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The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

Page 88

by James T Kelly


  "Who are you?" Emyr called up to him, gamely refusing to squint at the bright sun.

  "Worry more about them." The shadow’s gesture pointed out two archers with bows drawn. ”Dismount,” he said for the second time. His tone suggested there would not be a third.

  The archers were in good positions. If they were any good, they could take down anyone who tried to flee. And the wagon was just too slow. Katharine wouldn’t escape. So there was no choice but to do as the shadow said.

  “We won’t make it," Emyr muttered.

  “I agree,” Tom murmured.

  As if that had decided things, Emyr nodded and sheathed Caledyr. "Do as he says,” he told the others, but waited until Tom had dismounted before making his own, awkward climb down. The old king hissed as his foot got caught in the stirrup, and his face was screwed up in agony until Tom freed him. He leant heavily on Tom, panting, and Tom took the moment of stillness to watch and try to learn who it was that stopped them.

  Not fay. That much was immediately clear. Figures emerged from behind that first shadow and there was something in the way they picked their way down the mountainside that betrayed their mortal origins. As they descended, Tom could see more of them. Two humans, one Easterner. All three dressed in furs and rags, armed with nothing but obvious speed and strength. The archers didn’t descend; they kept their bowstrings taut and their arrows aimed at their victims. Whoever these people were, they weren’t fools. They wouldn’t be easily outwitted, or easily outrun.

  The three reached them, and the woman took charge. "Away from the horses," she told them. "Over there, all of you." She had a trace of an accent from the Marches and wore her hair in a traditional braid. She had jewellery on her fingers, at odds with the tattered rags glimpsed beneath the thick wolf fur draped over her shoulders.

  "We have someone in the wagon," Tom told her. "She’s with child."

  "Speak when I ask you to speak," the woman snapped, but she immediately turned to one of her fellows and said, "Get her out. Carefully."

  Tom took some small comfort from that command. If they were to be simply killed for their goods, these bandits would not waste any care on them. So they would be kept alive for at least a short while. And, Tom noticed, no-one made an attempt to disarm them. Either they were supremely confident, or perhaps they weren’t as smart as he had originally thought. Perhaps if they waited long enough, there’d be a chance to turn the tables.

  If Jarnstenn didn’t get them killed. "Get your hands off me, you filthy purse-snatcher," he was growling. "Think we’re scared of a bleedin’ bow and arrow?"

  "Hush, Jarnstenn," Tom bade him.

  "I’ll hush this elf if he touches me again." Jarnstenn waved clenched fists at the Easterner, who looked down at the dwarf, bemused.

  “Peace, master dwarf,” Emyr bade him. He had his hands out at his side, open, unthreatening, and asked the elf, "Do you mean us harm?"

  The elf shrugged. It was the woman who answered. "If it were up to me, I’d have shot you all already." She jerked her chin towards the shadow, which hadn’t moved. "But it isn’t up to me. So do as I tell you, and you won’t be harmed."

  So. No sympathy there. But someone had given her orders, and she would follow them. That, at least, some small reassurance. "See, Jarnstenn?” Emyr said. “Nothing to worry about?"

  "Did you hit your head?" Jarnstenn waved at hand at the wagon. "They’re robbing us."

  "So it seems."

  "We outnumber them."

  “There might be more archers in these hills.”

  "Listen to your leader, dwarf," the woman said. "He’s wiser than he looks."

  "Ain’t no-one leads me but me," Jarnstenn grumbled. But he said no more.

  One of the men who had followed the woman down the hillside brought Katharine and Mennvinn from the wagon. ”Plenty in here," he reported. "We’d better take the whole thing with us."

  The woman nodded. "Fine. You drive it." And to Emyr she said, "Your people will follow the wagon. On foot. But for every horse we lose, we’ll shoot one of yours.” Her eyes were as hard as her voice, and the lack of flesh on her face suggested that horse meat was far more valuable than the lives of their captives. Emyr gave a stern nod. A moment later, the wagon began to roll again, and the others began to walk.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Tom asked as he slipped his hand into Katharine’s.

  “I think that’s up to them now,” she replied as they fell in and followed the strangers to a destination unknown.

