stepped outside. He’d go back in a few moments, once she’d had a chance to settle and relax. It was a hard road, and it must be even harder for her.