by Ben Galley
‘The sun’ll be falling soon,’ Lilain said, casting a look back at the fiery orb that dominated the blank, endless blue of the Wyoming sky. There was not a cloud to be spied, not even on the jagged horizon.
‘What do you fancy?’
‘Rabbit?’
Rhin patted the sword at his waist, feeling the heat of the pommel against his palm. ‘Easy again,’ he chuckled. Lilain had to smile. The faerie certainly did make hunting more interesting. Lurker said it was boring letting Rhin do all the work, but Lilain wasn’t quite ready to go loping after prey across the hot wilderness. She was already sweating buckets from the effort of using the crutch, and suffering from a dull pain in her legs.
The odd pair made their way out into the desert, weaving through rocky gullies and between boulders. Rhin sniffed the air and poked into cracks and shady holes. Once a scorpion came out of one to challenge him, but it quickly retreated when a black sword clanged against its armour.
After an hour, maybe more, Lilain noticed some tracks in the sand that led them a meandering path to a hole between two boulders. Rhin quickly ducked inside to sniff.
‘Smells odd. Could be rabbit,’ he mused.
She hobbled back so she could rest up against a rock, close to the mouth of the burrow. She took off her hat and let the sun shine down on her sweaty and tender face. Poking experimentally, she winced as she felt each cut, bruise, and loose tooth. One of her eyes was still swollen. Rhin would not have dared to say she looked awful, she knew that. Sometimes even a known truth is best kept behind a tongue, and this was one of those times.
‘It would have heard our footsteps already,’ she said.
‘Probably,’ Rhin replied. ‘I can draw it out once it thinks you’re gone. Just stay there a while, and he’ll come out to sniff.’
Lilain shrugged. It suited her just fine. ‘How do you know it’s a he?’ she smirked.
Rhin rubbed his chin, narrowing those purple eyes of his in thought. ‘Just a guess.’
They settled down in the hot sand and fell quiet, listening to the desert shiver around them in the breeze, to the rattle and buzz of the insects, and the vultures’ cries, urging the living to hurry up and die.
Another hour passed, and Rhin decided it was time to creep a little closer. His feet fell softer than feathers upon the sand, and he drew his sword without a single whisper of metal. Fae steel can be quiet when needed.
Rhin peeked around the edge of the rabbit hole and raised a hand. He began to rub his fingers against each other, so they made a strange creaking sound: tough Fae skin rasping against itself. It was loud enough to elicit a soft rustling from deep in the burrow. Rhin fell back from the lip of the hole. He froze there, eyes unblinking, limbs unflinching, just waiting for whatever had burrowed below to rear a head, so he could lop it off. Lilain looked on, as rapt as the faerie was. Rhin faded to nothing, letting his magick hide him.
It took several moments for the owner of the rabbit hole to present himself, and he did so quite spectacularly, for it was not simply a fluffy pair of ears or a twitching snout that appeared first, but a pair of wickedly curving brown antlers, like those of a stag. Though much smaller, of course, tiny in comparison, they were still dangerous enough for a creature of Rhin’s stature. They reached almost higher than he did. Lilain looked on, her face wincing with excitement.
Rhin’s body ached to leap forward, but he held back, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. Now came the twitching snout, like that of a hare’s. Indeed, the rest of the head that quickly followed it was very hare-like as well. Black eyes embedded in a brown furry face, with long ears that stuck out behind the strange antlers.
Without a sound, Rhin plunged forward, bringing the sword down like a hammer on an anvil. The strange little beast noticed him at the very last second, as the faerie shivered into view. But by then it was too late, and the sword plunged into the base of its skull, stealing its life away before it had a chance to blink.
‘It’s a jackalope!’ Lilain hissed, as though she could scare its corpse away.
‘A what?’ Rhin asked, wrenching his sword free and wiping it on the creature’s fur.
‘A jackalope, a horned rabbit. And I’d always thought them to be a wives’ tale.’
Lilain crawled further forwards so she could look at the strange little antlers, sprouting from a bony growth in the jackalope’s forehead.
Rhin put his hands on his hips. ‘You, a letter who sells the blood of mythical creatures, who not last week had a bunch of wives’ tales sitting in her basement?’
