Song of the Fairy Queen

by Valerie Douglas

  “There’s a good place to bathe,” Kyri offered as she packed up her blanket, “a little ways in, if anyone wants to get clean or go for a swim.”

  She was seemingly engrossed in the simple task.

  “A swim, is it?” Caleb muttered, smothering a grin.

  Morgan gave him a look and got an amused one back, Caleb’s brown eyes glinting.

  An hour or so later they rode out, Galan on the seat of the wagon with Colton, Angela happily squeezed between her father and the new Fairy. She was fascinated by him.

  Which Galan didn’t mind at all, as he liked children. One day he hoped to have one of his own.

  “Can I have one of your feathers, too?” Angela asked. “Kyri gave me one of hers. See?”

  “Angela!” her father said sharply, horrified.

  With a small shake of his head at Colton, Galan laughed. “Yes, I do see and yes you may.”

  He handed her one of his own feathers, a soft gold, which the delighted little girl spun in the fingers of one hand to catch the light, as she did with Kyri’s feather in her other hand.

  “Why are they different colors?” she asked.

  “All of the Fair have different colored wings,” Kyri said.

  Galan added, “But only Kyri’s are clear.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Kyriay is Kyriay, she’s Queen of the Fair,” Galan explained.

  Her eyes huge, Angela looked at Kyri. “The Queen of the Fairy.”

  Amused, Kyri looked at him and smiled. “Not such a thing, Angela, as I, too, still have to milk the cows.”

  Galan raised an amused and questioning eyebrow at her.

  “Another time Galan, my friend,” Kyri said smiling.

  Sometime late in the afternoon Morgan glanced at Kyri and she nodded.

  “I saw it, too.”

  “A rider,” Colton said, “to our left. Saw a glimpse of him above the ridge.”

  “There’s another then,” Morgan said. “Two. Friend or foe?”

  “Might be neither,” Caleb pointed out. “Folks are careful these days. Some villages have their own patrols out. Angela there might be our best insurance against trouble. Haerold’s folk don’t generally bring kids.”

  After watching for a while, two riders rode over the ridge. There was a sense of others, probably hidden in a nearby stand of trees.

  Colton kept the wagon moving as the riders drew abreast of them. If they needed to get away fast it was better from a walk than a standing start.

  His stomach fluttered and he turned his body to keep it between them and his children.

  Angela started to object, to say she couldn’t see but Galan tapped her knee and shook his head gently.

  Her eyes widened, but she nodded.

  “Name’s Parker, this is Curtis. You folks just passing through?” the one man asked, looking them over.

  Parker was on the tall side, thickish and balding, going a little soft around the middle. His partner Curtis was younger, his hair dark, spiky and a little greasy, his scalp showing white and pale beneath it.

  Seeing Morgan, Parker’s gaze sharpened a little with recognition and again when he looked at Kyri.

  Neither of them missed the reaction.

  Both stiffened a little, growing alert.

  Colton shook his head, keeping the horses moving with twitches of the reins.

  “I have a friend up in Minersville,” he said. “A tanner by the name of Martin.”

  That was code phrase and cover story in one.

  “You have a lot of company,” Parker said.

  Narrowing his eyes, Colton answered.“I have my children and their tutor with me. Can’t be too careful these days.”

  With a shake of his head, Parker said, “No, I guess you can’t.”

  Gesturing to Curtis, they turned their horses and rode off.

  Colton shook his head. “They did nothing wrong, but…”

  Something seemed off.

  “They knew me,” Morgan said.

  “It would help if you weren’t so damn distinctive, Morgan,” Caleb said.

  Jacob had said something similar once, Morgan remembered, his mouth tightening.

  “He knew me, too,” Kyri added and conceded it with a wave. “Yes, I know I’m fairly distinctive, too, even without the wings.”

  Galan had tucked his away at the first sign of strangers.

  “The question is, where does he know us from?” Morgan said. “Oryan’s camp? The rebels? Or from a description given by Haerold’s people? I didn’t recognize him, did you, Kyri?”

