The woman’s eyes sharpened. “Has he now?”
“Brigit,” one of the women said, riding up with the broadside in her hand.
Taking it, Brigit nodded as she turned it so that Morgan could see it. “Well, it seems you’re right, he is.”
In large hand-scripted letters it said, “By order of the King, any and all who give support to the rebellion in any manner or way is sentenced to death on point of sword. A reward of one hundred golds is offered for the traitor known as Oryan, once King, the boy Gawain, his son, Morgan, once Marshal and Kyriay, the so-called Queen of the Fairy, dead or alive. A reward of fifty golds is offered for any information leading to the arrest of any or all of the above, or any of those who support them.”
“You’re worth a lot dead, Morgan,” Brigit said, shaking her head. “What can we do for you?”
“If you want to fight, head north and west, someone will come for you. Warn the villages that more of these will be coming.”
“Most of us have children to care for yet, but we’ll spread the word,” she said, “folk will come.”
Certainly Lord Mormont’s estates seemed to be thriving, Kyri noted as she drew closer. Like Colton’s, although Colton had only been a landowner, it was one of the few that were.
Well tended grapevines were spread over most of the hillsides, while clover spread across one or two and cattle grazed in another. Folk moved about the fields and lands serenely, their gait slower than those outside Mormont. His demesne certainly seemed to be the one part of the Kingdom that Haerold had left untouched.
A large sprawling house of whitewashed stone with a broad veranda sat in the midst of it all. House and veranda were both capped with reddish earthen tiles. To one side a large pergola, covered in more grapevine, gave a cool, shady place to retire at the end of a long day of work. Broad green lawns surrounded the house, save for the long avenue of tall oak trees that lined the drive on each side. It was very structured and very pretty.
There was a certain amount of excitement when folk saw her approach, a servant running into the house calling out excitedly as she dropped slowly to hover lightly far enough from the shadowed veranda to be out of bowshot. Hovering wasn’t terribly easy but Kyri didn’t want to be caught on the ground if she could avoid it.
It was only a moment or two before a man stepped between the wide leaded-glass doors.
Mormont matched his lands.
Not quite as tall nor as strong in the chest as Morgan, he still gave the impression of power and he was a striking man, with deep black hair combed back from his face and dark, liquid fathomless eyes. He eyed her curiously, if calmly and then bowed slightly.
“To what do I owe a visit from Kyriay, the Queen of the Fair?” he asked, his voice light and well modulated.
So, he knew her.
Kyri studied him curiously as well.
He was a very contained man, difficult to read. Nor could she sense much from him either.
Mormont stared right back at her
“King Oryan asked me to speak with you,” she said.
“Did he?” he responded, giving nothing away.
“The time has come to choose which side you are on, Patraic of Mormont,” Kyri said. “Haerold moves against Oryan.”
“And why should I choose,” he said, “when I can stand aside and simply watch?”
She looked down at him. “What will happen to your fine estates, Patraic, if Oryan falls? Will Haerold have any further need to allow you to prevaricate in your commitment to him? He’ll demand his tribute or he’ll simply come and take it as he did in Dorset. There will be nothing standing in his way, not the rebels who have occupied his time until now, nor Morgan’s Marshals, now that Morgan has returned. Your willing cooperation and assistance against Oryan will no longer be needed, or standing aside, which serves Haerold just as well.”
With a wave at the surrounding lush fields, she said, “Knowing Haerold, how long will it be before he comes in and simply takes?”
For a moment those dark eyes simply looked at her. He nodded. “A point. And if I choose to back Oryan?”
She stared.
“You would negotiate?” she said amused. “Negotiate this. Stay. If we succeed, Oryan will still treat with you, but he’ll remember. And if Haerold succeeds? If we fall for lack of your aid, the result is the same, Patraic.”
“And if I move in Oryan’s cause, Haerold will send his Hunters here.”
