The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  They walked in silence after that, straining to hear footsteps that weren’t their own. Brega seemed to grow heavier with each step and soon sweat stung the wounds on Tom’s flank, his back, his neck. They called a few rests, but no-one else offered to carry her. Finally, after what felt like miles, they reached the end of the tunnel and a solid stone door.

  “It seems too small.” Neirin sounded disappointed. But he was right. Everything about the Kingdom seemed large and extravagant except this tunnel.

  “There’s no handle,” Gravinn said.

  “It’s not meant to be opened from this side,” Six explained.

  “So what do we do?”

  Katharine lifted the lamp and Six grinned in its weak light. “This.” He pulled out a nail. Tom could feel the iron in the air. Six nudged Katharine’s hand to move the lamp closer, then he inserted the nail into the crack between the door and the wall, close to the floor. He muttered to himself as he began to push, twist, slide, curse, twist some more.

  “Perhaps we should have brought the other Westerner,” Dank said.

  Six froze and Tom thought he might get angry. But he continued his work and, a moment later, there was a very small click. Had the nail snapped? No, the door swung open and Six stood with a grin and flourish.

  “Knowledge,” he said, to no-one in particular.

  “Well done.” Neirin was too intent on what lay beyond the door to notice Six’s surprise. “What now?”

  “Now there are stairs. A lot of stairs.”

  “Leading to where?”

  “The king’s apartments.”

  “Let me guess,” Tom said. “The king’s apartments are in that central pyramid. Right at the top.”

  “Not the top,” Six replied with another, wearier grin. “But almost.”

  It felt like they’d been climbing for hours and there were still miles of stairs to go.

  “Why did they build it so big?” Tom’s legs were burning, his throat dry.

  Gravinn said, “Prestige. Ego. Too much wealth. Pick one.”

  Even Six said, “The capital can’t be seen to be smaller than another city.”

  But Dank said, “It wasn’t any of those things.”

  “What was it?”

  “Love.” He turned and gave Tom a look that made him uncomfortable. Like it looked right through him. Or undressed him. Dank said with Mab’s voice, “The woman that everybody loved deserved the greatest tomb.” She, he, someone sounded bitter.

  It was that more than the words that told Tom she was speaking about, “Eirwen.”

  He who finds Eirwen will deliver her king.

  Dank just nodded and Six said, “It’s possible. There are stories that Cairnagwyn was build around Eirwen.”

  “Who else could it be?” Dank countered.

  “There are many people interred in this city.”

  Tom could hear Katharine and Six talking ahead. Out of breath, their whispers were careless.

  “Will you be okay?” she asked.

  “I hope so.”

  “You did the right thing.”

  “Did I?”

  “He was your brother. But he wanted to do terrible things.”

  “But he was my brother.”

  “What did you say to him? Before you left?”

  “I told him I wished it had been different. And that I loved him. No matter what.”

  “That’s nice.”

  “So have you forgiven Tom?”

  “I suppose I have to.”

  “You don’t have to do anything.”

  “You know that’s not true anymore.”

  They had to stop for water and rest. They all took tiny sips from Katharine’s flask. Neirin surrendered his share to Brega. When Tom held the flask to her lips, she hissed.

  “Cei’s breath.” Whatever the healer had given her had worn off. “Did you let the dwarf eviscerate me?”

  She’d been groaning and cursing for hours. But when Tom went to reply, Neirin said, “Tom has shown a desire to see you well. That you might serve your Shield as his strong right hand.”

  She drank her water and gazed at Neirin.

  “Climbing stairs again, Tom,” Dank panted.

  “It feels like we’ve been climbing forever.”

  He ignored Tom’s response. “Do you think the top will be as interesting as Cairnidol?”

  Play him at his own game. “Do I ever get to speak to the boy? Or am I always talking to the fay?”

  “Are we not interesting enough anymore?” He sounded like Puck.

  “I’m not sure where the fay ends and the boy begins.”

