Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  At one table a foursome played a game of cards with nearly ferocious intensity.

  The price of cheating in a place like this would be quite high – very likely your life.

  In a corner a trio crouched to roll dice against a wall.

  Others sat at tables and nursed their beer or talked in low voices.

  Deals were made, items were sold or traded. Not all of what was sold was in the tavern. Some of it was human.

  Jacob was happy. He was right in his element. There were half-naked barmaids, ale and whiskey, dice and card games. Life didn’t get better than that. He sighed contentedly and glanced at Morgan across the table.

  “You need to get out more, Morgan,” Jacob said.

  He pulled the barmaid into his lap for a quick slap and tickle – he tickled and she slapped at him playfully – before he boosted her out of his lap again, with a smack on the bottom to send her on her way. She was homely, but available.

  “I get out enough,” Morgan said, amused, and sipped the poor excuse for ale that they offered in this place.

  It had been more than a month since he’d slept in a bed. He was fairly certain however that wasn’t what Jacob meant. He wondered whether Jacob shared the barmaid’s bed. It wouldn’t have surprised him.

  “When was the last time you had some of that?” Jacob asked, with a lift of his chin at the over-endowed barmaid with her plain face and generous hips, confirming Morgan’s guess.

  Morgan stared at him levelly. He wasn’t going to answer that. Sad to say, he simply didn’t have the time and most of the women he saw of late didn’t interest him. Most of them.

  There was only one he seemed to want these days.

  He needed to get his mind away from that.

  “What do you hear?” Morgan asked.

  Staring into the swill that they called whiskey here, Jacob’s nose wrinkled as if he smelled something unpleasant. In this place, that said something.

  A frown flickered across Morgan’s brow as he saw something in Jacob’s eyes he hadn’t seen before. Discomfort, a touch of uneasiness. Jacob could handle a lot of things, as Morgan knew, so when something disturbed him...

  “This town is bad, Morgan,” Jacob said, his voice low. “You and I, we’ve seen a lot of bad…but this place is worse.”

  Like Morgan, Jacob had spent most of his life in the Marshals. Most of it had been spent in Morgan’s company, so the two of them had seen a lot of bad. It was hard to imagine too much disturbing Jacob.

  Oryan had neither a constabulary nor a standing army. What he had instead were the Marshals, who performed both duties as necessary, either as individuals or a group, as investigators, judges, or as a quick strike force capable of holding an enemy until Oryan could gather his levees and call up the militia. Together and apart Morgan and Jacob had fought reavers of all kinds, from the raiders in the North, to bandits, thieves and slavers in the south, murderers and madmen at one time or another. There was little they hadn’t seen.

  Haerold had moved his capital here to Remagne, firing and then abandoning Caernarvon completely and so Jacob had come here. This was where the action was.

  Jacob looked around, his sharp brown eyes wary.

  Shaking off his mood, he said with a grin, “I hear plenty, though. One thing I hear is you got Haerold pretty pissed off. The Marshals send their regards… damn, Morgan...”

  He shook his head, still grinning, but this time in admiration.

  “Haerold got the message. I heard he lit up when he did,” Jacob said, with satisfaction. “The Hunters weren’t too happy either. Be careful, Morgan, next time they’ll be ready for you.”

  It wasn’t a surprise, but Morgan appreciated the warning. He’d be more than ready for them, too.

  “What else?”

  “A lot of men being sent north and west.”

  “Dorset,” Morgan said.

  “At a guess.”

  The shadows were back in Jacob’s eyes as he lifted them to look at Morgan again.

  “Morgan, he’s taking prisoners. Haerold, that is. The dungeons are getting full. The stuff I hear about what goes on in there… His own men don’t like to talk about it but they do, always in whispers, always looking sideways to see who’s listening. What they do say would give any man chills, much less what they don’t say. There are rumors about a secret prison. Those that go there are never seen again.”

  Frowning, Morgan said, “He’s torturing them?”

