The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  ***

  Devin stood at the edge of the clearing looking at the remnants of Obair's life and tried to imagine what it must have been like to live here. The cottage was a tangled ruin and the barn and outbuildings were little better. He glanced over at Obair, who was watching the setting sun, and shook his head as he considered a life spent so utterly alone.

  The clearing was filled with as many men as could be crammed into it. Iron spikes extended from the ground around the circle itself, angled towards whatever might charge out of it into them. The ground was liberally strewn with tiny chunks of iron, whatever scraps that Harlen had managed to throw together in the end.

  Devin pulled an arrow from his quiver and fingered the rough iron arrowhead. “You're sure about these?” he called across to Obair. The old man was dressed in another set of rust-stained robes, which he had retrieved from the cottage, and held a new black iron staff, given to him by Harlen.

  “I'm sure of nothing, Devin,” the old druid said with a small smile. “Except that the fae will arrive here this night and that they see us all as their prey under the Wild Hunt.”

  Devin thought about all the times he'd been in the woods. The countless hours he'd spent stalking prey with bow in hand. The thought of suddenly being that deer, that prey was not an appealing one.

  Obair nodded at him once, as if he knew what he was thinking, and then walked through the press of men towards Rhenkin.

  “This is one hell of a gamble, old man,” the captain said, as he drew close. “If the Bjornmen attack while I'm here…”

  “I imagine the Bjornmen have their own problems right now,” Obair replied. “The fae are everyone's problem and the sooner humanity realises that, the better.”

  “So you don't think we'll stop them here?”

  “No. This is merely to buy us time, although it may just teach the fae that we're not the frightened rabbits they think we are.” He leaned the staff in the crook of his arm and scratched his scraggly beard.

  The village men and Rhenkin's small contingent moved uneasily around them, stretching their legs and fingering the unfamiliar weapons. Rhenkin had sent his field smiths to work with Harlen's forge and they'd worked the day through. Each man was armed with an iron-tipped spear and a short iron dagger. The weapons were crude and unwieldy, but at least they would be more effective than steel.

  The conversations started to drop off as the sun sank behind the trees. The men huddled closer together and large fires were lit for both light and warmth. The light from the fires extended no further than the men, and the stones remained dark as the first glimpse of the moon peeked through the trees. Rhenkin glanced at Obair and called out to make ready, but nothing came of it.

  A low mist began to form in the middle of the circle, lending an eldritch feel to an already otherworldly scene. The men began to mutter and look about nervously, as the moon crested the treetops and its pale light shone down onto the stones. Devin found himself holding his breath as the light moved slowly across the circle towards the monolith at its centre. He nocked an arrow but held the string loose, aware of others following his lead, despite the fact that they were soldiers and grown men, and he a boy not yet sixteen.

  As the moonlight struck the monolith an audible hiss sounded throughout the circle and men shifted and swore. A burning smell filled the clearing and the moss on the outer stones began to curl and blacken, before falling away to the ground.

  “Listen!” someone cried, and silence fell as everyone strained to hear.

  “I don't…” someone began, but he was quickly hushed by those around him.

  Devin strained to hear something, anything, but there was nothing more than the shifting of men, the crackle of the fire and the distant sound of birds. Then slowly he became aware of the music, a faint sound of flutes and bells coupled with a laughter that put him in mind of the Midwinter's dance. He stroked the fletching on his arrow, and watched the circle.

  It was like watching something step out of a pond, if the pond were somehow on its side. The air seemed to ripple slightly and then a leg extended, followed by another. The creature was man-sized, and dressed in a simple tunic and leggings. Around the circle, men moaned as they caught sight of its amber eyes. Then more passed through, fae and satyrs arriving, two or three at a time to start with, and then in groups of ten or more. They were laughing and chattering in an unknown tongue that somehow spoke of music and dark red wine.

  Devin drew back on his bowstring, sighting on a satyr dancing near the centre of the circle. He glanced at Rhenkin, wondering at the delay. The reason was clear on the captain's face. He stood entranced, his mouth agape and his eyes filled with wonder. Men around the circle were dropping their bows and smiling, as more and more of the fae stepped through.

  Devin looked around in dismay at the enraptured men and gritted his teeth. He took aim and drew back on the bowstring, sighting a fae close to the monolith who stood with his eyes closed, drinking in the light. He drew in a breath and held it, and then a female fae stepped through the portal, dragging a black-shrouded figure behind it on a length of silvery chain.

  His mind reeled as he took in the figure in black. Something about the way it moved called to him. The fae smiled a slow smile as she looked around at the men surrounding the circle and then her eyes met his. She hissed and a broad grin filled her face as she reached out to the hooded figure beside her. “Fie, fly, flee, little manling,” she whispered, yet the sound carried easily to his ears as she ripped away the shroud.

  Age had ravaged her. Her eyes had sunk into her wizened face beneath a mass of wrinkles and her cheeks were hollow, but he could not fail to recognise her. Their eyes locked and she reached towards him with one hand. Hundreds of tattered memories coalesced in one blinding moment. “Mother,” he whispered with lips that barely moved, “Mother.”

