Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  It hurt.

  Waves of pain and anger washed through her. His.

  Anger, bitterness and grief throbbed in him, beat in him. She wanted to ease it as she had Healed his wounds but she couldn’t.

  There was nothing for it, though, but to go on, because if nothing else she needed Morgan’s strong sword arm. It wasn’t as if there hadn’t been enough corpses in the now dry moat for him to get one.

  None of them had dared suggest Morgan wear a dead man’s clothes, but Gordon had had a spare set in his sack. Morgan now wore them, although they were a little short and tight across the chest and shoulders.

  They were an improvement, however, on the rags.

  He stood up, swinging the sword lightly, the muscles in his chest flexing.

  During his time in the dungeons he’d lost a little muscle tone. He’d have to get it back before he found his traitor. There was a long way yet to go.

  Kyri turned her palms over, looked at the burns on them. They pained her.

  “Ready?” Morgan asked, and then frowned, seeing the raw red marks on her slender, pretty hands. “What did you do to your hands, Princess?”

  He was closer in that title than he knew.

  “I touched something I shouldn’t,” she said. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  Gordon looked at her.

  She shrugged.

  What choice did they have? Morgan also knew the ground here far better than she did.

  She looked to Gawain, who raised his hands helplessly.

  They left the beach behind, fighting through the dunes and scrub to higher ground, to the high mountains and valleys that fell down to the sea behind them.

  Chapter Forty One

  There was an odd sense of being watched, a peculiar feel to the air, a sense of prey being stalked by a predator. Kyri looked over her shoulder uneasily. It was growing closer. She glanced at Morgan and then back at Gordon and Gawain to see if they sensed it, too.

  Morgan nodded in confirmation. “I feel it, too.”

  “What?” Gordon asked.

  “Don’t you feel it?” Kyri asked.

  Gordon shook his head.

  But then, he’d been town born and bred, the only thing that had ever hunted him had been Hunters, briefly and they hadn’t stalked them, they’d just ridden in.

  Kyri turned to Gawain. “Do you feel it?”

  “A sort of crawly sensation between my shoulders?” he asked, a little bewildered.

  “That would be it,” she acknowledged, with a glance at Morgan.

  It wasn’t just nerves then.

  To Kyri it was both like and unlike their times of old, a constant ache, a reminder of what she’d lost, but a comfort as well. Still, she missed the old Morgan, his warmth, his humor, his kindnesses...and him.

  There was no softness to him now, he’d buried that deep. Had imprisonment alone done this? Who was this traitor he searched for? What had happened?

  She supposed she’d find out soon enough. For now, they had a different problem.

  “Hunters?” Morgan asked.

  “Not mountain cat,” she answered, “or bear. Wolves would be more honest. And men wouldn’t be so patient. So I would say yes.”

  “Then we’d better run,” he said.

  Unslinging her bow, she strung it quickly as she ran and notched an arrow.

  “You know how to use that?” Morgan asked, eyeing her.

  Tossing her pretty head, she slanted him a sideways glance from those pretty aquamarine eyes.

  “I could give you lessons,” she said impudently, lifting her eyebrow and chin in challenge.

  Something about the gesture and the tone gave him a sudden strange sense of déjà vu.

  It was odd, but he liked both the gesture and the attitude.

  “Prove it,” he challenged.

  She grinned.

  “Are you ready to run?” she asked, giving them all a quick look.

  They nodded.

  “Go,” she shouted, and spun on her toes, sighting down the trail before she let fly.

  Flight itself would trigger the Hunt, draw their pursuers out.

  It did.

  She drew and fired, drew and fired.

  The first Hunter burst from cover and she took him in one clean shot.

  He fell, howling, bowling over the two behind as the others scrambled for cover. She already had another arrow notched and sent it whirring after them.

  Completing her turn, she raced after Morgan, Gawain and Gordon.

  “How’s that?” she asked as she caught up.

  Morgan glanced at her. “Save your breath for running.”