“Then you’ll have to choose, those who will let you fall, or those who would help you rebuild,” Kyri said. “It’s your choice. Oryan asked me to come, I came.”
Her wings started to stroke, lifting her backward and up.
“Wait, Kyriay,” Mormont said. “Did I hear you say that Morgan has returned?”
She nodded. “Morgan is back.”
It made a difference.
“Tell Oryan I’ll come. Myself personally, with all those I can raise.”
Looking at him, Kyri considered it and shook her head. “I don’t know if we want you. Should we then look to our flank for betrayal?”
His eyes flashed with anger, the first sign of emotion he’d shown. “I’m only trying to keep my people safe.”
“Those who would give up liberty for security gain neither,” she said. “Think of these last years, my Lord Mormont, when you negotiated with Haerold. Have you felt either safe or free?”
He stood back a little, crossing his arms. “No.”
“And Oryan?” She spread her hands eloquently.
“How do I prove myself to you?” he demanded.
“Trust comes when it’s given,” she said, looking into the shadows of the veranda.
For a moment he looked at her. Then he walked down the steps, putting himself between her and his men, gesturing them to lower their bows. “Where do we go?”
“North. Keep away from the main byways. One of my people will come to you.” She looked at him. “Will my people be safe with you?”
Fairy were still few compared to men.
He held out his hand. “My word on it.”
Kyri took it.
As a gesture of good faith he offered her a meal, out on the lawn in the open, giving her nothing he hadn’t first tasted himself, inviting his wife and children out to join them. That last was all she really needed as proof but she understood then his concern and caution.
Despite the earlier tension, it was a very good meal and Patraic good company. He gave her a brief explanation of the different types of wine grapes and how to tell them apart by their leaves, serving her a light white wine as his children tried to sneak touches of her wings. She pretended not to notice, twitching them out of the way to make them giggle.
By the end of the meal she had more of a sense of the man.
“My men are already calling up my levies, we’ll start moving north immediately.”
She smiled. “And mine will be here come morning to help you keep out of Haerold’s sight, if we can.”
Nodding, he offered her his hand again. This time she took it easily.
Once she was safely airborne, she sent a message to Galan to let him know that Mormont had agreed to send his levies and that she was turning for her next contact, a rebel band led by a man named Michael.
Chapter Fifty Nine
The closer they came to the central plains and Remagne, the more difficult it was to travel unnoticed. It was also getting closer to the time when Morgan knew he would have to turn north again, back toward Oryan. Sending men to him was one thing and he trusted that Deandra would have begun basic drills but to turn them into a truly cohesive fighting force was a different thing altogether. A matter of weeks wasn’t really enough, either, but he had some ideas on how to solve that problem.
A flutter of wings above had his heart lifting, until he saw that it was Galan.
Then he saw the fear in Galan’s eyes.
Kyri.
His heart clenched. Something inside him went still and cold. He closed his eyes for only a moment a
gainst the pain.
“What happened?” Morgan said, tightly.
His mouth thin, his brown eyes worried, Galan said. “We don’t know, Morgan. She’s disappeared. No one can find her, nor can we hear her. All we know for certain is that she’s not dead. We would know.”
Something inside Morgan eased. He hadn’t lost her then, not yet.
But if they couldn’t sense her it meant she had iron or around her, or was underground, as he’d been.
As Galan clearly feared, it was far too easy for Morgan to picture her as Galan had been, trapped in an iron cage, her magnificent wings clipped. It nearly destroyed him to think of it, but that wouldn’t do Kyri any good.
“How long has she been gone?” Morgan asked.
“Most of the night. I heard from her yesterday afternoon after she left Mormont,” Galan said, heartsick. “She told me she was going to one of the rebel camps in the south. I kept waiting to hear back from her and when I realized how long it had been, I tried to call her.”
There had been no response.
“Go back to Oryan, tell him we’re going after her,” Morgan said, turning to Caleb. “You spent time in Remagne, is there any way into Haerold’s dungeons?”
