by Phil Parker
‘She’s beautiful isn’t she?’
They both blushed, Islene’s huge eyes found mine and made no attempt to hide their mischief.
‘Islene is what your people call a Pixie.’
It triggered astonishment from him, boredom from her, I smiled at both of them.
‘I told you the Fae liked to collect different races.’
Luke have me a sideways glance. ‘Why did they collect Pixies?’
Her movement, while graceful and sinuous, was also fast. She was in front of Luke, pressed close against his body before he had time to react. He didn’t know what to do and her chuckle was like tinkling bells.
‘We’re good in the bedroom.’
It generated a red-cheeked blush that leaked down to the guy’s neck, yeah, he was straight all right, his rush of blood was definitely heading south. Islene turned away, her embarrassment of my companion complete, she focused narrowed eyes on me.
‘Why are you here? You’re exiled after killing Llyr and from the gossip I hear from the castle, you’re Lady Nimue’s paladin too. Is all that true?’
All I could do was nod.
She turned, moved towards a cupboard in the kitchen area, took out a flask and three small glasses, poured a green liquid into each one, handed them out. Luke glanced at me as he sniffed it, I knocked it back in one go, he made the mistake of sipping the bitter liquid and pulled a face.
‘All the soldiers I’ve ever met know how to drink,’ Islene said, the mockery evident in her voice.
It got the desired reaction, he downed the rest of the drink. I wondered if she’d chosen it deliberately, we’d got drunk on it on so many occasions in the distant past, with Mahon.
‘What is that stuff?’ Luke screwed up his face to show is distaste.
I grinned. I was sure he thought it was some Fae concoction and I savoured the opportunity to challenge his view of my people.
‘Absinthe. During the nineteenth century human artists called it the Green Fairy. It’s one of the things the Fae introduced into your culture.’
Islene refilled our glasses and held up hers for a toast.
‘To heroes past and present.’
We each downed the contents.
‘So why are you here?’
Islene took our glasses and placed them by the sink in the kitchen, Luke didn’t take his eyes off her the whole time.
‘Someone’s trying to murder me.’
She shrugged.
‘You must have quite a list of suspects by now.’ Eyes the colour of sweet chestnuts watched me carefully. ‘And this human is your bodyguard? To begin with I thought he was another of your lovers.’
I caught Luke rolling his eyes. Islene ignored him, she’d turned serious again.
‘Bringing a human here is stupid, even for you Robin. If Taranis catches you…’
She let the possibility speak for itself. Her eyes, once so alive and full of mischief, held so much sadness now. I noticed lines around those eyes that weren’t the result of laughter, I could see tears weren’t far away. I pulled her to me, held her tightly and felt her sob quietly into my chest. I looked over her head at the man who watched us with genuine sympathy.
‘Islene and I joined the Trooping Faeries at the same time. We fought side by side on quite a few campaigns, didn’t we, my little mustard seed?’
She looked up at me and sniffed. There was stuff she wasn’t telling me, probably because Luke was with me, perhaps because she didn’t know if she could trust me either, as Nimue’s paladin. There is no better way to get old soldiers to talk openly than when they reminisce so I did just that. I jerked a thumb at the door.
‘I noticed you still have the design I drew for you.’
I felt her nod her head against my chest as she took deep breaths.
‘Why mustard seed?’ Luke asked. He was using the same distraction technique, I smiled my thanks at him.
‘Look at her. Small and fiery. You should see this woman fight. I’ve seen her take down men twice her size.’
‘Like you two.’
She wiped her eyes and grinned, plonked herself onto the armchair while I perched on its arm and hugged her. The Islene I’d known would never have let me do anything so protective so I knew things were bad. The barren shelves that had once held pictures I’d drawn hinted at the cause.
‘Tell me about Mahon, Islene.’
The tension in her shoulders stiffened significantly.
‘We stayed loyal to Oberon, even after his mind had gone. That was our mistake.’
