Song of the Fairy Queen (4 page)

Jacob was at his right shoulder, Liliane at his left – two of his most trusted aides – their swords drawn as the black-garbed soldiers appeared at the top of the stair. More pressed behind them, the narrow stairs limiting their numbers.

The first soldier snarled a smile at the sight of Morgan and his people. Then a Fairy arrow with its unmistakable crystalline fletching took the man through the throat. His snarl turned to surprise as he staggered, fell back against those behind him and died. Another arrow took the man next to him.

“Get them,” Morgan heard Kyriay shout. “I’ve got Morgan.”

Jacob and Liliane were literally snatched off their feet, carried up into the air as the enemy soldiers thrust away their dead and pushed forward.

Like an arrow out of the night in a whistling dive the Queen of the Fairy shot past the enemy. The invading soldiers ducked instinctively.

Kyriay, her golden hair streaming in the breeze of her passage. Beautiful, seemingly delicate and insubstantial, her lovely face was intent, eyes narrowed and her wings tucked close…one hand outstretched for his…

“Morgan,” she shouted.

He leaped to the parapet, reaching in return, furious with her for the chance she took. His hand closed around her slender wrist, her long, strong fingers grasped his and she snatched him off his feet. It felt for a moment as if they were falling…down into the carnage below.

With a sharp crack that reverberated through both of them, those great gossamer wings opened, caught air and they shot upward with a shock so hard Morgan thought he’d nearly dislocated his shoulder.

And Kyriay?

He looked up at her…

In all his life he didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so stunning, so beautiful… Or so fierce and determined…

Firelight danced over those brilliant wings, reflected the glow, sparkled in the shifting intangible light.

She was glorious.

It had to have hurt, but there was no sign of it in that fine-boned, resolute face.

Muscles straining, that lovely face focused, determined, indomitable, she fought for height against the speed of the dive. Her wings cupped, then flattened, shifted. Smaller and lighter than he, even so she held on grimly, her rippling hair streaming in the breeze of their passage.

Insane as it was at the moment, he suddenly realized how very beautiful she was. Different, but not…exotic, incredible…and beautiful.

The hard stone of the curtain wall came at them fast, but they were rising, rising, to shoot over it so closely Morgan could see the surprise on the faces of those who fought below. So closely he heard an arrow whistle past while another barely missed a wing, as the fighters on the parapets instinctively fired at the perceived threat.

Dizzyingly, to Morgan the ground seemed to come toward them in a rush and then her wings flared again, the shock more gentle this time.

Muscles straining, Kyri fought for height.

Darkness surrounded them. The wall fell behind them.

They had made it.

She banked, searching for the others, for the familiar sense of her people in her spirit and mind.

There
. Relief flooded her.

His feet touched the earth and then hers.

Kyri staggered a little but Morgan reached out a hand to steady her. She smiled at him quickly and gratefully.

A different kind of shock went through her at the contact between their hands and then a quick rush of warmth that Kyri had no time to examine as she looked over the small party of survivors.

They’d lost no one since the first moments of the attack.

She closed her eyes for only a moment in relief and gratitude. Every life, Fairy or man, was precious.

Her body ached, her wing muscles protesting the abuse as her wings fluttered a little, resettling the feathers automatically… A sword cut on her ribs stung, another on her arm. Until now she hadn’t even noticed they were there.

They were free, though, for the moment.

Oryan stepped through the small crowd, Gawain in his arms.

Turning from him only a little, Kyri drew a silver whistle from beneath her shift where it hung on a silver chain around her throat and blew.

For all that it made little sound, Oryan felt more than heard it, a sharp pressure in his ears.

“Thank you, Kyri,” he said, for her assistance. “Where do you go now?”

“South and west for a time, there is a place, not far, where we will be safe long enough to decide what we do next,” she said.

We.

“Kyri…” Oryan began.

She stilled him with a simple gesture. “Like it or no, our fates are joined, Oryan. Haerold didn’t only attack you, he attacked my embassy here, with the intent to kill or capture me and mine. My people have long withdrawn from Haerold’s lands for the wizards he kept company with. It’s likely he will turn against us now whether we aid you or not.”

It was no more than the simple truth and they both knew it.

Oryan nodded.

“Where would you go, now?” Kyri asked.

“There is little time and Haerold will surely go there once he’s learned we’ve escaped, but to Gwenifer’s lands to the south – so that serves us both well – to gather what funds I may. They should be warned, too. Haerold will surely seize them… then...” He sighed. “Decisions will have to be made…”

He looked back at the castle in the distance. Flames blossomed from some of the windows, little else could be seen there.

“Good,” Kyri said, “then we will stand guard for you until you can gain some of that time to make them.”

A thunder of hooves had almost all of them turning in near panic as they reached for their swords.