  She shook her head. “But there were so many people…”

  Morgan’s every instinct was to change direction, get them somewhere under cover, but if they were to find Oryan, it was the one thing they couldn’t do.

  “If they’re Haerold’s, then they’ll try to take us out in the open, or once we’re camped for the night.”

  His eyes worried, Colton put his arm around his daughter. Brion could, to some extent, take care of himself, but Angela was so young.

  Seeing it, Morgan’s heart caught. He glanced at Kyri.

  “Galan?” she said.

  Aware of the tension, Galan nodded. “I’ll take care of her.”

  Letting out a sigh, keeping his eyes on the reins, Colton said, “I didn’t want to ask.”

  Kyri looked at him. “You never had to, it was always understood, but you can always ask, Colton.”

  Everyone was tense, watchful, as the sun settled toward the horizon.

  Morgan shook his head. “If we’re going to camp for the night, we have to find someplace defensible. I don’t want to go in blind.”

  As much as it pained her, Kyri had avoided flying until now. Where once it hadn’t been a problem, human nature being what it was, few looked up. There was little doubt Haerold had now instructed his people to do so. Particularly for the chance sparkle of gossamer Fairy wings.

  Should she chance it or not?

  If these were Haerold’s men then they already knew she was with them. If they weren’t…if they were Oryan’s people, it might scare them off or she might catch the eyes of some alert soldier and bring Haerold down on them anyway.

  With Angela, Brion and Gawain at stake, though, it was a different proposition. Oryan’s people would have to handle it, Morgan couldn’t take the chance.

  “Kyri?”

  She nodded, sliding off her horse and flipping the reins over one of the wagon staves.

  Morgan hesitated.

  “And yes, Morgan,” she said with a smile, “I’ll be careful.”

  This was something he always loved to see.

  Her wings unfolded, sparkling in the late afternoon sun as she ran lightly in time with the hoof beats of their horses.

  Light shimmered as Kyri’s wings spread and then she was in the air, pivoting to look back at him.

  Her eyes met his and he smiled.

  With a grin and a wink, she dove to get air beneath her wings.

  Angela called, “Can I come, too?”

  “Sorry, sweet. Not this time, Angela,” Kyri called apologetically and then swooped upward.

  Chapter Fifty Three

  The shattered shell of stone had once been part of some older building, with almost all of a section of what must have been an upper room intact as a roof and all the remaining windows gone, enough still remained to give Kyri and Galan the cover to make good use of their bows, if needed. At least they’d take out one or two, maybe more, evening the odds a little. Enclosed on three sides, there was enough space on that little section of roof for Galan to take off under cover. If it came down to it, as the tallest Morgan could boost Angela up there for safety, to run with Galan, as necessary.

  The horses were in another, windowless room. Although they could let them go if necessary, Morgan wanted to keep them close in case they had to try to make a run for it. They’d already decided they would abandon the cumbersome wagon if need be.

  Kyri looked to Gawain.


  “Swords first,” she cautioned, “magic later.”

  He looked startled, as if she’d read his mind.

  “Well, as a matter of fact, I can read your mind as well, as Morgan will tell you,” Kyri said amused, “if you’re thinking loudly enough.”

  She gave Morgan a look.

  Morgan thought something at her loudly enough to turn her face pink and rosy and her sea-colored eyes wide.

  She blinked and looked at him, putting her hands on her hips before she broke up laughing.

  Blandly Morgan said to Gawain, “As you can see.”

  “What did he say?” Gawain asked innocently, all unknowing.

  Kyri’s mouth twitched. “A reminder that he isn’t the only one who can shout.”

  The image in her mind was vivid and very intimate. Her body went warm all over.

  Over by the fire helping Colton cook dinner, Galan choked back a chuckle.

  “By the way, Morgan,” Kyri said sweetly, mischievously. “You did know that all Fairy can do that, speak mind to mind?”

