“Ruthless birds of prey,” he said. “Our best bet is to play dead, wait for them to move on.”
He slumped in the tall grass, wrists and ankles still bound to the pole. I did the same, while trying to force the greamaigh from my mouth.
I’d read plenty about rocs. With their keen senses, not to mention appetite for living flesh, I didn’t share Bree-yark’s confidence that they’d move on. Even if they did, we’d still be bound, and it wouldn’t take long for another creature of the Fae Wilds to sniff out a helpless goblin and mage.
As the dying squalls of the tengu thinned, I gave up on the paste in my mouth. It wasn’t going anywhere. Through the grass, I watched the rocs take flight again with heavy thumps of their wings. At least we weren’t going to be bird food. But then three rocs broke from the group and circled back toward us.
Shit.
The immense birds landed nearby, air pummeling the grass around us. The lead roc was the size of a school bus, its wingspan easily fifty feet across. From a dusty blue head, fierce eyes stared down at Bree-yark and me. A thatch of bloody tengu feathers clung to the edge of its sharp beak.
The creature stalked forward on clawed feet. When my bowels jiggled, I considered opening the hatch on the chance it would make me less appetizing. But dignity overruled the notion, and I clenched instead.
C’mon, magic. Talk to me.
Soon, it continued to repeat. Soon.
Soon what?!
Feet from us, the roc came to a stop. The other two did the same, holding flanking positions. I didn’t realize there had been riders atop the massive creatures until a figure dismounted from the lead roc’s back. He was tall and muscular with cobalt blue skin and a mane of bronze hair. A chest plate, silvery and supple, glinted in the sun as he strode toward us. He stopped and stared down at me. Even without his human glamour, he was annoyingly handsome.
“Everson Croft,” he said.
I nodded and attempted to moan the name Angelus.
It was Caroline’s husband.
11
Without his glamour, the fae prince’s eyes were a regal green that complemented his skin and hair. I took a stab at reading them. Curiosity? Contempt? I couldn’t tell. They were even more sphinxlike here than in our world.
“We felt your passage into the Fae Lands,” he said, which explained the exceptional timing of their arrival. “Why have you come?”
As he posed the question, the paste in my mouth shrank to a wad the size of chewing gum, and my tongue tingled back to life. I spat out the wad and worked my jaw around. Except for a fading bitterness, it was as if the greamaigh had never been there. I noticed Angelus hadn’t removed our bonds, though.
“Well?” he pressed.
Suspicion raked through me as I remembered the pixies’ warning. Was Angelus the one who had “fallen under shadow?” His kingdom controlled the northern portal, which coincided with the fae townhouse. He could have been the one to order Osgood to abandon the Upholders and then stonewall me. If so, and if he knew I’d come here in search of a passage back, the game would be up. For that reason, I didn’t dare mention Crusspatch’s name. But I couldn’t lie either. He would know.
“My friends are missing,” I said.
“Friends from your realm?”
“Yes.”
“And you’ve come to Faerie in search of them?”
“I was told I might find them.”
His head angled slightly as though weighing my answers. They were all technically true. The Upholders were missing, and earlier Seay had said Crusspatch might be able to help us access the time catch, where I hoped to find them.
I held the prince’s gaze, aware that two more fae, a man and a woman, had climbed down from the other birds. Though they were smaller and their skin lighter in tone, their features suggested kinship with Angelus. I was more distracted by the lead roc, though. It continued to stare at me, its head drawn back as if ready to pluck the flesh from my bones the second Angelus gave the command.
At last, Angelus turned his head and looked off into the distance. “Then your errand will be fruitless. Yours is the only arrival in more than a fortnight.”
“Do we have your leave to search anyway?” I asked.
“Neither our kingdom nor any other claims dominion over the Wilds,” he said. “You may do here as you wish. But mind the borders.” He nodded at Bree-yark. “Your companion will know them.”
