The Realm Rift Saga Box Set

by James T Kelly

  "She needs her father," she replied. "And I need you too."

  So. He was the father. He tried to steel himself for the final blow, but he already knew that he’d made his decision. He wouldn’t abandon his daughter.

  "It would be easier if I didn’t know." He wasn’t sure why he said it aloud. Perhaps he needed Katharine to know why his resolve had failed. Perhaps he needed Melwas to know.

  He pulled Caledyr free, and Melwas groaned and collapsed. The grass at their feet had grown black and dry, the rain pounding it into dust.

  "Let’s go," he told himself. Katharine took his hand and led him to the others. Tom couldn't help but glance back at the Faerie King, who lay on his back and stared unseeing up at the rain that never fell in Faerie. Couldn’t help but enjoy a moment of dark pride that he, Thomas Rymour, had brought Melwas to his knees.

  He let Katharine place his hand on Dank's outstretched arm.

  "To Cairnakor," Gravinn said.

  There was no simple tug. It was a struggle, as if Dank was lifting a mountain by himself, climbing a waterfall, staring unblinking at the sun. Tom felt the battle in the very heart of himself, thrashed against the magic that wrapped around them like a malicious, suffocating sheet. Again they were all as one, like individual inks poured into the same bowl, mixing their fears and loneliness together.

  And that tiny new life. That little impossibility. Tom reached for it without thinking, sheltered it in warmth and promises against the storm of magic, against the tidal wave of thoughts and identities.

  He felt her settle, put a thumb in her mouth. His daughter. He could laugh. Or cry. Maybe both. His daughter.

  I will look after you, he whispered. I won't let anyone hurt you, he promised.

  And he felt Katharine's relief at his words.

  They were thrown into Tir, crashing to the ground. Old injuries awoke and Tom tasted grass. The world was spinning and lurching and he felt very certain he would be sick. He curled into a ball for a moment, taking deep breaths. Deep, cool breaths. But there was a smell of burning in the air that made him feel worse. He opened his eyes, shut them against the spinning, forced them open again and made himself meet the dark gaze of the man standing over him.

  "You're here," Tom said, swallowing the bile that threatened to follow his words, staggering to his feet and leaning on his knees. If he'd felt tired before, now he was beyond exhaustion. It was oddly freeing. He felt he could walk for days, if only because he couldn't feel worse for it. He straightened his back and said, "I won't ask how you got here."

  “Because you know I don't remember." Ambrose stood still as stone, robes stiff with mud and filth, face shadowed by a wide-brimmed hat. His hair and beard, both a dirty grey, were long and unwashed, and his skin was leathery and wrinkled with impossible age. Yet he did not lean on his simple wooden staff. He didn't shift or seek a place to sit like many old men. He just stood, impossibly still. Like a statue made flesh. Tom wasn't even sure if he was breathing.

  The sorcerer’s lips twisted in a smile. "It’s good to see you again, Tom." His smile didn’t touch his eyes, which remained two pits with just a hint of light. Nothing but an ember, the tiniest spark, trapped deep within the dark.

  The present faded and Tom saw himself sat in darkness, no sun or moon or stars to light the cold, dead world he found himself in. "You lost Caledyr," someone said.

  A groan from Emyr swept aside the foresight. "My king," Tom said, rushing to his side and lifting him to his feet. "We need to get you to a healer.”

  "I can’t do it.” Emyr words pleaded for relief, his hands pale and shaking and covered in blood.

  "Just a little farther," Tom promised him.

  But Emyr’s legs were weak, his steps stumbling. Tendons and veins stood out in his neck like they would burst. "I can’t."

  "Just a little farther." But it was no good. There was no way Emyr could walk anywhere. Tom looked at Draig, still sat in the grass. "Help me carry him."

  Ambrose stilled any response Draig would have offered. "Not you," the old sorcerer told Tom. "Draig and Six."

  "Why?" But Tom knew why; Ambrose’s dark stare was resting on Caledyr. "Gravinn, lead the way." Tom relinquished his grip on Emyr and drew the sword, the blade singing in his grip.

  "A moment," Gravinn begged, pale and curled around her belly.

