“I don’t know if people still do that aymore,” Tom replied.
“We do.” Neirin hefted the skull mask. It was strange to look through the sockets and see the ground beneath. “And we do it with our homes. We treat the dead and bury their bones beneath our floors, so they can protect our homes. But the truly great, the wise or the strong, we take their skulls and make a mask.” He held out Siomi’s until Tom took it. It was cool, smooth. It felt sacrilegious to touch it. “And they impart their wisdom and their strength to us.”
Tom looked from the mask to Neirin. Did he think there was some sort of magic here? The skull was cold and dead in his hands.
But the elf shook his head. “Not literally, of course. We do not maintain the superstitions of the ancients. But the traditions continue.” He pulled out his own mask. Up close, Tom could see the differences now. His had narrower teeth, higher cheeks. The sockets seemed sterner. “But when I wear the mask made from my grandfather, it makes me think of him. And I wonder what he would do, were he in my shoes. In a way, he advises me from beyond the grave.”
Tom turned the mask in his hand and looked at the smoothed inside, the leather straps attached to it, the felt that lined the edges. He felt a sudden urge to put it on, to look at the world through someone else’s eyes.
“Whenever I look at that mask, I wonder how Siomi’s grandmother could have advised her to take her own life and to shame her family. And I want to break it, to stop that bad advice hurting anyone else.”
Despite himself, Tom felt his will soften. Put like that, breaking the mask didn’t seem heartless and cruel. It seemed like something done for love.
“But Siomi was my protector and advisor. My friend. My sister.” Neirin lifted his mask to his face. It was still morbid. But it was also sad, seeing Neirin hold his face in his hand. And it was sweet, too. Like he was reaching out to his grandfather. Asking him for help. “My grandfather was practical. He would break the mask. But I wish I knew what my father would have done.”
It felt suddenly wrong to try to influence Neirin. Tom had no place in their traditions, and the elf was hurting. So he said, “Where is your father’s mask?”
Neirin froze, still and cold as stone. His voice was dead and flat when he said, “I do not have it.”
“He was a great elf.” So great that Siomi had said Neirin struggled to live up to him. Or is that why he didn’t wear his father’s face?
But Neirin’s candour was done for the day. He tied his mask to his head, pulled up his hood, and held out his hand for Siomi’s mask without a word. Tom had said the wrong thing. Handing over the mask felt like giving Siomi up to him.
“I thank you for your confidence, Tom.” The meaning was clear: say nothing. And, at Tom’s nod, Neirin gave one of his own. A dismissal. Like he was a servant.
Movement out of the corner of his eye turned his head and he lowered a hand to Caledyr. But it was a dwarf, working his way down the path in a happy little waddle. He waved at them with a cheery smile as if they were all old friends.
“They’re gone,” he called. “They’re gone now.”
The villa contained a square garden at its heart, filled with a large pond and grass and exotic bushes and flowers. The villa itself seemed like a thin layer of building to protect the garden from the outside world, little more than a hallway with a covered tile floor, rooms branching off to the outside of the house. Storrstenn led them into the garden, “Away from windows and from prying eyes,” and the staff served them breakfast. Bacon covered in thick, sweet syrup, heavily-buttered bread, a sweet green vegetable Tom didn’t recognise, potato cakes. It was thick and heavy but delicious nonetheless, and it was the sort of breakfast that needed to be followed by a rest on a lawn under the sun. Tom let himself doze while Storrstenn interrogated the staff for news and supplies. Without the wind, Tom could almost pretend the sun was warm. The trickle of the fountain was soothing. The grass was soft. It was idyllic. He never wanted to leave.
The peace was shattered by rising voices and Tom opened his heavy eyes and looked up. It was Six and Storrstenn arguing over, it seemed, a piece of paper.
Storrstenn was right. Paper was powerful.
Six pointed at the rest of them and, when the dwarf didn’t move, took hold of his sleeve and dragged him across the garden. Dressed in his lordly clothes, he truly did look the part. The Westerner. The slaver. The elf who believed he had a right to everything. The idyllic calm was swallowed by an angry worm coiling in Tom’s belly.
