The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  Tom huddled on a fur Katharine had thrown down, but she bared her face to the wind and smiled every time they were sprayed.

  “How do you do that?” he asked. She seemed surprised by his question.

  “Do what?” she said. Her hair was damp and frizzy but she looked vibrant.

  “Enjoy everything,” he said.

  She laughed. “I don’t. But this is a new experience for me. I enjoy new experiences.”

  “But this one is cold and wet.”

  She shrugged. “If we were always warm and dry, we would never appreciate how good it felt,” she said. Then she grinned. “And we would never have the pleasure of coming in out of the rain to a warm fire.”

  Tom smiled despite himself. “So we should enjoy discomfort to better appreciate comfort?”

  “Something like that.” She reached out and held his hand. His first instinct was to jerk it away for fear of Maev seeing them. But there were no fay in the sea. She had told him so. So he left his hand where it was. It was a warm, human comfort, and her attitude was infectious. Yes, it was cold and wet and, yes, he was uncomfortable. But he had been colder and wetter and certainly more miserable. And he was in Erhenned, on a boat no less. As a young boy, he had many a time played at sailors and pirates with his older brother in the nearby stream. That boy would have loved this, so Tom tried to love it for him.

  They had passed most of the fishing boats which, according to the green-looking Jago, stayed close to the shore. There were, however, big rigs that went further out into the waters to seek bigger, deeper catches. Tom could see a handful of them in the distance, mighty great ships with enormous sails. Jago said the trade galleons were even bigger than that, like small villages made into ships, their holds large enough to hold a dragon. Tom imagined that was an exaggeration but said nothing; the young Judge seemed to be dividing his attention between being a good host and holding down his breakfast.

  “I thought you were Erhenni,” Six said to him. “Sailors and lawmakers. How can you be seasick?”

  “Sailors and lawmakers, like you said,” the boy replied. “I’m the second one.”

  “But you live by the sea,” Six said. “It’d be like these Easterners being afraid of sand.”

  “I’m not afraid,” Jago said, although his voice quavered. “But there are things in the water to be afeared.”

  Six scoffed but the ferrymaster nodded. “Aye, plenty of things to be afraid of in the waters, master elf. Got to show Lannad respect if you want to cross her.”

  “Fear and respect are not the same thing.” Six looked at Neirin when he spoke but the Easterner was watching the Harbour approach.

  The ferrymaster shrugged. “Don’t know about that,” he said. “All I knows is the merrow like the taste of both.”

  “What’s a merrow?” Six asked.

  The old man told them about the merrow, fish-women who lived in the sea and tried to lure sailors to their doom on the rocks. “Sometimes they come up to the shore and sing. My father, he told me a tale of a woman who sang to a prince as he walked the shore. He thought her prettier and prettier the more she sang and when she said she loved him, well, lost his head, he did. He asked her to marry him, right then and there. She said, come into the waters. But he wasn’t completely witless, this prince. He says, I shall drown. So she says love can do great magic, and just like that her fins disappeared and she walked onto the beach, normal as you like. So they married and she bore him fat little babes and if the prince ever doubted his wife, she had only to sing and he’d feel better, wouldn’t he? And one day him and his wife and his little babes, they’re on a beach when one of the little ones starts to drown. The prince, he doesn’t wait, he dives in to save it. But it tries to drag him under. And his other babes and his wife too, they start to pull him down too. He’s got just enough time to ask why. And his wife, she says, we’re merrow. It’s what we do. And now there’s nowt left of that prince but bubbles.”

  The sailors muttered and tossed something from their pockets into the water. The ferrymaster did it too.

  “What was that?” Tom asked.

  “A coin,” the older man said. “An offering to Lannad, to keep us safe.”

  “I don’t think water has much to do with money, my friend,” said Six with a smirk. “It can’t really buy itself something pretty, can it?”

