Bourn’s Edge

by Barbara Davies

  Several spectators clapped and called out Cadel’s name. He puffed out his chest. Tarian resettled her grip and took up her position opposite him once more.

  “Even if you win,” she said, “how long before someone else takes Mab’s fancy, and she manoeuvres them into challenging you?”

  “Why should that worry me?” he said, unperturbed. “No one can beat me. And as long as that remains so, I’ll be the Queen’s champion.”

  “Haven’t you worked it out yet?” She whirled her morning star round her head. “With Mab, being champion is not just about the fighting. Are you good in bed too? I was.” Her gaze raked him from head to toe. “I’d say you’re not.”

  With a roar he charged, and this time Tarian wasn’t quick enough. Spikes smashed into her shoulder, sending her reeling. The agony lancing through her flared even hotter as the spikes tore free. She sank to her knees and clapped a hand to her shoulder, from which waves of agony now radiated. Sticky warmth seeped between her fingers. She clenched her jaw and tried to control the pain.

  Cadel’s supporters, meanwhile, were on their feet and cheering, and he had raised his fists in victory.

  Cassie’s depending on me. It took all Tarian’s strength, but she managed to get her legs under her and stagger to her feet. “The contest isn’t over yet,” she shouted.

  Cadel turned to look at her in amazement, and the cheering died away.

  “The rules are that I must be incapacitated or I must concede, is that not so, Herald?” called Tarian.

  The herald unrolled a scroll and glanced at it. He nodded.

  She stooped, the movement making her want to throw up, grabbed the morning star’s handle with her left hand, and straightened. “I—” Her voice was a husk so she cleared her throat and tried again. “I do not concede.”

  “But surely,” objected the herald, “you are incapacitated. Your majesty?” He appealed to the Queen who had been frowning at Cadel’s victory but whose eyes now gleamed. “What say you?”

  Mab put a finger to her lips. “Are you incapacitated, Tarian?”

  She ignored the trickle between her fingers. “Not yet, your majesty.”

  “Very well.” Mab turned back to the herald and gestured. “Let the contest continue.”

  He gave her a respectful bow then waved to Tarian and Cadel. “Proceed.”

  Once more the combatants faced one another. Cadel eyed her blood-soaked tunic with dissatisfaction. “Can you still fight me?”

  “Don’t worry about me,” she said through gritted teeth. “I can fight as well left-handed as right.” It was almost true.

  Gripping the handle in her left hand, she shifted her weight onto the balls of her feet. This was her last chance to save Cassie. She must use it wisely and well. And since using this pig of a weapon conventionally had got her nowhere . . .

  That she used it left-handed may have helped. That she used the two-foot long handle rather than the ball probably added to Cadel’s confusion. Whatever the reason, when she lunged forward, grasping the handle with both hands and driving it deep into his midriff, he was unprepared.

  Air whooshed from his lungs, and he doubled over. He was still trying to catch his breath when a flick of her wrist sent the heavy ball, and more importantly the chain attached to it, snaking towards his legs. His look of outrage when the links wrapped themselves around his ankles and she tugged them out from under him would have made her laugh in other circumstances. But she had no time for humour.

  Let’s finish this.

  She tore his own morning star from his grip, raised it, and brought the spiked-ball crashing down. The blow jarred her shoulder, and for a moment she felt light-headed. But it passed, and she straightened and regarded the bloody pulp that had been Cadel’s head.

  That surely counts as incapacitated.

  For a long moment there was no sound, then the spectators let out a roar of approval. Tarian dropped the morning star, which left a deep dent in the turf, and turned to accept the plaudits.

  The herald was trying to get the excited Fae to calm down. When the noise had diminished to a murmur, he announced, “And the winner is: Tarian daughter of Brangwen daughter of Eyslk.”

  Gingerly, Tarian bowed to the Queen. Her shoulder was excruciating. All she wanted was to find somewhere quiet to gather her strength and heal herself.

  “You have fought well, Tarian,” called Mab. “You deserve your prize.” She gestured to where Cassie was sitting, and Einion sliced the mortal’s bonds and urged her to her feet. The dogs rose too, tongues lolling. Tarian started towards them, but Mab’s next words froze her in her tracks.

