The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “How could you possibly…?” Selena burst out, before managing to stop herself. Salisbourne gave a dry chuckle when he saw her expression. “Because it’s my business to know, my dear.”

  “I’m going to be frank, Selena,” Rentrew said, leaning forward to set his glass back on the table. “I know all about the Bjornmen. I’ve had to deal with some attacks myself, though nothing on the scale you've been facing. I’ve lost five or six villages and more troops than I really care to put a number to. What concerns me far more, however, is the lack of any response from Pieter.”

  Selena glanced around the table. Everyone's attention was fixed on her. What exactly had she wandered into here?

  “The response has not been what I would have expected,” she replied. It never hurts to be cautious.

  “What was his reaction today?” Salisbourne asked, resting his glass on his leg as he leaned forward.

  “He dismissed it,” Selena replied. “As I recall, he branded it a Browntree scheme to grab crown funds.”

  “Bloody fool,” Raysh snorted into his glass.

  “That’s it? He just dismissed it entirely?” Rentrew said, his eyes betraying just how shocked he was. This was a man who should never play cards, Selena decided.

  “As I've said, he implied it was a scheme. To be honest, he spent more time questioning my right to the regency.”

  “Foolishness,” Raysh muttered. “Something must be done, Salisbourne. The man has spent months ignoring the business of the kingdom. If Feldane presses north now, who knows where it will end?”

  “Calm down, Raysh.” Thomas held his hands out as if slowing a startled horse. “We’ve all been hearing rumours about the Bjornmen, Selena. We've been hearing other things too. Fantastical things that I can’t bring myself to believe.”

  “What is this?” she asked, looking from face to face. “What have I been pulled into here?”

  “Call us a small collection of concerned lords,” Salisbourne said, with a grim smile.

  “You can’t have moved that far already,” she breathed, sensing the meaning behind the words.

  “In thought, perhaps,” Raysh spoke up. “Not yet in deed. Tell us the truth, Selena. What is really going on in the Eastern Reaches?”

  “Before I do, tell me who I’m speaking to here? Is it really just you three?”

  Raysh and Salisbourne exchanged wry smiles. “I told you she was never one to tangle with,” Salisbourne chuckled.

  “No, you’ve seen right through us all, Selena. We each represent certain interests. No, represent is too strong of a word. We have the ear of certain interest groups. Rentrew is in close contact with a group of eastern lords and landowners. Jantson has the ear of a group in the west. Raysh is part of a stronger, more influential consortium of merchants and lords reaching down into Feldane. As for me, well, I have my fingers in many pies, but my main interests have always been here in the capital.”

  She took a breath and collected herself. A push here, a prod there, she told herself. “Fine, gentlemen. Let's see if I can’t bring you all up to speed with things. Before we begin though, I think perhaps we ought to discuss just what it is that you can offer in return. My duchy is, after all, on the front lines, as it were.” Their eyes widened. Apparently, none of them would be any good as a card partner. They were already invested in the potential knowledge though, she could see that. This was just another round of games and she had always excelled at games.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Ylsriss clung to Joran, her fingernails digging into his flesh like claws. The drop yawned beneath her. She could almost feel it calling to her, whispering to her to just let go and allow it to embrace her.

  She forced herself to open her eyes and look down. The rational part of her mind tried to tell her that it wasn’t that far to the bottom. The impact would hurt, it might even kill her, but the ravine wasn’t the bottomless chasm her fear was trying to convince her it was.

  “Ylsriss,” Joran rasped again. “You’ve got to let go of me. We’ll both fall.” He reached up, leaning awkwardly to the right to compensate for the loss of support, and began to prise her fingers away from his throat.

  “Just hold on to the vines for a moment.” He pulled himself onto the huge metal beam and twisted to face her. “Just take deep breaths for a minute. We're in no hurry, okay?”