  The ferrymaster huffed but Tom understood. It was the same reason he’d buried a coin in Topknot’s grave; people were forever taking things out of the ground, wood and metals and stones. Putting things back was a thanks, an appreciation of what Tir was giving them. Tir had given Tom life and so he gave thanks. The sailors wanted Tir to give them protection from these merrow so they gave an offering, a thanks in advance. Tom nodded at them in what he hoped was a sage and understanding manner. The ferrymaster nodded back.

  It took most of the morning to travel to the Harbour, though it had been visible before they’d set off. A broad, long island, it stretched across the coast of Erhenned like a shield and rose out of the water as if to protect it from any waves. It seemed to be cliffs all around, but they made for the one and only beach. It looked almost like it had been cut out of a cliff, the rocks sliced away to give a landing point. Either side the cliffs were dotted with holes, some home to seagulls, others empty sockets, like the island was watching them approach. As they grew closer, they saw people on the beach. At first Tom thought they were waiting to take the ferry, but he began to make out pennants and the glint of armour in the smothered sunlight.

  “A welcoming party?” he said.

  Katharine nodded. “Without doubt. We’ve been in Erhenned for a good few days. Word will have already reached Cairnalyr.”

  The ferry made land, hauled up onto the white sand before finally stopping. The chain ran up the beach to a hut where Tom could see a dozen burly men glistening with sweat, taking a moment to rest and drink. Tom was herded off the ferry and onto dry land, his legs feeling odd, the firm ground feeling at once comforting and unusual after the shifting deck. The horses were sent after them but they did not mount. A woman stepped forward from the party on the beach, as rugged as any of the Erhenni but with a stately grace to her. She wore her hair in a practical tail, her clothing was waterproof and warm before it was decorative, and her skin was free of the makeups and paints so fashionable in the Heel.

  “Lord Neirin, Shield of the Eastern Angles,” she said. “It is indeed an honour to find you within our borders.” Her voice carried a steely edge.

  “Duchess Ria.” Neirin held both wrists out to her. “The honour is mine.”

  “Duke Ria.” Her tone was clipped. “Duchesses are pretty ornaments or tokens that have already been bartered. I am neither.”

  That gave Neirin pause. “I did not mean to cause offence.”

  “You will cause it only if you call me a duchess again,” she said. “Now, I am curious as to why you have come to me, and with no envoy to announce your coming.” She looked over them. “An unusual retinue. And two captives.”

  “Men who tried to take our lives and our possessions,” Neirin said. “We handed them to one of your Judges, who has brought them here under your judicial system.”

  “I understand that such men would have lost their hands in your own realm, Lord Neirin.”

  “Indeed they would.”

  “And yet here they are. Intact.”

  “I may not agree with your laws, but they are your laws,” Neirin replied. “It would be wrong to ignore them.”

  Ria’s gaze was steady on the elf. “Very good,” she said, almost to herself. Then, “Tell me why you are here.”

  Neirin’s brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Should we not repair to your castle, Your Grace, to discuss our business there?”

  “You will find no great halls nor mighty castles here, Lord Neirin,” Ria said. She was a rock, unmoving, no shifting and no little gestures. “You will find that Erhenned values only what can be useful. Stately rooms do not build ships nor feed people.”


  “But our business is not for the ears of the people,” Neirin said. He gestured to those climbing onto the ferry.

  “They will be gone shortly.”

  Neirin was stuck. Ria would not budge, that much was clear. He did not want to discuss their journey, but waiting might offend her and risk losing her assistance. Tom got the feeling that they wouldn’t get much help anyway, not if everyone was being evacuated. He doubted she had ships to spare. Perhaps they could hire one instead?

  When Neirin did not answer, Ria cast her gaze over the rest of the group. Her eyes settled on Tom. “Thomas Rymour?”

  Tom bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”

  She beckoned him forward. “Last I heard you were in Duke Regent’s court.”

