Tom sighed. "He could be happy."
"Don’t speak to me of happiness, Tom."
Ambrose was right. He’d sacrificed such feelings. It was hardly fair to complain to him. "What of the others?" Tom asked. "Do I need to keep them all close too?"
"None of the others will ask to leave yet." Yet. Not a comforting notion. They’d have no better opportunity. But Ambrose had turned his horse and begun to ride back to Tirend. Apparently he had done what he must. Tom tugged his reins and fell in beside him. The poor man was simply following footsteps his future self had laid out for him, going through the motions until he had no motions left. "Do you fear the end?" It felt cruel to ask. But he had to know.
"You only fear what you don’t understand," Ambrose replied. "And I know exactly what is coming."
So he knew what it would feel like when the fay absorbed him, devoured him? That sounded worse than not knowing. "So you remember that too?"
"I remember nothing beyond my last breath. I shall cease to be at that point." He turned his head, like twisting a great boulder across craggy ground. "It is a small comfort. But a comfort, nonetheless."
To take comfort in something as dark as that. That was no way to live.
"Do not pity me, Tom." Ambrose smirked. The fact he could do so made it clear how amusing he found himself. "My trials are almost over."
"And mine are not."
"Barely begun."
Barely begun. Everything he’d done, and Ambrose thought his journey barely begun? "Do you think we’ll find the glarn?" Tom asked. "I know you don’t know. I just want to know what you think."
"I have little experience left to me on which to base an opinion." Ambrose tugged his reins and they stopped at the cusp of Tirend, the unnatural light bathing them from below, throwing odd shadows across the sorcerer’s face. "But I’ve seen how you fight. That gives me hope."
"So there’s a fight coming."
Ambrose didn’t meet his eye. Didn’t offer a comfort or a reassurance. Just said, "Keep Six close," before flicking his reins and descending again into the warmth he said he couldn’t feel.
Tom knew he needed to talk to Six. But he needed a moment. Just one. He rode to the arbitrary space their party had claimed, dismounted, and lay down. No blankets, nothing but his arm for a pillow. And he slept.
Their wagon was overturned. Burning.
He walked down a long, dark corridor that echoed with his haggard breath. His arm was wet and warm. He could smell blood. He was dragging something heavy.
He lay in a cot. It was painful to breathe. He stank, unwashed for days. One eye was swollen shut.
"You could stop here," Glastyn told him. "There would be no pain. You wouldn’t even know you’d given up."
He woke, groggy and aching and bleak of spirit. Someone was shaking him. "Tom."
Katharine. She was nudging him with her foot. Too big to reach down and use her hand. She looked tired and miserable. How many days did she have left?
"What is it?" he asked.
"We’re almost ready."
Wake me when we leave, he wanted to say. But he couldn’t. He reached for the sword to draw strength from it. Remembered his oath to her and stopped himself. He rolled onto his knees.
"You’re exhausted," she said.
"I am."
She put her hands in his hair, stroked his head. He leant lightly against her belly.
"She’s almost here," she said.
"Almost here." He ran a hand across, felt something push back. A foot, perhaps. Their daughter’s foot. If she was almost ready to be born, perhaps she could survive?
He waited for the surge of resolve to tell him that Katharine would survive too. But it didn’t come. Not every day could be fought.
"I’m sorry," he told her.
"What for?"
For dragging you halfway across Tir. For treating you so badly. For failing to find a way to keep you alive. Instead, he said, “They could do with a guide. Someone to help them find their way home."
She tapped his head with her fingers once, a tiny reprimand.
"It’s just an idea."
"It’s a bad idea." She was stern. But not angry. "Send Gravinn."
"I’m not sending anyone. I’m just suggesting."
"Suggest Gravinn."
Tom nodded. "I thought you would say that. But I had to ask."
"Did you?"
Yes. Because it might be my last chance to save you. "It’s only going to get more dangerous from here." He placed his arms around her. "I don’t want either of you to get hurt."
"Nor do I. But we’ll be safe with Sir Thomas of Tir."
Tom smiled. "Don’t make fun."
