Then it had only been waiting for everyone to return.
First had been Philip and those with him.
It had been a blow for Oryan, seeing Philip, seeing what they had done to him. For all of Kyri’s Healing and Galan’s care while they awaited her return, neither could heal his mind. The man who arrived was a much different one than the Philip he’d known.
The physical wounds had healed, but Philip’s eyes were haunted. He was a broken man. It seemed he’d aged a decade in the few short weeks he’d been gone.
A half day later Morgan and Kyri, both showing signs of weariness and struggle, had arrived.
Taking a breath, looking Oryan in the eye, Kyri shrugged helplessly. Her eyes went to young Jordan.
“I’ll let him tell you himself,” she said, “and then Galan will ease the memories for him.”
Jordan looked stricken. “He’s walking?”
She gestured, as Galan helped Philip into the tent.
The man clearly looked aged, stooped, although he was hardly older than Morgan and only a fraction younger than Oryan.
His gaze was stronger, but febrile, bright. For a moment he turned them away from those gathered there.
Morgan laid a hand on his shoulder. He shook his head. “There’s no shame here, Philip.”
Nearly weeping, Philip looked at him.
“I told them everything,” he said bitterly. “Everything. After a while I couldn’t stop myself, anything to make it stop.”
Everyone went still, although it hadn’t been entirely unexpected.
“How much of everything, Philip?” Morgan asked, gently.
“The Fairy rescue, Gawain in the country, Oryan moving around…..”
Philip took a breath, his eyes widening. “They kept asking and asking. And then there were the wizards.” Horror filled his eyes. “To feel yourself dying, again and again. There’s something that they do, it’s as if they’re tearing your soul out…”
Then Kyri was there, touching his shoulder, smoothing away the pain, filling the dark places inside him with light. His face relaxed, his body grew less tense.
With a nod, Galan led him out again. Kyri gave Galan a grateful look.
Jordan started out after him, but Kyri halted him with a gesture.
“I can heal his wounds, ease his pain, even smooth out the memories,” she said. “But there are scars even I can’t heal. It’s as if they’ve worn tracks in his heart, soul and mind. Be kind. In time he will become more like the father you knew.”
Jaw clenched, Jordan nodded and hurried out.
Head lowered, Oryan’s mouth tightened.
“The question remains, how much does this change things?” he asked.
His eyes went around the room, seeing the same answer, however much he wanted it to be different.
Philip’s suffering had been in vain.
With a nod, he said, “Essentially, not at all. He’s only confirmed for Haerold what we suspected he’d guessed, that Kyri and her people helped with the escape, which we substantiated when we rescued Philip anyway. Since Haerold hasn’t been able to find me, he must suspect I’m moving around and Gawain is one boy in a sea of small boys scattered across the country. Keeping his name keeps him safer, for to Haerold’s convoluted mind we should’ve changed it.”
Kyri looked at him. “When I changed Gawain’s memories I also implanted the suggestion that if he was ever in dire trouble, he ‘Call’ me. Wherever he might be, I will hear him.”
Closing his eyes, Oryan nodded gratefully.
“So, nothing changes. We simply take more precautions. Still, there will be repercussions. Haerold is going to hit back and hard.”
Morgan said, “Everyone is on alert. We’re not going to give him anything to retaliate against.”
Turning to Kyri, Oryan said, “Now that he knows about your involvement, you and your people are his most likely target.”
More than anything else, Morgan had worried about that.
With a sigh, Kyri nodded. “I know. I’ve called most of my people back into the forest. We’re arranging trading stations so trade between our peoples continues.”
Detrick said, “We’re also pulling back but increasing our patrols so we can respond if Haerold moves against the villages.”
He gave a nod to Gaia, who grinned irrepressibly.
“Good,” Oryan said. “Anything else. No? All right, thank you all.”