  Shooting a look at the other Fairy, Morgan caught Galan’s oddly…entertained…expression.

  With a small nod, Galan shook his head and said, “Mustn’t brag.”

  Kyri laughed.

  Sucking on his teeth, getting the gist, Caleb tried not to laugh but then Morgan looked at him and he guffawed.

  “Serves you right, Cap’n,” he said. “Showin’ off.”

  Gordon shook his head while Colton looked at them as if they were all insane.

  “Anyway,” Kyri said, giving Morgan a look that promised sweet vengeance another time – something he looked forward to – “As I was saying, Gawain… Save your magic for a time when it might save your life or another’s. Wear yourself out in the first foray and you’ll have nothing left later when you may need it more. Better to have never used it than to not have it when you truly needed it.”

  Nobody ate much, the gathering tension was too great.

  As darkness settled Morgan said, “Galan, up you go. How’s your night sight?”

  “Better than yours,” Galan said with a grin, leaping up lightly to grab the edge of the roof and swing himself up. “I’m more agile, too.”

  Morgan smiled. “I’m half again your weight and height.”

  “Point,” Galan said with a chuckle.

  Galan’s nerves were strung fairly tight, though, his wings aching as a reminder of the penalty for getting caught. He remembered his brief time in the cage, his wings clipped, far too well.

  He pushed the memory away. There was something far more important at stake here.

  “Angela?”

  Sleepy, she had her blanket over her shoulder.

  Morgan lifted her and Galan caught her hands to lift her up, cuddling her. Keeping her safe. His life was on it. No one would touch Angela while she was in his care.

  Colton, Brion and Gawain – despite his protests – were at the back under cover.

  “The point of this,” Morgan reminded Gawain, “is to get you to your father…alive.”

  So, now they waited.

  From above, Galan said softly – true to his word – “Movement, to the east.”

  It could mean something, or it could mean nothing.

  To the south a torch appeared, coming steadily toward them. At least one rider.

  “Well,” Morgan said softly, “that’ll destroy our night sight.”

  Which might have been the intention. He’d give them the benefit of the doubt, for now.

  “Hoy, inside,” a voice called. “It’s Parker and Curtis, we met earlier, we’re coming in, don’t shoot.”

  “Leave your horses there, Parker,” Morgan called. “Come on in.”

  They walked in slowly, picking their way through the rubble with more care than seemed necessary for men carrying a torch. Buying time for their friends?

  Kyri stayed at her vantage point, her eyes on the nearly moonlit darkness, watching the two men from the corner of her eye.

  That darkness could work for or against them.

  “You looking for Oryan?” Parker said, tossing the torch away as they passed through the narrow entry.

  If anything gave them away, it was that one slip, that careless use of Oryan’s name without his honorific. A great many people might – Morgan and Kyri among them, as close confidantes – use Oryan’s name carelessly that way but not a simple soldier or one of the rebels. To them he would be the King or King Oryan.

  Clearing the doorway, Parker pulled his sword and swung for Morgan, but Morgan had already drawn his sword.

  The other, Curtis, went for Kyri, who simply turned and put an arrow through his eye. He dropped like a stone.

  Parker, however, had some skill.

  For a moment Kyri was torn, as she saw movement outside.

  Pivoting, she shot Parker, too.

  Morgan gave her a chiding look.

  “We have more company,” she said, faintly amused, her voice tense.

  “Morgan,” Galan said quietly from above. “We have company, a lot more company.”

  That was bad news.

  “How’s the approach to the west?”

  “Still clear.”

  They couldn’t fight a pitched battle, not with only four who could fight.

  “Take Angela and go, Galan,” Morgan said, his voice calm.

  Bending down, Galan touched the little girl’s shoulder lightly where she was curled in the lee wall on her blanket, holding his hand gently over her mouth so she didn’t cry out.

  “Looks like you get your ride, little one,” Galan said. “Now, remember, hold on tight and be very quiet.”