  “And worse, or so rumor says,” Jacob replied, his eyes lowered once again to his cup. “Although I only have hints of that. Something about using them to raise power, but I’m no wizard, so don’t ask me how…”

  He looked at Morgan. “There are also no wizards in this city any more who aren’t his wizards. Any that could have fled have, the rest are…missing. Like the others.”

  There was a disquieted look in Jacob’s eyes.

  It was less than Morgan had hoped, but not surprising given the small amount of time that had passed. Jacob was still earning his trust among folk who rarely gave it. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a lot of time to give him. Haerold wouldn’t wait for them to organize themselves.

  One thing was certain, Morgan thought, pulling his hat down over his eyes as he left the tavern, Remagne hadn’t been improved by the relocation of the King’s seat here.

  He’d always found Haerold’s city to be more than a little claustrophobic. Once you got deep enough inside you couldn’t see the high stone outer walls but somehow you knew they were there all the same. Whether you could see the walls or not, you couldn’t miss the castle in the center of the city from almost anywhere within it, it was like the spider in the center of its web, the towers and spires of it rose high above even the tallest building. It clearly suited Haerold, but Morgan found it an uncomfortable city to visit, much less to live in. He’d found the people to be a taciturn lot, too, and no wonder. A man of few words, even he found these folk singularly uncommunicative.

  As he made his way through the streets, few tried to meet his eye. Fewer still smiled and the only laughter he heard was in the meaner taverns like the one he had just quit.

  People of higher means didn’t have much to laugh about and most would likely not want to draw undue attention to themselves.

  A patrol of guard rode by, careless as to what their horses splashed up from the street around them. Given that folks here tossed their slops buckets as much into the streets as into the drains, the few people who wandered the streets at this hour kept close to the shop fronts and houses.

  Caleb glided out of an alley to join him. “Cap’n.”

  “Any success?”

  Caleb had thought a friend or two that might have been able to help them reach a wizard.

  With a shake of his head, Caleb said, “No. From what I hear, the last of the free wizards in Remagne got rounded up before ever Haerold attacked Caernarvon.”

  “Jacob said the same.”

  Caleb’s basset hound eyes looked worriedly at Morgan. “There’s some what say Haerold uses ‘em for power.”

  It was the second time it had been said.

  “How is he doing that?” Morgan asked, frowning.

  “No one knows, for certain. What is certain is that anyone with magic is running for the borders,” Caleb said. “Any border.”

  Leaving the Kingdom with no wizards save for Haerold’s.

  It wasn’t good news. Morgan sighed. He needed to report to Oryan.

  He didn’t dare call Kyri or any of her people into this city.

  As the days passed he’d begun to depend on the Fairy more and more. Kyri had been right about their skills with a bow, from above they were lethal. As scouts they were unparalleled. It was their healing skills, though, that were the most prized, but even among the Fairy, healers were rare. Norris still had two good arms, thanks to Kyri. But she and Galan were the only two Healers close.

  The cities of men, however, were not the place for the Fair.

  Especi
ally not this city.

  With a sigh, Morgan resigned himself to a long ride and turned them north.

  Distracted, Morgan paced while he waited for an answer to his Call, rolling his head on his neck to relieve the tension in it. He was tired. It was taking time to organize both his own people and the rebellion. Necessary time, but time they could scarcely spare. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. His Marshals were successfully managing to keep the Hunters from being able to inflict too much damage on the people of Oryan’s Kingdom. They also wreaked havoc with Haerold’s supply lines and tried to delay his assault on Dorset. The last word he’d heard was that the main army had paused. That wouldn’t last long and he wasn’t certain why it had stopped.

  None of them could be everywhere at once, though, so there were still villages they didn’t reach in time.

  The Resistance was slowly coming together, but figuring out who to trust and who not to was a dangerous business for everyone.

  The problem, of course, was that Haerold’s people were also getting organized, changing tactics and strategies.