With everything else, watching Philip and Jordan, Oryan couldn’t help but think of his own Gawain. His son, so far away. Now Haerold knew he was out there, somewhere….
As they stepped out of the tent Kyri and Morgan looked behind them to find Oryan staring down into the little silver scrying bowl, his mouth tight against the heartache but his eyes soft, clearly missing his son...
Chapter Twenty Two
The waiting was interminable. They’d known Haerold would retaliate in some way and soon. This however wasn’t that revenge, Morgan knew. The village was far too small, little more than a cluster of houses surrounded by farms and fields, as much a central gathering place for the farmers as anything else. It had once been a small peaceful village and would be again. At least for some little while.
It had been another of Haerold’s regular patrols, his tactics of intimidation.
Morgan looked around the small village, his hands on the pommel of his horse, with satisfaction, though.
His people were helping repair what damage the Hunters had wrought.
Most villages – even ones as small as this one – kept a lookout these days. At the first sight of Hunters all the able-bodied disappeared with the children to keep them safe, leaving only the old men and women to face the Hunters.
Attacks like this only aided Oryan’s cause, but Haerold didn’t understand that, cracking down all the harder, conscripting more people, increasing the taxes and the penalties.
More people flocked to Oryan’s banner each day, filling the ranks of the rebellion, which was all to the good, but it also put more responsibilities and demands on Morgan’s time and energy. It was necessary, but there were days when he was tired. Very tired.
Which made the time he spent with Kyri all the more precious to him. There were moments when he would just stand and hold her, letting the simple fact of her presence soothe him and fill him with peace. Even now, thinking of her, picturing her, washed away much of the weariness. He remembered the last time he’d seen her, when he’d left her last, she’d been sitting on a rock in the sunlight. Her wings had been furled around and her hair had gleamed gold in the sunlight.
She was so beautiful.
At no point did he lose his concentration, though, staying alert, Kyri in the back of his mind.
A band of rebels had spotted the Hunters closing and had come to help. They’d sent out a Call, which one of the local Fairy had passed on.
Morgan’s Marshals had responded.
The Hunters had fled, to live to fight another day. It didn’t happen all the time, but it did happen more often of late.
A few of the rebels and some of Morgan’s people had gone out to the tunnels in the fields where the children were hidden to help bring them back.
His mouth tight, Caleb came up to his horse, a broadsheet in his hand and held it up for Morgan to look at.
“Did you see this?” Caleb asked.
Morgan took it, his heart going cold as he read it.
His heart sank.
Kyri.
“Proclamation,” it said. “By the Order of the King, Haerold I, He hereby calls upon Kyriay, named by some and known as Queen of the Fair and Lady of the Forest, to meet and parley with him under a flag of truce at midday on the eighth day of the eighth month of the year, the first year of King Haerold’s reign on the steps of the King’s castle in Remagne. May the Gods bless Haerold’s reign and make it long. Long live the King.”
It wasn’t quite a summons, but it was close enough.
He shook his head. “No, I didn’t.”
>
Turning, he looked for the rebel leader. “Martin. Have you seen these?”
Martin reined his horse over, looked at it and shook his head.
“I need to know how many are out there, can you send a few of your people to find out? Caleb, get word to Jacob. I need to know if these are out in the city as well.”
Grimly, Caleb nodded, whistling over one of his riders.
That one took off in a hurry once given his mission.
It needed hurry, as Haerold hadn’t given Kyri much time to respond, less than two weeks.
That wouldn’t give them much time to prepare.
Which was undoubtedly Haerold’s intent.
He wouldn’t make the same mistake with Kyri that he’d made with Philip.
Kyri held the broadsheet in her hand, pacing, a slight frown creasing her forehead. With a sigh she let the hand holding the paper fall to her side, her eyes going to Morgan and Oryan. The broadsheet had been disseminated throughout the Kingdom and been hand-delivered to representatives of each foreign embassy where her people could be found.
