The Riven Wyrde Saga boxed set

by Graham Austin-King

  “True enough.” Selena nodded. “But you haven’t really answered the question. Why me?”

  “Forgotten Gods, Selena! Anyone would think you don’t want the crown,” Salisbourne burst out. He sighed, deflating as Selena levelled a look at him. “Stability, if nothing else. Our little consortium can almost guarantee you the throne. I think we need to put an end to the petty infighting before it really has a chance to take hold. We don’t have time to squabble over the throne, we have a war to end.”

  “Yes, yes…” she said impatiently. “But why me? Anyone could do those things.”

  “Because you’re a woman, Selena.” Raysh told her, ignoring the sharp looks that Salisbourne and Jantson gave him. “We can sell the idea of you being the next best thing to a puppet to the consortium. At the very least you’d be considered a very friendly ear. Pieter came closer than anyone could have imagined to becoming an imperial power. It wasn’t until you called the Council of Lords that most of us realised just how much power we’d lost. That thought terrifies most of the lords in Anlan, and I expect most would jump at the chance to have, what they would consider to be, a pliable monarch on the throne.”

  “I see.” She sat back into the chair. “Do you know, Uncle? I think I will try a small glass of wine.”

  “Of course, my dear.” He stood and went back to the drinks cabinet as Jantson stood.

  “I think I might take my leave here, if that’s all the same to you, your grace?” he nodded a small bow at Selena. “Someone has to bring Rentrew up to speed and I have other appointments.”

  “I’ll come with you,” Raysh said, levering himself up with the cane. “I have business of my own.”

  Selena sipped at the wine Salisbourne handed her, seeming not even to notice as the others left. “Well, that was interesting,” she said as she sat up straight again, setting the wine down on the table. “Exactly what game are you playing, Uncle?”

  His lips twitched as he winked at her. “It did go rather well didn’t it?”

  “I’m really not built to be anybody’s puppet, Uncle,” she told him with a grimace.

  Salisbourne laughed. “I never imagined you would be.”

  “So this entire thing is a sham then?” she asked as she raised an eyebrow.

  “Not entirely,” he told her. “We do need stability, and I do think you’re the best person to provide that. If the members of the consortium are foolish enough to think you’ll be some weak little woman, unable to blow her nose without direction, then so be it.”

  “And Raysh?”

  “He was the best,” Salisbourne laughed, waving a hand at her as he grew red in the face. “The things he said to you, trying to convince you this will all be a front. He’s terribly set in his ways sometimes. It’ll take a good few months for him to realise that everything he said to you, thinking he was persuading you, were actually true.”

  “You’re convinced then?” she asked. “That you have enough support in the Council to accomplish this?”

  “I am,” he said, suddenly all business. “Though I expect the notion will bring its own genuine supporters. You’ve impressed a number of people with the way you called for the Council.”

  Selena nodded, absorbing this. “So let me ask you again, Uncle, Why me? You’ve orchestrated this, why not take the throne yourself?”

  “Honestly, my dear?” Salisbourne told her, leaning forward in his seat and meeting her gaze. “I’m too old for politics. Whoever takes the throne is going to have a rough ride of it and, frankly, I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who’s as good a player as you.”

  A thought occurred to her and she narrowed her eyes as she spoke. “Just how long have you been planning all this, Uncle?”

  “Well now, that would be telling wouldn’t it, your majesty?”

  “I’m not queen yet, Uncle. Let’s get through the coronation first shall we?”

  Salisbourne shook his head with an indelicate noise. “Coronations are for the commoners. You don’t make a king or a queen with a coronation. Politics is a game played in the back rooms, everything else is just for show.”

  Selena didn't smile at the joke. “And Pieter?”

  “Pieter.” Salisbourne scratched at his cheek. “Yes, we do need to do something there I suppose. The Chaldragne springs to mind. I seem to recall he had plans to toss you in there.”

  “He did,” Selena agreed. “I don't think so though. Putting the king in a prison for rapists and murderers rather sends the wrong message, I feel. Besides, there's always the slim chance he might get out. I was thinking something a little more public, and final.”