  Tom’s stomach clenched. What was in those steely grey eyes? Was she wondering what Regent would give her if she gave him up? “I was, Your Grace.” He tried to emulate Glastyn’s best courtier’s manner. “Had he known I would be meeting you, I’m sure he would have asked me to convey his greetings and his fondest thoughts.” Although in truth the Heel and Erhenned had little in common, Tom knew that Regent would have been politic. An enemy of an enemy is a friend, after all.

  “Had he known.” Ria’s eyes scrutinised him. They were cold grey, like the sky above a winter sea. “They sing songs about you here, Thomas Rymour.”

  Tom bowed his head. “I know.”

  “Songs about the men and women you send to their doom with your tales of the future.” Ria’s lips quirked in a smile at Tom’s surprise. He’d not heard songs like that. “Your presence here is an ill omen.”

  “No, Your Grace. I mean you and your people no harm.”

  “Yet people have come to harm as a result of your prophesies, no?”

  Tom had always relayed his foresights honestly, including any death or harm he foresaw. But that was the point: they showed what would happen, not what might. So people would thank him and perhaps alter their plans in an effort to avoid their fate. Perhaps others mocked and ignored his foretellings. Either way, their fate befell them.

  “Hmm.” Ria turned her gaze away. “And you, Pathfinder.”

  Katharine stepped forward and bowed. That brought a smile to Ria’s lips.

  “A lady Pathfinder. How unusual. What is your name?”

  “Katharine, Your Grace.”

  “You are guiding this little band?”

  “I am, Your Grace.”

  Ria looked at the rest of them for a moment, as if she didn’t believe Katharine, then said, “Walk with me.”

  Katharine fell in alongside Ria. The duke’s guards, in their leathers and their cold iron helmets, took Ria’s horse and rode behind them, separating Katharine from the rest of the group. Tom’s first thought was worry, that he couldn’t reach Katharine if she fell into danger. But she would be fine. What would Ria want with a kidnapped Pathfinder? He mounted with the others and followed them up the winding path towards the top of the island. The path was sandy, bordered with scratchy grass trying to eke out an existence. Sometimes their feet landed on firm ground, other times the sand beneath them shifted, making the going tough. The path was steep, too, but it wasn’t long until it levelled out onto a rather bleak looking island.

  He understood immediately why it was called the Harbour. The island’s north and south ends curled around to form a bay in which anchored dozens, maybe even hundreds of ships. These, Tom guessed, were the trade galleons Jago had mentioned. They were gigantic, wallowing on squat hulls that looked too fat to float. Smaller boats slipped between them, running between them and the shore; the galleons were so large they had to stay far out in the waters.

  The northern arm of the Harbour reached farther out into the water and it was here that Lyr’s Ford made its beginnings across the water. It was supposedly once a beautiful white sandstone bridge that reached across the entire Lannad Sea, joining Erhenned and the Western Kingdom without need for a ship. Tom had heard tales that it was anything from a hundred yards to a mile wide, that it had taken centuries to build and only days to break. Indeed now it barely existed. The mighty arch at its mouth remained, an indication to how beautiful the bridge must have been; it was elaborately decorated, gargoyles peering over the lip, writing and pictograms carved into the stone. The arch was crowned with the sculpture of a woman wearing a robe and bearing a trident aloft; Tom couldn’t see more much more detail at so great a distance. Then the bridge itself began, still smooth after all these decades, reaching the single remaining support column in the water before ending in a ragged mess. Tom wondered what it must have looked like, gleaming white and soaring over the water. It must have taken days to traverse.

  Overlooking all of it was Cairnalyr. It was small, far smaller than most of the ancient cities. Built of the same sandstone as the bridge, the squat, square buildings rose no higher than a few stories as if they were afraid the wind, which was constant and deafening, would flick them from the ground. Only the castle dared to rise higher, a single tower stretching into the sky. A few flags and pennants flapped furiously in the wind, proudly displaying the blues and greys of Erhenned. It was otherwise plain to the point of pride, but Tom liked it anyway. He knew he would find little of the pretention of Cairnagan, no courtly fashions, no empty and foppish talk. This was a city that valued function and utility.