Lilain frowned. ‘Some myths turn out not to be a lie, you know. But some are just, well, silly.’
‘You’ll offend the jackalope,’ Rhin replied, hauling it towards her.
‘And thanks for reminding me,’ Lilain muttered stonily as she tested one of the horns with her thumb. Sharp as a tack. Lilain poked and prodded at the dead jackalope as Rhin sheathed his sword.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled sheepishly for the second time that day.
‘It’s fine,’ she replied, as she hummed over the strange little beast. ‘Best take the horns off. Don’t want to arouse any attention at the cooking fire later.’
Rhin took out his sword once more, and set to hacking the antlers away. The black steel made short work of them. They soon fractured away, and Lilain laid them atop a stone above the burrow’s mouth before slipping the limp jackalope into a bag she had brought.
‘Better head back,’ Rhin advised. ‘Before the gates are checked for the evening.’
Lilain nodded, shouldering the jackalope and reaching for her crutch. Rhin walked alongside her, slower now their work was done. His mouth was already salivating at the anticipation of roast meat.
‘Do you think he’ll ever talk to me?’ Rhin asked abruptly, as their feet crunched over the stones. Lilain thought about that for a moment, trying to find an answer that sat comfortably between honesty and hope. Those were always the best kind.
‘You’ll have to give him time, Rhin, possibly a lot of it. He’s dealing with so much, and it’s only been a week,’ Lilain replied.
‘I suppose this is my punishment, then,’ Rhin mumbled.
Lilain looked down at him, eyes roving over his black and brown armour, his pale grey skin, his jet-black hair, and of course, the dragonfly wings that hung low as he trudged. ‘I suppose it is,’ she said. ‘But hey, it could be worse. He didn’t try to kill you or anything.’
Rhin growled softly at her knack for being right.
The faerie followed in Lilain’s shadow as they retraced their steps back to the fort. She was tired, and could feel without looking that the bandages around her knee had turned bloody again. A permanent sweat had affixed itself to her brow, and she leant on the crutch all the more with every mile.
Fortunately, the fort was not far, and within an hour they had reached the out-buildings and were creeping through the lengthening shadows of their alleys. The sun was now lingering low in the sky, and the west burnt with oranges and yellows.
Rhin shivered into nothing and ran ahead to check the door. The stone was still wedged against it, and once he had shoved it aside, the pathway seemed clear.
‘The stableboys are gone,’ Rhin whispered as Lilain hobbled up. ‘No sign of the farrier.’
‘Off for dinner, I expect,’ she suggested.
‘Let’s hope so,’ Rhin replied, moving through the small gap in the door. The hinges squealed again as Lilain shuffled through. It was darker on that side of the wall, and Rhin had to blink hard to kick his night-eyes into action.
They made it twenty paces before a shout rang out from the stable. A lone soldier doing the sunset rounds stepped out of a shadow and cocked his rifle. ‘I said stop!’ he shouted again.
Rhin had already vanished, leaving Lilain alone to deal with him. She leant a little harder on her crutch, let her eyes go glazed, and bit her lip.
‘What are you doin’ back here, skulkin’ about?’ barked the soldier, as he came near.
The orange sky painted his blue coat a dull brown, and set the bright buttons aflame. It matched his flaming red hair. The man half-lowered his gun as he looked Lilain up and down.
‘Major Doggard,’ Lilain began, trying to drop a little more croak into her voice, ‘You’ll forgive a beaten-up old woman, won’t you? I was just barterin’ for some meat, behind the wall. There was a man selling rabbits.’ Lilain hefted the bag.
Doggard eyed the bag, noting the blood, and then back at the woman, noting her bruises and scrapes, and the way she used that crutch like another leg.
Lilain leant closer, swaying slightly. ‘We haven’t eaten right since Fell Falls. The food here ain’t the best, if you’ll forgive my honesty.’
Doggard had to agree with that. He shouldered his rifle and looked around. ‘Fine,’ he said quietly. ‘Off you go.’
Lilain smiled, a real smile, not a doddery old woman’s. She nodded her head. ‘You’re a good man, Major Doggard. You deserve better than a general like Lasp,’ she said, beginning to hobble away.
The major flinched at that, but said nothing, merely waving her on.
