Chapter 13
Glastyn. Tall, beautiful, his dark hair bound back into a simple tail, making his pointed ears more prominent, Glastyn was certainly the fairer counterpart to Fenoderee. But while Fenoderee had been foul of appearance, he had been undone by Melwas and Mab for telling Tom their secrets. Now, Tom supposed, Calmae had come and gone, and Fenoderee was changed to Glastyn once again. And he was here. Now. Why?
“The girl was right." Glastyn’s grin grew even wider. "You have a warrior’s footwork."
"What are you doing here?" Tom asked.
The fay had taken to dancing, graceful steps that both mimicked and mocked Tom’s footwork. "We have the grace of a warrior, but no spirit for the violence." He stopped, lifting an arm and awaiting adulation. "Still, we did a fair turn as good Sir Robert, did we not?"
The distraction that had enabled Tom to escape Duke Regent and join Neirin’s quest for Faerie in the first place. "A good turn indeed." Slowly, the shock and the fear was seeping from Tom’s muscles; Glastyn was no assassin, and nothing about the fay’s manner suggested violence. "I asked you why you are here."
"You didn’t." Glastyn grinned, still holding his turned hand aloft as if receiving silent applause from the bushes. "To be exact, you asked what we were doing here. Right now, we are wondering how it is we have received so little thanks for our help in setting you free."
"I don’t feel very free."
"We imagine not." Glastyn lowered his arm and abruptly folded himself into a seated position on the damp grass, hugging his knees to his chin. "We had not thought to see you a father-to-be."
The abrupt change of subject was nothing new for Glastyn, and habit made Tom go along with it. ”Nor had I,” he said. “But I am glad of it."
"You are, aren’t you?" Glastyn grinned, wide and genuine. "We can’t wait to see what a little Tom looks like."
If his foresight didn’t come to pass. If Glastyn could be trusted. Here they were, talking like friends. But were they? Glastyn had claimed to be exiled. Fenoderee had suggested that Glastyn was naive to the games Maev played. But what if Fenoderee was wrong? "Why are you here, Glastyn?"
The fay heard the suspicion in those words; it was clear by the way the joy left his eyes and left him sombre, serious. So unlike himself. "You spoke to the sprite. You wanted to know if we were going to come for you and your friends, like thieves in the night."
"I did."
Glastyn wagged a finger at him, as if Tom was a naughty child. "You have done a thing not done since the days of your resurrected king, Tom." Just like that, he was grinning and fey again. "Melwas and Mab are at war with each other. Our king would see you in Faerie, dismembered, burned, torn and beaten, reassembled and then tortured all over again. He is nothing but rage and hurt and confusion."
So. They had succeeded. Melwas was without Thought, and so was without thought.
"And our queen is just as eager to get her hands on you. But for a different reason." Glastyn waggled his eyebrows. "Never have we heard her speak with such admiration or ardour."
Tom cursed his body for quickening, for warming, for letting his imagination wander. "So they will come?" he asked. "Our concern is only who reaches us first?"
"That was your concern." Glastyn opened his arms. "But we spoke to them. We told Mab that you should have to fight your way to her. To prove yourself. And to Melwas, we turned his attention to his own healing. Suggested he should punish you with his own hands. Better to part your flesh himself, feel your bones break in his own grip. Better to take you when Thought returns."
Tom couldn’t say he cared for the imagery. But it seemed like Glastyn had stayed their execution. "You spoke on our behalf?"
Glastyn’s smile was small and pained. "We are feckless, Tom, ’tis true. But, for our part, we always considered you a friend."
He was waiting for Tom to say the same. So Tom nodded and said what he could. "I thought you a friend, too."
Glastyn heard the past tense. "We understand." He nodded. "We hate how these events have sundered you from us. But we understand why. Our king and queen were cruel to treat you so."
"Is that why you spoke for me?"
"Partly." Glastyn shrugged. "They swore to leave you be, Tom, but only if you fight the one named Tree."
Always a condition. Always a price to pay. "Why?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.
"They want to see if you can win."
Entertainment. Why snatch them now, when they could be entertained first?