“Tell them.” Six shoved Storrstenn forward. “Tell them what you’re planning.”
Storrstenn looked at Six like he wished his gaze had the power to kill. “I have hidden nothing.”
“And revealed just as much.”
“Peace, master elf.” One of the staff stepped forward, face plastered with a smile. “Can I fetch you wine?”
“Leave us,” Six said. His tone was clipped. “All of you. Now.”
The dwarfs ducked their heads and scurried away without hesitation. Six didn’t see the look of hate Storrstenn threw him.
“I think Six is right.” Neirin was sat, cross-legged, much as Siomi had used to sit when she meditated in the mornings. Save that Neirin still wore his mask. “I think it is time we shared more than we have.”
“In front of everyone?” Storrstenn replied. “Even our newest friends?”
“If you do not trust them, why did they join our company?”
Storrstenn’s chin jutted forward but he said nothing.
“He’s planning a campaign of terror,” Six said. “I heard him telling them to send letters with instructions to burn and steal and ruin whatever they could.”
“Is this true?” Neirin asked.
“We have to weaken the Kingdom,” Storrstenn replied. He had gone from stubborn to earnest in a heartbeat. “If it is strong, Proctor Renwyr will not act.”
“You’re not talking about weakening the Kingdom,” Six sneered. “You don’t burn a farm to hurt a king. You want to punish the Kingdom and this is your excuse.”
“Burning a farm reduces grain supplies, fostering resentment and revolt,” Storrstenn replied.
“Enough.” Neirin rose to his feet. He didn’t do it as smoothly as Siomi used to. “We will hear your plan, in its entirety. Now.”
“My lord,” he protested.
“Now.”
Storrstenn looked to Sannvinn, then to Tom. Was he appealing to them? Tom said nothing, and the dwarf bowed. It didn’t hide his scowl. “Very well.” He gestured. “The maps, Gravinn, if you please. The ones I mentioned.”
Gravinn pulled forth three maps. Katharine’s had been decent, solid affairs, useful and filled with notes. These were pieces of art, delicate, beautiful, highly decorative. But not as useful.
Storrstenn laid them out and held down the corners with assortments from his pockets, knifes and flints and stones. Everyone circled around, Storrstenn and the maps in the middle.
“We’re here.” He pointed to one map, of the entire Kingdom, to a point roughly halfway up the eastern coast. “Cairnagwyn is here.” His finger moved north-west, to a black city inland. “And Cairnaten is here.” His finger moved back to the eastern coast, almost as far north as Cairnagwyn. “Cairnaten is Proctor Renwyr’s seat. His family were contenders for the throne when the Kingdom was first united. If we offer him our aid, he will end the war and free my people.”
“So you’re taking us to Cairnaten?” Brega asked.
“I am.” Storrstenn shifted his focus to another map, this one longer and portraying the coast in more detail. “We will need to make some detours inland here, here, here and here.” He pointed at cities labelled in elfish. “We use these cities to resupply, as well as communicate with dwarfs over the Kingdom. But our path takes us along the coast. It’s the fleetest path.”
“Your plan is more than this,” Neirin said. It wasn’t a question.
“Renwyr is cautious,” Storrstenn said. “Very cautious. He won’t act unle
ss he is certain of victory. So we have to make Idris weak. Very weak.”
“That is why you contact your fellow dwarfs,” Neirin said. “To commit acts that will weaken Idris.”
“Precisely.” Storrstenn smiled relief. “These acts can be committed all over the Kingdom and sow uncertainty from Taladeg to Celdynn. With trade interrupted, supplies low, the elfs will call for Idris to act. Or give their support to someone who will.”
“What makes you think Idris won’t act?” Six asked.
“How can he stop us?”
“I didn’t say he’d stop you,” Six replied. He looked down his nose at the dwarf. “But every master can limit your freedoms. They can take away the good food and the good clothes. They can lock you in at night, give you crusts of bread and bitter wine. They can shackle you. They can make you miserable.”
Storrstenn’s eyes watered and his lip trembled with rage. “And more and more dwarfs will flock to our cause,” he whispered.