  A low moan swept through the men as a long, hoofed, foreleg stepped through into the clearing, but Devin barely heard it. His mind was on fire with pain and loss, and his eyes were filled with tears. He drew back on the bowstring. She would pay, this creature who had shaped his life in this most cruel of ways. He wiped his eyes on his bicep and took careful aim even as the massive creature stepped fully into the world.

  The arrow flew straight and true. He didn't even realise he was screaming until it veered from its path and spun harmlessly into the ground. He stared, stunned, at the buds and leaves sprouting from the shaft of the arrow and then looked to the centre of the stones.

  The creature had the body of a stag and the torso of a man. He stood in a stance of undeniable authority, holding one hand up as if he had halted the arrow by force of will alone. Moonlight washed across his bare shoulders and tiny sparks danced over his pale green skin, as he turned his antlered head to survey the crowd.

  “It seems we have guests, my children.” His voice was low, melodic, and utterly, utterly alien.

  As if his speaking had somehow lifted all restraint, Rhenkin screamed “Fire!” and arrows flew across the clearing into the centre of the circle and the massed fae. The antlered creature made a fist and his skin grew visibly darker as, with a splintering crack, every arrow shaft twisted, warped, and then snapped.

  “Spears!” cried Rhenkin and hurled his iron-tipped weapon into the crowd of fae. Four score more followed in its wake. The weapons were hurriedly made and poorly balanced, but some flew true. Blue fire flared as fae and satyrs fell screaming to the dirt, but more were already passing through into the circle in a steady stream that was still increasing.

  “Do you think to stop us with your toys of iron and wood?” the creature spat, his voice heavy with disdain. “To keep us from what is rightfully ours, with your little iron needles?” His eyes found Rhenkin's. “Watch closely, foolish manling.”

  He threw his shoulders back and closed his eyes as he lifted his face to the skies. The light twisted in the air and the clearing grew dark as shafts of moonlight formed and flocked to him. His body glittered with dancing sparks an
d when he opened his eyes, they glowed bright with amber fire. He raised one hand, palm upwards, and a shimmering mist appeared at his feet. “Follow, my children! Follow to the hunt!” he cried in a mighty voice, and he stepped up into the insubstantial air, the mist dancing at his feet.

  The creature cantered upwards in a spiral and the growing horde of satyrs followed, rising up above the crowd of awe-struck men on a path of shimmering mist. The fae sounded horns and waited. With a clatter of hoofs, pale white steeds charged into the circle to be held and swiftly mounted. Yet more fae, clad in silvery armour, rode into the circle, their white horses ascending, sparks flying from their hooves. Devin watched, helpless, as Miriam was dragged onto a horse and carried up into the night. He stood still, as silent tears ran down his face. Arrows shot into the sky but they had little effect. As the host rose into the skies, the horns began to sound anew, high and clear, calling the fae to hunt.

  Acknowledgements

  This book, and certainly this edition, would not have been possible without the patience, generosity and understanding of some wonderful people. I need to thank Clare Davidson, Anya J Davis, Vin Hill, Iain Watson and Melanie Corona for all of their help. Finally I need to thank Gillian Austin-King for being a sounding board, editor, therapist, muse and wife.

  Fae – The Realm of Twilight

  by Graham Austin-King

  Fae - The Realm of Twilight: Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Acknowledgements

  For Tristan

  Chapter One

  Gavin stirred in the darkness of the cellar and opened his eyes to the gloom. It was still some time before dawn, he could tell that much by the inky blackness. The room never really became fully light, even in the day, but there were enough cracks and missing stones to let small shafts of light filter in. This, though, was the true dark of night. He shifted slightly on the straw-stuffed sacks under the blankets that served as his bed and listened to the susurration of the children in the room around him, breathing in their sleep.

  He stared into the darkness as he wondered what had woken him up, and was just beginning to feel the edges of sleep reach for him again when he caught the noise - the faint sound of a bare foot and a metallic clank, followed by a whispered curse. He rolled out of his bed and picked his way to the corridor, moving more from memory than by sight. As he turned the corner to head towards the kitchen, the sight of flickering candlelight caused him to pause. Robbery among the Wretched of Hesk was rare, but not unheard of. There was little in the kitchen worth stealing - a small amount of food and perhaps some kitchen implements. The real value of the cellar lay in the shelter it offered.

  Gavin shifted his weight and prepared to ease into the kitchen, but then the light went out. A patter of quick feet carried easily to him and he swore silently as he followed. Trading stealth for speed, and trusting that the intruder's own noise would mask the sound of his passage, he made his way along the corridor as quickly as he dared as he followed. He clambered out over the broken stones of the partially-collapsed building that stood above the cellar, and made his way out into the night.

  The skies were clear and the half-moon lit the filthy alley enough for him to catch the shadow as it darted away. He swore again and raced after it. There was little point in stealth now.