  He saw it burnt and smoking, the white stone scorched and the pennants broken. Elfs in white swarmed across the island.

  He blinked and the present returned. What if the lie he had asked Six to tell was true after all?

  They stopped. Tom looked ahead and Ria had turned to face them. The guards moved their horses aside and Neirin dismounted. The others followed suit and stood back while Neirin approached, Siomi a constant shadow behind him. Tom could see Neirin and Ria speaking but the wind tossed their words away. He caught only snatches. ‘Sea’. ‘Sword’. ‘Thanks’.

  “Smart move,” said Six. “We have all the privacy we want here.”

  Tom nodded. This Ria was shrewd. Why bother with trying to find privacy in a castle filled with people when Tir itself could provide? The wind roared in his ears, tossing his hair about and flapping his clothes. He’d need to change soon. Although the wind was drying him out, this outfit needed a wash. He thought of his change of clothes in his saddlebags, stained with a man’s blood.

  He shook his head and watched the conversation. Katharine was stood behind Ria. The duke had managed to place her so it looked like she was a member of Ria’s party, not Neirin’s. Katharine gave no indication of discomfort but she stood as openly as she could, making it clear she was not picking sides. Ria, on the other hand, was closed off. Arms folded. Face like a stone. Aloof. She was shorter than Neirin but managed to look a head taller. Finally she nodded, waved for her horse, mounted and began to ride towards the city. Neirin returned to them, Katharine in tow.

  “She’s agreed to give us a ship,” he shouted over the wind. Behind him the guards followed their duke, paying their party no mind whatsoever. “For an exorbitant price, of course. I could have bought a fleet for what she’s asking.”

  “So what do we do?” Tom asked. “Could we find passage on one of the galleons?”

  Neirin shook his head. “The galleons are heading south, or so she says. She says a warship will take us. An old, small one. She says she might use it to scout out the Western positions after it’s dropped us off.”

  “When?” They had saved a lot of time coming through the Whispering Woods, but they couldn’t be complacent. The summer’s sun was gone and there wasn’t much time until Calgraef.

  “She would not say,” Neirin replied. His jaw clenched and his eyes burned. “It must first arrive. Then she will decide if she can spare it for us.”

  Tom saw again the foresight of Cairnalyr, the castle blackened from an attack, waving a pure white flag. Elfs in the streets. Ships in the bay, wrecked and ruined. The city conquered. The day was cool but not yet cold. This would be soon.

  “We must persu
ade her to let us leave soon,” he said, the foresight fading.

  From the way everyone looked at him the conversation must have moved on.

  “That goes without saying,” said Neirin.

  “I’ve seen Cairnalyr conquered and not long from now,” he said. “We can’t delay.” He ignored the curious look Six gave him.

  “I have impressed upon the duke how urgent our journey is,” Neirin said. “What else would you have me do?”

  “Should we hire a ship of our own?” he asked. “One of the fishing ships?”

  Siomi shook her head. “Ships are in demand,” she said. “Ria has commanded them all to evacuate people and supplies. A captain won’t turn down his duke’s coin for a promise of our own.”

  “But we have to do something.”

  “Ria will not be moved, Master Rymour,” Neirin said, climbing into the saddle. “We will bide our time.”

  Siomi nodded. If she agreed, there would be no persuading Neirin. Tom watched them mount their horses, feeling impotent. He could not be caught here, in the middle of King Idris’ war. Not when he was so close. Somewhere out in that sea was his way back to Faerie. He could almost smell the sweet air, feel the eternal midsummer’s warmth. He could almost taste her lips.

  “I will speak to Ria,” he said. He clambered into the saddle and, before anyone could stop him, whipped the reins and set off at a gallop. The wind stole the thunder of hooves on the plain and the guards didn’t notice him until he was close. They wheeled their horses around and placed themselves between him and their duke, great pikes crossing over his path. Ria herself turned her horse, looking uninterested in his presence.

  “Please, Your Grace,” Tom shouted over the wind. “I beg a moment of your time.”