“Or they will abandon you, for fear of the reprisals.”
“Not our people.” He pointed at Sannvinn, Gravinn. “We will stand up to you.”
“Not with chains around your ankles.” Six shook his head. “The truth is, no matter how many thralls you recruit to your cause, the people won’t seek to overthrow Idris. They’ll just make every thrall suffer for the sins of a few.”
Six was right. At some point a dwarf would get caught, either in the act or after it. And soon they would all be under suspicion. By the time they reached Cairnaten, the Kingdom wouldn’t be weak. The dwarfs would just be even farther from freedom. And, perhaps, all too ready to betray Storrstenn and any of his allies.
Six and Storrstenn began to argue. But the argument was over. Six had won. Storrstenn just couldn’t see it yet. Already Neirin was ready to call for silence, already Brega was rolling her eyes. Tom reached down and tugged a map free. Though it showed only the Kingdom, Tom could remember Regent’s map room. He pictured the model of Tir, and how big the Kingdom was, with land and riches beyond the duchies combined. How could their little band hope to undo such a big thing?
Dank appeared at his side, looking over his shoulder.
“Do you think so little of me, elf, that you think I would recruit halfwits and cowards? We have been planning for years. Each dwarf knows their village or town or city. They would strike, unseen, and no-one would know who was doing this or why.”
Except, to undermine Idris, the people would need to know who. And why.
“You don’t think people would suspect the thralls?”
And it would have to be done by someone terrifying. Like the dragons terrified the duchies. Fearsome, impossible, unstoppable.
“You placed us beneath your consideration. Your arrogance will be your undoing.”
Exactly. Dwarfs were too small in Western minds. They couldn’t be feared, if they were discovered. Just punished.
Storrstenn’s idea wasn’t a bad one. It was just the execution.
“We need to do it,” he said.
It was no more than a murmur but Six said, “You’re taking his side?”
“Yes. And no.” He had to tread carefully here.
“What are you thinking, Tom?” Neirin asked.
“Regent was facing riots when you visited the Heel,” Tom replied. “His people blamed him because their bowls were empty. We can create the same ill will in the Kingdom.”
“Thank you.” Storrstenn smiled his most smug smile.
“But the dwarfs can’t do it,” Tom told him. “If they do it openly, your plan is stopped before it can start. If they do it in secret, it doesn’t mean anything. Without making it clear that Idris is to blame, there won’t be anything to exploit.”
“We can make it clear without getting caught,” Storrstenn said.
Tom shook his head. “If people can blame the dwarfs, they won’t blame Idris.”
“So who’s going to do it?” Brega asked.
Careful. Lure them in. “Picture this,” he said. “A bridge is collapsed. A dozen crops are spoilt. A garrison is set on fire. All over the Kingdom, all in one night.” He turned the map to them and pointed at different towns and cities. “All by the same people, who say the same thing: for the king.”
They looked at him like he was mad.
“It’s a good story,” Storrstenn said. “With the right seals, I might even be able to get some people to believe it for a day or two.”
“Until the truth gets out,” Gravinn added. “Word travels faster than you might think.”
But Tom wasn’t listening. He was watching Dank, out of the corner of his eye. “The next night, ledgers are thrown into a river. A vineyard is destroyed. All the thralls in a villa vanish. And a rich elf’s dinner party is invaded by the same group, who shout as they frighten guests and smash the windows: for the king.”
“Tom, we can’t do this with stories,” Six said.
But Dank’s face had changed. Mab was listening.
“And the night after that, a warship is sunk. A supply train is looted. A young nobleman is kidnapped. A boatyard is burnt to the ground. A dozen elfs find themselves transported to the other side of the Kingdom. And they all say it was done by the same group, who told them it was for the king.”
Dank was smiling Mab’s smile. He had them.
“We do this,” he told them. “Us.” He pointed at Brega. “We have terrifying Easterners with masks of death.” He drew Caledyr. “We have the sword of King Emyr.” He pointed the sword at Storrstenn. “And we have contacts and targets.” He thrust the sword into the grass and let it stand there. “The story will spread. They’ve already heard of us, and Idris already fears us. We’ll strike everywhere, from great cities to lonely farms. We’ll be everywhere. We’ll be nowhere. People will whisper and wonder where we will strike next, and everyone will know why: because of Idris.”