I took a breath, she wasn’t sniping at me I realised. The question of my loyalty to our High Lord had achieved a higher profile than theirs, Oberon himself had orchestrated a witch-hunt against me and I’d escaped to the human realm just to stay alive. All the same, it was a brave thing to do, to stick by a madman.
‘Llyr destroyed the Trooping Fairies one by one, he knew he couldn’t usurp his father without our cooperation and we wouldn’t provide it until Oberon was dead or the Dark Court ruled him incapable. You know what Mahon was like. Never could keep his mouth shut.’
I hugged her tightly as I thought of the man built like a bear on the outside who could be as soft and loving as a teddy to those he loved. I felt my chest tighten at what I knew was coming.
‘They came for him one day. I didn’t see him again.’
‘They?’
‘Taranis.’ She jerked a shaky thumb in the direction of the castle beyond the wooden walls. ‘The bastard had ambitions of becoming First Minister when Llyr was crowned High Lord. Until you killed him and wrecked his plans.’
‘No wonder he wants to kill me then. And you, my little mustard seed, you’ve not kept your mouth shut either, have you?’
She leapt out of her seat, turned to face me, this was the firecracker I’d always known.
‘A wife has the right to ask what’s happened to her husband. Especially when she’s fought for the very people who live in that fucking castle!’
I reached out, took hold of the incredibly small hand that shook visibly now, squeezed it and pulled her gently back to the chair.
‘You thought Taranis’s men had come for you when we burst in.’
She started to sob again.
‘We’ll find out what’s happened to him Islene. I promise.’
Luke had the good sense to stay silent though his face had another message. Islene threw her arms around me.
‘I’m so pleased you’re here.’
I’d done it again. The expression on the other man’s face echoed the rational part of my brain busy telling me to stop making vows that made life so bloody complicated. If one half of my head was saying I was stupid, the other half was busy reminding me that Islene and Mahon had been my best friends growing up, the only ones to accept me for who I was. I wasn’t going to renege on them when they needed me.
Islene released me, her tear-stained eyes held purpose now.
‘You two stand out like a virgin at a pixie wedding!’ she said and beckoned us as she moved to the bedroom. ‘Some of Mahon’s clothes might just fit you, they’ll help you blend in.’
She stood in the doorway as we undressed, making no secret of her interest in Luke’s body and ignoring his polite hints until I pushed her out and told her to make us a meal. Luke sniffed at a brown cotton smock with a wrinkled nose.
‘This hasn’t been washed.’
‘So we’ll smell like everyone else here.’
The smock was dropped onto the bed and a pair of corduroy trousers held up. The nose wrinkled even further.
‘Wearing another man’s trousers too. I’m glad we’re not sharing his underwear.’
‘We are.’
I placed my hands on the waistband of my underpants as though I was about to take them off, it earned a look of horror as Luke placed one leg into the trousers.
‘You should see your face!’ I laughed.
I read his attempt to punch me early enough to dodge out of the way but he wasn’t
so well-coordinated, with one leg partly in his trousers he tripped over and fell on the floor, the sight made me laugh even harder.
‘What are you two doing in there?’ Islene called from the other room.
Her scolding only made us both laugh even more, though the absinthe may have contributed to the mood. I couldn’t help but admire the man laid at my feet in a pair of tight and highly revealing underpants.
‘Don’t get any ideas…’
‘You’re the one throwing yourself at my feet!’
We laughed as I reached a hand to help him up. I noticed him look me over, like all men do in my experience.
‘You’ve got a lot of scars.’
He pointed to the plastic-looking dark pink smear of a burn on my thigh.
‘From the bastard who trained me. I didn’t hide well enough in a burning building so he decided to teach me a lesson.’
His finger shifted to a six-inch red line down my left side.
‘From someone who thought I looked good with a spear in me until he changed his mind and yanked it out to shove it somewhere else.’
‘I assume he didn’t succeed?’
‘No. I shoved it in him.’
It got a snigger. We’d entered the world of soldiers comparing scars, a competitive place where the winner was the one with the best story. I pointed at two red gouges above his pectoral muscles that matched those on his back.