  "We don’t have a moment. We need a place filled with iron, and we need a healer." Emyr groaned, and Tom added, "Now."

  But the word was barely past his lips when the back of his neck began to tingle and the air began to hum. Magic. He turned, and the air behind him seemed to thicken, like a wisp of a shadow that drew its fellows to it, growing larger and darker, growing legs and arms and solidifying into pale skin and a cruel smile.

  Queen Mab. Stood in Tir, dressed in a tapestry of mismatched clothing and adorned with strange jewels and trinkets. A parody of a Pathfinder. Even her hair was bound in a tail just like Katharine’s. But where Katharine’s outfit spoke to her journeys to foreign lands, Mab’s was designed to accentuate her figure, stretched over her skin, baring her midriff, drawing the eye to a generous cleavage. She was beautiful as ever, and her eyes danced with promise.

  Tom hefted Caledyr, placed his feet where the sword told him to, and tried to ignore how his traitorous heart danced.

  Her smile grew wider and she ducked her chin. When she spoke it was with a coquettish air. "Surely you do not think to use that against us, our Tom?"

  Her manner was all wrong. Just moments ago he had brought her king to his knees. He had violated Faerie, he had threatened to pull it all down. And Queen Mab smiled at him.

  "What do you want?" he asked.

  Her smile faded and her manner cooled. "Is that any way to address your queen?"

  The others were still, silent, barely breathing. "Go," he told them. "Gravinn, take them where they need to go."

  "We have not dismissed them," Mab said.

  "Your audience is with me," Tom replied. "Go," he said again. And when Mab bristled, he said, softer, "Let them go. I’ll sheathe the sword. We can talk."

  "No, Tom,” Katharine said. Tom risked a glance over his shoulder and saw her stood with her hand on her belly and reproach in her eyes.

  "I’ll catch up," he told her.

  "It seems you are always racing to catch up," Mab said. And to Katharine she added, "You’ll have your hands full with two of them."

  Katharine made no attempt to hide her disgust. "Don’t take too much time with this thing," she told him, and turned and walked away.

  Mab traced a long nail across her own jawline and down her elegant neck. "We have flayed mortals alive for less," she mused.

  "You have forgiven more," Tom reminded her.

  "Is that what you ask, our Tom?" Mab let out a throaty laugh. "Do you want to return to our bosom and be told that all is forgiven?"

  Tom tried not to look at her bosom as he asked, "Would you offer forgiveness if I asked for it?"

  Mab looked him up and down and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Would it amuse us to do so?" she mused. Tom tried not to imagine a passionate embrace, her rough touch, the taste of her skin. A rush of blood brought warmth to his face and she raised her eyebrows. "It seems it would amuse you," she added.

  Fight.

  The sword was right. Mab might be all seductive wiles, but she was as dangerous as any other fay. And she might be only a diversion to separate him and the sword from the others. So he said, "Leave the others be."

  She stepped closer and looked over his shoulder. "Dank has opened our doors to mortals, and Draig forgot his oath to stop you." She shrugged and brushed at something on his shoulder. "But no matter. That isn’t why we are here."

  He could smell her. Jasmine and rich, dark earth. "Why are you here?"

  She pushed her body against his, sliding her hand across his shoulders and murmuring into his ear, "To warn you, sweet Thomas. Our Thomas," she claimed him. "You did great harm to our king. That will not come without consequences.
"

  She had her hand in his hair and sighed satisfaction and desire. This was not the kind of torment he had imagined. "I will bear them willingly, if you spare the others."

  "You will bear them, willingly or no," she warned him as another hand snaked around into the small of his back. "You will bear whatever we decide you will."

  He felt her smile against his cheek. She had hold of him. Entirely. She could pull him back into Faerie in an instant. Part of him thrilled at the thought. Another part was disgusted that he had let her entrap him without a single protest.

  As if sensing his conflict she tightened her embrace, waking old pain in the wound he’d taken from an Erhenni fighter. An Erhenni who had died so he could free Tir from the Western Kingdom. From oppression and suffering.

  "Release me," he told her.

  A moment of silence. When she spoke, her words were breathy. "Do you really want us to?"