  “There’s no beginning or ending, Tom.” Dank tipped his head back, staring up towards the top. Or the sky. Or the infinite beyond. “Just now. Nothing else matters.”

  Easy to say for an immortal. “The boy will age and die.”

  “He will go on with us.” The answer was flippant and cavalier.

  “Not when he’s dead.”

  Dank snorted. “Dead.” He stopped and turned, giving Tom a condescending smile. All too like the Puck. “A seer that sees nothing.”

  Tom growled. He wasn’t in the mood for insults. “Can’t I just talk to Dank? Send the sprite up, let it scout out the end of these infernal stairs.”

  “You think he becomes a normal man without his sprite?”

  “Doesn’t he?”

  Dank just turned and continued his climb.

  “You’d think a king would make his escape route a little easier on himself.” Tom was watching his feet in the gloom. Looking up or down was just a reminder of how high this climb was.

  “And maybe a little shorter,” Katharine replied. Tom hadn’t noticed she was so close. Weak sunlight oozed through a skylight far above, enough to see that she looked tired. Exhausted, in fact, and puffy. Was she ill?

  “Thank you,” he said. When she frowned, he added, “For helping Brega.”

  She just nodded, and they walked another flight before he asked, “Do you think we can go back to how things were?”

  “How things were?” That wariness again. “You mean lovers?”

  For a moment he heard Maev’s throaty laugh and could smell her hair. Jasmine. Rich, dark earth.

  He didn’t know what he wanted. “I don’t want to make demands of you,” he told her.

  Katharine shook her head. “I don’t think there’s any going back now.”

  Tom felt his steps slow. He knew he needed to keep up the pace or he’d stop and not start again. But he couldn’t believe what she was saying. “Never?”

  Katharine tipped her head back, staring up at the sunlight. “I think we have to go forwards now.”

  The stairs ended in a tiny landing and another little stone door. There was only enough space to set down Brega and step aside to make room for Six.

  “I need more light,” he said. The skylight above was filthy and smeared, letting in only weak, dirty light. Before Katharine could lift her torch, Dank stepped forward, palm glowing. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” The boy was breathless. But due, not to exertion, but perhaps to excitement.

  Why did the fay want to break the monoliths?

  A few minutes and Six had the door unlocked. The light beyond was blinding, and they blinked and squinted as Six led them into the king’s apartments.

  Tom had expected luxury and excess, a display of wealth and opulence to make Gerwyn blush. But the room was clean, almost bare. The floor was naked white stone. The walls were blue, unadorned save the Western flag hanging opposite the bed, which was clothed in plain white sheets. The only concession to property was a book on the pillow. Nothing more.

  “This is Idris’ room?” Neirin asked, voice a mere murmur.

  “It is.” Six had crept to the archway and peered into the room beyond. But it was empty. He waved them forward, into a sitting room with four chairs, a table and nothing more. It was unnerving. Like the place was abandoned. Six was listening at the door.

 
The walls faded, replaced by others. Closer, more cramped. A pillar of veined black stone occupied the centre of the room, disappearing into the ceiling above. Stone sarcophagi surrounded the pillar in concentric circles. Tom had Caledyr in his hand, drawn, and a voice said, “Better it is if we can talk, not fight.”

  The present returned. He’d almost dropped Brega.

  “Be careful,” she grumbled.

  “The monolith runs up the centre of the building,” Six said. “Our best bet is to go to the top floor.”

  “To the tomb?” Tom asked.

  Six gave him an odd look. “That’s right.”

  Someone would find them. Or was waiting for them. But there was no avoiding it. So he said nothing. He let Six lead them out of the room, up some more stairs, passing another floor.

  “Is it the next floor?” he asked Six.

  “Yes,” the elf whispered.

  “Good.” Tom handed over his end of Brega’s sheet and drew Caledyr. Signalled silence to the others and crept up the remaining steps.

  Towards his fight with Dank. Towards a battle with a figure in black.

