The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  “Perhaps I do not ask.” Neirin looked sad, as if he regretted his words.

  “I am not your subject.”

  “No.” He sighed. “But you are my prisoner. Even if your wrists are not bound.” Six looked surprised. But it had been a long time since Neirin had treated Six as anything other than free. “I would be a poor leader if I let you go, here, now, knowing what you know,” Neirin said. “You said your cause was allied with ours. I would rather we worked together.”

  Six said nothing. Just nodded his head and took a step back.

  “Storrstenn,” Neirin said. “How long will it take to reach Cairnaten?”

  “A month, my lord.”

  The elf nodded and turned to Tom. “Start tonight.” He gestured to Brega. “Make the most of the little time we have.”

  Brega bared her wrist to Neirin and he nodded before walking over to the fountain and sitting cross-legged again. Brega drew Tom, Dank and Gravinn together to discuss where they wanted to go, how best to get there, and what to do when they arrived.

  But Tom’s eye kept drifting to Six and Katharine, gathered in quiet, furtive conversation. There was going to be trouble there. He just knew it.

  Chapter 10

  The wind buffeted their cloaks and blew a fine mist of rain into their faces as they rode across the fields. Tom had long given up trying to keep his hood up and his hair was now soaked, dripping water onto his face.

  The closest Circle was, according to Dank, just a few miles away. Storrstenn had insisted they wait for the sun to set before leaving; they had seen no-one, but Dank had long left the road behind. They rode through grass and over dead, furrowed ground, waiting for spring to bring it back to life.

  Six and Katharine had little to say to Tom when he had bid them goodbye. Six had told him to think of the people, not of revenge. Katharine had told him the Tom she knew wouldn’t do this. Then they had both turned away. She had taken Six’s hand.

  They grow close, Dank had said.

  Neirin, though, had much to say. He had taken Tom to one side, being sure that Brega wasn’t watching, and said, “This is a dangerous thing you do, Tom. And you put Brega and the sword at risk.”

  It was a comfort to hear him put Brega first. “I will do everything I can to keep them safe.”

  “I know you will.” Then Neirin had given Tom’s hand a firm shake. “You are a good man, Thomas Rymour.”

  “Thank you, Lord Neirin.” He wasn’t sure what to say. Should he compliment him in return? But before he could think of anything to say, Neirin had opened his satchel again.

  “I finally know what to do with this.”

  Siomi’s mask again. Neirin held it with reverence. Respect. Love. Tom felt his breath and his limbs still, as if any movement would shatter the moment.

  He held it out to Tom.

  “My lord?”

  “Please.” Neirin pushed the mask at Tom. “I don’t want to look at it anymore.”

  “But you said it should be broken.”

  Neirin smiled a sad, genuine smile. Not the practiced smile of a practiced lord. “I don’t want to do that either.”

  Tom couldn’t think of a word to say. The gesture was too big. Too grand. And he felt small in comparison.

  He took the skull. It felt heavy. He had to say something. Something meaningful.

  “I will do my best to live up to her memory.”

  Now he felt that memory tucked inside his cloak, a morbid memento of a friend. Should he wear it? Could he wear it? What was someone supposed to do in this situation?

  They passed under a lonely, wizened old tree, bent over and branches sprawling forward like a dancer. “Here,” Dank said.

  They rode towards him, stopping where he pointed. Then, with a tug of the soul, the night vanished, and was replaced by dark, grey fog. No rain. No wind. No sound.

  “Where are we?” Brega asked. She wore black again, they all did. The villa dwarfs had found them hooded black riding cloaks and Brega had made herself a makeshift veil with a black, silk scarf. Without the skeletal decorations she looked bare. But she looked more like her. And also not like her. She seemed more relaxed, calmer, without the prickly armour she had once worn. She didn’t seem to mind her hands being bare, nor seem to notice Tom sneaking glances.

  They were Between, so Dank told her. He too seemed relaxed. He breathed the air like it smelt sweet and wore a smile that indicated bliss. No, not bliss. Anticipation of bliss. Tom sniffed the air. It didn’t smell of anything. It didn’t even smell damp, like real fog. But he could sense magic.