  Their path meandered around peaks and valleys long after the sun had set, and the clouds meant little light from moon or star illuminated their way. That was why, before they set eyes on their destination, they saw it all the same: the glow of light between two peaks. The stink of magic in the air had grown stronger all day, but it grew thicker as they approached and, as they passed between the peaks, Tom felt almost as if he had dived into an ocean of it.

  It was like someone had taken a handful of Faerie and cupped it in mountainous hands. High, snowy peaks on all sides descended into an oasis of warmth and water, a lake surrounded by a halo of mud, in turn surrounded by verdant grass and bushes and even the occasional tree. There were no structures, huts, or homes. Just open fires, and dozens of people sat around them. None of them wore furs, for the air was warm like midsummer.

  It was just like Nimuë’s place. Was this a Faerie trap after all?

  But while the others had marvelled at this impossibility and exchanged awed exclamations, Katharine had been beyond exhausted. She took small, faltering, painful steps, and she was slower even than Ambrose in descending.

  Their abductors were clearly anxious to get out of the cold, but one remained behind to escort Katharine and Tom; the shadowy man who commanded the others. Tall, wiry, his bronze skin bare despite the cold, he called himself Tree and offered his help. But Tom was too angry to accept help from a man who would make a woman with child march through the snow, so he said nothing to him. Tree had shrugged and walked beside them in companionable silence, as if they were all old friends on a gentle stroll together. Tom felt a furious urge to push him down the hillside, but instead gritted his teeth and let Katharine lean on him as much as she needed to.

  There was a crowd ready to greet them when they finally reached the bottom. Human, elf and dwarf crowded around the wagon and the horses, crying out and asking countless questions of Tree and his people. But they were interested only in the spoils of war; their captives were pushed to one side, where Tom found a space for Katharine to lie. Without the wagon or horses, they had no bedrolls for her comfort, food or water. But she was happy to lie on her side in the grass, and waved away Tom’s efforts to look after her. So he sat beside her, and watched Tree address the throng of people.

  "For once we have plenty,” he told them. “So let us take plenty of time to savour it." He selected a few to empty the wagon and sort the goods, then said to the woman, "Oversee the work, Hawne, or select someone to do it for you as you see fit. I’ll take these to see her."

  "I’ll come too," Hawne replied, surly and daring the man to argue.

  The man shrugged, apparently indifferent. "As you will." He turned to Emyr. "Bring your people. We’ll see what the princess makes of you."

  The others began to follow the man, but Tom didn’t move. “Katharine needs to rest."

  Tree looked at her and his eyes softened. “Yes." He inclined his head and said, “I will bring the princess to you.” He left without another word, leaving the woman, Hawne, standing awkwardly with them.

  “What is this place?” Emyr asked her.

  She debated whether to answer for a moment before gruffly saying, “We call it Tirend.”

  It meant nothing to Tom, but Emyr nodded gravely. “I see.”

  “You’re robbing us,” Jarnstenn growled at her as he watched wagon being unloaded.

  “If you’re asking for an apology, dwarf, save your breath.” Hawne lifted her chin, highlighting how much she looked d
own on him. “We have mouths to feed.”

  “Yeah? And what about our mouths?”

  “You’ll get food.” But for the first time there was a flicker of doubt in Hawne’s eyes, and she looked out across the oasis, up towards the fire that was twice the size of all the others.

  “The scraps?” Emyr’s voice was soft, compassionate. “Once those at the big fire have enjoyed the choice cuts?”

  Hawne shook her head, but she wasn’t disagreeing. She said nothing, which said everything.

  But then she straightened her expression settled into a stony mask. Tom followed her gaze and saw Tree returning with a woman by his side. No, it was a Western elf. She wore a curious mix of rags and riches, though even her rags spoke of a finer material. But even without the paint and pomp of royalty, there was no mistaking the obvious air of grace and authority she carried. That, and the resemblance to her father.

  Tree introduced them simply as, “The travellers,” and her as, “Princess Esyllt.”

  Esyllt. The lost princess of the Western Kingdom. Daughter of King Idris. And the reason for the West’s war on the rest of Tir.

