Song of the Fairy Queen (43 page)

A few judicious questions, coins exchanged and stories of money owed and they finally tracked Jacob down.

Morgan frowned at the look of the place. It was a step down again for Jacob, back into the meaner streets.

It was more of a shock for Jacob to look up and see Morgan standing in the doorway of the tavern.

Swiftly, he brushed what was on the table in front of him into his lap.

There was no need for Morgan to see that and Jacob was only using it to keep his cover safe….

Caleb went to the bar, to watch for any signs of trouble, or a glimmer of recognition.

Jacob smiled gladly enough, if carefully and discreetly before a dozen watching eyes, though, to see Morgan drop into the chair across from him.

It was good to see the man, even if he did look a bit worn at the edges.

Jacob had managed to get a few messages out, but they hadn’t met as often as Morgan would have liked. Word had it that Morgan had his little piece – the Queen of the Fairy no less – and now Jacob had his.

Although Jacob had to be damned if he’d get so tied up as Morgan was said to be.

Keep it sweet, keep it light…that was his motto.

He glanced over to where she was dancing, thinking of the night to come and then he looked back to Morgan.

“Good to see you, Morgan,” Jacob said.

Morgan didn’t know if it was the poor light, too much bad whiskey or what, but Jacob looked almost as bad as he did, his eyes a little too bright, his dark skin paler, a little gray.

“Are you all right, Jacob?” Morgan asked, frowning, eyeing Jacob worriedly.

Waving it off, Jacob thought,
do I look that bad
? but he only said, “I’m fine. I’m good. What brings you to the bowels of Remagne?”

Bowels of Remagne was right
, Morgan thought, looking around at the men staring desultorily into their mugs of beer, ale or cheap whiskey.

“You heard anything about Haerold having an ear in the rebel camps to the south?”

Straightening a little, more alert, Jacob shook his head, frowning, disturbed. He should have. And Morgan wouldn’t be asking if he hadn’t good reason. Was he slipping?

“No,” Jacob said, “but I know who to ask.”

“Ask,” Morgan said.

Jacob nodded. “I’ll send word.”

“Anything else for me?”

Jacob looked around. “Not at the moment.”

His eyes were jittery. Morgan frowned.

“Truthfully, Jacob,” Morgan asked. “How are you?”

Keeping his eyes steady on Morgan, Jacob said, “I’m good.”

He was careful not to overplay it, gesturing to the men around the room, the smoke hanging by the ceiling, a dancer gyrating in a corner to the accompaniment of a bad guitar player, a dice game in another corner. “This is my kind of place. I’ve got a woman and about a dozen games going. I couldn’t be better.”

That was the truth. Lately he had plenty of energy, so much so that it sometimes seemed his blood was sparkling, although there were times now and then when he got irritable.

“Need anything?” Morgan asked, clearly still uneasy.

“Stop worrying, Morgan,” Jacob said. “Truth is, you don’t look so good yourself.”

Nor was Jacob the first to say that.

“It’s not the first time,” Morgan said.

As Jacob knew.

“Remember that time we were trying to catch those smugglers?”

They sat for a while, talking, trading stories of old times for the sake of any watchers until Morgan knew it was time to leave.

He missed Jacob, missed the old days when the worst they had had to worry about was smugglers.

The dancer’s eyes followed him as he left.

In the predawn hours the streets were virtually empty, but he and Caleb were careful to stick to the shadows until they neared the gate. Morgan’s legs were leaden with weariness and they still had to ride out, put some distance between themselves and Remagne before they could rest.

They’d almost made it through the first set of guards before one of the Guards called, “Wait.”

For a second Morgan debated it and then decided that discretion was the better part of valor. Better to take the chance than to raise the alarm for certain.

He turned, even as the guard raised his lantern.

Caleb cursed softly, reaching for his sword.

It was simply bad timing.

The light hit Morgan’s face – his handsome, fair-haired, blue-eyed and very distinctive face – perfectly.

Morgan saw the light of recognition in the Guard’s eyes and swore softly as he hit him, one quick punch, fast and hard as Caleb drove his sword through the other.

Now it was only speed and luck, as they raced through the short tunnel beneath the pediment where Kyri had very nearly died.

The second set of guards heard or sensed something. One cried the alarm as the other ran to intercept them before the other joined him.

Now Morgan swore with a vengeance.

Although no swordsman, the two guards delayed them long enough for reinforcements to arrive.

Then it was a pitched battle, with swords, elbows and punches flying, trying to break free before more arrived. A blade shot across Morgan’s ribs, missed piercing him only by dint of his having twisted out of its way, his sword tangled elsewhere. Morgan hit that one with his left hand, rammed his shoulder into the one he’d parried, sending that one staggering away. He put his sword through another, turned and ducked the next, hacking to drive the man away.