  “Between where?” Brega asked.

  “Tir and Faerie,” Tom told her. “We’re not in either of them right now.”

  “So where are we?”

  “Think of it as the hallway between two rooms.”

  She didn’t seem to like that answer but she said nothing.

  “Why do we wait?” Gravinn asked. She too wore black, but Tom noticed she was wearing some of the elfish Pathfinder’s jewellery. Bloody trophies from her dead master. She noticed him staring but said nothing.

  “For our friends,” Dank said. But he had barely finished speaking before a figure coalesced, as if being made from the fog itself. It took a moment for Tom to recognise the figure as Fenoderee.

  “Our greetings again, Thomas,” he gurgled. Tom had forgotten quite how disgusting the fay was. He stank of stagnant water.

  “Hello, Fenoderee.”

  “Who are you talking to?” Gravinn asked.

  But a second figure was appearing, much bigger than Fenoderee. The fog hardened into scaled skin, shimmering greens and reds, with a long snout, a flickering, forked tongue. Great bushy eyebrows over great, lizard eyes. It peeled back fat, purple lips to reveal almost comically-sized serrated teeth.

  “Is this Thomas Rymour?” it rumbled.

  Tom nodded. The head was huge. He could probably fit inside its mouth. “Well met,” he said.

  The fay’s body coalesced behind it, a long, winding thing, like a snake with forearms. Forearms with wicked claws.

  “This is Mester Stoorworm,” Fenoderee said. “We don’t think you have met.”

  “No.” Tom would have remembered. He felt he ought to fear this fay, for it was large and fearsome and its manner seemed a mix of a dragon and a snake. But its eyes were too wide, its mouth too much like a grin. It reminded him of a pet dog. He wondered what it would do if he threw a stick. “Thank you for coming, Mester Stoorworm.”

  The fay shrugged its great shoulders and said, “Mab told us to come.” It didn’t make eye contact, frowning at the ground as if trying to remember something. It played with its hands like a child. “She said we had to help you.”

  Tom gave a grave nod. “I am very grateful to the two of you.”

  “There’s three of us,” Stoorworm said, as if it was obvious.

  As soon as the last figure emerged from the fog, Tom began to regret his plan.

  “Ho ho ho, it has been so long since we fooled in the mortal world!” Puck gambolled about the horses, rearing up and whinnying at them. “Is our queen not good to us, Tom?”

  “You said it yourself, Puck. The word ‘good’ has no meaning to the fay.”

  “Ho ho ho, no no no, that was not us, Tom Tom, no no.” The fay snapped at a horse and cackled as it shied away. He skipped over to Fenoderee. “That was Robin Goodfellow.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Puck would be impossible to control. Could they send him back? “My apologies.”

  “You do not seem pleased to see us, Tom.” Puck pouted. “You seemed better pleased by this walking swamp.”

  “Have a care, Puck.” Fenoderee sounded like he spoke with lungs full of water.

  “You would not dare to touch us,” Puck replied.

  “You think our queen can do more to us?”

  “Much more.”

  “We care not.”

  “We care not that you care not.” Puck examined Fenoderee’s leg, picking at some moss growing there. “Do you
care not?”

  “Puck, please.” Tom shook his head. This couldn’t work. “Our work must be careful, precise. We will not succeed if we do not work together.”

  Puck drew himself up to his full, unimpressive height. “The Puck works alone, Tom. You know that.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  The Puck grinned, revealing wickedly sharp teeth. “To taste mortal tears.”

  Tom shook his head. “That is not our purpose,” he said. But was it the purpose Fenoderee had spoken of? He looked at the fay, but he was unmoved. “If you want to help us, Puck, you must obey me.”

  “Obey? Puck?” The fay looked affronted, then angry, then cackled and slapped his knees. “Oh Tom, you are a better fool than we had thought.” He fell back to all fours and hopped closer. “This foray into the mortal world will be delicious indeed.”