"If I win," Tom said, "will they let us leave?"
Glastyn nodded. "They will. But this amnesty will not last."
Tom had known it was the case. But the knowledge settled heavy on his shoulders. "Will you stand with us?"
Glastyn shook his head. "As we said, Tom, we are no warrior." He rose with a grace that suggested he could be, if he so chose. "Fight Tree, and no fay will stop you leaving this place."
Ally or not, Glastyn had helped them. Kept Katharine and their child safe a little longer. "Thank you."
Glastyn’s smile failed to wipe the sadness from his eyes. "We would have been her favourite uncle, wouldn’t we?"
Impossible to say, and impossible to hesitate without hurting him. And upsetting a potential ally. So Tom simply smiled.
Glastyn faded like smoke dissipating into a gentle breeze, and Tom stood alone.
“So we do what the fay tell us to,” Katharine said. “Again.” She was sat beside Emyr, who was the only one who looked pleased by Tom’s news.
But Tom spoke only to Katharine when he said, “I don’t like it either. But I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”
His words didn’t do much to mollify her. And they didn’t stop Jarnstenn from asking, “And what do we do when you lose?”
“Jarn,” Kunnustenn chided. But spoiled it by adding, “He might win,” in a tone that could be used to suggest that trees might talk and Emyr’s knights might rise again.
It didn’t matter. Only Katharine mattered. He took her hands, held them. But what could he say? I’ll be fine? He can’t separate me from you? Comforting lies, but lies all the same. So he said the only thing he could. "I fight for our daughter. And for you."
It sounded weak to his ears, a simple statement of fact with no reassurance. But, somehow, it was what Katharine built her resolve upon, and she nodded, matching his stare with hers. "I believe in you," she said, and Tom felt his own resolve grow strong. He would beat this little tyrant. For her. For Rose. So they could be safe.
"Were I a betting dwarf, and I am," Jarnstenn interrupted, "I would place my coin on the elf." He nodded to Draig.
Tom drew a breath and said, “So would I." It wasn’t what they expected to hear. But it was the truth. "But if Draig fights, the fay come. It is as it must be." He turned to Draig. "But if you have any advice for me, I’m listening."
Draig wore a strange smile on his face, and somehow it reminded Tom of their journey through Tir, with Siomi and Neirin and Brega. Before any treachery or mistrust, when Draig taught Tom the basics of swordplay. "Are Tree’s knuckles broken," Draig told him. "Will he favour the other hand. Remember you the weak points of a man." He pointed them out, the nose, behind the ear, the neck, beneath the ribs. "Has he hurt us before without reprisal. Will he be arrogant. Strike fast and hard."
Far easier to say than to do. For a moment Tom considered delaying. This wasn’t the dark place in which Katharine died; she would live as long as they were here. But Glastyn had told him that Melwas and Mab wouldn’t wait forever. Better to make the most of their temporary stay of execution.
So they all strode towards the head of Tirend’s little community, drawing glances and murmurs. When Hawne caught Tom’s eye, she nodded and began to whisper in people’s ears, causing even greater excitement. Tom wasn’t sure what she was telling them, but it was causing a lot of agitation. Perhaps some of them would help in the fight. Or perhaps they were just excited to see Tree beat down his latest opponent.
>
Tree was sat at the main fire, feeding himself some of the biscuits from the wagon. He didn’t rise, barely spared them a glance as they approached. It was Esyllt and Six that watched them with concern and confusion.
"We’re leaving," Tom announced. He managed to keep his voice steady. "We have a journey to finish."
Tree gave him a lazy, indifferent look. “I told you, there is no leaving Tirend.” But he waved a hand without waiting for argument. "Go, and good luck to you. If any of you die in the cold, there will be fewer mouths to feed."
It wasn’t the answer Tom had expected. Would there be no fight? Could they just leave? "We will be taking our supplies."
Tree shook his head. "You have no supplies. We have food and blankets."
"Our food. Our blankets."
There it was. The dangerous look that Tom had expected. "Which have been shared amongst those who needed them." Tree broke off a piece of biscuit and placed it in his mouth, chewing it slowly, deliberately. Challenging Tom to challenge him.