Lilain looked back over her shoulder. ‘Oh, and if you find yourself wantin’ some real food later, follow your nose.’
The major smiled and nodded, staring after the woman until she disappeared behind a curve of the wall. He scratched his head and whistled low.
*
‘All I’m saying is that I’ve never seen anybody act so well under pressure before, especially in front of the major,’ Rhin said, from his hiding place between two barrels.
‘All men have their weaknesses, great and small, but every man has one in common, and that is his mother. I guessed the good major would be kind to a frail, beaten-up old refugee.’
‘You do look the part,’ Lurker smirked, and then instantly realised his mistake. He winced as Lilain smacked him on the arm. ‘I meant the beaten-up part, darnit.’
Lilain flashed him a smile before tending to the jackalope. It was skewered on a spit balanced between two boxes. Lilain turned it to roast on another side. She took a deep noseful of the smell. ‘Hurry up,’ she hissed at the roasting jackalope.
Lurker was avoiding breathing through his nose at all. His keen sense of smell made his mouth water too much, made his stomach rumble like a landslide. Rushing magpie blood did have its downsides. ‘It’ll be ready soon, I reckon,’ he whispered, as if intoning a secret prayer.
‘I hope so,’ Rhin muttered, nursing a growling stomach. Faerie appetites are not proportional to their size, and should never be underestimated.
‘Smells good,’ said a voice, and the three looked up to see Merion standing over them, hands in his pockets. ‘May I?’ he gestured to a spot next to Lurker, and Lurker shrugged before moving aside.
‘What is that?’
‘Jackalope,’ Lilain replied quietly. ‘A horned rabbit. Thought they were a flight of fantasy until this very afternoon.’
‘I’ve seen plenty, I told you,’ Lurker rumbled.
Lilain was indignant. ‘You absolute liar, John Hobble. You’ve never said a word to me about jackalopes,’ she said, waving a finger at him. ‘Not in all these years of me letting blood.’
Lurker just grunted and lowered his hat.
‘Horned rabbit,’ Merion murmured. ‘Wonder what its blood did?’
‘I told you, don’t have my tools,’ Lilain replied, stiffly. It was a sore point with her. Her collection of shades and veins, her tools, and her animals were all gone, and she did not dare dwell on those thoughts too long. She would not descend into moping like the others. ‘I’ll catch another, one day.’
‘You caught it then?’ Merion asked, intrigued.
Lilain shook her head. ‘No, Rhin did. Quite impressively,’ she said, pointing to the little shadow between the barrels. Merion refused to acknowledge him.
‘Best huntin’ dog you’ll ever have,’ Lurker mumbled. He had obviously been at his flask. Alcohol never likes to let a silence go unfilled.
Rhin hissed something in the Fae tongue and chuckled. Lurker chuckled as well, nudging the boy to see if he would bite. Merion just watched the flames, but spared a smile.
He only spoke when the jackalope was being sliced and served. They pinched the warm meat between their fingers, ripping it with their teeth, and afterwards licking the grease from their lips, swigging bartered wine and feeling like true lords and a lady.
‘Fine supper. Well done,’ Merion said, and although nobody knew who exactly he was addressing, the boy was right. The jackalope was delicious.
Between the barrels, a small smile curled around a mouthful of meat. Rhin took that as a good sign.
Chapter III
TROUBLE IN THE EAST, TROUBLE IN THE WEST
20th June, 1867
The Shivering Pines earned their name. The wet breeze shook their needles and boughs, making them rattle and sigh as the drizzle came down. In amongst the branches, ravens flapped and cawed, shaking the rain from their silky black feathers, arguing with each other. It was the ravens that gave the queen’s ancient palace its name.
Through the forest ran a wide path that curled outwards from the palace gardens and into the pines. It was divided in two by a high fence. One path for the queen, and one path for her visitors, side by side. Ever the one for mystery and privacy, was Queen Victorious.
All that Bremar Dizali, the Prime Lord of the Empire of Britannia, could see of the queen was the bobbing of a black umbrella which kept the drizzle at bay—held by a servant, no doubt. The queen would not sully herself so. And all Bremar Dizali could hear was the scraping and shuffling of Her Majesty as she walked, or even slithered, along the path.