Both men shared her concern, but Morgan acutely, knowing that it was Kyri that was at risk.
“I don’t know how to respond to this,” she said, tossing the paper onto the table finally. “He uses semantics to insult me, carefully cloaking the insults in common terms. A call is a summons to my folk, the only difference is intent and we know his. He doesn’t grace me by my proper title when he should, but implies that it is false or wrongly given by using words such as named by, known as. Yet he also shows he knows all my names. And we know what he’s done under a flag of truce. Yet he knows that I’m no fool.”
Her foot tapped impatiently.
“And if you don’t answer it somehow,” Oryan said, “he will declare it an act of war, using those couched terms as reason to take insult, both as King and personally, before everyone. An act of defiance.”
“Worse, some will see it as an end to the relationship and protections you laid on Fairy, Oryan, effectively stripping them away if Haerold withdraws support for them, which he hasn’t tacitly done, but they will see that way,” Morgan said. “It will be a return to the old days. Nor has he given us much time to respond.”
“In effect,” Oryan said, “he’s declared open season on Fairy once again.”
Kyri paced and thought, letting out a sigh. “Either way, my people lose and to some extent have already lost. He’s declaring war on my people.”
Forgetting himself, Morgan brushed her hair away from her face, his hand stroking down to her shoulder for a light touch of comfort.
She looked up at him gratefully.
Oryan noted it, as he’d noted other, smaller gestures of affection between the two, but he said nothing.
Since they had returned from Philip’s rescue there had been a difference between them, a closeness that hadn’t been there before and those small gestures. He wondered if there was something between them and what it was. The Fairy had long been noted for their flirtations with the men and women of the Kingdoms.
This, though, seemed more, on both their parts.
If it was true, Oryan both blessed and envied them for it, if they could find joy and comfort in these dark times. It also gave him hope for his own sake.
“The patrols have already increased, because of the Hunters. I can add little there.” Kyri said, pacing.
She wandered over to the map table, eyeing it. Then she frowned, going still as cold rushed through her.
“Morgan, Oryan, when did these turn?” she asked, mildly alarmed, pointing to Haerold’s wandering forces.
That single finger of Haerold’s army, that branch, had moved.
Morgan came over to the table, looked at the placements and then at Oryan, before turning his eyes to Kyri.
Oryan said, puzzled, “Word came yesterday.”
“The Fair,” Morgan said.
A breath sighed out of her. “Yes. There’s a small glen near there.”
Oryan looked at Morgan, whose jaw had tightened. “A show of force then.”
Looking at both men, Kyri said, “It’s not so great a problem. We’re a very mobile people, the Fair. It will be an uprooting for those who live there, but not insurmountable. Haerold underestimated us there.” With a thin smile she shook her wings free as her eyes unfocused slightly. “They’re leaving even now.”
That was somewhat of a relief.
Morgan let out a breath.
“That’s what Haerold has been doing, searching for and identifying Fairy lands, holding his people in a central location until he had a glen located,” Morgan said.
“You still have to respond to that, though, Kyri,” Oryan said worriedly, “or risk facing open war. There will be some among the other Kingdoms who would see it as an act of disrespect to another King if you don’t.”
However much Morgan wanted to deny it, he couldn’t.
“It’s also a trap,” Morgan said, stating what they all knew, his fear for Kyri sharp. “For Kyri. So, we’ll have to plan around that as well.”
Pacing, Oryan said, “Sending an embassy won’t do.”
“We’ve seen what he did with my last one,” Kyri said.
They’d nearly forgotten.
Caernarvon.
Oryan took a breath and nodded.
She gave them both a look that was more like the old Kyri and rolled her eyes.
That eased Morgan a little.
Kyri took a long deep breath. “All right. So I must meet with him and expect both treachery and a trap. Meeting him on the steps of his castle isn’t a choice, not beneath and behind his walls with all those archers.”
“You have the right to change the meeting place, Kyri,” Oryan said.