There was a still moment. And then Storrstenn said, “And how will we be everywhere, Thomas Rymour?”
This was the moment. He couldn’t ask. They had to offer. A heartbeat stretched. Step forward, he prayed. Make the offer.
“The Circles.” It was all Dank said, but Tom had to hold in a sigh of relief.
Six frowned. “The gateways to Faerie?”
“They are all over Tir,” Dank said. “We could use them to travel from one place to another in no time.”
“And the fay would let us do that?” Brega asked.
Dank nodded. “They want to help.”
They wanted to see the chaos wrought by Tom’s plan.
“And what if we get caught?” Katharine asked. She stood apart from them, arms folded. She looked at Tom with distaste. “What happens then?”
It was a good point. They wouldn’t be given another chance to escape.
“The fay will see to that,” Dank said, but he spoke with Mab’s voice. “We would hate to see our Thomas behind bars again.” He smiled a dark, seductive smile at Tom.
Tom looked away. “The fay can’t be seen without the Second Sight,” he reminded them. “If we were caught, a fay could set us free without being noticed.”
“An unseen ally could be of use,” Brega said. “They could open doors, distract guards, cause distractions. Would the fay do that for us?” Tom could kick her. You never asked a fay for a boon. Hadn’t he told her that?
But Dank just nodded. “We would be glad to,” he said.
It could have all gone wrong before it started. But Tom didn’t dare glower at Brega.
“You won’t just create fear and uncertainty, Tom.” Six’s voice was heavy and grave and his face was like stone. “You’ll create terror. Children will have nightmares. People will fear for their lives. And when they can’t find you, they’ll turn on each other.”
He was right. The Westerners would feel scared and powerless. They would all have their own rat pit, wrapped around their minds. “You don’t have to help,” he said.
“Please, Tom.” Six opened his hands and said, “There are other wa
ys.”
The world faded into night, the only sound swaying grass all around. Too tall to see over. Too quiet to be safe. And Six called, “Athra?” The grass grew still. Was that whispering? “It’s me, Athra.”
The foresight faded and Tom saw Six stood before him again. Pleading. Tom’s will wavered.
But Six hadn’t been kept in a rat pit.
Tom turned away and said, “Only a few of us should do this. There are too many of us to move quickly and quietly.”
“Who?” Brega asked.
“You,” Tom replied and she smiled. “We need an Easterner and a soldier.”
“And you, I suppose?” Katharine asked.
“I carry the sword,” Tom replied. “Dank will come too, for his connection with the fay. His sprite can scout ahead.”
“And me?” Storrstenn asked.
Tom shook his head. “No.” He didn’t trust the dwarf at his back. “But Gravinn, if you would come? We could use someone with knowledge of the land.”
She looked uncertain for a moment, then nodded. “I swore to Storrstenn I would do whatever I could.” She waddled over and touched the grass before him. “I am with you.”
Tom gave her a sombre nod.
“And what about the rest of us?” Katharine asked. “Should we wait here while you terrorise a kingdom?”
“We can’t,” Storrstenn replied. “The master of the house will return soon enough. We must travel our road north and make contact with our allies along the way.”
“Why not use a Circle?” Six asked. “We could be at Cairnaten by sundown.
But Storrstenn shook his head. “We must first have results to demonstrate. We need to prove ourselves worthy allies before he will support our cause.”
“What about Lord Neirin?” Brega asked. “It’s my duty to protect him.”
Tom turned to Neirin who shook his head. “I don’t have the skills for this,” he replied. “Do what must be done. I will be safe here.”
“Neirin, this is more than what must be done.” Six’s expression was a mask colder than an Eastern skull. “First it was to break the monoliths. Then it was to overthrow Idris. Now it’s to terrorise my people.” He trembled, as if torn. Tom noticed the paints applied to his cheek had smudged, revealing the tattoo beneath. “You ask too much of me.”
The Realm Rift Saga Box Set Page 46