"I’m not." When he looked up at her, she was smiling down at him. Kind. Proud. Beautiful. "Do you remember what I said to you in your room in Cairnagan?"
When he'd first had the foresight in which she died. "You said a lot."
She brushed hair from his face. What did she see? Cuts, bruises? A liar and a coward? The father of her daughter? Or something more? "You stopped sitting by the fire," she murmured. "And it’s made you alive."
Alive. The pressure crashed against his insides like a great wave, unseen, unexpected. No. Don’t say anything. Don’t tell her. Tears pricked the backs of his eyes as he tried to swallow down the truth. He took a haggard breath and hid his face against her belly.
She stroked his hair and hushed him. "It’s okay. I’m scared too."
He had his hands and face against her, but she felt so far away.
"Hey. Lovebirds." Jarnstenn’s call punctured the moment and Tom wiped his eyes before anyone could see him. "We’re ready to go."
Tom sniffed and pushed himself to his feet. "Back into the wagon?" He forced a smile.
She sighed. "At least being here gave me a break from being in there."
Tom nodded. "I have to convince Six to come with us."
"Do you need help?" She didn’t ask why. Didn’t tell him no. She wanted him to come with them. And she deserved her friend.
"Probably." But he patted her hand and added, "Get comfortable. I’ll try not to be long."
She nodded and kissed his cheek. Somehow it gave him the strength he needed.
Six wasn’t hard to find. He shadowed Esyllt at every step, and she was at the heart of every throng. At first Tom expected to have to push his way through the crowds, but people made way for him, giving him a nod, or a bow, and the bravest reached out and brushed him with their fingertips as he passed by. He wanted to tell them to stop, he was just Tom, he wasn’t anyone special. But they had faith in the man Emyr had crafted. A knight, a hero, a liberator. He couldn’t take that away from them.
"Sir Thomas." Esyllt begged leave from the old woman she’d been speaking to and led Tom away from the throng. “I am glad of the chance to speak to you. I wanted to thank you.” Her whole manner was too earnest, too grateful. It made Tom uncomfortable.
"You don’t have to thank me, Your Highness."
"I do." She cast a glance over the crowd, gathered in knots, talking, sharing stories of home. Excited to be leaving. Scared to be leaving. Happy to have the chance to be leaving. "They would have followed you. And you gave that to me."
"I never wanted anyone to follow me," he admitted. "I just want to keep my friends safe."
Esyllt nodded and bowed her head. Disappointed that he hadn’t said something more altruistic? Sworn to protect all of Tir? Well, he’d played his part. Now it was time for her to play hers. "Will you leave straightaway?" he asked her.
She shrugged, a gesture oddly lacking in royal grace. "We have little to gather. What food we had. What supplies you allow us." Her eyebrows jumped and she hurried to add, "Which we gratefully thank you for."
Tom waved the moment away. "I only wish we could spare more.” Even though Jarnsten had originally provisioned food enough for an army marching across all of Tir, it still felt like there was precious little to go around. “I was hoping to beg a moment of Six’s ti
me.” At her confused look, he added, “Of Yemdarro’s time.”
"You need not beg from me, Sir Thomas. You may have anything that is within my power to grant you.”
In the face of such generosity, it felt rude to change Six’s mind behind her back. “In that case, Your Highness, I was hoping to persuade him to come with us."
Her eyebrows leapt up her forehead for the briefest moments before settling back into practiced calm. "Oh?"
"It would take much time to explain," Tom told her. "But our journey is of the utmost importance. I fear we will need him."
Esyllt frowned, stared at the ground. “I see.” Tom watched her weighing her own desire’s against another’s need. It was endearing to see such honesty in someone of such high birth. “And why is your journey so important?”
“We seek an artefact that we believe will help us stop the fay, Your Highness.”
She nodded. “The creatures that brought us all here.” She took a deep breath, as if steadying herself. “And who encroach on our lands and harass our people.” She saw the need, and saw it was greater than her own. “I grant you permission only to ask him, for it must be his decision. He is not mine to command.”
