Song of the Fairy Queen (41 page)

Then, in the distance he saw it, unmistakable and oddly beautiful for all that it was deadly.

A flight of Fairy in battle, winged figures, the last of the sunlight sparkling on their wings, diving like sparrows defending their nest from a hawk. Rising, spinning and diving, spiraling off this way and that to rise, dive and fire again.

A cry of horror sent chills racing over his skin.

To come close enough to hit a target with a bow on the wing meant you must also be close enough to be hit. That was the balance that had to be maintained. Attention had to be paid, the timing had to be perfect.

It made no sense to lose one to gain one, Kyri kept reminding herself, no matter how terrified she was for Galan.

Looking below, she could see him in the open wagon below. And seeing him in that iron cage, seeing what they’d done to him, the blood on him…

She cried out in rage and grief…. the sound rang over the hills.

It didn’t help, so she forced her eyes away.

On a wingtip, she turned, bow drawn and fired on those crouching for cover below.

With relief she heard the sound of hoof beats.

Morgan.

Kyri knew it before she saw him and nearly wept with relief.

Most of what she and they were doing was simply driving Haerold’s men to cover, keeping them back and away from Galan, so they couldn’t hold him hostage to his own fate, although they weren’t trying to miss and they’d hit one or two.

The bodies lay stretched out on the ground.

Even now she saw she had a shot and spun in the air, seeing the man with his back pressed to a small hillock for cover. She fired even as he turned, taking him in the chest.

Then Morgan’s people hit, driving into the unprepared fighters taking cover behind bushes and trees, flushing them out. Even the Hunter.

She saw him, Morgan, her heart and life. His fair hair was a beacon, his face and figure unmistakable and some of her heartache and fear eased, knowing he saw her, too.

Morgan had been watching her from the moment he’d seen where she was, seeing the taut way she flew, the sharpness instead of her usual grace, the iron control she exercised.

It took only one glance at Galan, to see him shackled in a cage, to see the blood on him and what had been done to him for Morgan to begin swearing.

His gut twisted in fury for Galan, heartsick. He gestured and one group peeled off to harass Haerold’s men, while the other raced to encircle the wagon.

In a silvery flash of wings, Kyri landed on the top of the cage, her thin shoes scant protection from the iron but she scarcely noticed it. She ignored the burning, battering the lock on the cage with her sword, desperate to get Galan out of it, but the silver of her sword was too soft to break it.

“Keep them off us,” Morgan shouted to his people and leaped to the wagon, severing the lock with one swing.

Galan was on the floor of the iron cage, on one knee, his jaw clenched against the searing pain in his wrists, knees, his back, his wings… His eyes were furious, proud and despairing.

There were burns all over his arms and shoulders from bumping against the iron cage.

His wings, though…

Morgan wanted to be sick at what they’d done to him.

Then Kyri was beside him, her sea-colored eyes desperate… She was nearly sobbing.

“Galan. The shackles, please, Morgan, I can’t touch them,” she said, flinching back from where her own shoulder touched iron.

Someone shouted, “Keys.”

Morgan snatched them out of the air as they were tossed to him, opening the shackles.

Galan practically dove out of the cage, hunching to keep from touching the iron and launched himself into Kyri’s arms.

Nearly weeping, she caught him, looking up in gratitude at Morgan, murmuring reassurances.

“I can fix them, Galan,” she said. “I can. You’ll fly again, I promise.”

Her throat working, she touched Galan’s wings in disbelief and fury.

They’d clipped them, severing the tendons, rendering them useless.

Crystalline tears fell like rain…

With a sigh, Kyri let Galan sleep, giving a nod to Dorien for his help holding Galan’s wings still while she Healed them. Morgan was waiting to take her into his arms. She went into them gratefully, laying her head on his broad chest.

“Morgan.”

“How is he?”

Kyri took a long slow breath. “If we’d been later… He’ll be fine in a few days, but he won’t be flying much for a little longer. Some things take time.”

Fading fear and tension, the long, hard, desperate flight, had left her weak and shaky. Her stomach quivered.

“Thank you for coming,” she said. “I know you would have anyway, but still....”

For a moment, her mouth tightened.

“Galan is the closest I have to family,” she said finally, simply, silvery tears sparkling in her eyes. “We’re not terribly fertile, Fairy aren’t, so we have few family. He is all that I have, as like a brother to me as any.”

Morgan hadn’t known, but now he understood the need for thanks.

Gently, he brushed her hair back from her face with both hands, pressed a kiss to her forehead.

Kyri closed her eyes, drinking in the comfort.

“We’ll escort you home,” he said.

For a moment she paused and then she said, “All the way there, then. Tell your people that they are welcome there as you have ever been, if there had been time to take you.”

Morgan knew what it was Kyri offered to his people.

Never in memory or story had anyone not Fairy walked on Fairy soil, in Faery itself. Even Oryan had never set foot within a Fairy glen. Although Kyri had talked often of taking Morgan there and he’d known what it was she offered to him, the time had never been available.