‘Torture I assume?’
It got a tight nod. ‘Afghanistan. I was strung up for a day or so until my men found me, though I don’t remember that part.’
I nodded and lifted up a bare foot to show more plastic-looking skin.
‘A red-hot slipper.’
‘Nasty. It was a form of torture in the original fairy tales wasn’t it? I think it’s what happens to the sisters in Cinderella.’
‘Yeah. The Fae love their torture, it features in all the best stories. Got any more stories or do I win with that one?’
His grin widened.
‘I set off metal detectors with a bullet lodged in me.’
‘Where is it?’
Freckles stood out on his boyish face as he flushed slightly.
‘In a difficult place to reach.’
I shrugged. ‘Where?’
The guy laughed and pressed a finger against one buttock.
‘You got a bullet up your arse?’ I howled with laughter.
‘It was friendly fire. My best mate was behind me, he tripped and his gun went off.’
We dissolved into absinthe-triggered hysteria, the competition forgotten, lost in the joy of finding someone with so many shared experiences. Until a loud hammering on the outside door silenced us and we heard orders to leave the cabin. It had been a lifetime ago but I felt my pulse rate soar and the absinthe evaporate as the memory of the raids by the local militia returned. I whispered to the man at my side, dressing quickly now.
‘That brigade of boggarts we saw? They’ve come for Islene,’ I whispered.
Events happened quickly, perhaps the absinthe hadn’t cleared my system completely or perhaps it was the confusion in the darkness, either way I don’t remember anything very clearly. Islene had killed the lights as an automatic reaction, the militia must have spotted that as a sign to attack, they piled into the small cabin in large numbers. I have a memory of the room filled with the smell of creatures that belonged in the sty, though I’d deny ever making that comparison to Luke.
Boggarts are mean buggers, squat, solid and sadistic. Islene had been right to plunge the place into darkness, boggarts don’t have good vision, but in such large numbers we collided with them no matter what we did. Without weapons we didn’t stand a chance but they would have prolonged the fight if it hadn’t been for one of the lanterns smashing on the floor and setting the cabin alight. I remember one of the boggarts trying to cook my face, which started to stir Puck into action but before my psychotic friend could cause any real damage something hit the back of my head and darkness became a total experience.
Chapter 8
For a man scheduled to be crowned High Lord of the Dark Court, the Feeorin dragon riders showed me no respect at all. They mocked me every time a dragon didn’t follow my instructions. And that was regularly.
They stared at me now, blank-faced; rider and dragon alike. The man stupid enough to fantasise about training these dim-witted creatures, who deserved this humiliation for thinking he could succeed when no one else had, a kitchen servant promoted beyond his ability. I’d allowed my ridiculous ambition to lead me out of Mistress Cera’s kitchen and into a role where people tried to kill me.
I glanced across the sunlit meadow at the two spriggans charged with protecting me, except their commitment was half-hearted to say the least, they lounged against a gate chatting. They’d made no secret of the slur at having to guard a dark-skinned hybrid, even if he was getting a crown jammed on his head.
‘Are we waiting for anything particular? Because I’ve got things to do.’
I recognised Gwern’s caustic tone, he’d been using it all day. I looked up at the sullen pale green face of the Feeorin jockey, who held his dragon’s reins with casual contempt.
‘You leave when I give you permission Gwern.’
His contempt intensified, he’d come back at me with a smart remark, he always did. At least I’d finally got some command in my voice. All I had to do now was control the churning stomach and jelly-like feeling in my legs.
‘What are you going to do?’ Gwern turned to his fellow Feeorin jockeys who were already grinning as they guessed the punchline. ‘Demonstrate how to command a dragon to flick its head upwards again?’
They laughed uproariously. Gwern’s mount had stubbornly refused to lower its head until I grabbed its halter and yanked it downwards, shouting the command word. The animal replied by flicking its head upwards, jerking me off my feet so I landed on my back in front of an affronted dragon and jockeys who howled with laughter.