  Gavin had been raised on the streets and, though his diet hadn't always been the best, his body was well used to racing through Hesk's back alleys and spider-web lanes. He was more used to fleeing than to chasing after someone, but running was running. A life of picking pockets and stealing from market stalls had given him good reflexes and fast feet. He ran out of the alleyway, as the intruder sped away from the backstreet slums and towards the city centre.

  A loose stone kicked away from his bare foot and clattered noisily across the cobblestones. He caught a flash of pale skin, as the person ahead of him glanced back and then sprinted through the night. “Shit!” Gavin lengthened his stride and strove to narrow the gap. His feet might not be as fast as the distant burglar's but his longer legs made up the difference and he began to close.

  Forgotten lanterns hanging on the occasional building spilled light out onto the streets, though most were dark and cold, and Gavin could easily see the distant figure as he ran. He allowed himself to drop back slightly. Catching the intruder would only answer half of his questions, he told himself. It would be better to discover where they were going.

  The streets were largely silent and, even at this distance, he could hear the slap of the thief's feet on the flagstones. They slowed and then stopped for a second before moving on. Whoever they were, they thought they had lost him. Gavin's grin was a flash of white in the dark as he ran on, silent feet carrying him after the distant footfall.

  The alleys and narrow streets slowly gave way to broader avenues as they moved into the richer areas of the city. Finally, as they approached the centre of the city, the intruder slowed and then stopped to look up at the darkened stone building that was the massive cathedral of the Church of New Days. The church had moved on since its early days and the chapel in the back streets of Hesk had long since been abandoned when the grand cathedral had been constructed.

  The Wretched had always been welcome in the church, and the priests had done their bit to keep them clothed and fed as best they could. A church orphanage had been open for a number of years now, but even those children that chose to remain on the streets could come there for aid. Street children from all over the city had learned to accept the place as a refuge, but there were rules. No theft would be accepted, even amongst each other, and fighting would result in a strict ban.

  Gavin's smile was mirthless. The thief would find no refuge in the cathedral. Every Wretched in Hesk knew that once the small side door closed at dusk, it would not reopen until the morning's first light. He watched as the figure moved towards a small, cobbled side street leading to the rear of the building. Where was he going? That route went alongside the high-walled cathedral gardens, leading to the opposite end of the building from the side door. Gavin's curiosity was aroused now, and he followed at a distance and watched.

  The figure reached into a sack, and withdrew a length of rope and a three-hooked grapnel. Gavin started as he realised that this was what had been taken from the cellar. Burglary was far too risky for most of the Wretched. It took a patience and skill that had taken him years to develop. He’d mostly given it up. It was too much of gamble, even for him, these days. Although he might be able to make more in one night than in two months of begging and picking pockets, the threat of having an eye put out - or worse - was enough to put him off. He wasn’t just looking out for himself anymore.

  The thief kept to the shadows as he shook out the rope and made sure it was tied fast to the grapnel. As he swung it experimentally, a lock of blonde hair escaped from under his dark, hooded cloak. Gavin looked at the figure again, taking in the slight build and lack of height, and swore as realisation dawned on him. He ran towards the figure, all efforts at stealth forgotten, and closed swiftly as the grapnel swung round through the air, crashing into the figure before it was loosed. The pair of them tumbled to the ground in a tangle of arms and legs, whilst the iron hooks clanged loudly against the stone wall.

  “Tessa!” Gavin gasped, as he struggled to his feet. “What in the hells are you doing?”

  “This doesn't concern you, Gavin,” the slight
young woman said, as she dusted herself off and bent to retrieve the grapnel.

  “Doesn't concern me?” he hissed. “The hell it doesn't! I haven't seen or heard a thing from you in almost a year. You vanish from the orphanage without a word. Now, months later, you sneak into my cellar in the dead of night to steal this thing.” He waved at the hook she was stuffing into the bag. “And this doesn't concern me?”

  “No,” Tessa replied, in a cool tone. “You really ought to go home. We've made enough noise here already.”

  Gavin sputtered at her as she coiled the rope neatly and threw the loop of the bag over her shoulder. He looked around quickly. Dawn was still hours away, judging by the light, but she was right. His attention was drawn by a sudden flash of lantern light reflecting on the damp cobbles. He grabbed at her arm and ran for the other end of the narrow street.

  “You there, stop!” The cry came up from behind them and the sound of heavy boots pounding on the cobbles echoed along the street, followed by the piercing sound of a whistle as they fled into the night.

  “Constables?” Tessa shot him a filthy look as they ran. “Really, Gavin, can't you at least try to be quiet?”

  He ignored her, pulling her across a broad street and into another narrow alley, its corners piled high with broken crates and refuse. The constables of Hesk were no serious match for any true member of the Wretched, but they could be annoyingly dogged. They ran through the alleyway, leaping over the rubbish that seemed intent on tripping them. A darkened doorway caught Gavin's eye and he pulled Tessa to a halt. They pressed deep into the shadows, her breath hot on his neck as they huddled back against the half-rotted door. The place had probably been a tanner's at some point. It had long since been abandoned, but the stink of ammonia and sewage still clung to the place.