As my suspicions let out slightly, Angelus motioned with his hand. The twine that bound me to the pole broke apart. I flexed my fingers and rubbed some feeling back into my wrists before pushing myself upright.
Even at six feet, I was much shorter than the fae being before me. His royal attire, which included a fine doublet jacket and glistening boots, had me conscious of the fact I was only wearing boxers. Thank God I hadn’t crapped them. Bree-yark hobbled up to my side in a pair of black bikini briefs that made me wince.
“You’ll find your belongings among the remains of your captors,” Angelus said.
“Yeah, about that.” I scratched an elbow. “Thanks for, you know, taking them out.”
“And freeing us,” Bree-yark put in.
“There are far deadlier creatures in the Fae Wilds than tengu, and help will not always be forthcoming.”
“We understand,” I said with a nod, but Angelus was peering toward the airborne rocs. They were circling over an area where the field fell to forest. I wondered if they were searching for his wife.
“I was told Caroline is missing,” I said suddenly.
I did so in part to gauge his reaction, but I was also worried for my former friend and colleague. Following my encounters with Osgood and then the pixies, I didn’t like what her absence suggested. Were there any leads? When his eyes returned to mine, they seemed to hold the same question.
“Have you seen her?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Do you think she’s somewhere in Faerie?”
“We’re not sure.”
I was tempted to bring up the subject of demonic influence and my growing sense that the solution was in the time catch. If Angelus didn’t wield the power to get us there, he likely had connections who could. But without being absolutely certain of his allegiance, it would be a gamble.
He stepped forward. “Did you have something to tell me?”
Deciding the gamble too big, I said, “We’ll keep our eyes out for her. Is there a way we can contact you?”
Angelus watched me for another moment, then reached into a pocket and withdrew a translucent stone that he set in the center of my palm. As he closed my fingers around its smooth surface, power radiated from his cobalt skin.
“Your word is Nim-nahn,” he said. “Say it now and open your hand.”
“Nim-nahn,” I repeated.
A lavender light glimmered to life inside the stone and began pulsing.
“If you see her, hold the calling stone and speak the word. It will summon me.”
I nodded and went to place the stone in a pocket before remembering I had none.
“But I warn you, Everson,” he added. “Do not engage her.”
A husband’s threat to his wife’s former lover, or something more?
“Why?” I ventured.
“She is not herself.”
As Angelus and the others climbed onto their rocs, I considered his words. The lead roc craned its neck from us, its massive body following. In several running steps and prodigious thrusts of its wings, the roc lifted off. The other two followed.
“What was that last bit about?” Bree-yark asked, a hand shielding his eyes from the gusts of debris.
Had Angelus just suggested that Caroline was the one possessed?
“I’m not sure yet,” I said.
We found our clothes strewn among a riot of black tengu feathers, and our belongings in sacks and pouches. True to Angelus’s word, the rocs had been selective in their carnage and everything was there. When I spotted my cane off to one side, I seized it, never mo
re relieved to feel the smooth ironwood in my grasp.
With the adrenaline of the rescue leaving my system, my head and ribs resumed throbbing where the satyr had struck me. I applied healing magic to the spots as well as to Bree-yark’s lumpy head. Before long, I could see through my right eye again, and both of us were moving with less stiffness.
My next act—before dressing, even—was to activate a pair of neutralizing potions for the two of us. I wasn’t going to commit another stupid rookie mistake like I had in the cave. Bree-yark and I took down a pair of stealth potions next. Only when we’d begun fading from view did we don our clothes.
I was restocking my coat pockets when Bree-yark suddenly raised his head. “Say, have you seen Dropsy?”
“Not since the cavern.”
He began pacing the area, whispering her name.
“She probably went in search of her maker,” I said. “Some enchanted objects are known to do that.”
Bree-yark relinquished his search with a despondent grunt. He’d apparently grown attached to the lantern.
“I’m sure she’s fine,” I said.