His sword arm might as well have been made of lead.

“Caleb,” he shouted and they ran for it, Kyri’s whistle to his lips.

The horses came at a gallop, the rest of the Marshals with them.

Morgan swung up onto his horse on the fly as Caleb scrambled into his and they were off, their archers driving their pursuers back as a volley came from above.

The Hunters came before dawn, the early morning attack catching everyone by surprise. Liliane reached for her swords even as she turned to her son, the boy she now truly considered her child, and cried, “Run, Gawain.”

“Mother!” he shouted.

Looking at him, tears burning behind her eyes, she shouted, “Do as you’re told, Gawain, and
run
…!”

Run he did, to be caught up by one of the other villagers, Mairi’s hand clapping over the boy’s mouth to keep him silent, to not cry out for his mother… With Gordon to protect the children Liliane was the only hope for the village now, unless the Marshals arrived in time…

Liliane set herself, as the memories of old, good times with good comrades came back and she smiled…

Her boy would be safe here. He’d grown so tall in such a short time.

Boys, they just grew. Everyone here believed him her son in truth and they would protect him as their own, as she fought for them now…

Morgan would be proud of her
, she thought, although he would likely never know, but she’d made sure the boy would be cared for, trained up proper....

The Hunters came and she let out a gusty sigh, glad to have her swords in hand for good purpose once more. This was what she was good at, not farming, although she’d tried.

She faced them, almost smiling, as the young people escaped knowing she would likely die here.

The Hunters had short tempers and mean streaks of late. Morgan had led them a merry chase and she was right proud of him.

They came.

It was better this way. No one would ever know. She was the last link to the boy, save for the Queen of the Fairy.

She was Liliane and they wouldn’t take her son, for in all the ways that mattered, he was hers now and she would die for him.

Wolf-like, they circled her, stalking, unknowingly buying her people time to get the children safely away.

Only one other had ever been as quick as she. Morgan, her Captain, once Lord High Marshal. She remembered sparring with him and even once with the Queen herself. Morgan was the best man she’d ever known, bar none, although Gordon came close.

The Hunter behind her leaped, but she spun and her sword sliced across its shoulder as it yelped.

Liliane gloried in the thrill of honest battle, her swords slashed to drive off the next. She held off the next as well, but took a deep scratch for it.

Another dove in while she was distracted. Its mouth closed over the back of her leg, her hamstring.

The leg buckled as pain burst through her.

It didn’t matter, her swords met the next one as it leaped for her throat and she snarled into its face.

She smiled. Gawain was safe, that was all that mattered. They would never have him now. The last link was broken.

He was a good boy. She’d steeped him in the stories of his father, the real one…had begun his training.

Already Gordon stood ready to step into her place.

The next one leaped for her. Her heart lightened and she laughed as her sword pierced its chest while another leaped for her throat.

It took her down, jaws tightening, but still Liliane laughed.

Joy moved through her.

In her mind, she reached up for the light…and the Gods welcomed her home.

Gawain was safe.

She’d had a good run and done her duty. She gave up her life willingly.

Morgan awoke to gentle fingers touching his ribs and almost flinched away, anticipating pain. He’d finally let Caleb patch them, but every touch had stung painfully. Except that this time there was no pain, just the light tingling warmth of Kyri’s magic. Her soft scent surrounded him. He opened his eyes to find her sitting beside him on the cot, her rippling golden hair trailing over his bare chest softly. Lightly, her fingertips touched her talisman there.

Her beautiful aquamarine eyes were shadowed, worried, but then they lifted to meet his and finding him awake she smiled, the shadows disappearing.

For a moment he just drank her in, her lovely face, the long spiraling curls of her hair were like sunshine sliding across his skin at each motion of her head.

“Morgan,” Kyri said and laid her head on his chest.

He’d looked so exhausted, so bone-weary when she entered, sleeping so deeply he hadn’t even noticed her arrive.

It made her heart ache to see it.

The score across his ribs had been deep, enflamed, but that had been almost less a worry than the fact that he hadn’t awakened when she touched him, or as she listened to Caleb tell her what had happened. In Healing, she knew the depths of Morgan’s exhaustion, how hard and how far he had pushed himself.

And, listening to Caleb, her concern had only grown.

It wasn’t like Morgan to make mistakes like this. He was too careful. She was becoming more and more afraid for him, but she knew he wouldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop, so long as Oryan’s people and hers suffered under Haerold’s heel.