  But it was all a lie. Nothing more than an act. Nothing like the blood and sacrifice he had witnessed and suffered. Nothing like the promise of birth to come. "Release me," he said again. She stepped back and gazed into his eyes, trying to find something. Let her look. "Melwas threatened me and mine," he told her. "I hurt him to protect them. If you want me to apologise, Your Majesty, I must disappoint you. Because I’ll do the same to any fay who tries to hurt them."

  "Even us?" She sounded distracted, as if she was barely listening. Still looking for something in his gaze.

  "It would pain me to do so." That was true, as much as he didn’t want it to be. "But, yes. Even you."

  A slow smile spread across her face. "Such fire, Thomas. A fire that would make any maid weak in her knees." She placed a finger beneath his chin, and made a satisfied sound that somehow seemed to promise more than mere satisfaction. "Go," she purred. "Protect you and yours." She brushed a thumb over his lips. "Hurt the fay we send after you, if you can. Show us this new fire." She released him and stepped back. Her abrupt dismissal stilled his tongue and, despite himself, he bowed his head.

  "Don’t spoil it," she told him, and he looked up to see her form softening, like her flesh was smoke being plucked at by the faintest wind. "Do not raise our expectations, Thomas, only to disappoint us. You will like that even less than our king’s wrath."

  And then she faded into nothing, and he was stood alone on the hill.

  Chapter 2

  "What did that creature want?" Katharine demanded when Tom rejoined the others.

  "I’m not sure." His thoughts still felt foggy, as if her scent had crept in and muddled his mind. Perhaps it had. "But I’m not sure I made anything better."

  "Please, Tom," Six grunted. He was waddling backwards along the white gravel road with Emyr’s feet in his hands while Draig had his arms hooked under the old king’s armpits. "Such a shocking revelation might make me drop him."

  The sarcasm made Tom blink and he drew breath to bite back. But, before he could, Dank asked, "Are they coming for us?"

  The boy’s obvious fear deflated Tom’s anger and he nodded. "They are."

  "Then does any of this matter?"

  The fay were immortal. They wouldn’t be stopped. Yes, they had Caledyr. But one blade could not keep the whole of Faerie at bay.

  But what could he say? Nothing but, "Yes." Dank didn’t believe him. That much was clear. But Tom reached out to Katharine, who wouldn’t look at him but was listening intently, and brushed a finger across the back of her hand. "Nothing matters more."

  Her lips quirked with the effort of hiding a smile. And Ambrose said, "We have time." The old sorcerer didn’t look at anyone as he spoke. He stared at and through the road at his feet, shuffling along and leaning on his staff as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. "Three days."

  "Is that true?" Dank asked.

  "You know who Ambrose is," Tom told him.

  "I don’t," Gravinn called over her shoulder.

  "Your people called me by a different name," Ambrose replied. "Melled."

  That stopped Gravinn in her tracks, and Six grunted. "By all means, let’s stop and stare at the old man. Emyr gets lighter with every step."

  Gravinn started walking again, but kept looking back over her shoulder. "The Thunder King’s advisor?" she asked. "You live too?"

  "In a way," Ambrose replied.

  "Do you have to tell the truth like Tom?"

  "No. I don’t."

  "But you trust him?" That question she directed at Tom, and for a moment he wasn’t sure how to answer. The old man lies. That’s what Nimuë had said. But Ambrose had given him the Call, the one that had saved them from Gerwyn’s rat pits. And Gravinn had it right; Ambrose had been Emyr’s most trusted adviser. Tom trusted Emyr. Did that mean he trusted Ambrose?

  "I believe him," he said. It was the truest answer he could offer, but it seemed to settle the matter for Gravinn; her eyes turned back to the path ahead.

  "Nimuë called him a liar," Six grunted.

  "Ah." Ambrose’s lips twisted into a smile. "Nimuë."

  "She also said he was a Faerie treasure."

  Yes. She had. An odd term to use. Was Ambrose a creature of Faerie now? Was this another of their elaborate games?

  "Nimuë only remained Nimuë because of a Faerie boon," Ambrose told them. "In exchange, the fay told her to watch over me. And over Caledyr. The fay were under the impression that both could be kept there. They were wrong."

  The sword grew larger in Tom’s mind for just a moment, like a giant turning in its sleep.