“Yeah, but it looks like the satyr got away.” He pointed out a set of cloven tracks that climbed toward a range of rocks.
“Leave it.”
“After what he did to us?”
“Look, no one wants to put a foot up that goat’s ass more than me, but we’ve got a much bigger mission right now.” I placed the final potions in a pocket, shouldered my pack, and grasped my cane. “Which way?”
Bree-yark pried his vengeful eyes from the tracks and screwed them toward the forest the rocs had been circling over. The riders had since steered them on, the great birds now dots above the far horizon.
“Well, there’s two ways we can go,” Bree-yark said. “Around the Kinloch Forest or through it. As an army, we always went around. Of course, we weren’t sporting this kind of magic.” He looked at one of his spectral arms. That I could see or hear him at all was only because the same magic cloaked me.
“What’s the time difference?” I asked.
“Should save us a half day, if not more.”
“Dangers?”
“You name it, but it’s not like the long way’s much safer. Major thoroughfare for giants, not to mention the occasional hobgoblin army.” He grunted a laugh. “Did I ever tell you about the time we were on a night march and—”
“Do you know a route through the forest?”
I felt bad cutting him off, but the goblin was an incurable storyteller.
“I know of a route,” he said.
As the rocs disappeared from view, I regretted we hadn’t been able to hitch a ride with them. But when your gut counseled caution, you listened. I would have preferred it had been my magic, but it was still on some sort of meditative retreat.
Bree-yark followed my gaze. “You didn’t happen to pack any flying potions?”
“Those require huge energy investments, and their use would burn through our protective potions, so no. That goes for magic-use in general, so I’m really going to need to keep things on the down-low.”
“So which’ll it be?” Bree-yark asked.
I peered from the valley to the trees. “Let’s take the forest route.”
We descended the gradual slope of land to where it flattened into a broad vale. Determined not to be ambushed again, I kept a close watch on our surroundings, even as the stealth potions took deeper effect. The sky above remained Windex-blue, while the sun shone exuberantly. I still couldn’t get over how vivid everything was, down to the individual stalks of grass bobbing in the breeze.
“Pretty, huh?” Bree-yark said.
I nodded, even though pretty didn’t begin to describe it. The realm wasn’t meant for mortal minds. An hour or two, fine. You’d leave feeling dizzy and overcome, but your brain synapses would still be firing. Beyond that and the realm’s ambient enchantments would pluck your sanity away one thread at a time until the whole thing fell open and you were a gibbering wreck. Though my neutralizing potion and magical bloodline blunted the effects, I could feel the potential for madness all around me.
Before long, the forest rose just ahead, its trees tall, dark, and twisting. “The way’s marked by a cairn,” Bree-yark said. “Supposed to be around here somewhere.”
I scanned the tree line to both sides. “I’m not seeing anything.”
“There.” He pointed off to our right and strode toward the trees.
I still didn’t see anything until, deeper in the forest, I picked out a jumble of stones.
“That’s the cairn?”
“Yeah, looks like the forest overtook it.”
“It looks more like the forest used it for a rock fight.”
“Must’ve gotten tired of things tromping through here.”
“Wait.” I gripped his arm. “Are you saying this forest is sentient?”
“Most are in the Fae Wilds. Some are just moodier than others. The Kinloch Forest, for example.”
“Wonderful.”
“We can still take the other route.”
I was seriously considering it, when the ground vibrated underfoot. Bree-yark knelt and flattened a hand against the earth. The vibrations strengthened until the leaves in the trees began to rattle.
“Scratch that,” he said, straightening. “We’ve got a rowdy bunch of stone giants coming our way.”
Moments later, a thundercrack sounded and pieces of stone began showering around us. I swore as a fragment the size of a desk buried itself only a few yards away. In the distance, a chorus of whoops rose.
“Sounds like they’re clubbing boulders,” Bree-yark said. “C’mon!”