  Salisbourne's smile slipped. “Really? Do you really think that's necessary?”

  “I don't like loose ends, Uncle.”

  “But executing him?” Salisbourne shook his head, looking uncomfortable. “You risk making him a martyr, you realise?”

  Selena raised an eyebrow at him. “The thing with martyr's, my dear Earl Salisbourne, is that they tend never to be bothersome again.”

  “Forgotten gods, Selena! You're making me second guess myself here. I can't decide if you're going to be the greatest monarch Anlan has ever seen or a bloody tyrant.”

  “Isn't that the point, Uncle?” Selena purred. “Politics is a game and I never reveal my hand.”

  “People died, Selena,” Salisbourne told her with a hint of reproach.

  “I'm aware of that, Uncle,” she answered. “Blood has always been the currency of politics. Gamblers play with coins but the game of power is played with lives.”

  PART THREE

  Chapter Fifteen

  “I would ask that you stay here,” Aervern said, pointing to the grassy hillside behind them. “There is little point in placing you in danger and you would not find this that we do pleasant.”

  Miriam’s head barely moved with the nod but Aervern seemed satisfied with that. Miriam turned her eyes from the distance city and gazed over the fae host. The gibbous moon was bright and the light made it easy to see even to the farthest edges of the force. Or it would have for someone with younger eyes than hers. It was both impressive and terrifying. Thousands of satyr mingled with hundreds of fae and faeborn, the latter’s cyan eyes a brilliant contrast to the sea of amber. Above them all the Swarm spun lazy circles in the night sky, moonlight dancing on the wings of the fae’reeth and making the sight even more otherworldly.

  Miriam stifled a laugh that was born of both humour and hysteria at the thought and Aervern glanced back at her. “Something amuses?”

  Miriam shook her head and looked out over the sea of fae. The silver banners were pure glamour, the silver and blue standards glowing brighter than the eyes around them.

  “Don’t they worry about being seen?” she spoke without thinking. Aervern’s eyes were a mystery as she regarded her before speaking. “This host you can see because you are afforded that luxury. The manlings behind their wall of stones? They see only the grass for now.”

  Miriam looked over the host again before looking back to the fae that waited with her. “So this is all glamour then? The banners, the armour?”

  “Most is glamour. The armour? Perhaps not all of it. We, Wildfae,” Aervern said the word with a twist to her lips, “have long lost the knowledge of this art of fashioning, of creating armour like this. Those that endured in the Outside may have retained some. Still, more knowledge, I would expect, has been lost over the ages in that place. Most of these fae you see are wearing little more than pure glamour.”

  “So they’re naked?” Miriam laughed but bit it back at a look from Aervern.

  “Perhaps,” she shrugged, unconcerned. “Though not all. We do not place such an emphasis on raiments as you humans might. We fae are not so affected by heat and cold as you. Ours is a warm world anyway and clothing is not truly necessary unless we wish it. Even so, Shaping is more strenuous than Seeming. There must be few with the patience to hoard enough of the Lady’s Gift to create, even if they had the knowledge. Not when a simpl
e spin of light has much the same result.”

  Miriam looked out over the fae again. The thought that most of them were naked didn’t seem as funny as it ought to have. The breeze was light, but chill, and she pulled her robe tighter around her. Autumn was coming with winter fast on its heels.

  “You almost sound like you feel sorry for them,” she said softly.

  Aervern sighed, sounding almost human for the moment. “It is a hard thing. These fae are thousands of your years older than I. Time is a strange creature and she runs at faster pace in the Outside, or so I am told. In this world, your world, time is a gentle brook idling along. My own realm is a merry stream, rushing over the pebbles and rocks. The Outside is a raging torrent. Thousands of your years must have passed whilst the highfae,” again her lips turned in a minute grimace as she spoke and Miriam wondered if she realised she was doing it, “whilst they endured in that prison. I am no lover of this new order but I would not wish that torment on anyone.” She paused as if realising something. “But then this is not new knowledge to you, is it, Miriam? You yourself endured the Outside. You know well the horrors of that place.”