  She did as he said. Lords of Blood, Sea and Sky, she hated herself like this. The loss of control was enough to make her scream. She wasn’t this weak. She wouldn’t allow herself to be this weak, not again. Ylsriss drew a deep breath. She could use this, take the anger and let it consume the fear. She opened her eyes again and glared at the metal span, ignoring the way that Joran flinched away from her.

  “Let’s get this over with, shall we?” she said, from between clenched teeth.

  She examined the span, forcing herself to ignore the drop. It was ancient and pitted deeply with rust, but so large that it was unlikely it couldn’t support them. The beam was easily two feet wide and three feet thick. Another section extended below them at a right angle, dropping into the ravine before burying itself into the side of the chasm. The weight of the beam alone would have pulled it apart, had it been anything less than sound.

  “This must have been here for centuries. Look at the rust!” She prodded at the metal, testing its resistance.

  “It will be fine, Ylsriss,” he said, reaching for her.

  “I can’t walk across that, Joran.” She snatched her hand back as he started to pull her onto the beam again.

  “We’re not going to walk. Look, we can sit on it and pull ourselves forward.” He lowered himself down until he sat astride the metal, tilting slightly to the left to make up for the angle. She cursed and followed his lead.

  It was slow-going, but they managed to move themselves across the beam reasonably well. The main problem, she noticed, was that the rust caught on the thin fabric of their leggings, scratching and rubbing at the flesh beneath.

  “Talk to me, Joran,” she panted, as she shifted forwards again. “I need the distraction. What do you think this thing is?”

  “I don’t know. It’s clearly been made by somebody, but I can’t imagine why. Or who. That’s the real question, isn’t it? Who?”

  “How do you mean?” she grunted, as she shifted forward again. He didn’t answer, but turned slightly to look past her. She followed his gaze, but there was nothing to see except the trees at the top of the slope they’d come down.

  “I thought I heard something,” he muttered, in response to her look. He shrugged and began shifting forward once more.

  The feeling began as she started to move again. It was vague and nebulous at first, but soon coalesced into the knowledge that they were being watched. Before she’d moved another few feet forward, she was certain and she froze for a second before twisting around to look again.

  It stood at the top of the slope, staring down at them with fascination in its black eyes. It was different to the others she’d seen. The horns were longer, about a foot in length, and extended out of its hair and curved towards the back of its head. Its short beard was shot through with grey and a slow smile spread across its face as it saw her looking.

  “Joran!” she hissed, and pointed up at the satyr.

  “Shit,” he gasped.

  The creature seemed content to watch them for the moment and made no move towards them. As she looked, she realised it was not alone. A tiny purple figure was floating in the air next to it. It was only as the leaves of the trees shifted, sending down a shaft of sunlight, that she caught sight of its wings.

  Realisation hit her. “Joran, it's daylight!”

  He grunted in response and continued to move forward. “Let’s get off this thing. If they decide to come for us, I’d rather be on solid ground,” he said.

  She saw the sense in this and shifted forwards again. They were more than halfway across the ravine now. The shock of seeing the satyr and whatever it was with it had eclipsed her fear o
f falling.

  Joran had stopped ahead of her and she glanced over her shoulder at the creature before she spoke. “What are you doing?”

  “Just give me a second,” he grunted, his shoulders straining as he worked at something in front of him.

  “Joran, keep going!” she cried, as she saw the winged figure soar up into the air and then swoop towards them, ignoring the cry that came from the satyr.

  Joran glanced over one shoulder, then jerked backwards as whatever he was pulling on gave way. He started to make his way along the beam again. Ylsriss hurried behind him, wobbling as she traded balance for speed. She swivelled slightly to take a fleeting look at the thing flying slowly through the air towards them. It had the form of a tiny woman, perfect in every detail, albeit winged and with skin tinted pale violet.

  Suddenly, Joran turned and shoved her sideways off the beam. She just had time for a startled scream before she crashed into the jumble of tree roots and packed earth that made up the side of the gorge.