  Lack of sleep weighed on him, dulled his senses. He was nearly asleep on his feet and that wasn’t good. He shook his head to clear it.

  “Hail Morgan,” a voice called, startling him completely awake, as a familiar figure dropped out of the sky above him.

  Instantly, he checked his swing.

  “Damn it, Kyri,” Morgan swore and slammed his sword back into its sheath. “Warn a man when you do that.”

  Kyri shot upward, out of range… and looked down in surprise…

  Morgan looked tired, frustrated, worn.

  He also hadn’t even come close to hitting her, for all his concern.

  That wasn’t good.

  Lifting an eyebrow, grinning daringly, she chided teasingly, “Missed! Morgan, you’re getting slow…”

  “Slow?” Morgan drawled, dangerously. She’d scared the hell out of him. He’d show her slow.

  She rose delightedly out of reach when he snatched for her, as if it were a game.

  To her no doubt it was.

  Eyes alight, laughing, her iridescent wings lifting her out of harm’s way, she added insult to injury by snatching up the sack containing his uneaten dinner.

  Morgan made another grab at her, refusing to admit his mood had lightened.

  Kyri darted away, flying on a wing around a tree, her pretty eyes sparkling.

  Settling on a branch out of his reach, swinging her shapely legs and munching contentedly on his meal, she said, “I’ll share.”

  “That’s mine,” Morgan pointed out.

  She grinned.

  Licking her lips, taking another handful, Kyri thought about it, and shoved two more of the fried potatoes indelicately into her mouth.

  “All right,” she said, agreeably, and kept eating. “These are good.”

  Morgan gave up, laughing.

  That was more like it, Kyri thought, smiling.

  Sticking one finger into her mouth, she sucked on it, slowly, to lick all the salt off.

  Watching, all the blood in Morgan’s body shifted, hotly, to another location. He swore she did it deliberately, just to torment him.

  Her eyebrow arched.

  “Want some?” she asked playfully, leaning forward a little to hold out the sack to him, the light in her eyes dancing.

  The pose was a little provocative, the little shift dipping between her breasts, giving Morgan a tantalizing glimpse…Heat moved through him.

  It was good to see Kyri acting more like a Fairy. She was also clearly enjoying herself.

  So, Morgan suddenly and ruefully admitted to himself, was he.

  He snorted at her words, and then laughed. “Yes, thank you.”

  She tossed him the sack neatly.

  Catching it just as neatly, he said, “I didn’t call you so you could torment me.”

  Tilting her head a little, wings fluttering for balance, she considered it and grinned. “Didn’t you? A pity, that.”

  Looking up at her sitting so prettily on the branch, her beautiful, mobile face smiling, shapely legs swinging, crystalline wings beating lightly for balance, he suddenly wasn’t sure and didn’t care. He hadn’t seen anything so fetching in his life.

  Their eyes met for a moment and they both went still.

  “So,” Kyri asked, softly, her heart suddenly beating slow and hard, “why then did you call me, Morgan?”

  It was a reminder neither suddenly wanted.

  “I need to see Oryan,” Morgan said.

  Letting out a breath, Kyri nodded. “As it happens, he’s not that far away. You look tired, Morgan. Sleep for a while. I can stand watch for a time and take you to him in the morning.”

  Even Morgan had to acknowledge his own exhaustion. His muscles twitched with weariness. Caleb wasn’t much better off. The rest of his people were waiting to the north. It had seemed best at the time if only he and Caleb made the risky journey into the city. Now he rethought that position.

  With a sigh, he nodded. He’d agreed to take the first watch to contact Oryan. Now he had.

  The offer was definitely appreciated.

  Her wings fluttered softly and she dropped down to the ground.

  “Sleep, Morgan,” she said quietly, “I’ll watch.”

  Caleb had barely stirred through all of this, a sure sign of how exhausted he was.

  They needed to be careful, being that tired in their situation was dangerous.

  Somehow having her there made it both easier and harder for Morgan to sleep. As tired as he was, he settled into his bedroll but still found it difficult to settle.