  But there had been a glint of approval in his eyes.

  She smiled. At least some things hadn’t changed.

  Behind her, the howling and baying began again.

  “How are they finding us again so quickly?” she said in furious frustration.

  Kyri had a sudden memory of Oryan bent over the scrying bowl she’d given him, watching his son in it.

  Her heart sank and her eyes closed briefly.

  Haerold had Oryan’s scrying bowl. That had to be it. She didn’t want to think about what that meant.

  Was Gordon right? Was Oryan dead, too?

  They raced across the summit of the mountain, around a corner and came to an abrupt halt at the edge of a chasm.

  Below there was nothing but saw-toothed rocks and scree, a long, long way down. To either side was the long, slippery, shale-coated side of the gorge. It was open, with no cover in either direction.

  Morgan let out a breath.

  They were trapped.

  So much for his revenge. Typical. His freedom hadn’t lasted as long as a day. But he wasn’t giving up. He wasn’t dead yet.

  Nor would he let them take the boy if he could prevent it.

  Whatever else, Gawain had been tough and uncomplaining so far, reminding Morgan often of his father as they walked.

  Oryan. A small pang went through him.

  Then there was the woman beside him with her pretty eyes and quick wit, her sudden bright smiles.

  He turned, to look back along the trail past Gawain and Gordon.

  To Gawain’s credit, the boy had his sword out and gave some sign he knew how to use it.

  So did Gordon.

  Morgan glanced at the man. “Ex soldier?”

  Gordon gave a sharp nod. “Served in Oryan’s army. Wouldn’t serve the bastard what unseated him.”

  Morgan turned to Kyri.

  Kyri said, “There’s another way.”

  This would only add to their danger, she thought, but there really was no choice.

  Even with the four of them against so many Hunters the risk was too great that someone would get hurt. Especially Gawain.

  As one they all turned to look at her, something in the tone of her voice preparing them.

  Nothing, though, could have prepared them for what came next.

  A pair of great gossamer wings slowly unfolded around her, brilliantly, catching the light, the feathers as clear as crystal, sparkling in the sunlight, as if a thousand rainbows were caught in them.

  Watching her wings open was one of the most breathtakingly beautiful things he’d ever seen, Morgan thought and he’d never get tired of seeing it. Not that he’d admit that.

  “She’s a damn Fairy,” he said instead, closing his eyes a moment, ramming his sword into its sheath.

  Something moved in him, an odd sense of loss and wonder.

  Her eyes narrowed a little, an eyebrow arched a fraction.

  Damn, she was beautiful when she was angry.

  “This damn Fairy is going to save your life.”

  Awed, Gawain breathed a sigh of amazement. “Where have you been hiding those?”

  She glanced at him in bemused amusement, her head cocked incredulously.

  “Under my shirt.” Then added, more gently. “I’m Fairy, Gawain.”

  For a moment the boy blinked, as both Morgan and Gordon gave a bar
k of laughter.

  “Better make it fast,” Morgan said. “I’ll go last.”

  Remembering another night not so far in the past, she shot him a look and said dryly. “You always do.”

  For a moment he stared at her but she’d already turned to Gawain.

  “Gawain, when I come back this way grab my wrist and hold on tight, let go only when I tell you.”

  Kyri took three running steps and launched herself into the void.

  It was glorious to fly again, her wings catching the air, spreading as she caught the thermal. She shot up and turned on a wingtip back toward the others, her hand outstretched.

  Morgan tried not to watch but it was an incredible sight and not least because she was lovely to look at, slender where she should be, curved where she should be, the sunlight glittering on her wings as they stroked. Her short hair fluttered around her fine-boned face, her eyes resolute.

  Her hand and Gawain’s met and Gawain suddenly found himself airborne, floating over the chasm.

  It was incredible, exhilarating… An old memory stirred, of fire and flight. A voice. His father’s… Terror and wonder.