  “As for the loser. Let all here bear witness. Cadel has disgraced not only himself but also his Queen. Such a crime deserves the most severe of punishments. I will unmake him and appoint Tarian champion in his stead.” She raised her hand and pointed a long finger at Cadel.

  The dishonour of it shocked Tarian. “No!” she blurted, positioning herself in front of the supine Fae and wondering even as she did so why she was defying the most powerful woman in Faerie. It wasn’t as if she owed Cadel anything.

  Mab’s smile dimmed. “I am your Queen, Tarian. I can do what I like.”

  “It would not be just, your majesty. For he fought fair.” If you discount that flash of light during the spear throwing. “‘Concede or be incapacitated,’ those were the terms. And see.” She gestured with her good arm. “He is incapacitated.”

  Tarian turned to the herald to back her up, but he seemed too petrified to speak. With a scowl at him, she ploughed on. “Cadel has served you well for two years, your majesty, both in your bed and on the battlefield. He deserves gratitude and healing at your hand, not death. And you know full well I have no desire to resume the post I relinquished. Let me take my prize and go, I beg you.”

  “Beg me?” said Mab. Every shred of good humour had disappeared, turning her beautiful face ugly. “It sounds more like defiance than entreaty. Do not defy me, Tarian.” Her tone was steely. “Stand aside.”

  “I fear I cannot.”

  Mab seemed to swell with rage, and on all sides courtiers edged away. “This is intolerable! More. It is treason. And all present knows the penalty for that. Stand aside, Tarian, or I will unmake you instead.”

  Fighting the urge to hunch her shoulders, Tarian stood her ground.

  “As you wish.” Mab pivoted until her finger was pointing at Tarian. Her face was white marble, her eyes chips of flint.

  Tarian closed her eyes. I wonder if it will hurt? She was beginning to shiver and feel light-headed. At least it can’t feel any worse than this shoulder. She had no regrets. Except one. I hope Einion sees Cassie safe home before Mab takes out her anger on her.

  “Please don’t kill her.” The voice came from in front of Tarian.

  She opened her eyes. Cassie was standing between her and the Queen, bracketed by Drysi and Anwar, their hackles raised. The protective gesture touched Tarian, but to see such courage wasted in such a futile cause . . . Belatedly it dawned on her that the Queen looked startled rather than angry. She felt a twinge of hope—audaciousness and courage had always intrigued Mab.

  The Queen lowered her arm and regarded Cassie with raised brows. “Give me one good reason why I should not unmake Tarian. And have a care, mortal. For one false word could also spell your doom.”

  “YOUR MAJESTY.” CASSIE sketched a curtsey. “Why unmake Tarian when she can be of use elsewhere? It seems such a waste.”

  “Her use to me is my only concern.” Mab glanced over Cassie’s head at Tarian, her expression becoming as sullen as a teenager’s. “I had expected more gratitude, more loyalty.”

  Ah, there’s the crux of the matter, thought Cassie. Mab’s feelings are hurt. “But if your wish is never to see her again, your majesty, wouldn’t banishing her serve you as well?”

  “I banished her once.” Mab gestured at Tarian. “Yet here she stands.”

  “Ah, but you didn’t really let her go,” said Cassie. The
Queen’s brows drew together. “You thought she would come to her senses, didn’t you? Realise what she had left behind and choose to return. But she didn’t.”

  The Queen folded her arms. “Is this leading somewhere?”

  Cassie’s heart beat faster. She didn’t deny it. “I have a question for you, your majesty. As Queen of the Fae you can do anything. Correct?”

  A look of pride overtook Mab, and she threw back her head. “Of course.”

  “Even make someone love you? With a love spell or something?”

  Mab tapped her foot and said with obvious irritation, “Get to the point.”

  “I beg your pardon.” Cassie flushed. “My point is this. You could have made Tarian love you, yet you chose not to. Why?” When Mab remained silent, she went on. “Wasn’t it because making her love you would have made such love meaningless?”