Well. There was no sense in delaying it. "We will, of course, donate some of our supplies, as well as maps, so that everyone here can make their own journey home."
Tree’s eyes blazed but, before he could say anything, Esyllt rose to her feet. "Pardon me for interrupting. Are you suggesting you would be willing to show us the way home?"
"Of course, Your Highness." Tom bowed his head, deeply enough to show respect, shallow enough not to lose sight of Tree. "I can only imagine how much everyone here would like to escape this place."
There was a riot of emotions on the princess’ face. But her words remained regal and stoic. "We would be in your debt."
"He’s lying, princess," Tree growled. "There is no way back to Tir." Six murmured something in Esyllt’s ear, earning another growl from Tree. "Speak up, damn you!"
Six’s eyes flared but he said nothing. It was Esyllt who said, "He was telling me that they travelled from a dwarfish village. On horseback."
"Lies."
"Yemdarro has never lied to me."
“He brings you a man, calls him King Emyr, and you think him honest and true?" Tree shook his head.
The question brought doubt to her eyes and she glanced, just for a moment, at the exile’s tattoo on Six’s face.
It was Hawne who spoke next. "We were all brought here with only the clothes on our backs." She was stood a distance from the fire, but with a crowd behind her. “But we found them travelling out there with plenty. Why?"
Tree had spotted the crowd too, could see the challenge ahead of him. "Why were any of us chosen?" He rose, stretched, showing off his muscle and his strength. He caught Tom’s eye as he did.
"I can tell you why you were chosen," Tom said. He pitched his voice to be heard across the whole clearing. "You were sent here because you somehow posed a threat to the fay. But distanced, lost, and unable to find your way home, you would be unable to stop the fay from fusing Tir and Faerie into a single playground, putting an end to our way of life. You represented resistance. Alliance. Your Highness, the care you show for these people demonstrates your dedication to everyone in Tir. And Hawne’s strong spirit would never have yielded to Faerie dominion."
"And I, soothsayer?" Tree grinned. "What did I represent?"
Tom smiled too. "A way to keep them all here."
Tree rested his hands on his hips. "It’s a remarkable story."
"A true story," Six said. "Tom cannot lie."
"Then perhaps he can tell us why we should go back." Tree was pitching his voice to be heard, too. "If things are as bad as he says, perhaps we are all better off here."
Murmured assent rippled through the crowd. Tom hadn’t expected that. He looked about, saw people nodding to each other. His eyes landed on Kunnustenn, and he realised he might have made a mistake. Not everyone here was royalty or nobility. Some of them might have been living in alleys, or earning coin barely sufficient to put food on the table. But here, where there was no coin, no rich or poor, perhaps they had a better life. Perhaps Tom was wrong to try to send them back to Tir, where the fay were already breaking through the barrier between realms and making sport of the mortals they found.
But they had the right to choose that for themselves.
"The fay are dangerous," he admitted. "And difficult to fight. But if you think you are safe here, you are mistaken. They will come for you, sooner or later. If you are forced to defend yourself, where do you take your stand? Do you fight for the prison they gave you, or do you fight for the home they took you from?"
The murmurs weren’t as loud or as certain. But they were there. Yes. Let them choose. If they wanted to stay, so be it.
"Tom is right." Esyllt stepped forward. "All those who wish to remain may do so. But I am Esyllt of the Western Kingdom. That is my home."
Hawne stepped forward too. "I am Hawne Swiftrider of the Marches." Swiftrider. The duke's daughter. That explained much. "That is my home."
There was a moment of silence as people waited to see what the rest of the crowd would do. If no-one else spoke, then this was over. Even if Tom could beat Tree in a fight, he couldn’t fight all of them. But then a dwarf stepped out of the ranks, and said, "I am Kaervinn of the Provinces. That is my home."
"I am Samuel of the Heel. That is my home."
One by one, they stepped forward, emboldened by each other, calling out their names and their homes. Until Tree shook his head and barked, "Enough!" He stared at all who had stepped forward and sneered. "You think the world waiting for you is better than this one?" He gestured. "Is the weather so temperate? Is the living so easy? Here we hunt for our flesh and grow our own fruits. We have no concerns for coin or gossip. We have no betters. We are better."