  Ylsriss thrust her hands into the tangle of roots, grasping blindly as her feet scrambled and kicked, trying to find purchase. She caught hold of one and, as she came to a halt, she realised that the slope was far less steep on this side of the ravine. She would have stopped soon anyway.

  She glared up at Joran but the angry words died on her lips. He stood on the beam, his knees bent for balance, using a long sliver of rusted metal as a makeshift dagger. Blood ran freely from half a dozen wounds on his face and body, as the purple creature darted around him, the snarl of hate seeming out of place on her beautiful face.

  “Sabeth!” the satyr screamed, from the far side of the ravine. He seemed to be unwilling to cross it. Joran slashed at the tiny woman with his blade, missing again, before jerking backwards in pain. A line of blood appeared on his cheek, just a finger’s width from his eye.

  It’s playing with him, Ylsriss realised, like a cat would toy with a mouse for hours before finally killing it. As Joran staggered back from another lightning quick slash, she looked frantically about for something she could use to help him. There was nothing. She could throw mud at it, or even a stone, but the thing was so fast that she could barely see it most of the time. The chances of hitting it would be tiny.

  The satyr was still screaming out the single word over and over, a note of panic in its voice. It was the creature’s name, she realised. Wrapping one hand around a loose root, she grabbed up a clod of dried earth with the other. “Sabeth!” she screamed, as she hurled the mud in its direction. She missed. Not by a few inches, but by a foot or more. The creature slowed for just a second, as it glanced in her direction, and Joran swung hard with the rusted shard of metal. The blow tore the tiny figure out of the air, like a stone striking a butterfly, and she landed in front of Ylsriss in a broken heap. The creature lay still, twisted and ruined, but beautiful even in death.

  The satyr screamed like a wounded animal and then fell silent. He looked left and right before fixing them with a venomous glare, then ran back into the trees.

  They made their way up the bank and collapsed onto the soft grass. Ylsriss pulled herself up and looked at Joran. His wounds, whilst painful, looked superficial. They were shallow cuts and none were bleeding excessively.

  “You pushed me!” she said, as she pulled a horn knife from the pack and used it to cut strips of material from a spare shirt to make bandages.

  “I’m sorry, Ylsriss. I couldn’t think of any other way,” Joran managed.

  “You could have warned me first!” He looked up at her, silent for a moment, and then began to laugh.

  “I can’t see how this is funny, Joran,” she protested, but he just laughed all the more. Finally, she kicked at him.

  “Damn it, Ylsriss,” he howled, as he jerked away from her. “That hurt!”

  “Try being pushed off that thing!” She stabbed angrily with one finger in the direction of the beam.

  “Alright, I’m sorry. I had to do something to get past you.”

  “Hmmm.” She had nothing to say to that, but she'd be damned if she was going to let him know that.

  “Come on, we should get going,” he said, wincing as he stood.

  “Are you sure?” Ylsriss asked. “I mean, you’re in a bit of a state.”

  “It’s not going to get any better here.” He shrugged.

  “But doesn’t it hurt?”

  “Like tiny ribbons of fire, but that's not going to stop just because we do.” He shouldered his pack and made his way into the trees. Ylsriss paused, shooting one last look at the forest that had swallowed the satyr, then followed.

  She caught up with him easily. “Joran, do you realise that it was still daylight when they attacked?”

  “I hadn’t thought about it, but yes, I suppose it was,” he replied.

  She ducked to avoid a branch. “Doesn’t that strike you as weird? I thought the fae avoided the sun? And the satyr...did you see its eyes?”

  “I was a little busy at the time, Ylsriss.”

  “Oh, sorry. Well, they were dark, almost black.”

  He nodded, unsurprised. “Yes, it means that he doesn’t have any power. I’ve only seen it once before, in satyrs returning from the chase. They get so intent on the hunt that they ignore the fact the sun is leaching the power from them.”

  “What about the other thing? It looked like a fairy from a children's tale.” She gave him a funny look as he snorted with laughter.