  Rolling over onto his side, he studied Kyri of the Fair.

  Moonlight washed over her, silver light sparkling on her wings. She’d settled on a rock not far away, her legs drawn up to her chin, knees bent, with her arms wrapped around them and her wings curled around her. A quiver of arrows and her bow were set between her wings. Her chin was propped on her knees. All you could see of her truly was her feet, bare as always, peeping out from beneath her wings. It was a curiously fetching picture and he fell asleep with that image in his mind.

  The night settled into the sound of the wind and soft breathing.

  Kyri turned her head to look at Morgan. Something within her softened. In the pale moonlight, with his eyes closed, she couldn’t see his brilliant eyes, but she was all too aware of the rest of him, of the man who was Morgan. Strong, purposeful, handsome.

  They needed him, it didn’t do that he was so tired.

  She sighed, cast her senses out onto the night.

  There would be no surprises. Not this night.

  Chapter Eleven

  Above and around them, the great tent billowed lightly in the summer breeze. Morgan had teased Oryan about how he was ‘roughing it’. Oryan smiled a little at the memory. A curtain separated the sleeping quarters from the rest. Beneath their feet broad carpets covered the grass and earth, giving it a more homely atmosphere. A table Geoffrey insisted could be assembled and disassembled in moments sat in the center of the ‘room’. Another smaller one in the corner served as Oryan’s desk.

  That wasn’t all Geoffrey had somehow found and liberated. There were wine cups, plates and even silver. It gave some semblance of place.

  Oryan paced across the tent, shaking his head slowly.

  Of all the news that Morgan had brought, it was the last that puzzled him the most. The rest, imprisonment and torture, the hunt for wizards, none of it truly surprised him. But that last…

  “He’s halted,” Oryan said. “You’re sure?”

  Equally grimly and just as puzzled, Morgan said, “My people and Kyri’s have confirmed it. He’s within striking range of Dorset but his people have set camp. The army is spread out across the plain.”

  “Intimidation?”

  Morgan shrugged, and shook his head, gesturing. “Probably to some extent. He’s close enough but it’s hardly necessary, Philip knows he’s outmatched. Your guess there
is as good as mine. From there, though, he can strike almost anywhere.”

  “He’s up to something, but if not intimidation, then what?” Oryan said, restlessly. He waved it away. “And you weren’t able to find a wizard?”

  Morgan shook his head. “All who could’ve fled did – for the border according to Caleb’s sources. Given what I heard from both Jacob and Caleb I don’t blame them.”

  “He’s using them for power,” Oryan said, looking to Kyri. “How is he doing that?”

  The thought made Kyri uneasy and her wings fluttered. “I don’t know, there’s nothing in our magic anything like it. But clearly they believe here is a way. If they believe it, it’s very likely true. If so…”

  She couldn’t imagine it, a life taken to give power to another. The thought made her shudder. It seemed like madness and perhaps in a way it was.

  With a sigh, Morgan said. “I thought you should know, Oryan.”

  Oryan nodded, head bowed, considering it.

  “There’s no sense continuing to try to find a wizard, then,” Oryan said. “We’ll have to manage without.”

  With no wizard he couldn’t hide from the scrying. He had to resign himself to staying on the move. If even a fraction of what they believed Haerold was doing was true, then he strongly suspected there was only one group of people Haerold was scrying for more often than himself – his fellow wizards.

  Realization dawned, sent shock waves through him.

  Turning to Morgan and Kyri, Oryan said, “That’s why he gathered so many wizards to him in Remagne before the attack on Caernarvon.”

  Morgan went still, taking a deep breath, before nodding. “Marking them all, bringing them over to his cause. Eliminating them, or using them.”

  Oryan said, “The reports of wizards disappearing, or being arrested? Storing them for power?”

  In horror, Kyri said, “He opened a dozen portals across Caernarvon. The power needed for that would have been tremendous.”