Lord Dizali suppressed a shiver, wary of the watchful ravens above. The queen had a fascination with these birds. Dizali swapped a glance with Gavisham, who held his umbrella for him. His manservant wore a concerned frown, his strange eyes—one blue, one green—cautiously narrowed.
The queen had not spoken since they had left the palace, and Dizali did not dare to speak first. He was a quick learner. He had been kept waiting for almost a week since he had stormed into the palace courtyard, asking for an audience. Victorious had denied him, and he was forced to wait for her summons. Almost a week! A lot can change in a week on the other side of the world.
The shuffling stopped, and they came to a halt where the pines bowed overhead, sheltering them somewhat from the infernal drizzle. It was dark under the trees, not much more than twilight once the sun was lost behind a thick blanket of grey clouds. The ravens hushed their cawing, which sent a shiver running down Dizali’s spine.
Victorious spoke at last. ‘There is trouble in the east, Prime Lord.’
‘Your Majesty, there is indeed. The Ottoman Empire is crumbling, piece by piece, swiftly falling prey to Tzar Alekzander’s greed. Another war is coming, I believe, with Rosiya.’
‘You speak so dramatically, Lord Dizali.’
Dizali bit his tongue.
‘We must protect our interests in Constantinople,’ the queen continued. ‘I will not have our grip on the axle of central Asia weakened.’
‘Yes, My Queen,’ answered Dizali. There was a silence, filled with soft cawing.
‘Do not just agree with me, Dizali. Explain to me how we will do this!’
‘Well, My Queen, this is what I came here to speak to you about. Our plan to take control of the Hark estate, and quieten the Benches, has hit a … a snag, Your Majesty.’
‘Speak,’ spat Victorious, clearly unamused.
‘Gavisham?’ Dizali requested, holding out his hand. Gavisham reached inside his black coat and brought forth the morning paper. Dizali took it, unfolded it at the right page and then held it over the top of the fence to be fetched by another servant. A mottled hand took it, and there was an awkward, pregnant pause as the queen read.
Dizali summarised for her: ‘The Serpeds are dead, My Queen. And the Bulldog’s boy lives. But what that article doesn’t tell you is that it was not a
Shohari war party that caused the fire. It was the boy himself. He slaughtered the whole family and set the riverboat on fire. They had invited him and his aunt to dinner.’
‘How do you know of this?’ Victorious hissed.
‘We received a wiregram, Your Majesty, from another survivor. One of Serped’s lordsguards. He saw the boy,’ Dizali replied. He took a breath, and spoke gently. ‘That is what I came to speak to you about, almost a week ago, My Queen.’
‘One does not simply arrive uninvited at the Palace of Ravens, Dizali, not even a Prime Lord! Karrigan Hark did well to remember that and so should you,’ she snarled. Dizali bowed his head even behind the fence. There was a crackling of stones as she moved. ‘Trouble in the east, trouble in the west. Tell me again, Lord Dizali, what the Hark estate consists of.’
Dizali puffed out his chest. He had stared at the reports many times, long into the night, until the candles had burned to nothing, the brandy was poured, and his fingers itched. ‘A wide range of businesses, large and small, My Queen: warehouses and dock buildings; mills, both cotton and steel; ironworks; mining operations across Europe; trading companies in the East Indus Seas; shipyards; a bank as well, I believe; a hospital; several insurance companies; a string of properties such as towers, inns, shops, and various factories.’
‘And what do these various factories manufacture? Tell me,’ she commanded him, her voice gentle yet altogether terrifying.
Dizali ground his teeth together. Victorious was playing with him, cat and yarn. ‘A range of things, Your Highness, but predominately machine parts, wheels, and armaments.’
There was another pause, which prickled.
‘Does it not then appear to you, Lord Dizali, that if war were soon to erupt, then the late Lord Hark’s estate might be needed in the hands of the Crown?’
‘Most definitely, My Queen, and that is what I have been—’
But Victorious cut him off cold. ‘Not very well, Prime Lord Dizali, not very well at all. After all these centuries, must I still pull each and every string myself? What of our other friends in the west, those who have not been reduced to corpses? I pray you have some good news for me, Dizali. I do not enjoy my time being wasted, especially not in the rain.’