  Angela nodded, wrapping her arms trustingly around his neck and her legs around his waist.

  Galan, his hand cradling hers, felt her head nod.

  With his arms tight around her as his wings unfolded, Galan ran to the edge of the roof and took off, with no betraying moon to glint off his wings. Almost as silently as an owl he swooped up and away from the oncoming troops.

  This was the part Morgan didn’t like, but it was necessary.

  “Mount up,” Morgan said. “Kyri…”

  As she went past him she paused long enough to stand on tip-toe to give him a quick kiss.

  “Kyri,” he said softly, catching her quickly, pulling her into a tight embrace. He brushed her hair back over shoulder to look down into her face. “I love you. Know that.”

  “I know,” she whispered back. “I love you, too.”

  She ran, leaping for the edge of the roof to swing up as lightly as Galan had.

  Morgan ran for the horses as Kyri sighted her bow down over the ruins.

  She almost wanted to thank Parker and Curtis for leaving the torch out there. It helped her now and hurt them.

  Mounting up, Morgan signaled the others out, Gordon and Caleb in the lead, Gawain with them. Colton was mounted with Brion on one of the wagon horses, the reins for the other in his hands while Morgan brought up their vulnerable rear.

  This was the reason Kyri had picked this place over another, this hidden escape. It had once been a long corridor down to the basement rooms where they’d waited. Over time, dirt and leaves had blown in, rendering it virtually silent.

  Kyri waited, watching for movement.

  They moved in cautiously, which was wise.

  She picked her shot, sent her arrow with its crystal-clear fletching whispering through the night. There was a cry and a soft thud. Something about the movements of the next said ‘Hunter’. Those she couldn’t mind killing much. Another arrow thrummed through the dark. He sensed it coming, turned aside enough that she missed the kill shot.

  He yelped.

  She sent another arrow after it.

  As if that were the signal, the rush came, men poured through the ruins at a run.

  That was her signal to go.

  Slinging her bow over her shoulder, she went the opposite from Galan, running over the remains of the wall that had shielded that section
from view.

  Her wings unfolded and she took off as howls filled the night.

  Circling, she fired off one shot and then heard the hum of an arrow go past.

  Instantly she pulled up out of range and flew west, dipping low long enough to turn before she flew north again to intercept Morgan and the others.

  Landing on a moving horse was something she’d never tried. Until now.

  Circling, she waited until her speed was matched to that of the running horse or slightly ahead and she dropped into the saddle, scrambling for balance.

  She shook her head at Morgan.

  “We’ll have to chance it, Morgan. Galan will never make it with Angela in his arms.”

  “Galan.”

  Circling above, Galan called, “I heard.”

  “Pull up,” Morgan called.

  Quickly, Galan dropped, handing Angela to her father before swinging up onto the back of the draft horse.

  “Go…” he shouted.

  Behind them the baying echoed.

  Kyri had no whistle and the horses of her people were too far away…

  Chapter Fifty Four

  The big draft horses had never been meant for this kind of punishment but they galloped gamely all the same. Behind them, the howls of the Hunters were gaining. Morgan looked at Kyri. She met his eyes and took a breath. Time was running out. Soon they would have to decide – fight or run.

  Dawn was breaking, the Hunters hadn’t yet spotted them by sight. Once they did, though, any plan to draw them off of Gawain and the others would be gone.

  They all heard the thunder of horses’ hooves coming toward them out of the north.

  What now?

  A wave of riders came over the horizon, racing towards them in the thin light.

  Morgan almost checked them up and then he saw it.

  They wore colors, ribbons of green and silver.

  Specifically, they wore Gwenifer of Gilead’s green and silver, not the more dangerous scarlet and gold of Oryan’s House.

  “They’re wearing colors,” he shouted to the others. “Keep going, they’re wearing Gwen’s colors.”

  The riders split around them, one of them shearing off to come up beside them.

  Blinking in astonishment, that rider, tall, slender, with thick dark hair, checked up.