“But to where?” she asked.
“We also can’t forget the wizard or wizards,” Morgan said, remembering the battering Kyri had taken when she’d come back for him.
“There are ways around her or them,” Kyri said.
Morgan fingered the pendant around his throat.
She smiled and shook her head.
“No, Morgan, that is one of mine,” she said, tapping it lightly, looking up at him. “My gift to you.”
It suddenly struck him what she meant.
His eyes went to her wings.
So, all along he’d had one of her feathers over his heart.
Kyri nodded and smiled.
Morgan closed his hand around it.
“In any case,” she said wryly, “those only work for you and your people and that because the Fair are magical in and of ourselves. They do me no good at all. But I do have my own magic. I’m not completely defenseless.”
Morgan remembered the storm on the plains.
“That takes care of one problem, then,” Oryan said, “Now, about the location. Haerold won’t want to go far from Remagne and he’ll want his spectacle so he’ll still control the place. Could you hover?”
“I’m afraid not,” Kyri said wryly. “Not many creatures hover well. Hummingbirds and bees, but I’m not as light as they and although my wings will adapt to many formations, I can’t move them that fast. At best I can only hover for a few minutes, not much longer.”
Her eyes flashed sideways at Morgan.
Remembering that morning in the forest, watching as she bobbed up and down so tantalizingly, her slender ankle in his hand and remembering how it had ended, Morgan hid a smile.
That wouldn’t be enough time and they all knew it.
Morgan looked at Oryan. “How about the main city gates?”
“That high tower over them?” Oryan asked, envisioning the city, and looked to Kyri.
Frowning, she tried to picture it.
Morgan had gotten into the city himself.
Kyri had flown, but most of the buildings had been little more than dark shadows against the night sky. The trip out had been no better, her concern for Morgan blinding her to anything except him.
She shook her head. “I don’t remember.
”
“We’ll take a look at it. It’s a pediment, mostly decorative,” Morgan said, sketching it out.
Morgan hated the whole idea, but knew Oryan was right. It might not stop Haerold from declaring war on Kyri and all of Fairy, but it would certainly keep him from being able to justify it to his people and to the Kingdoms around them. “If you fly to the top you should be relatively safe.”
Relatively.
With wizards involved, relatively safe was all they could be sure of.
Nothing would make him like this and it was clear Kyri wasn’t comfortable with it either. Nor was Oryan, who frowned deeply, his head lowered until his chin nearly met his chest.
“Fly in,” Oryan said, “parley with Haerold and then fly out. “
“With some insurance,” Morgan said, “and precautions.”
“If only it could be that simple, that easy,” Oryan said.
Chapter Twenty Three
The tent flaps had been thrown open to allow all of those who’d been waiting outside to enter Oryan’s tent. Morgan took two steps inside and stopped at the sight, transfixed, his breath caught in his throat. Oryan froze in step beside him and there were soft gasps of amazement from Caleb and the others behind them.
Geoffrey and his people stood off to one side proudly.
Within the shadows of the tent, illuminated only by the flickering uncertain lamplight, Kyri simply shimmered.
A delicate vision in silver, white and gold, her head slightly bowed, she stood slender and lovely, her back as straight as an arrow. Bound only by a simple fillet of gold around her forehead, her hair fell loose in tight curls over her shoulders, down past her waist. One hand was lifted gracefully to hold it back. The dress was simple, elegant, and lovely, a slip of gold silk covered in silvery white lace that caressed her body and then flared from her hips to swirl around her legs and feet.
Her wings were opened around her, arched and slightly cupped, shining and brilliant, reflecting the lamplight.
As beautiful as Morgan had always thought her, she looked radiant and absolutely, breathtakingly, stunning.
It was the first time he’d ever seen her dressed as a Queen and she was every inch of one, from the top of her lightly crowned head to the tip of her slippered toes.
Song of the Fairy Queen Page 19