Oryan wanted to shout in frustration and helpless fury.

“It’s all right,” Kyri said, as the horses galloped over the rise, their manes and tails blowing in the breeze of their passage. “I called them.”

The horses of the Fair raced out of the darkness, gold, silver, bronze and copper, their long manes and tails flagging in the breeze of their passage, beautiful to watch as they ran, the muscles moving beneath their skin fluidly.

Morgan watched them come with the admiration of a true horseman, their gait so smooth and liquid they seemed to float over the ground.

At least they wouldn’t have to walk the miles from here to there.

With practiced ease Kyri caught a handful of mane and vaulted onto a horse’s bare back as it came to a halt, her wings tucked neatly and nearly invisibly against her back, her shapely legs bared high on the thigh as her shift gathered.

Morgan gave his orders, assigning Liliane to guard the boy once more, sending Alain north to call back the Marshals there.

As much as he hated it, he must leave the North undefended against the raiders so they could fight for the King and what little they could salvage here until Oryan was back on the throne. Faithful Caleb he sent west and then south to carry the news and call up any of those he could. They would need every man and woman he could find.

Morgan was under no illusions. Their situation was desperate. His job was to find a way to make it less so and then to put Oryan back on the throne.

It wouldn’t be an easy task.

With the onset of sunrise, the fog rolled in from the sea to spill over the hills to the west. Mist rose, too, from the ground to swirl around the horses’ feet, making it difficult if not impossible for the riders to see, if not, seemingly, for the horses themselves.

Softly, Morgan swore.

“If you swear at the fog, My Lord High Marshal Morgan,” Kyri said, with a small ironic laugh, “don’t. It might be the saving of us yet. Difficult as it is to see, it’s also difficult for magic to pierce. Haerold surely has wizards capable of scrying – seeing from a distance – and they will no doubt be looking for us now.”

Enough time had passed for word to have reached Haerold that Oryan and Gawain had escaped.

Morgan nodded.

He hadn’t had that much experience with magic. His own wizard had likely died in the first assault – she’d been a prime target for Haerold’s people. If Danise had made it, she would have joined them. She hadn’t. He’d relied on her for knowledge of all things magical, of which he knew only a little. He hadn’t realized however, how much he might need to know.

“Morgan will do,” he said absently, as he considered it.

He glanced at Oryan.

“We have a lot to learn,” Oryan said.

Like Morgan he’d relied on his Court Wizard, a wizened little man named Henry, who was very likely dead now also. Oryan had only a little magic himself, enough to light a fire or a candle without aid.

“And little time to learn it,” Morgan replied.

Scrying
. Morgan knew of it, had even seen it used once, when Danise had helped them find one of their missing people.

“It’s a simple magic,” Kyri said from the hazy darkness at his left, “if you know how to use it. It’s easier still for Haerold to find you, Oryan, as you share a blood tie with him. He or one of his wizards can use that to target you, although it won’t be very clear since you only share half your blood. It would be more difficult still for him to find Gawain with whom he shares even less. However, with enough effort and enough will, it allows a greater chance to seek you out. For now, darkness hides us, and the fog. With luck, we’ll reach the Great Central Forest before the sun burns the mists away. Then the trees around us will only tell them that we’re in a forest. Not which one. We’ll be safe enough for a time.”

It was a race, then and still, first through the darkness and then through the thick cold fog.

To Morgan the blindness of it was maddening. Even the dark had been penetrable as their eyes had adjusted and starlight had given them something to see by, but this fog was thick, dense, and it muffled sound. Oryan was a dim figure on his right, Kyri a fainter shadow on his left. Only Kyri’s people diving through the fog kept them on course.

As the night had faded and the fog rose, the cold had joined it until they were all chilled to the bone, especially those who’d been roused from sleep and were thinly dressed. Liliane had wrapped her cloak around young Gawain while Morgan offered his first to Kyri, clad only in the thin shift.

With a smile, she steered her horse closer and he saw she’d wrapped herself in her iridescent wings, nearly blending into the fog save for her gilded hair and aquamarine eyes.

Gods she was beautiful.

“Unless gravely wounded we suffer little from cold unless it’s particularly intense, nearly freezing. But I thank you for the offer. Oryan, however, could make more use of it.”

One look was enough to convince Morgan.

For all his strength, Oryan had pulled into himself, trying to keep his core warm. Morgan tossed his King the cloak.

Not that Oryan would have asked but, wearing nothing except the trousers he’d put on in haste, the cold mist had settled over his bare skin and now he was so cold his teeth were chattering.

Without demur, Oryan pulled it over himself, then huddled into the warmth left in it gratefully.

All of them watched the sky and the pale circle of the sun brightening through the fog as the heat slowly burned the mists off.