  “Where do you think the tales came from, Ylsriss? It was one of the fae’reeth. They’re quite rare, I think. It’s only the second one I’ve ever seen.”

  She nodded. “Every time I think I’ve started to come to terms with being here, I realise how little I know.” She said it as a joke, expecting a laugh in reply. It was only when the laugh didn’t come that she realised how true it was.

  They passed through the woods at the fastest pace that Joran could manage. His wounds didn’t slow him much, but Ylsriss was reluctant to hurry him along. She spent as much time looking over her shoulder for the vanished satyr as she did watching where she was going.

  The wall reappeared late in the afternoon as they rounded a low hill. They drew to a halt, peering out around the tree trunks like mice peeking into the grain store. Now that they were closer, Ylsriss realised that what she'd seen wasn’t a city wall at all. It was the wall of a building itself. A city, some of it in ruins, stretched out before them and the breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight. No wall surrounded the city, or ever had, from what she could see. It made sense though, she realised. What was there here for a wall to defend against?

  The city extended further than they could see, with grand buildings and soaring towers in the distance. The peaked roofs of the strange, yellow-walled houses were covered with red tiles and sprouted stubby chimney pots. Trees appeared to be growing out of some of the dwellings and large sections of the city had tumbled down, the stones scattering on the ground.

  “What do you think?” Ylsriss asked.

  His sigh said it all. “I don’t know. It looks abandoned but can we really be sure of that from here? What if we’re just walking into another Tir Rhu’thin?”

  “Surely we’d have seen some sign of life by now?” Ylsriss glanced at his face. He was chewing his lip, something he always seemed to do when he couldn’t make up his mind. “Look, if there was anyone living there, we’d see smoke from the chimneys.” She stopped, the last word falling dead from her mouth.

  “Chimneys. Why are there chimneys?” she whispered to herself.

  “What?” Joran asked, looking at her as if she’d gone mad. “Why does that matter?”

  “Think about it, Joran,” she said, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “When have you ever seen the fae use fire. We don’t even use fire! Why would there be chimneys?”

  “There wouldn’t be,” he said slowly, drawing out the words as he puzzled through to the end of it, “unless it wasn’t a fae city at all.”

  “Exactly!” She be
amed at him.

  “It’s still a risk,” he insisted.

  “Everything can be a risk, Joran. Sometimes even breathing can be a risk.” She held his shoulders and forced him to look at her. “Look, that satyr is still out there somewhere. If this place really was a human city, maybe we can find something to help us. If nothing else, we'll be able to rest up for a day or two.”

  “Fine, have it your way.” He growled at her.

  “I usually do.” She smiled into his scowl and led the way.

  As they drew closer to the city, the sheer age of the place became more obvious. Ylsriss soon realised that it had not known ruin through war or anything similar, but had simply crumbled due to the passage of time. Plants, similar to ivy but with bright purple leaves and sapphire blue flowers, snaked over the walls, thrusting their tendrils into the gaping holes that had once held windows.

  The forest seemed hard at work reclaiming the city. Trees now stood in the middle of roads, having shouldered the thick stones aside as they searched for the fleeting sun.

  Ylsriss exchanged an awed look with Joran as they stepped onto a street which was half-covered in moss. Grass poked through the cracks between the stones. “Which way?” she asked, in a low voice, although she couldn't have explained why she felt the need to speak so softly.

  “Let’s stick to the main roads for now,” Joran suggested. She nodded. That made sense. The city was far larger than it had looked from the trees and the last thing they needed was to get lost.

  They wandered deeper into the heart of the place, gawking like children at the moss-covered fountains and leaf-strewn squares. She was still leading the way, despite having asked him which way they should go.

  They both froze at the sound of hooves clattering on stone. She pulled him behind her as she slipped into a doorway, only to emerge laughing, as a herd of deer stared at them inquisitively with liquid eyes. Ylsriss gazed at them in wonder. They seemed utterly unafraid - they had never learned to be fearful of man.