We ran into the forest and past the scattered cairn. Ahead, a path wound through the trees. At our backs, more shards rained down through the canopy, one smashing a tree to splinters. We didn’t slow until the rumbles and whoops faded far behind us. I peered around, my cane and cold iron amulet drawn. The forest crowded the path now, and strange bird calls sounded from the thick branches overhead.
“This will take us all the way through?” I whispered.
“Straight to the other side,” Bree-yark confirmed. “Though it does twist some.”
Through my wizard’s senses, I picked up traces of the old fae magic that sustained the path.
“Then let’s go carefully,” I said, “but fast.”
I tried to keep watch on all sides as we advanced at the equivalent of a speed walk. More than once, I felt like Bilbo journeying through Mirkwood, and I half expected to see giant spiders or devious wood elves.
Every time I felt my mind starting to adapt to our surroundings of dense, twisting trees, I redoubled my vigilance. Though I’d never been to the Fae Wilds, I knew one of its prevailing enchantments was getting visitors to relax their guards. By the time they realized they were in trouble, it was too late. I suspected that was why I’d been so slow to activate my potions upon our arrival.
For Bree-yark’s part, he stomped along, eyes fixed ahead, ears perked to the sides. At length he muttered, “Place is kinda grim.”
“You think?” I said.
We’d been walking for a couple hours when a deep shadow fell over the forest and bird calls became insect chirrups. Through chinks in the tree canopy, I could see brilliant points of starlight. Bree-yark pulled up so suddenly, I almost ran into his back. Even inches away, he was consumed by darkness.
“What’s going on?” I asked. “The sun was straight overhead when we entered.”
“Kinloch Forest has decided it’s nighttime,” he grumbled. “And I can’t see a frigging thing, even with my goblin vision.”
The path ahead had disappeared, absorbed by the same enchanted darkness that now hid the trees and the path behind. I swore under my breath. I’d read of fae forests playing with time, but did it have to pull this stunt now?
“How much longer until it decides it’s day again?” I asked.
“When it gets tired of it being night, I guess. I packed
some candles, but the trees here are touchy about heat.”
“Better we don’t use them, then.”
“Can you cast one of your light balls?” he asked.
“Not without burning through our potions.”
We’d come this far undetected, and something told me the second the forest sensed company, we’d be getting all kinds of visitors. As if to confirm the thought, a blood-curdling scream sounded nearby.
“Damn,” Bree-yark whispered, backing into me. I grasped his shoulders, but my heel snagged on a root and we both tumbled to the ground. Thankfully, our spheres of stealth contained the commotion.
“What are you doing?” I hissed.
“Do you know what that is?” he whispered near my ear.
The scream sounded again, closer this time. “Banshee?”
“Banshee,” he confirmed.
I stopped trying to disentangle our legs and froze. Banshees were the cursed spirits of fae, and hella deadly. Their screams alone were capable of killing. It was only by the grace of our neutralizing potions that Bree-yark and I were thus far unharmed. But banshees were also highly attuned to the living, the more powerful spirits able to perceive beyond veilings. And that included stealth potions.
The banshee’s next scream was closer still. A terror I’d never quite felt wrapped my heart in icy talons. Bree-yark’s compact body began to quiver. His next whisper was barely more than a tremulous breath.
“Twelve winters ago, a single banshee wiped out half a goblin battalion. I don’t wanna die like that, Everson.”
“Then we need to keep still and stay very, very quiet.”
I peeked up at the canopy, hoping for signs of morning—banshees were strictly night creatures—but the stars sparkled as brilliantly as ever. Thanks, Kinloch Forest, I thought fiercely. You big prick.
Worse still, the stealth spell enveloping us was going to need replenishing soon. But the magic to activate the potions would be like sending up signal flares. Bree-yark squeezed my hand hard enough for my bones to creak.
Night Rune (Prof Croft Book 8) Page 8