  She gave them a warm smile. "Welcome to Tirend."

  Chapter 12

  “What of my daughter?” King Idris had asked. And Dank had replied, “She lives. In the north. Far from here.” Tom had promised Idris he would send any word of her. But he had never imagined they would find her.

  And now they stood before her, in this of all places, and Tom was angry. Yes, it was the fay who had seduced her away from her kingdom. But it was Esyllt’s feet that had done the walking, and it was her absence that had been the lever the fay could use to move Idris to declare his war. If she had stayed, perhaps Neirin wouldn’t have sought Thomas Rymour to find a magic sword. Perhaps Tom’s hands would have been clean, instead of bathed in blood. Perhaps the dragons wouldn’t have been enslaved.

  But that wasn’t true, was it? Melwas himself had said that he would have found another mortal to manipulate if Tom had refused. If Esyllt had stayed, the fay would have found another to spark the war.

  So Tom pushed aside his anger, and said, “Your Highness.” He bowed, and the others followed suit, except for Emyr who simply echoed his greeting. But Six pushed past them all without ceremony or decorum. "What are you doing here?” he asked.

  Her eyes grew wide and she lifted a hand to her mouth. "Yemdarro."

  Yemdarro? Tom frowned. He’d always known that Six wasn’t the elf’s true name. But he’d never given any real thought to what it might be.

  "Esyllt," he said, and rushed to kneel at her feet.

  Tree moved to step between the elfs, but she waved him away. ”It’s fine. This is a very dear friend of mine from Before."

  Before what? Before Six was exiled?

  "I never thought I would see you again," Esyllt murmured, placing a hand on Six’s head. He took a deep, satisfied breath. As if that small gesture had lifted a burden he’d carried for many years.

  "I feared for you." His voice was little more than a murmur.

  "As I feared for you." She lifted her head and her voice. "But we can discuss the journeys that brought us here in due course. First, who are these companions of yours?"

  Six rose and swept to a position at her side, hands behind his back, stooped ever so slightly so that his words better reached her ear. It was the position of a loyal advisor, and it was a position assumed out of habit. What was Six to this princess? "My lady, I have travelled with some of these people for many moons now. Though you may marvel to hear their names, I can vouch for them."

  Esyllt wore a polite smile, but there was a genuine pleasure in her eyes. "I cannot wait to meet the people who have brought you back to me."

  "Katharine Delham, my lady, a Pathfinder of extraordinary ability."

  Esyllt smiled and exclaimed, "And with child, how wonderful."

  Tom wondered if anyone else noticed Six’s smile dim as he said, "And the father, Thomas Rymour."

  "A name we know from stories," Esyllt said.

  "Likely exaggerated, Your Highness." Tom smiled and bowed again.

  Six pointed out the others. "Draig, a warrior of principle. Dank, a man of the Faerie realm. Jarnstenn, a smith from Cairnakor, and his partner Kunnustenn, a dwarf of learning. Gravinn is a Pathfinder too, and Mennvinn is a healer of great skill." Six paused, before saying, "You will think me deluded or dreaming, Your Highness, but the truth of these last two is beyond reproach."

  "You have never before lied to me, Yemdarro."

  Six nodded, took a breath, and said, "Your Highness, I present King Oen of Tir, and his loyal servant, Ambrose."

  Whoever had taught Esyllt had taught her well; although her demeanour slipped, her eyes widening for the briefest moment, she gathered herself quickly. Collected once more, she quirked a single eyebrow and tilted her head towards Six, inviting further explanation.

  "We but recently retrieved Oen from the Faerie realm, Your Highness, and Mennvinn has been nursing him to health from the wound that felled him at Camlann. Ambrose has used mighty magics to preserve himself, and joined our party when we brought Oen back to Tir."

  Tree snorted. "This is nonsense, Your Highness," he rumbled.

  "Yemdarro was a member of my father’s court," Esyllt said, though Tom could hear that she was unconvinced by Six’s claims. "I trust him."

  "Do you believe him?"

  She took a breath, claiming a moment before admitting, "It is quite a claim."

  "Princess Esyllt." Emyr stepped forward, his bow made stiff and awkward by his healing gut. "Who I am is almost irrelevant at this moment."