  “I make no jest, Puck.” Tom kept his voice even. Not stern. Not gentle. A Puck riled was no pleasant thing. “You must swear to obey me. “

  Puck pouted. “We need not swear,” he said. Like a small child. “We could simply follow you, and do as we willed.”

  “But if we are discovered and caught? If our purpose is spoiled? Would Mab be happy?”

  Puck looked at the ground, lost in fog. He plucked his own fur on his fingers. “No.”

  “So do you swear?”

  A growl grew low in Puck’s throat before he threw himself to the mist-covered ground, bucking and gnashing and growling. Tom tugged his horse away from the fay’s tantrum.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Brega said.

  In a moment the Puck was in the air, dangling from his ankles, hefted by Fenoderee like he weighed no more than an apple. Tom blinked. He hadn’t expected Fenoderee to be so quick. Or so strong.

  Puck thrashed and growled and then, in a heartbeat, hung limp and silent, his breath ragged.

  “Do you swear to obey me?” Tom asked.

  “We do,” Puck cried.

  “Say the words.”

  He growled again and Fenoderee gave him a shake. “Yes, yes. We swear to obey you,” Puck spat. “Now put us down, you overgrown fern.”

  Fenoderee dropped him and Puck scrambled to his feet, growling like a wounded dog. Fenoderee seemed unconcerned, even when Puck snapped his teeth at him. “We could break you like a twig,” Puck said.

  The other fay rolled his shoulders with a crack and a grind. “Would we notice?”

  “Behave,” Tom told them. He turned to see Gravinn looking at him with pleading eyes. “And give Gravinn the Second Sight.”

  Puck pouted but Fenoderee nodded and a moment later the dwarf cried out. She tugged her horse away and stared up at Mester Stoorworm.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “I’ll explain later,” Tom said. He turned to Dank. “Are we ready?”

  The boy nodded. “Unless you wish to visit Faerie?”

  It was an offer Tom hadn’t expected and he paused. To breathe Faerie air. To speak to Emyr about the sword. To rest.

  To see Queen Mab.

  He touched the sword at his hip and took from it the resolve to say, “No. Not at the moment.”

  Dank nodded. “Then we are ready to go.”

  Before the Kingdom had been united, Cairnabren was the capital of the state still known as Malmansyr. The War of the Union had lasted decades, but Malmansyr had weathered it the best, for it had solid borders, good farmland, and plenty of riches. Some still believed that, had Malmansyr given its support to Renwyr’s family instead of Idris’, the war would have ended with a different king on the throne. But, in the end, Idris’ great-grandfather had offered Malmansyr too sweet a deal to turn down. Now the state was the throne’s biggest supporter, providing wealth, crops, weapons, and more.

  “But all that support needs a paper trail,” Gravinn told them. She had a map of the city laid out, the fog at their feet blurring its details. “Ownership of goods, deeds of sale, tax declarations, receipts, invoices. Without the paper, no-one can prove who owns what, whether it can be given to someone else, and whether someone owes someone else money for it.”

  “Storrstenn was right about elfs and paper,” Tom said.

  “Westerners and paper,” Brega corrected him. “We don’t make it so hard for ourselves in the Angles.”

  “Not that this isn’t terribly exciting.” Puck was trying to do handstands and failing. “Indeed, we are so excited that we can barely contain ourselves. Should a fellow tell us there was something more thrilling than paperwork, ho ho, an honest Puck would call him a liar and a cad.”

  “Patience, Puck.”

  “You would have me be patient?” The fay let himself fall to the ground and threw an arm over his eyes. “Ah me, you would change me, Tom. You would have me be a rock, or a chair, not a good fool.”

  Tom couldn’t help but smile.

  Gravinn unrolled a map of the city, drawn in stunning detail, even down to the names of shop owners in tiny letters against the walls. “They are building a new Records Office in Cairnabren. Strong, secure, with room enough to last a thousand years, so they say. But it’s not finished.” She pointed at a square on the map. “The old Records Office is an accident waiting to happen. A few matches and there’ll be a fire seen for miles.”