Tom stayed silent. This wasn’t a moment for outside voices to be heard.
It was Hawne who replied. "Perhaps there is plenty up here, at the big fire. But down there?" She pointed to the smallest, weakest fires, around which sat those too old or weak to join the crowd. "The people down there scrape for scraps."
"Only the strongest survive," Tree replied. "It is the natural way of things."
"I stand against nature." Esyllt lifted her chin ever so slightly for a quiet air of defiance. "It is our duty to make life better for everyone."
"And weaken us all in the doing."
Six murmured something in Esyllt’s ear and she nodded. "You may feel so," she said, defiance gone, replaced with a sad certainty. "But it is our will that everyone is cared for. I have always trusted you, Tree, to see to the distribution of food and resources. If it is as Hawne says, that some lack while others do not, then that is something that you have overseen. And it is something that cannot continue."
Tree grinned. It shocked Esyllt, to see her reprimand dismissed so readily. "It is as it has always been here. It cannot be changed."
"I will change it."
"You change nothing."
Six’s eyes blazed. "You will not speak to Her Highness Princess Esyllt so."
"I will speak to her however I please!" Tree roared, pounding a fist against his chest. "She is no princess here. She has only the standing that we allow her. I am the first among us here. Me!"
"Be silent!" Six demanded, stepping past Esyllt. Hands behind his back. Like a good courtier, not someone ready to fight. Tom held his breath. Six hadn’t seen how swiftly Tree had knocked Emyr down.
But Tree didn’t strike Six. Just grinned at him. The two were of a height, but somehow the man seemed to loom over the elf. "By strength and will did I put myself here, at the head of these people." Tree opened his arms, fingers flexed like claws, muscles and tendons standing out all over him. "Do you have the strength and will to challenge me?"
Six remained calm. Kept his courtier’s demeanour. But it was obvious he had finally realised that he wasn’t at court. This place was more feral, more violent. Tree had made it that way. So it was time to undo Tree.
"I do." Tom put no bravado into his words, no drama or excitement. Keep
it plain, keep it simple. “I challenge you.”
The bigger man turned, his grin even wider. "You?"
"People of Tirend!" Emyr’s bellow caught everyone by surprise, and they watched the old king stride out to stand before the crowd, arms aloft. His injury apparently forgotten, the old king spoke with an energy and an excitement Tom had never seen in him. "Thomas Rymour hereby challenges Tree. Thomas Rymour, who travelled through the Whispering Woods and lived to tell the tale. Who escaped the dungeons of Cairnalyr and the prisons of the heartless merrow. Who freed dwarfs, freed dragons, and ended the war with the Western Kingdom. Who bearded the King of Faerie in his own den." Tom could feel his face warming at this effusive praise, this bizarre litany of deeds that made him sound like a hero rather than a man caught in a series of strange circumstances. "Thomas Rymour, the liberator, the bearder of kings, the prophet who cannot lie. The champion of Tir challenges Tree of Tirend."
Emyr held the moment, and a strange silence descended on them all. The crowd began to shift. Whisper to each other. Tom could see that they weren’t impressed. He was no-one to them. Those deeds meant nothing to them.
Emyr lowered his arms and stepped back to his place amongst the others, making no attempt to hide his smile. He winked at Tom as he passed, looking terribly pleased with himself. What he had achieved, Tom couldn’t tell. Tree seemed only bemused.
But Tom knew he had to be the one to break to silence. So he said, "I challenge you, Tree. These people deserve to be free."
"They are free." Tree began to stalk towards Tom.
"No-one is free under a tyrant."
"No-one can be free without someone to tell them what’s best for them." Tree was close now, and Tom saw he already placed his feet as if expecting to dodge a blow. Or land one. No formality to this fight, then. Tree would strike whenever he saw fit.
"Is this a debate, or a challenge?"
Tree answered by swinging a fist at Tom’s head. But Tom was ready, ducking and dancing to the side. Tree nodded. "Good. You learn from your leader’s mistakes."
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 90