Silver Ravens

by Jane Fletcher

  A hand landed on Lori’s shoulder. More thralls had arrived in the corridor behind them, forcing their way in. Gilwyn had called up reinforcements.

  Lori wrenched herself free, ducked under the harpist’s outstretched arms, and rolled over the top of a settee, losing her broomstick on the way. She looked back at the doorway. Despite the thralls’ lack of coordination, their sheer weight of numbers evened the battle. In order to win, the Silver Ravens might be forced to start killing.

  The whoosh of another door opening bought a waft of cleaner air and the sound of the sea. Gilwyn had fled to the balcony. Lori raced after him. The second fay man had been about to follow Gilwyn, but seeing her, he scooted back, and ended up cowering with the boggarts.

  Lori skidded onto the balcony. Gilwyn was at the far end, with a small pouch in his hand. His eyes glinted in the light of the hanging lanterns.

  Lori gave him her best, taunting smile. “Not going so soon, are you?”

  Gilwyn glared at her, his lip curling. “I will. But not before I make you pay.” He drew a silver dagger from a sheath on his belt and took a step forward.

  Lori slipped her forefinger into the small front pocket of her jeans and dug out the hard round shape of her lucky pound coin. Gilwyn moved in, halving the distance between them, his knife held out. Another step, and then another. He was so close she could not miss, especially given the target his bare chest presented. She flung the coin at him with as much force as she could manage.

  Gilwyn jerked as he was struck on the shoulder. He took one more step, but then his left knee buckled slightly. He grabbed at the balustrade for support.

  The uproar from the room quietened, until there were just groans and the whimper of boggarts, and then the beat of footsteps.

  Tamsin swung around the open doorway. “Are you all—”

  She stopped at the sight of Gilwyn, bent double over the handrail, throwing up into the sea below.

  “What did you do to him?”

  “Hit him with my lucky pound coin.” Lori looked at the tiled floor. “And I’ll be bummed if I’ve lost it.” How would she go shopping at the supermarket?

  * * *

  Grey, rolling fog filled the portal between the standing stones—clearly the work of magic. But after being chased by dragons, riding a flying horse, and spending days as an enthralled slave, a bit of misplaced fog was hardly anything to wonder at. Lori twisted around and looked back at the distant castle by the sea. These were her last minutes in Annwyn.

  Hippo pulled on the reins, bringing the gold laden wagon to a halt a few feet from the wall of fog. Lori jumped down. Before she left, there was one more thing she wanted to know.

  The ex-thralls formed a straggling line behind the wagon, with the Silver Ravens playing the role of sheepdog. Even though they were now wearing iron torcs, many had been enthralled for so long they might never be fully restored to their own minds. However, Tamsin had made sure there was enough gold to see them well cared for.

  Gilwyn had trotted behind the wagon the whole way from Caersiddi. He had no choice, his hands were tied to the tailboard. The swollen cut from the coin was still red and angry, just visible at the neck of his shirt, although he had finally stopped throwing up.

  Lori stood before him. “Why? Why did you double-cross us?”

  Gilwyn clamped his lips in a tight line and turned his face away.

  “You could have paid us off. Why didn’t you? The gold isn’t an issue. It’s as common as sand here.”

  Tamsin came over to release him. “Do you want my guess? It’s because we laughed at him. And he couldn’t bear knowing he’d needed our help. He wanted to put us in our place. He wanted revenge for us ever acting like we were his equals.” She finished untying the cord and patted his shoulder. “There you go. Now run back home like a good lad.”

  Gilwyn reacted with fury, his hands balled into fists. “You dare to—”

  “Don’t even think about acting like an idiot. We don’t have any further use for you, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t put a bullet through your head.” Tamsin turned her back on him and walked off.

  Gilwyn’s mouth twisted in a snarl. There was not a trace of remorse on his face, only hurt pride and anger. He was not one iota better than Rianna.

  Lori called after Tamsin. “We just let him go? How about justice for Gaius and the others?”

  “It’s not the same as putting his head in a noose, but if it makes you feel any better, imagine him turning into a boggart.” Tamsin had reached the front of the wagon.

  Lori turned back to Gilwyn. “Did you hear that? You’re going to become a boggart.”

  “If you’re trying to insult me, at least be sensible.”

  “I am. There was one scroll you missed. I kept it hidden. It was written by Mathanwy himself, describing how he created Annwyn. But he didn’t just form the land, he formed the fay as well. He created you out of boggarts. When the bond with Earth breaks, you’ll revert to being boggarts again. And there’s nothing you can do about it, because I’ve got all the scrolls with me in the wagon.”

  “You believe that nonsense? My mother made the story up.” Despite his words, Gilwyn’s eyes showed a hint of doubt.

  “Your mother knew?”

  “It was just a ridiculous story. Mother was playing some sort of trick on my aunt.”

  Lori was hit by a sudden insight. “That was it. Your mother told Rianna what would happen when the bond with Earth broke, and Rianna was not willing to let it happen. That’s why she usurped the throne.”

  “Mother made a misjudgement. I don’t know what she thought making up the story would achieve, but that’s what she did. None of it is true.” Gilwyn’s voice rose as the doubt turned into something much closer to panic.

  “Your mother was telling the truth. She’d read all about it in Mathanwy’s scroll. If we had the time, I’d let you decode it for yourself.” Lori laughed. “Don’t worry. I think slime coloured skin and weeds for hair will suit you.” She followed Tamsin’s example, turning away and leaving Gilwyn to stew in his helpless rage.