  "The stories say you were infatuated with Nimuë," Tom said.

  "I am." His smile grew sadder. "Until my end."

  "She was in thrall to the fay," Six’s voice was strained. "You were in thrall to her. Oen’s blood, are we there yet?"

  "You don’t trust me," Ambrose said.

  "You’re a quick one."

  "On the contrary." Ambrose nodded to his shuffling gait as if his neck didn’t twist the way it ought to. "But Tom can attest to this: being infatuated with someone doesn’t mean you are their creature."

  All eyes turned to Tom. None of them seemed reassured, and Tom felt his cheeks warm.

  "You and I," Ambrose said, and turned his gaze away to the horizon. "You and I, Tom. We do what we have to do."

  No-one spoke until they reached the city.

  Cairnakor was a sprawling, cramped creature. The buildings were either close and tall, or squat and teetering on mountainsides. They jostled for space with great chimneys that belched dark smoke into the thick, stinking fog that settled in the streets. The mountains clambered up from amongst the press and the stench to claw at the sky, as if trying to climb away from the miasma, but the swarm of the city kept them from the blue skies with its thick smog.

  There was no wall, no gate, no solid beginning to Cairnakor. Homes began to appear alongside the road, which became stone paving worn smooth by use, and the fog became thicker until they could barely see three foot ahead. The air felt thick and unhealthy, still and quiet in the early morning, though the streets were far from deserted; the alleyways were filled with dwarfs lying under rags or blankets. Tom had seen beggars in every town he’d visited, but never so many in one place. What was wrong in Cairnakor that so many were without homes?

  And how could they sleep with all this smoke? It rose out of the chimneys before sinking back into the fog that clogged the streets, making Tom cough and gag. The smell was unlike anything he’d smelt before. Something was burning, or had burnt, but there was no wind to toss away the stench. Tom glanced at Emyr’s wound. Didn’t dwarfs know that bad smells carried disease?

  "You get used to it," Katharine told him, and he felt a stab of guilt. Why hadn’t his first thought been of her and the child?

  "I’m not sure I want to," he replied, and lowered his voice to add, "We should leave as soon as possible."

  "Don’t start fussing over me," she told him, but her smile told him she was pleased.

  Gravinn lead them down a wide road filled with abandoned
carts and rough sleepers before taking them down a narrower path. The buildings on this street had huge glass windows behind which were arrayed a bewildering variety of goods and wares. Bakeries proudly displayed huge platters and trays soon to be filled with warm breads and pastries, and grocers showed off pyramids of apples and mounds of carrots. Tom’s stomach growled and he tried to remember when he’d last eaten. But Gravinn passed them all and stopped in front of another shop. Tom couldn’t read the sign, but the window told him everything he needed to know. Saws and hammers, knives and cogs and instruments of iron stared out at them through the glass. The fay would think twice about entering this place. Tom lifted his hand and hammered on the wooden door as hard as he could.

  The sound echoed down the empty street. No dwarf or creature stirred. He hammered again.

  This time there were rustlings and mutterings behind them. Tom whirled, brandishing Caledyr, but it was only a vagrant in the alley opposite. A dwarf emerged from underneath sheets of paper and blinked sleepily at them. He was, if not well-groomed, then certainly tidier than most rough sleepers Tom had encountered. He was clean and his clothes, while by no means rich, were sturdy and well made. His hair was bound into an uneven tail and his face bore equally uneven stubble, as if he had cut both without a mirror. He offered them a smile filled with yellowed teeth. "You can hammer until you wake the four giants themselves," he said. "But the proprieter of that particular establishment will not open the door until he decides to open his shop. All you will gain is trouble for others."

  How did this dwarf know that? Or was this simply a prelude to a request for money? Or food? Tom opened his mouth to offer an excuse, but Katharine stepped forward without hesitation and said, "Good dwarf, trouble has come to us." The ease with which she spoke to him left Tom feeling embarrassed. "We need the help of those inside." And she gestured to Emyr, whom Six and Draig had laid down on the street.

  The vagrant paled and muttered something in dwarfish. It was only when Katharine replied in the same tongue that he dragged his gaze away and offered her a weak smile and a question.