It wasn’t just him, though, that she was taking among her people, but those he trusted most as well. Those who were like brothers and sisters to him. Faithful Caleb, Jena, all these…

Morgan had never known family but he’d known the Marshals.

There had always been the Marshals.

They made their way through the multi-storied wood, the places Fairy loved the most, the deep cool forest. The low brush was lush and green, flower-spangled moss carpeted the ground here and there. A thick layer of leaves and pine needles muffled the sound of the horses’ hooves, releasing the soft scents of earth, water, pine and herbs. Sunlight speared down in brilliant shafts of light. High above them the tops of the trees swayed in the breeze.

Tiny birds flitted and darted around the trees, singing, quarreling. A doe and her fawn searched for the small emerald patches of grass that found a home here. Save to lift their heads to stare at those passing with their dark liquid eyes, neither moved. Both went back to eating, the fawn butting its nose against its mother, seeking a different meal than its mother did.

It was quiet, so very quiet Morgan could hear the trees sough high above him, a soft rustling. Somewhere nearby, water bubbled and ran.

There had been another sacred space like this and Morgan looked to Kyri as she looked back and smiled at the memory. He had made love to her there for the first time.

Their party traversed a narrow path through mountains, between massive tumbled boulders covered with lichen and more of the vibrant moss, glowing green against the dark stone.

Above them the trees reached high for the distant sky, only a faint trace of blue far above. He’d never seen trees so tall as these. This was ancient forest, untouched by the axes of men.

Everyone was silent, almost breathless in wonder, awe and anticipation.

Morgan glanced at Kyri, her lovely eyes sparkled.

“Welcome to Faery,” she said softly, and smiled brilliantly.

As if to give them the best and longest views, the horses paced slowly beneath them, taking their time.

It was as if the trees parted, or the brightness grew and yet they didn’t and it didn’t, the trees were simply less dense. Sunlight streamed between them, spears of it, long brilliant rays lighting up the glen…

It was magical.

Even Morgan’s breath caught.

Kyri laughed to see it.

He looked at her briefly, shaking his head before turning his eyes back up again.

The trees towered, great tall things with gnarled reddish trunks or great smooth gray ones, Fairy oak and pine, their broad branches spreading high above their heads, thick with leaves or needles, laced with brilliantly colored flowering vines that twined around the boles. The air was slightly sweet with the scent, the tang of the pine and the tiny white fairy moss flowers.

Sunlight beamed down everywhere, filtering through leaves to dance on the ground, or slanting in wide piercing rays. The ground was covered in thick grass or the deep emerald moss with its little flowers that looked soft to the feet.

What amazed them all was that high among those branches and vines were broad platforms, their railings twined with more of the flowering vines. Music played lightly somewhere, a pipe lilted lightly and some stringed instrument trilled. Fairy peered down in curiosity at the visitors, wings fluttering. Scattered around the forest floor were thatched roof platforms as well, while others had taken roost among the tumbled rocks and boulders of the mountain slopes that circled the tiny hidden valley.

A waterfall spilled down one side, falling over a cliff into a small lake, the stream running off and disappearing somewhere out of sight. Perched on rocks and boulders, Fairy preened, feathery fluff floating around their feet, talking and laughing, one helping another to reach the spots they couldn’t.

Morgan kept that in mind, remembering the day he’d found Kyri doing the same.

Everywhere light sparkled and danced off fluttering crystalline wings in every shade of the rainbow and some that weren’t, pale pink, blue, green, yellow, gold, silver and bronze, reflecting and shimmering.

Birds swooped among the trees to the sound of laughter, before anyone realized they weren’t birds, but Fairy children, as a few dove down in equal amazement to examine the visitors with wide eyed curiosity. They chattered like birds, too, as children did, delighted to see something new, their eyes bright and curious, their faces happy and mischievous.

Waving to get their attention, rolling her eyes in amusement and fond exasperation, Kyri said, gently chiding, “Not Fairy…they can’t understand you.”

Startled, they flew off, to watch from nearby, giggling like children everywhere, it was just that these had wings. And then they were off again, darting through the trees on those gossamer wings.

It was the first time Morgan realized that there was a difference in the coloration of those wings, although all the wings were crystalline, some had tinges of blue or green, amber or rose, gold, silver or bronze.

Only Kyri’s were iridescent, crystal clear.

To their left, the boulders rose into a series of levels, steps chiseled into some of them, leading up the tumbled hillside and the cliff face.

About midway from the top was a broad open space, one side brightly canopied, with walls of brilliantly colored silk that fluttered lightly in the breeze. The center was open to the sun, with a fire pit at the back, while the opposite was covered by an open wooden structure, the roof of it a thick web of the flowering vines. All of it was bright and cheerful. It was lovely and oddly castle-like with the boulders that rose above, around, behind and framing it to each side.