  The room was just as he’d seen in his foresight. Sun bathed the room through great open windows, a rush of air and the distant sounds of the city below rushing around them. A pillar of veined black ran floor to ceiling, surrounded by rings of sarcophagi, and a figure in white knelt before one of them. His face was hidden by long blonde hair, and he wore a crown that was more like a soldier’s helmet. But Tom knew it was Idris. It had to be. The end of this journey, every struggle and every failure and every dark moment, had to end with Idris.

  But everyone was too busy staring at Draig.

  Chapter 22

  “Good it is, seeing you again.” Draig smiled. Like he was genuinely pleased to see them. Like they hadn’t left him for dead.

  He wore black, but without the skeletal decorations of the East he looked wrong, somehow, naked or unfinished. And the swords in his hands made him seem even stranger; instead of the curved Eastern scimitars, he wielded two angular Western blades. It made his loyalties clear. Draig stood between them and the monolith.

  The figure in black.

  “You’re alive.” There was no pleasure in Brega’s voice. Just a cold statement of fact.

  “You have hurt.” Draig’s concerned frown was reassuring. He still cared about Brega. Perhaps he cared about the rest of them too.

  “More than you know.”

  Draig smiled at her barb, but that smile disappeared as Neirin stepped forward.

  “So you stand with your new master now?” His words were cold. Cold and tired.

  But it was Idris who replied. “Draig does not serve us.” He stood, hands by his sides, palms out. His voice was soft but powerful, his features beautiful but commanding. He seemed handsome enough to follow and strong enough to lead. “His interests ally with our own. That is all.”

  “And what interests are those?” Neirin asked.

  Draig said, “Stopping you.”

  Why? Why was Draig so intent on thwarting them? And how did he get here? How had he escaped? He must have been freed. But by whom?

  Tom turned to Dank. “Why is Draig here?”

  But the boy smiled a weak and watery Melwas-smile. “What does it matter?” He pointed a shakey finger at the monolith. “There is your Emoddian task. See it done.”

  Tom turned back to Draig. “Who freed you?”

  Draig’s smile was sad. Almost apologetic. “Know you that already, Tom.”

  He did know. He just didn’t understand. “Why?”

  But Draig shook his head. “Refused they to tell it to me. But accepting I had to give.” He shrugged. “Must I stop you.”

  Like a question, and Tom treated it as such. “No. You don’t have to. We don’t have to do what they want us to do.”

  “Then do not break the monoliths.”

  Could he? Could he just walk away? “No.” The weight of the journey was too heavy. “We’ve come too far.”

  “Never is it too far.”

  Said the elf who had betrayed his people and his friends. It was as Katharine had said. There was no way back. There was only forwards. “I need to break the monoliths,” he said.

  “Because they tell it to you?” Draig nodded at Dank.

  “Because if I don’t, none of this will mean a thing.” Every cut and bruise, every hurt feeling, everyone left behind.

  “Do you this for them, for fay,” Draig said. “Please, Tom. Do not this thing. Ask why do they want this?”

  Why did the fay want to break the monoliths?

  “Maybe he’s right,” Katharine said, tentative, like Tom might turn on her.

  But she was one of the reasons he had to do this. Or he would have made her hate him for nothing.

  “Poor little Tom.” Dank sounded like he was about to vomit. His skin was covered in a sheen of sweat. “Always ready to obey. Will you put down the sword like a good little boy?”

  Melwas was goading him. Trying to get him angry. And he was tired of it. Everyone had a purpose for him. Carry the sword. Terrorise the people. Free dragons, break monoliths.

  Even his own feelings held him in thrall. Hate Idris. Love Maev. Despite what his mind knew was the truth: he was a used thing.

  But all that mattered were the oaths he had sworn.

  So he slid the sword into the scabbard. Ignored Draig’s smile. Ignored Neirin’s protests. Just watched Dank’s face. The attempt to mask anger and frustration.

  “Tell me why,” Tom said.

  “You seek to command us?”