  Miriam didn’t speak but her expression must have said words her lips didn’t shape and Aervern nodded once in response, looking out to the distant city.

  “Why am I here?” Miriam asked.

  Aervern didn’t look at her as she spoke. “There are things I would have you see.”

  “There are always things you would have me see,” Miriam muttered, though she knew the fae would hear her. The breeze was cutting through the thin fabric of her robe and her hips ached. She hunched down against the cold, trying to push the pain out of her mind.

  Aervern’s lips curled at the corners in a fleeting smile. “So it would seem.” Her smile faded as something in the middle of the host caught her attention and she closed her eyes in concentration. A ripple passed over her form as she worked the glamour. The armour flowed down over her skin, flowing like water that shaped itself into breastplate and greaves. The plate was intricate, with delicate lines, and a shine brighter than any steel could hope to match.

  “It will soon be time,” she said, stepping close to Miriam. “Do not move.” Aervern’s hands began to glow gently as she held them over her eyes for a moment. She reached out repeating the motion but holding her hands over Miriam’s eyes instead. She stepped back with a sigh and a satisfied nod. “It is done.”

  Miriam blinked and gave the fae an odd look. Her eyes felt strange, as if she were struggling to focus. “What is done? What have you done to me?”

  Aervern gave her a confused look. “Did I not say, there are things I would have you see?”

  Miriam shook her head. “I don’t understand,” she admitted.

  “How could you see what I wish if you looked only through your own eyes?” Aervern asked her, frowning.

  Miriam didn’t answer that at all. Talking to the fae was confusing at the best of times and she’d found that, sometimes, the best strategy was just to remain silent and let the explanation come to her.

  “You are not young, Miriam.” Aervern told her. “You are untrained with blade and bow. I could not take you into battle without risk of injury to you. So I bring the sights of what I will do to your eyes myself. You will see what I see.”

  She felt herself gasp. “You can do that?”

  Aervern shrugged Miriam’s wonder aside. “It is a simple thing. No harder for any fae than it would be for you to jump into the air.” She waved vaguely at the grassy rise behind them. “Remain here. The sight will come to you unbidden. I will return in time.”

  Miriam nodded but the fae had already turned and headed for the host. Army might have been a better word. The fae stretched farther than she could easily see, though she could easily make out Aelthen standing at the forefront. A sensation swept over her, as if a breeze had touched her for just a moment, and the army fell silent as all eyes looked to Aelthen. He raised one arm high and pointed at the distant city, and then the host surged forward.

  Miriam watched as the fae rushed towards the city. There seemed no order to the host. Some raced towards the city with a speed that she still found shocking while others moved slowly, clearly in no hurry.

  The strange sensation in her eyes increased as Aervern grew further away. It was painful pressure, almost like the beginnings of a headache. She eased herself down to the grass, rubbing at her eyes gently with the heels of her hands. A flash of colour in the darkness shocked her and she opened her eyes with a start, and then stiffened. The world around her was a welter of confusing images. It was as if two scenes had been laid over each other and she held her hand out before her, watching as the ghostly images of fae pushing past her ran through her flesh. Her stomach churned as the sensation of movement, and the certain knowledge she sat still on the grass warred with each other. With a lurch she fell forward onto her hands and knees and vomited into the grass.

  She closed her eyes as her stomach heaved, and then her vision suddenly fell into focus. With the sight of the world around her gone, the vision she received from Aervern’s magic became clear.

  The fae’s vision was like nothing Miriam had ever experienced. Aervern could see as well in the poor light shed by the moon and stars that peered between the clouds as Miriam could in the daytime. Not just that, but her sight was impossibly sharp. With little effort Miriam could pick out the texture of the moss growing on the stones at the base of the city wall.

  It wasn’t as simple as just seeing what Aervern saw, she noticed. She was restricted to the fae’s field of vision but she could focus on whatever she wished. She shifted to the side, away from the stink of the mess on the grass and lay back, surrendering herself to the vision.