  The sky had been filled with gossamer wings. One pair in particular, familiar, and yet not. And a male Fairy with a kind face…

  “Let go,” she said, as she swooped over the other side and released his hand.

  Gawain obediently let go. He dropped, rolling and tumbling a little on the other side, but safe.

  Turning again, she found the thermal and shot up, to come around the other side of the gorge.

  “Gordon,” Kyri called.

  The man turned, startled.

  “Your arm, man,” she shouted.

  Gordon looked at her dubiously but what other choice was there? Get eaten by Hunters? He’d seen it done and it hadn’t been pretty. The memory still gave him the shudders.

  Up his arm went, holding on hard as his hand slapped against her forearm. She lifted him as if he weighed nothing it seemed.

  Strain screamed through her wings and shoulders, but Kyri ignored it.

  Diving a little so she would gain more height with his weight and drag, she released him on the other side and turned for Morgan, just as the first Hunter crested the rise.

  “Morgan!” she called.

  He looked up.

  Looked at the Hunter.

  Looked at her again.

  It would be close. Too close.

  Instinctively, he thrust his sword into its sheath, turned, ran and leaped into space.

  As if they had practiced it a thousand times, their hands and wrists came together tightly and she lifted, her lithe body arching to take his weight.

  Suddenly she shuddered.

  Morgan looked behind them.

  A Hunter stood on the other side with a bow in his hands.

  Morgan looked up to see the arrow sticking out of her back, blood staining her tunic and some part of his heart wrenched. Yet save for that quiver, she didn’t falter an inch until she set him down, going to one knee when she landed, her face pale and strained.

  Panting a little, she looked back at the Hunters and with an effort only he could see, got to her feet.

  Defiantly, she lifted her chin and then stuck her tongue out at them, batting her eyes at them with a sardonic smile.

  Even Morgan had to laugh.

  It was the first time Kyri had heard him do that since they’d found him.

  For a moment, only a moment, the coldness left his eyes.

  Maybe there was hope yet.

  As far as she was concerned the pain in her back was worth it, then, if only for that.

  The wound wasn’t serious that she could tell.

  That didn’t mean it didn’t pain her.

  “Don’t just stand there. Would someone pull this thing for me?” she asked, plaintively. “It hurts.”

  Morgan had no doubt of it.

  He set his hand to it, wincing internally as he looked at it, felt it thrum beneath his hand.

  “It’s caught on a rib. This is going to hurt.”

  Glancing over her shoulder at him, raising an eyebrow, she said dryly, “More or less so than leaving it in?”

  “Point,” he acknowledged, admiring her courage, fortitude and humor. “Ready?”

  Still, the thought of hurting her made something inside him ache. She seemed so small, so fragile. It had to be done though, and quickly would be better.

  Kyri braced herself, wishing Galan was here…but he wasn’t and she dared not call him.

  She was alone here. More so than she’d ever been.

  She nodded.

  Grasping the arrow, Morgan braced himself. His hand on her hip, he turned the arrow quickly and pulled.

  She arched, a thin cry escaping her and then she stood panting a moment, swaying, pain bowing her proud head as she fought and struggled with it.

  Quickly, he wrapped an arm around her to support her, holding her, watching as she absorbed the pain. Her eyes stared up at the sky blindly, blinking slowly, panting as the worst of the pain slowly passed. For a moment she simply breathed.

  This close he couldn’t fail to notice, even in her pain, how beautiful she was, her firm lips parted, those long-lashed blue-green eyes lovely. He could smell the scent of her, soft and light, the brush of her short curls like silk against his cheek. She was strong, full of courage. For a moment, a moment only, she turned her face to press it against his shoulder for comfort.

  Inside him, something that was cold, shifted and cracked. She shivered and he was suddenly aware of how close, how warm, her body was, too.

  As much as Kyri loved his arm around her, it also made her heart ache. There was the scent of him, of Morgan, the strength of him, the sheer physical presence of him. It was torture of another kind. She didn’t dare open her eyes to see him standing so close. She would want his mouth on hers…wanted it now with an intensity she nearly couldn’t bear, a pain greater than the one in her back.