  A weight slammed into Lori from behind, knocking her to the ground. Her face was squashed into the grass.

  “You lie.”

  A knee pressed hard in her back. Hands were at her neck, scratching her skin as fingers dug under the iron band.

  “I will not let—”

  The torc was ripped from her throat. The wall of fog built up, threatening to flow in and overwhelm her. A fist clenched around her heart. And then, in an instant, fog and fist vanished. Gilwyn’s body crashed to the ground beside her.

  More people arrived. Lori was surrounded by feet. Her heart stuttered, and then resumed beating. Someone stretched out a hand, helping her up.

  Finn twisted the torc from Gilwyn’s lifeless fingers and passed it back to her. “Here, put this on.”

  On Gilwyn’s palm was a graze from grasping the iron torc too tightly—the faintest scratch. All it took to kill a fay.

  Then Tamsin was there, putting an arm around her. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’m fine.” Lori drew a deep breath. Now that it was over, she could piece together what had just happened. “Gilwyn…I pushed him too far.”

  “Nobody is going to cry over him.” Tamsin gave her a light squeeze. “It’s not your fault. Don’t worry. It was his action, not yours.”

  “I, um…” If Gaius was avenged, Lori did not feel any better about it.

  She looked back at Caersiddi. Some other fay would take the throne, and lie, murder, and cheat. But soon, the bond would break. They would be gone forever, and not before time. The fay had given Earth some good stories, but the price was far too high.

  Tamsin pointed at the wagon. “Do you want to get back on?”

  “No. I’ll walk for a while.” It would help her think.

  “Okay.” Tamsin drew her pistol and raised her voice. “Right, onward. And keep an eye out for slua.”

  Epilogue

&nb
sp; The sun dipped into the Pacific Ocean. Strands of orange and pink clouds lined the horizon. Lori put her phone on the side table and took another sip of martini. She was still coming to terms with a home overlooking a Californian beach. According to Tamsin, the view was better from her house on the Amalfi Coast, but going there would have to wait until the paperwork was concluded.

  The patio doors opened. Lori twisted her head. “How’s it going?”

  Tamsin joined her on the deck. “Fine. I was just clearing up a couple hundred emails. And sending off the forms to let the IRS know that High Hopes Mine has struck another mother lode.” She flopped onto the sun lounger next to Lori’s. “Life was so much simpler back in the seventeenth century.”

  “As well as being generally shorter and lacking in plumbing.”

  “There was that.” Tamsin took a swig of beer from the bottle she was carrying. “Who was on the phone?”

  “Mum. She’s threatening to visit. She’s been reading stuff about communicating with sharks and wants to give it a go. Hopefully, Dad will talk her out of it, before they get here.”

  What would her parents make of Tamsin? Lori suspected they would view her far more positively than any previous girlfriend. Adam had definitely been impressed when they stopped by his house on their way between Dorstanley and Heathrow. “Hang on to this one,” had been his parting advice to her.

  Lori swirled her martini. “How about you? Anything interesting in the emails?”

  “Hippo and Shorty are buying an island off the coast of Thailand. BH called in on them a week ago, but nobody’s sure where she is now. Widget wants you to know he’s made it to the Lost Outpost and is going crazy looking for the Orb of Ephestia. I assume that means something to you.”

  “Yes. He’s stuck playing Firelord Rebirth. I could tell him where the orb is, but he’ll have more fun finding it himself. Anything else?”

  “Finn’s invited us to his wedding.”

  “He’s getting married?”

  “Wouldn’t have invited us if he wasn’t.” Tamsin grinned. “Alicia. I don’t think you met her. She was one of the Iron Ravens.”

  “Right.” Lori had not given much thought to the social life in Caersiddi, but obviously, normal human interactions would have gone on, whenever the Silver Ravens had time off from playing heroes. She watched the fading sunset for a while. “Do you miss Annwyn?”

  Tamsin wrinkled her nose. “A bit.”

  “Do you think you’ll get bored here?” Even as she spoke, Lori was hit by an unexpected rush of excitement. After all, there was a whole world to see—mountains, forests, deserts and icecaps, ancient ruins and modern cities.

  Tamsin also seemed unconcerned. “I doubt it.” Her smile broadened. “Did your mum have any information as to what sharks like talking about?”

  About the Author

  Jane Fletcher is a GCLS award-winning writer and has also been short-listed for the Gaylactic Spectrum and Lambda Literary Awards. She is a recipient of the Alice B. Reader Appreciation Awards Medal.

  Her work includes two ongoing sets of fantasy/romance novels: the Celaeno Series—The Walls of Westernfort, Rangers at Roadsend, The Temple at Landfall, Dynasty of Rogues, and Shadow of the Knife; and the Lyremouth Chronicles—The Exile and The Sorcerer, The Traitor and The Chalice, The Empress and The Acolyte, and The High Priest and the Idol. She has also written three stand-alone novels, Wolfsbane Winter, The Shewstone, and Isle of Broken Years.

  Her love of fantasy began at the age of seven when she encountered Greek mythology. This was compounded by a childhood spent clambering over every example of ancient masonry she could find (medieval castles, megalithic monuments, Roman villas). Her resolute ambition was to become an archaeologist when she grew up, so it was something of a surprise when she became a software engineer instead.

  Born in Greenwich, London, she now lives with her wife in southwest England, where she is surrounded by enough historic sites to keep her happy.

  Website: http://www.janefletcher.co.uk/

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

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