  Tom nodded. “And this will hurt Idris?”

  “Nothing will move in and out of the city for weeks.” She gave the map a triumphant tap and sat back.

  “Then what are we waiting for?”

  They emerged from the Circle into a small wooded area. The night was young, the moon hidden by trees, stars blotted out by mountains behind them. The air was still, cold, sharp on the back of the throat. It felt all the chillier after the warmth of the Between.

  No-one said a word. The horses were quiet. Even the creatures that came out at night were hushed. As if the whole of Tir waited with a bated breath.

  “How far to the city?” Tom asked, more to make some noise than for the answer.

  “An hour.” Gravinn’s horse was too big for her but she already had it in hand.

  It made Tom feel inept. “We should go.”

  Their travel was almost reticent, as if no-one had any heart for the journey. Save the fay, of course. Stoorworm slithered off between the trees in a moment, Puck riding his back like he was a horrendous steed, whooping and crying out. Gravinn warned against the noise until Tom explained that anyone without the Second Sight would not be able to hear them. She said nothing to that, and the darkness meant Tom couldn’t make out her expression.

  The woods were small and sparse, the terrain hilly enough that sometimes they could see over the trees and the city ahead. It was larger than Cairnalyst, a cluster of glittering false stars rising up against the mountains. The torchlight was enough to illuminate a huge four-sided pyramid in the heart of the city.

  “What’s that?” Tom asked.

  “The tomb.” Gravinn spoke as if it was obvious.

  “The tomb?”

  “The heart of the city.” Fenoderee had kept pace with the horses, silent in voice and tread until now. “Where humans bury the founder of their city, the Westerners elevate them.”

  The tomb towered over every other building, at least twice as high if not more. How could anyone lend their strength to a city when they were so far removed from it? It felt wrong somehow, and the thought gave Tom a shiver. Or he thought it did. But the chill grew stronger the closer they came to the city, and so did the sense of wrongness. A stillness. Like the air was empty.

  Void.

  There was a tug in his thoughts. Like he was trying to attract his own attention. Caledyr led him like a hunting dog, turning his head, making him aware of the difference in the air to the left.

  Magic. And an absence of magic.

  “Tom.” Brega kept her voice low, though there had been no sign of anyone else since they had come through the Circle. “We should not delay.”

  But before Tom could speak, Fenoderee said, “It will only take a moment.”
He was hunched, dragging his knuckles on the ground. A grotesque shadow, like a beastman.

  “You know what that is?”

  Fenoderee nodded, but it was Dank who said, “A monolith.”

  “You can feel it?”

  The boy nodded, stiff. He was in pain. As if there was iron in the air itself.

  They only had to ride a minute before they saw it. Stone so black it seemed to suck the light out of the world, storing it in the shining veins of silver-grey skittering across the surface. The closer they came, the greater the sense of unease. The monolith loomed over them, the top lost in foliage. Dank and the fay had stopped yards away. How much pain did it cause them? And why?

  “I though the monoliths were magical?”

  “There are strong magics around them, but they are not magical in themselves.” Fendoree sounded earnest but strained. “Quite the opposite.”

  How could they be both? But as Tom brought his horse up alongside, he could feel it. Not in the stone. That was like solid iron, so strong it made his thoughts fuzzy and disjointed. But there was magic in the air around it. Tightly coiled, like invisible ropes stretching out from the stone. Tom lifted a hand, as if he could touch one.

  “Careful, Tom.” Puck actually sounded frightened. It was a thing Tom had never heard before: a Puck’s fear.

  It was the only reason he touched the stone.

  The world went dark and roared, a storm of noise, a deluge of sounds and sights that were here and gone so quickly he could make no sense of them. Flickers of people and places. He tried to take a closer look, but he had no eyes, no limbs, no body of any kind. He could only drift in the rage of the world, washed away by it all.

  Except there were those coiled strings of magic. He almost felt he could reach for one, touch it, touch it and–

  “Tom.”