Caleb smiled grimly, fearing himself for Lady Kyri. “Funny you should ask that, Captain, for as it happens, there might be. Didn’t you never wonder what I was doing in Remagne, me being a country boy? I was looking for a way in, in case you was in there. Then, all of a sudden, there you was. Out.”
“But there is a way in?” Morgan asked.
“Maybe yes, maybe no,” Caleb said. “But it looks like that information is going to come in handy after all.”
Morgan looked at the others. “This isn’t your responsibility.”
All of the men had seen Kyri come and go by now, she’d shared meals and laughter with some of them in times past, healed one or two.
They looked back at Morgan and waited without question..
“All right,” Morgan said, relieved and grateful. “Thank you. How do we get into the city without being noticed?”
If they had Kyri there, they would be watching for him.
“We get us a wagon, Captain,” Caleb said, “and we fill it with hay. Put an old country-man like myself on the seat. Tie the horses to it and bring them in to market, with our folk hiding in the hay. It’s an old trick, but it still works.”
It was some hours later that an old farm wagon trundled toward Remagne’s western gate. Intended for trade, this wasn’t a grand entryway like the main gate, but a simple iron-clad set of doors leading into the back streets of the city. A small line of wagons similar to it, some bearing produce, some fowl, some pigs, waited, all trying to get through the gates before midday.
Buried under the hay, chaff teasing his nose, the wait was terrible. It took an effort for Morgan not to allow himself to imagine what might be happening to Kyri. Instead, he concentrated, ‘calling’ to her, shouting in his head. He didn’t know if she heard, but he tried all the same, sending her reassurance, love, encouragement. It was all he could do until he could do more.
The wagon lurched forward, stopped, lurched forward again and then finally rumbled over the cobblestones.
Cooler shadows fell over the hay.
A clatter of horses going by caught Morgan’s attention. Guards, heading for the gate? Normal? He didn’t know.
The wagon turned and then Caleb knocked on the side.
“C’mon out,” he said, “quiet like.”
Morgan and the others slid out from under the hay, brushing it out of their hair and clothes.
“Where are we?” Morgan asked.
“Courtyard behind a closed inn,” Caleb said, “they couldn’t make a go of it, not since Haerold made himself King. Bad enough when he was Lord here. Now no one wants to come. Now what, Captain? We don’t even know if she’s here yet for sure.”
“Will your contacts know?” he asked.
Caleb shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Depends. Hart has a brother in there, was looking to get him out. Our interests was the same. I helped him, he helped me.”
“Make contact, get things started. I know someone who’ll know,” Morgan said.
His breath catching, Caleb thought he knew who it was.
Jacob, and he’d betrayed Morgan before.
“Be careful, Cap’n.”
With a nod, Morgan headed out to the street, pulling his hat low over his eyes.
It was a risk, a pretty good risk, of betrayal once again.
But for Kyri, Morgan would take that risk.
One way or another, at least he would know if she was here.
Chapter Sixty
It was dark, dark and damp wherever Kyri was and she hurt all over. Pain radiated from her wrists where cold iron burned once more, from her wing joints at her back and her head. A brief flare of near terror went through her at the pain in her wings, remembering Galan and what they’d done to him, but the pain wasn’t sharp. They were intact.
For the moment she was alone.
Stiffly, she tried to move, her feet looking for and finding purchase on the hard stone floor, which took the weight of her body off her wrists where they’d been shackled above her head. Dried blood cracked on her arms. She flexed her stiff hands to get the circulation going and looked to each side.
They’d drawn her wings out and secured them against the wall, but as far as she could tell they hadn’t been damaged significantly and the relief she felt was nearly overwhelming. Tears stung her eyes. It wasn’t, however, a comfortable position to be in by any means. Her wings were only meant to be spread in flight, supported by air, or folded. Stretched this way the muscles strained.
Her ribs ached, too, setting up a chorus of aches and pains from bruises.