Behind me a low, throaty growl rumbled and the laughter stopped. Now it was my turn to grin, I reached behind me to pat the scaly nose I knew would be there.
‘No, I won’t Gwern. It was a mistake to use an animal so badly trained because its rider refuses to listen to my instruction.’
A green-lipped mouth began to open, I quelled it with a raised finger.
‘My wyvern learned that move in minutes. It must be a reflection of your poor quality instructions that your steed can’t do it after a whole day. I shall make sure Lady Mab is made aware of your failure.’
A green throat bobbed as its owner swallowed hard. I might be scared of the woman but the Feeorin jockeys were petrified of her beyond belief, there was a story going around of her ripping the arm off one of them.
‘Report back here tomorrow, same time and we’ll try again.’
I watched them turn, driving tons of uncooperative dragon flesh back to their section of the stables. The sight of a half dozen behemoths lumbering in their direction made the two spriggans abandon their conversation and the gateway in a hurry.
‘Thank you Cochrann.’ I pulled out some of her favourite feed pellets I always kept in my pocket. Cool, black lips nuzzled my hand very gently as she ate her treat, her sinuous neck curled around me and vibrated as she murmured her appreciation.
I sank to the ground and sighed heavily, depressed by the knowledge my confidence depended entirely on the animal already slithering around my body and making the noise you’d expect from a huge cat. She read my moods so well, I’d wondered if wyverns were psychic but decided she understood the words I used most frequently. I talked to her a lot, there was no one else.
A dark cloud chose to blot out the sun, it was a timely reminder that I couldn’t laze around in a meadow when my studies demanded my attention. I looked forward to them so much. Master Darragh would have bewildering theories of economics and, as if that wasn’t exciting enough, he’d share his views on the futility of teaching morons. I wandered around the meadow, searching for thi
ngs deliberately left behind by the jockeys, and left Cochrann to doze. I was so focused on my misery I didn’t notice the two figures appear until they were almost on top of me and even then, their attack was silent. One leapt at me as I looked up from collecting a metal bit from off the ground, I had the presence of mind to swing it at the snarling face as it fell towards me. We used them to direct dragons so they were strong pieces of metal, my swing didn’t have a lot of force behind it but the weight of the bit was enough to smash against my assailant’s head and cause blood to fly in all directions. He fell to the floor and didn’t move.
The second attacker was on top of me before I could do anything else. He was covered in spiky hairs that penetrated my thin shirt and dug into my skin, each one felt like a needle. The huge knife in his hand was going to hurt a lot more and I squealed in panic as he raised it over my throat. His face was almost on top of mine, I saw my fear in the black depths of his eyes and felt foolish to die such an ignominious death.
Until somehow my attacker got lifted off me with such force I squealed again, scared that others had joined him and they were going to do something awful. I looked beyond his shocked face, at the huge jaws and the white teeth sunk into his shoulders. Pain replaced shock and with its arrival the hairy figure screamed and struggled in Cochrann’s mouth, the writhing ended with a loud crunch. The corpse was tossed high into the air, it twisted as it fell, to meet her open mouth and slither down her waiting throat. With the tasty morsel consumed, my red girl threw her head back as though she was going to roar her victory but instead burped loudly. I laughed. Then I cried. The crying part lasted a lot longer.
I lay there for some time, staring at the body of the first attacker, horrified by the bloody remains of his head and by the fact my death was only prevented by the presence of my wyvern. For the second time I’d been lucky. I wasn’t going to hold out a third time and the realisation scared me into a state of immobility. When they found me, rocking backwards and forwards, they took me to a physician who said I was suffering from shock. It probably explained why I couldn’t speak.
When I did find words hours later I insisted on living close to Cochrann, it was the first time I’d ever insisted on anything. Messages between Mab and the servants flew backwards and forwards, she wasn’t happy about the heir presumptive living in a stable but her instructions led to the head groom vacating his rooms so that I could be installed instead. It wasn’t luxurious, hardly even basic, but I didn’t care, Cochrann was next door and that made me feel safer.