  “You’re using me.” He took a step closer. “Whispering in my ear: I need to make myself worthy; my friends don’t trust me; my friends can’t be trusted. You sent Dank to manipulate me. You sent Glastyn for the same reason. You undid Fenoderee for trying to tell me.” He was face-to-face with Dank now. Melwas grinned up at him with the boy’s face. “So tell me why.”

  “We are a king.”

  “You’re not my king.”

  “No.” Dank chuckled. “And she is not your queen.”

  The air stilled. What did he mean? Was he banishing Tom from Faerie? Or had she manipulated him too?

  Of course she had. As if she could have had any real interest in him. Mortal, clumsy, nothing. He was no hero, no great man. Not even the Thomas Rymour of stories. Just Tom. Old. Tired. Small.

  Dank pulled a sad face, mocking him. “Poor little Tom. Don’t feel too bad.” He grinned, cheeks quivering with the effort. “You would hardly be the first mortal to dance for a moment between her legs.”

  Enough.

  Dank folded around his fist with a groan. Staggered from an open-handed slap into a sarcophagus.

  “Why do you want the monoliths broken?”

  But Dank just grinned. That infuriating Faerie grin. Full of secrets and superiority. Tom was sick of it. He punched it away, knocked Dank to the ground. Tom hauled him to his feet.

  “Tell me.”

  Threw another punch to the gut.

  “Tell me.”

  Threw him against another sarcophagi.

  “Tell me.”

  Picked the boy up to throw him back down.

  “Tell me.”

  But Dank was laughing. Melwas was laughing. “All this new-found strength and violence, little Tom, and what is it to us?” He tipped his bloodied face up, one eye squinting against blood. “Do you think we care if you break this body?”

  Of course not. They didn’t care about Dank either. Mortal pain was nothing to them. Melwas would watch Dank bleed and die and feel nothing.

  So Tom would have to speak to the boy without the fay. “Get a jar,” he said to anyone who would listen. “Quickly.”

  “Leave him be.” Idris was distressed. Fraught. “Or we will have you executed.”

  There was only Draig. But how many elfs would come running if Idris called for them?

  Except, “Where are your guards, Your Majesty?”

  “Close by.”
/>
  “Why not here? In this room?”

  “The fay told us we had no need of them. Just Draig.”

  Of course. “They advise you.”

  “They are friends to us.” The last said to Dank. As if reassuring him.

  “They acted as friends to us too, Your Majesty.” Tom pointed at Dank, laying all the confusion and blame at his door with a gesture. “They helped us cross your Kingdom and infiltrate your palace. They are not your friends. Or ours.”

  But Idris shook his head. “I don’t believe it.” No royal ‘we’ now. Just an elf who had been lied to. Who looked like he might cry.

  “I cannot lie,” Tom said.

  “This is of truth,” Draig agreed.

  Idris snapped at Draig, “Why are you standing there? Kill him and take the sword.”

  Draig’s expression hardened. “Do I protect the monolith. No more things.”

  “Trust me, Your Majesty,” Tom said. “The fay are using us all. He’ll admit it.”

  Dank snorted. “It burns you, not to know.” The same words Draig had said to Neirin. He clambered to his feet, stood as tall and proud as he could. “We will not tell you.”

  Tom couldn’t help but smile. He was going to enjoy this.

  “We have a jar,” Six said, and in the moment Dank glanced at the elf, Tom launched himself at the boy, slammed him against the monolith. Dank yelped as if the black stone burnt him, cried out as Tom threw his weight against him.

  Dank screamed. Howled. Wailed. The noise he made wasn’t mortal. Tom felt it with another sense, a sense that felt dulled and blunted by the monolith. Magic. This was Melwas’ pain. The freezing agony of the monolith passed through Dank, back to his master. The boy began to thrash, fling his head, reach back and claw at Tom. “We will see you die for this,” he hissed.

  Tom ducked his head, ignored the scratching fingers, and said, “You insulted the queen.” Because, if he didn’t, the fay would hunt him down. But if Mab thought this was an act of loyalty? Then he stood a chance.

  Don’t think of that. Don’t think of what you’ve done.