  It would break her heart. Again.

  So she made herself nod.

  “I’m well enough now,” she said, softly.

  Her Fairy constitution would hold against most injury….

  “Are you sure?” Morgan asked doubtfully as she trembled in his arms.

  “Yes,” she said, and was sharply aware of the absence of his arm when he drew it away.

  With a sigh, she pulled herself together in more ways than one, drawing up the ends of her tunic and wrapping them around her waist to control the bleeding.

  On the other side of the chasm, the Hunters howled their frustration.

  She glanced at Gordon, Gawain and then at Morgan, all frowning a little, worriedly.

  Taking a breath, she looked at them evenly.

  “It might be best,” she said, “if no one mentions I’m Fairy. Not to anyone. It’s worth my life and more than my life if you do.”

  Morgan looked at her, surprised by the depth of concern in her voice. “Why?”

  It was Gordon who answered, his voice thick with disgust.

  “For the bounty on her, ya mug, the bounty on Fairy. Haerold’s bounty. ‘Tis said he eats folks like Fairy for lunch and that’s not just a turn of phrase, either. Then there are our own folk, who would as like to tear her apart just for the feathers on her wings. ‘Tis said they have the power to hold off magic.”

  Kyri looked at him, as Gawain touched the feather in his pocket in awe and looked at her.

  Hunted for her feathers? The thought made Morgan’s jaw clench.

  Out of old habit, his fingers rubbed at the talisman he wore.

  What the hell had happened while he’d been gone?

  Chapter Forty Two

  Even the rebel bands appeared to have gone into deep hiding Morgan noted as they walked. How much had they lost since he’d been gone? A lot, from what he was seeing. They’d been so close to succeeding when he'd been taken. But people’s eyes were once again furtive, suspicious and afraid. Most folk went around with their heads down,
avoiding a direct look from anyone for fear of provoking the wrong person. His jaw tightened as he saw Haerold’s soldiers harass an old woman in a square, laughing. Her clothes were shabby, threadbare.

  Almost everywhere he saw signs of poverty, people beaten down.

  Quietly he asked, “What happened to the Marshals after I was taken?”

  Those memories he held at bay by sheer force of will, his jaw tight.

  Gordon shook his head, his voice low, too.

  “Most of them spent some time searching for you, trying to find out what’d happened, to find out where you’d gone,” he said. “Where they’d taken you, where they had you, but no one could.”

  Something inside Morgan loosened.

  They’d looked.

  “Haerold went after them with a vengeance,” Gordon said, his expression bleak. “Some was arrested. There were public trials. A man named Corvin was drawn and quartered. It was gruesome to watch, but no one asked whether anyone wished to. With no single leader, they fell into separate groups. Some worked good, some didn’t.”

  Morgan nodded. He could guess the good ones and the bad. Corvin had been one of the good ones.

  Someone had a lot to answer for. His jaw tightened again, grateful for the reminder.

  It pained Kyri to hear that Corvin was gone and even more for the manner of his death. She hadn’t known of it. Whatever else, he’d meant well.

  What of Detrick, then? Some of the others? She feared for some of her friends.

  They waited until they’d circled the town, avoiding the soldiers there, before they hitched a ride on a passing wagon.

  Kyri wondered how long it would be until they scried for Gawain again, if they were scrying.

  As much as she could, she tried to block the connection, but that would only work as long as she was awake. And how much good it did she didn’t actually know. She could be wasting energy, but she had to try.

  Her only comfort at the moment was the fact that this was an average road for almost anywhere in the Kingdom, surrounded by grain fields such as one would find almost anyplace and the wagon a normal wagon. Nothing was distinctive.

  But it worried her.

  “Something on your mind, Kyri?” Morgan asked.

  She’d been pensive and quiet for some time yet, which wasn’t normal for her.