  “Pah!” said Mab. “How sentimental you mortals are.” But there was an air of bluster about her. “We talk not of love. Tarian is my subject, and subjects obey their Queen in all things.”

  Cassie looked down at her hands, then up again. “She is yours to command? To do with as you please?”

  Mab gave an impatient nod. “Of course.”

  “Then could you give her to someone else? Me, for example.”

  Tarian’s intake of breath was drowned by the Queen’s exclamation. “You?”

  Cassie worked hard not to feel nettled. “Why not? You have a surplus of champions, your majesty, but we mortals have none. It would be a generous gift, much appreciated.”

  “Is she mad?” Mab spoke over Cassie’s head.

  “No, your majesty,” came Tarian’s voice. “She’s brave and resourceful and worthy of your admiration.” The words brought a glow to Cassie’s insides.

  Mab snorted. “Now I know the world has gone topsy-turvy and you along with it.” Her gaze returned to Cassie’s face. “You hardly know Tarian yet you are willing to defend her as a lion would her cubs. Once her true nature is revealed, though, your feelings towards her will change. Mortals have weak stomachs.”

  “If by that you’re talking about her love of violence,” said Cassie, “then I’ve seen her at her worst. She killed four men with no more thought or emotion than if she were killing vermin. But it was for my sake, your majesty. She risked her life to save me. How could I hate her for that? She was my champion, your majesty. May she not continue to be so?”

  The silence that followed seemed endless.

  “Well, this is touching,” said Mab, sounding both resigned and bitter. “Perhaps I should unmake you both, for if one dies the other will surely pine.”

  Her lip curled, and when she fixed her eyes on Tarian, traced a shape in the air, and spoke what sounded like gibberish, Cassie feared the worst. As a pale green light engulfed Tarian, Cassie was convinced she had failed. But as she watched, terrified, Tarian’s haggard expression eased. And when Tarian’s hand dropped from her shoulder, and Cassie saw that the flesh beneath the gashed and bloodstained tunic was whole once more, the sheer relief made her giddy.

  “My thanks, your majesty.” Tarian bowed, then stepped forward to join Cassie. The dogs looked up at their mistress with adoring eyes, their tails wagging.

  Then Mab gestured again. And this time the green light settled over Cadel. The healing spell took longer to work on him, perhaps because his injuries were so severe. As skull fragments and mangled flesh moved, knitting themselves back together, Cassie pressed a fist to her mouth and tried not to be sick. At last, he stirred, let out a groan, and sat up.

  A ripple of applause greeted what had obviously been a powerful working. With a casual wave, Mab dismissed it, and turned back to Tarian.

  “The time has come to put an end to this dance, Tarian.” Mab sounded tired, and Cassie wondered if it was because using her magic had drained her or due to something more. “Once, we brought each other joy, but these days there is only pain.” Mab expelled a breath. “But as I have been so recently reminded, I am the Queen and may do as I please. Very well. Though I could make you love me, I will not. Which leaves but one option.”

  Her lips moved, and she gestured at herself. Cassie exchanged a wide-eyed glance with Tarian as the tiredness and anguish disappeared from Mab’s eyes and her face smoothed. Mab exhaled and stretched out her arms, the way one does after putting down a burden carried for too long.

  “It is done.” She smiled, but when she returned her attention to Tarian her smile dimmed. “You fought well today, Tarian. Take your prize and go. And do not return. For I have expunged all affection for you as though it never was.”

  At her words, Tarian’s jaw worked. Cassie grasped her hand. It felt icy to the touch.

  “Cadel.” Mab beckoned. He threw a triumphant glance at Tarian before getting to his feet and hurrying to join his Queen. She placed her hand in the crook of his elbow. “Let it be known that Cadel is once more my champion,” she announced in ringing tones. “And let it also be known that, henceforth, Tarian daughter of Brangwen daughter of Eyslk is no subject of mine. Faerie is barred to her forever, and if she should return a second time,” her eyes flashed, “I will unmake her.”

  Tarian’s face was impassive, but her tension transmitted itself through their clasped hands. Cassie squeezed her fingers, and Tarian gave her a sideways glance before bowing her head to the Queen.

  “As you will it, so shall it be,” she murmured.