  ***

  Miriam could pinpoint the precise moment that the glamour fell. The look of shock was clear on the Bjornman’s face as he stood sentry on the wall. The glamour must have fallen in an instant, revealing the fae host that stretched out before the walls. The blood drained from his face as he stiffened, and then shook his head at the sight before him. His shouts were too far away for Miriam to hear on their own but they were joined by others, and within moments the alarm was raised. Men charged onto the walls in rushed, frantic movements, keeping low as they took up positions behind the battlements. Orders were screamed out and the confusion was obvious as men ran back and forth. Through it all the fae army stood in silence, a rock standing still in stormy seas whilst all around them the waves dashed themselves to frothy madness.

  Arrows came then. Arcing high over the walls and hissing down into the host in great sheets, but they had little or no effect that Miriam could see. The fae shrugged them away like bothersome flies or simply ignored them as they bounced from their flesh.

  The fae’reeth ceased their endless circling and rose high over the walls, the Swarm descending into the city beyond in a murderous cloud. The screams that followed were testament to the chaos and horror that they brought with them.

  Aervern’s vision shifted then as she turned her head, carrying Miriam with it while she focused on the stones beside the massive gates to the fortress. Small shoots were erupting from the earth and grasping the wall as the ivy snaked up out of the ground, heeding Aelthen’s call. The horned creature stood at the forefront of the host, ignoring the arrows that shattered against him as he held his arms out to the gates, hands glowing softly as he worked his art.

  The ivy grew, growing taller and thicker than any ivy vine had a right to. Tendrils burrowed themselves deep into the tiny cracks between the stones, forcing the stone itself apart as they wedged the cracks wider. A violent crack rang out as first one, and then another, jagged fissure appeared in the surface of the wall, extending out around the thick covering of ivy. A grim smile grew on Aelthen's face as the ivy grew thicker still, broader at the base than a strong man’s thigh as it reached deeper into the fissure, tearing the wall apart.

  Miriam found her gaze caught by a flurry of activity above the gatehouse. An
old man in armour inlaid with gold was screaming orders at the men surrounding him, his white hair whipping in the wind. Large cauldrons of boiling oil and pitch were poured down to splash over the walls and ground where the ivy sprouted. Flaming torches and arrows followed and a thick oily smoke rose high as the flames shot skyward.

  The damage was already done though and, as the flames subsided, Aelthen turned his attention from the cracked and soot-stained walls and looked to the gates themselves.

  A green mist rose from the massed fae behind him as Aelthen raised an arm, pulling the power to him. His eyes glowed to rival the morning sun as the power flooded into him and his smile was broad as he reached for the gates. Where the ivy had grown slowly, making itself known over several minutes, the gates transformed immediately. The dark treated wood thrust roots down into the earth as the gates twisted and warped. A tortured groan came from the iron portcullis as the gates transformed, ripping the iron gate from its mountings. In moments the gateway stood empty, with only the strange tree-like remnants of the massive gates squatting low in the gap that was left. The thick branches thrust and heaved at the stone walls surrounding them and, with a tortured screech, the stone itself tore and collapsed, taking the gatehouse and much of the surrounding wall with it. Men tumbled with the stones and Miriam could easily pick out the old man as he fell, only to be crushed by the walls of the gatehouse as it collapsed over him.

  There was a moment of stunned silence, replaced with the screams of those that had been caught in the collapse. The fae stood motionless as Aelthen turned to face the host. He held a broad-bladed spear in one hand and lifted it to point at the city and the defenders within. “Ciarlis’sur.” He spoke the word softly but it carried to the farthest reaches of the host and Miriam shuddered at the cold despite in his voice. “Ciarlis’sur,” she whispered to herself. “Cleanse them.”

  A great cry rose up in response and the fae rushed towards the ruined gate, surging through to crash against the line of defenders. They twisted past the swords and spears that thrust at them, reaching out to tear lives from flesh with spears or bone-bladed knives. The fae and satyr moved with the same deadly grace they always did, and few humans managed to land a strike on them. This was no battle, it was a slaughter. The Bjornmen reached and passed the point of panic, stumbling over each other in an effort to run from the carnage but the fae and satyr simply cut them down as they ran. Miriam found herself retching again at the sights Aervern sent her as she wished she could close her eyes against the vision.