The way Six stood dutifully at her side belied her words. But Tom said only, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
She reached out and took Tom’s hands in her own, her skin cool and smooth. It was far too intimate a gesture for royalty. “Look after him,” she told him, before retreating into the crowd to hide her sorrow.
Six was looking at him with a bemused smile, as if Tom had asked for something strange and senseless. "Why?" was all he asked.
"Many reasons," Tom answered. "Ambrose foresaw it."
"I’m not interested in foresights.” Six kept his courtier’s posture, back straight, hands behind his back, but his voice slipped into the tones Tom was familiar with. Dressed in his dwarfish clothing, exile’s tattoo on his face, his golden skin dirty from his travels, he looked prim, proper, and unusual. “I swore my loyalty to Esyllt a long time ago."
“She’ll release you from your oath.”
“But should she?”
Tom didn’t want to say it. But he knew it would help weaken Six’s resolve to go. So he said, “You gave your oath before you were exiled, didn’t you?”
Anger flared in Six’s eyes. "She shouldn’t pay for her father’s mistake," he snapped. "She needs me."
“Does she?” Tom looked at her, walking amongst people that weren’t her subjects but followed her nonetheless.
"That isn’t the point."
"What is the point?"
Six drew breath to snap an answer, stopped himself. Drew a deep breath. And when he exhaled, a different Six emerged. This one lifted his hands in front of him, twisted the ring he’d worn after first meeting Emyr. His posture wasn’t as stiff, and his voice was softer, with some of the accent his brother, Athra, had spoken with. "I want to go home, Tom."
Then go, Tom wanted to say. Leave the fay and all this madness behind and go back to where you want to be.
But would it be so easy? His king had exiled him. He’d turned his brother over to the watch. Where would he go?
So Tom sighed and pointed at the ring Six was playing with. "You told me the engraving says ‘lamb’ in elfish." Six nodded. Waited for the cruel blow Tom was going to land. "You started wearing it after you met Emyr. Oen."
"I did." Did Six sound defensive? Or was he challenging Tom to question him?
Tom did neither. "When Neirin took you prisoner, you didn’t put up a fight. You didn’t care about finding Faerie, stopping the war, or freeing dragons. You even told me you’d never go home."
There was a refusal in the elf’s eyes. But there was also an acknowledgement of the truth.
"You’re not that elf anymore," Tom continued. "Meeting Emyr woke something inside you. Whatever it is, I don’t think it will let you allow Emyr to go on without your help."
Six wanted to argue. Instead he dropped his gaze to his ring, which he twisted around his finger. Tom felt an urge to say more, to push the argument further. But no. Wait. Let silence do its work.
"Emyr doesn’t need my help," Six murmured. Tom drew breath to argue, but Six lifted his gaze and a smile blossomed on his lips. "You, on the other hand, need all the help you can get. Sir Thomas."
"I can’t deny it."
"Of course you can’t." Six gave him a meaningful glance up and down. "You look like you’ve been dragged through the aurochs paddock. Twice."
This was more like the old Six, ready with a smile and a joke. The two of them grinned at each other for a moment, then Six turned back to his ring. "Do you really need my help?"
They’d left behind Six’s knowledge of locale and of dragons when they’d left the Western Kingdom. For weeks, the elf’s biggest contribution had been shooting rabbits.. And yet, "Who else will tell me that I’m doing everything wrong?"
"I’m being serious."
"So am I. I’m trying to find my way here, Six. I need someone who will help me."
"By questioning you."
"Feel free to find a different way of doing it." Tom grinned and Six smiled back. "Ambrose told me to make sure you accompanied us. But I’d be glad if you did. I need your help. And knowing you’d be there to take care of Katharine would help me sleep at night."
Six nodded. "Very well." But things didn’t sound well. They sounded heavy with duty and responsibility.
"Hawne seems capable," Tom offered.
"She does," Six agreed with a sigh. "She’ll get my princess home.” Then he straightened, tucked his hands behind his back, smoothed out his accent and gave Tom a sideways glance. “I won’t call you ‘Sir Thomas’.”
Tom nodded. “And I won’t call you Yemdarro.”