  "On the contrary," Tree replied. "Who you are determines what we do with you."

  "Everyone here is lost, Tree, which is why we welcome everyone." Esyllt’s tone suggested the matter was settled.

  "We can’t feed the mouths we have,” Hawne argued, adding after a long moment, “Princess." Said to mock Esyllt, not honour her. Tom watched Hawne, the way she stood, the way she lifted her chin in a challenge to the princess. She had a definite air of someone used to authority. Maybe even nobility. Was there a hidden contest between her and Esyllt at play? Did Hawne see herself as more fit to rule this place?

  But Tree shrugged, folded his arms and said, "As you will, Your Highness." Emphasising the term of address for Hawne’s benefit. And when Hawne dropped her gaze, Esyllt said, "All are welcome here."

  "And what is this place?" Emyr asked. "And how did you come to be here?"

  It was Tree that responded. "We have been brought here from all across Tir,” he said. “And if you are going to ask me why, well, there are as many ideas about that as there are stars in the night sky."

  Tom looked up. Though the sky had been unfamiliar for many nights now, tonight he couldn’t see a single constellation that matched what he knew. He had an idea as to where they were.

  "Brought here?" Emyr asked.

  Esyllt nodded. "Taken. Tree was snatched from his home in Tanabawr. Hawne went to sleep in her hall in the Marches and woke up here."

  "And you?" Six asked. He leant closer, lifted a hand as if he might touch her elbow then thought better of it. "How did you come to be here, Esyllt?"

  She painted a smile onto her face that didn’t touch her eyes. "I fear I made a very silly mistake. I allowed myself to be fooled, and in doing so I brought myself here."

  "None of you travelled by foot or horseback, did you?” Tom asked.

  “No,” Hawne replied. “We were brought here in an instant.”

  Tom nodded. Faerie Circles. The fay had snatched these people and brought them here. But why?

  "Your father has been distraught since you left," Six said to Esyllt. "He is searching all of Tir for you."

  The princess’ lip quivered for just a moment, before her forced smile grew even wider. "Tell me he is well, Yemdarro, please. It would do me good."

  Six glanced at Tom with a question in his eyes and Tom nodded. "Your Highness, we had no idea that Yemd
arro was so known to you." It felt odd to use that name. “Perhaps you would like some time alone?"

  Esyllt nodded. "You are most kind." Her eyes were wet as she said, "Tree, find our new friends a place. See that they are fed."

  "From our own supplies," Jarnstenn grumbled as the two Westerners turned and walked away. Did their heads lean a little closer than was proper? Esyllt certainly thought of Six as more than another subject.

  But if Esyllt was in charge of these people, and Six had her ear, perhaps he could encourage her to return the wagon. And their supplies. Tom turned to see if Katharine was warm enough, but she was sound asleep.

  “You say you were all taken,” Emyr said to Tree. “Has anyone tried to make the journey back?”

  “Back?” Tree had his arms folded, frowning down at them as if they were a puzzle to solve. “There is nothing beyond this place. Plenty of the young and foolish try to leave. They return, or their bodies are discovered by the next fools to try.”

  Tom looked at the crowds around the wagon. These people had no idea in which direction to travel, and what few supplies they could gather wouldn’t last the long road to Cairnoher. With so little, it was no surprise they couldn’t escape this place. The fay had very neatly imprisoned them all. But why?

  “We could help you,” Tom found himself saying. "We could offer you some supplies, enough for the journey. We can draw you a map. We could help you go home."

  He’d expected surprise, suspicion, a joyous grin, hope, anything. But Tree was entirely unmoved. He was so still that Tom began to wonder if he had, in fact, spoken at all.

  It was Hawne who said, "Home?" With layers of suspicion to hide her curiosity.

  Tom turned to her and said, "We travelled here from Tir with two Pathfinders. We could show you the path we took."

  Hawne’s eyes shone with desire and Tom could see her mind’s eye picturing her return to whatever place she called home. Her lips quirked into the beginnings of a smile, and Tom could see that, despite her brusque attitude, she would be an ally here, they would help her and she would help them.

 

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