  Mab nodded. Then without another word or a backward glance, she turned her back and strolled away, arm in arm with her champion, her dog trotting at her heels.

  TARIAN’S HORSE AIMED a petulant kick at Anwar. The wolfhound evaded the hoof and tried to nip a fetlock in reprisal.

  “Hey!” said Cassie. “Pack it in, you two.”

  Cassie was ill at ease in the saddle, so Tarian had declined the second horse Einion offered, mounted up behind Cassie, and was keeping her steady with a hand round her waist. The warm press of Cassie’s jean-clad hips against her thighs was a pleasant bonus.

  She sucked in a lungful of air and tried to commit its fragrance to memory. This time she would not be coming back.

  “Are you all right?” Cassie twisted to look at her. “You’ve been very quiet.”

  “Just tired.” She guided the horse left onto the bridle track.

  “I’m not surprised. All that fighting. And that was an awful wound you took.”

  “I’ve had worse.”

  “As bad as Cadel’s?”

  “Mm.”

  Cassie shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the sight of his head knitting itself back together like that. It was decent of Mab to heal your wound as well.”

  “And unexpected.”

  Mab’s gesture, surprising as it was, had come as a welcome relief, for Tarian had been too exhausted and in too much pain to take on the task herself. Einion would have healed her if she had asked him to, but still . . . The tiredness she felt now was more mental than physical, she suspected. It was strange to think she no longer held a special place in Mab’s affections. She could not deny that, though it had been a nuisance at times, it had been flattering to have the Queen enamoured of her.

  A glade full of wildflowers appeared up ahead, and at its centre shimmered the faint haze that was the boundary between the worlds.

  “I remember this,” said Cassie, looking around.

  Tarian reined in, dismounted, and helped Cassie down.

  With a grunt of relief, Cassie rubbed the feeling back into her legs. “Why do they make horses so wide?” She crossed to a clump of wildflowers and stooped to pick them. “These are nice. Such a wonderful scent.”

  Tarian tied the reins to the pommel, so they wouldn’t get tangled on a branch, slapped the horse’s rump, and sent it back the way it had come. The dogs chased the panicked animal, just for fun, until it was out of sight, before bounding back to Tarian’s side.

  “Bad dogs,” she told them, but she didn’t mean it. They rubbed their cheeks against her, inviting h
er to pat them.

  “Here.” She turned to find Cassie holding out a posy of blooms in pastel shades. “These are for you.”

  No one had ever given Tarian flowers before and for a moment she was at a loss. “Thank you.” She tucked them in her belt.

  “Will you miss it?” Cassie indicated their surroundings.

  “There hasn’t been a day when I don’t. Come on.” Tarian held out her hand.

  “Come where?” Cassie took it.

  Tarian pointed to the shimmer.

  “I’ll have to take your word for it. I think I can feel it, though. Like static electricity.”

  Tarian stepped towards the boundary and gave Cassie’s hand a tug. “It’s a shame we had to return the horse. We’ll have to walk once we cross.” She took another step. “Ready?” Cassie took a breath and nodded. “Here we go.”

  In the course of the next step their surroundings flickered and changed. Suddenly it was drizzling, and no longer midafternoon but early morning, judging by the light. The flower-strewn glade had become a rough clearing, the muted sounds of the waking forest replacing the loud trill of the blackbird, and the temperature had dropped. One second the dogs weren’t there, the next they were, sniffing around the clearing and cocking their legs against a tree.

  Cassie looked at the massive oak tree and the ash. “Are we back in Bourn Forest?”

  “Yes.” Tarian released her hand and pointed towards the trail she always used. “This way.” She pushed her way between the branches, then realised Cassie wasn’t following her. Puzzled, she went back. Cassie was standing by a narrow trail on the other side of the clearing, frowning.

  “I’m sure I came this way,” she called. “Look. Hoofprints.”

  “Maybe so,” said Tarian. “But my way is shorter and will bring us out in my back garden.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so?”

  Tarian smiled and set off along the trail once more, Cassie at her side, the dogs bringing up the rear. The foliage was dripping and it wasn’t long before they were wet too.