Slowly, the memory of what had happened returned.
The rebel camp, a small one. She’d been careful. At least two sources had confirmed it was supposed to be safe, Oryan’s people and Detrick’s had both verified it. She’d called down and everything had seemed fine as she’d hovered briefly, a tall man with brown hair and brown eyes stepping from the tent. Then she’d noticed the children seemed frightened…that there were the hidden nets to each side, one dropping from above even as she looked up. She’d tried to fly out and then the rock a man slung struck her in the temple.
She vaguely remembered a tunnel of sickly green light.
A portal.
Now she was here, although she didn’t know where here was, as it wasn’t familiar.
But she had a very good guess.
A door opened somewhere nearby, hinges creaked and multiple footsteps came down the passageway. Guards? Or someone else?
Kyri took a long slow breath to prepare herself.
And then she heard Morgan’s voice in her head, ‘calling’ to her.
Morgan.
Her eyes closed with relief. To be that clear, with stone and iron between, meant he was close. He was in the city. And he knew she’d been taken. Her throat tightened.
“Well,” a voice said.
She opened her eyes.
Haerold stood before her with his wizard Queen and the brown-haired man from the camp.
It was the first time Kyri had been this close to either Haerold or his Queen. The resemblance to Oryan was faint at best. Of a height with him, they both had longish faces, but all resemblance between Oryan and Haerold ended there. Haerold was darker in both hair and complexion, bearded, his brown eyes much darker than Oryan’s. Some would have said Haerold was the more handsome of the two, but Kyri much preferred Oryan’s homelier, more lived-in face to Haerold’s sharper features.
Haerold’s Queen was beautiful in appearance, if cold and remote, her eyes distant and uninvolved, her features a little too strong for true beauty so she appeared more striking than truly beautiful, save only for her porcelain skin. As always, she had her pendant on, her long fingers playing with it idly.
“Patterson,” Haerold said, with a nod to the man.
/>
The man stepped up, smiled. He backhanded Kyri hard, splitting her lip instantly. Her head rocked back. Kyri tasted blood.
“It seems,” Haerold said, “he has a problem with the High Marshal. Perhaps if you tell us where Morgan is…?”
Since he hadn’t actually asked a direct question, Kyri decided silence was best.
Haerold looked at her. “No?’
Patterson struck her again. Her head slammed back against the wall with the force of the blow. Her cheek throbbed.
“Not too much on the face, Patterson,” the woman said. “We want people to recognize her.”
That didn’t bode well, either.
“Tell us then where Oryan is,” Haerold asked.
Since she didn’t know that either, as the camp had undoubtedly moved as soon as they’d realized she’d been taken, she couldn’t answer that either. And so she stayed silent.
The next blow was aimed for her ribs and took the wind from her. Something crunched inside her. Pain flared. With an effort she forced her body to relax, to not fight for breath and it came back to her slowly, but there was a sharp pain in her ribs each time she tried to breathe.
“All you have to do to end this is tell us where Morgan and Oryan are,” Haerold said with a nod at Patterson. “Let’s try something different.”
Patterson pulled out a leather quirt from his packet. He flicked it hard against her arms, belly, legs, raising welts, each snap of it sharply painful, stinging.
“Tell us where Morgan and Oryan are and it ends,” the woman said, running her fingers through Kyri’s hair.
The woman was using the pain as a distraction, her mind probing Kyri’s, peering down into the cup of her pendant to try to see Kyri’s thoughts.
Focusing on the pain, on each sting of the little whip, Kyri kept her mind a blank. For Fairy and for the Fairy she was, mind magic was her nature and second nature, although she would never have used it this way.
In disgust, the woman released her and spun away, shaking her head.
Morgan’s voice whispered in her inner ear, ‘Hold on, we’re coming.’
“Let’s try another tactic,” Haerold said, his dark eyes narrowed in his long, thin face, stepping closer.
Song of the Fairy Queen Page 42