Six dismissed the name with an easy shrug. "An old nickname," he said. "It means ‘changer’ in our tongue."
Appropriate, for an elf who had worn so many faces in just the time Tom had known him. "So it isn’t your real name?"
Six gave Tom a shake of his head.
“How do you wear so many faces?"
Six looked up at the foreign sky. “Says the man who has been a liar who couldn’t lie, a furious avenger, a champion of dragons and dwarfs, a protective father-to-be, and a Knight of Tir.” He gave Tom a sad smile. “Perhaps I learned from watching my friends."
Tom wasn’t sure if he’d been insulted but, as he watched Six go to tell his princess he wouldn’t be travelling with her, he was just glad the elf was still calling him a friend.
In an oasis amongst the mountains, dressed in rags and furs, they had the most formal of goodbyes.
“We have no gifts to present to you, Sir Thomas." Esyllt was stood in the most regal outfit she could muster, fabrics draped about her almost making a dress. “But know that I speak for everyone here when I say that we cannot begin to express our gratitude. You have given us the chance to go home, to see our loved ones again. It is a kingly gift, and I thank you for it.”
She gave him sole credit, but it had been Emyr who had orchestrated the challenge that unseated Tree, Gravinn and Katharine who had drawn the maps, Jarnstenn who had handed out supplies with surprising generosity. What had Thomas Rymour contributed. Violence and empty words. He felt like a sham. So he knelt before her and said the truest thing he could say. “You bestow great honours on me, Princess Esyllt. Knowing that you lead these people home with help give me strength to face the trials ahead.”
She placed both of her hands on his head. A benediction. A blessing. “You carry all our hopes with you. They could not be in better hands.”
It was all for show. Tom knew that. But his throat was unexpectedly thick when he said, “Thank you, Your Highness.”
She lifted her hands and he stood, bowed his head to her, stepped back. What now?
"We should go," Emyr murmured.
Tom hadn’t heard the old king’s footsteps, and in that moment realised how much he had healed. He no longer walked with a c
areful step or a bent back, and hadn’t in some time. Perhaps now he was ready to lead them?
"They’re nervous," Emyr continued. "If we leave, it will give them the courage to leave themselves."
Tom nodded and climbed into the saddle. The others followed his lead, and then Tom faced dozens and dozens of faces, all watching him, waiting for something. "Say something to them," Emyr told him.
He tried to think of something appropriately heroic and inspirational. What would inspire him? "We ride to stop the very fiends that brought you here." He met as many eyes as he could. "The thought of you returning to your homes in Tir will warm our hearts on cold nights and steel our resolve in the face of our enemies. Go home. Live your lives. Be happy and free."
Happy and free. How true would that be for these people? But he saw nodding heads and smiling faces, and it seemed enough. So Tom flicked his reins and led their party up and out into the cold.
Gravinn took charge of their path once Tom pointed out their destination, and he was happy to let her do so. Dark clouds left the mountains in a deep gloom, but Gravinn’s Pathfinder eye found a way to penetrate the thick snow underfoot and pick out the safe paths. She rode ahead, seemingly oblivious to the icy wind that wormed its way beneath furs and beneath scarves and left Tom’s fingers numb. He found himself riding alongside Kunnustenn, the dwarf huddled in what furs remained to them, and Tom could tell it wasn’t enough.
The dwarf caught him watching and said, "This weather is hideous."
"We’re close now," Tom assured him. "I think."
"I hope you’re right. To be truthful with you, Master Rymour, I hadn’t appreciated how arduous this journey would be."
Tom thought back to his days in Cairnagan and how readily he had given them up. "Nor did I."
"It’s harder for Jarnstenn. He isn’t accustomed to hard living."
Tom cast a glance over his shoulder, watched Jarnstenn and Six riding in hushed conversation. Both of them carried something on their shoulders, a regret and a loss. They seemed of a sort, the same enquiring mind, the same quick wit. The same focus that drew their gazes inward, picturing with their minds eye whatever they were discussing. "He followed you without a second thought," Tom said.
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 92