Song of the Fairy Queen (5 page)

“Will we make it?” Oryan asked as Kyri glanced upward once again.

Her eyes went to him and then to Morgan. “It will be close.”

Running a hand down his horse’s neck to feel the sweat there, Morgan asked, “How long can the horses hold out at this pace?”

They’d been at a gallop or a canter for most of the night, more than most horses could have managed.

Her eyes met his steadily. “It will be close. We dare not push them harder.”

Morgan took a breath and nodded in understanding.

It was a delicate balance then.

Daylight glimmered ever more strongly through the mist.

Kyri fought the decision she must make and soon. She didn’t want to do it as there were consequences to tampering with the weather. To do so, she would also have to fight the sun. That went against her very nature and her gifts. It could be done, but not easily…and the magic required…

A Fairy dove through the clouds.

Galan.

“Ahead, turn slightly right,” he said.

Morgan had to admire Kyri’s command of her people and how well she used it. They’d been taking turns, the Fairy, in scouting the way ahead, giving each a chance to rest.

“Thank you, Galan,” she said with evident relief even as the Fairy arched, his wings taking him upward again.

A greater shadow loomed ahead and then they were among the trees, small ones at first, taller as the land sloped upward.

“Follow,” Kyri said, and gave her horse a little more of its head.

A tumble of boulders loomed to their right as thin sunlight pierced through the canopy of leaves above them.

This was the last of the wild country within the Kingdom. Although most of the Great Central Forest had been scouted to some extent, Morgan had never seen much need to penetrate more deeply into it. Nor had the thieves he’d been chasing at the time, few of them having the wood-skills necessary to traverse the depths of it. Only hunters and woodcutters traveled it now.

It was known to the Fairy, the dense woods and mountains were their lands by nature.

Her sunny hair streaming over her shoulders in a rippling flow, her wings folded neatly against her back beneath the thin shift, Kyri led them deep into the heart of the wood and into brilliant sunlight.

Light burst over her, turning her hair to molten gold, and where it touched her folded wings it dazzled the eyes.

A dozen Fairy awaited, both male and female, standing on the face of the cliff to each side of a small waterfall. Each was armed with sword and bow, all were dressed in some variation of the thin shift they all seemed to wear, some with loose trousers so the shift served as a tunic and some not.

Oryan and Morgan recognized Galan, Dorien and perhaps one or two others from Kyri’s entourage. The rest were strangers, new to them.

“My people await,” Kyri said, turning her horse to face them. “What would you, Oryan, Morgan?”

For a moment, Oryan almost hesitated but in the face of Kyri’s calm expectation he couldn’t.

Use us
, she almost seemed to demand.

He couldn’t in good conscience and for the sake of his people refuse her.

“I need a messenger to go south to Gwenifer’s estates to warn them and to tell them that we’re coming.”

One of the newer Fairy opened her wings, her hair a cap of ebony curls, her dark eyes sparkling merrily.

“I know of it,” that one said and dove off the cliff, her seemingly diaphanous wings tinged with pink when the light caught them, feathers sparkling. Then she was gone, darting between the trees.

“You’ll have people watching?” Morgan asked.

With a nod and a smile, Kyri said. “They’re already in place.”

He’d never doubted it, he merely asked for verification. As she clearly knew.

Above them Fairy swooped down, some to poke in holes in the cliff face, before tossing down wrapped bundles to those who had preceded them below.

“What is this place, Kyri?” Oryan asked as they dismounted.

Liliane had Gawain cradled in her arms. Gawain was asleep. For that Oryan was grateful.

Looking around Kyri smiled a little and sighed.

“Once it was a Glade. Now we use it as an occasional refuge. Flying is tiring work, unless one has the skill and talent to ride the thermals, which is why you will never see a portly Fairy. Not all have that skill. And so this remains, a stopping-over point.”

There were memories here for her. Her wrists ached.

“What happened?” Oryan asked, “Why did you leave?”

She looked at him and smiled a little, a curve of her lips. “The forest was growing smaller.”

It was the first time Morgan had sensed a touch of sadness in her.

She had no need to explain, both Oryan and Morgan understood. Men needed wood for their fires and Fairy tended the forests. Conflict had been inevitable.

“Is anyone injured?” she asked. “We have Healers among us.”

Aside from small cuts and scrapes, neither Oryan nor Morgan had suffered any injury but there were one or two of Morgan’s people who had, especially those who’d defended the door.

“Galan,” she said, “will you see to them, please?”

Morgan saw a look pass between Kyriay and Galan as Oryan’s attention was taken by a Fairy gesturing him toward a small lean-to and bedroll. With a small shake of her head and another smile, Kyri sent the other Fairy on his way. Obediently – but clearly reluctantly – Galan nodded and went to the injured.

Frowning, Morgan watched as Kyri turned to glance over the clearing to assure herself that everyone was being cared for and then one of the Fairy touched Morgan’s arm lightly, distracting him, too.

A bedroll had been laid out for Morgan as well it appeared.

“There’s food, too, my Lord Marshal,” a Fairy said, with a gesture to a trestle table set to one side.

Already Morgan’s people gathered around it, wearily spooning bowls of peas porridge—a thick soup – and something much like oatmeal laced with raisins and nuts. His stomach rumbled at the scent of food. With a nod of thanks to the Fairy attending him, Morgan went to join his people, still watching Kyri.

Her people came and went looking for orders and the answer to questions.

Finished helping Morgan’s people, Galan hurried across the clearing, his expression determined, chiding, shaking his head in exasperation at his Queen.

Grinning wryly, Kyri sat on a rock, and turned a little as Galan neared.

Morgan caught his breath and then swore softly beneath it.

Blood stained the thin material of her shift on one side from her ribs to her hip and Morgan suddenly remembered the tear in it he’d seen when she’d landed on the parapet. He’d no doubt her rescue of him had only made that wound worse, as it was with the hand on that side that she’d caught him. She’d said nothing, made no outcry, nor had made any complaint on the journey.

At that instant, her aquamarine eyes met his across the breadth of the clearing. Her expression softened a little and she smiled, bowing her head a little in acknowledgment.

Seeing his look, Kyri didn’t regret what she’d done – especially as Galan’s healing eased some of the pain that had plagued her – it had been necessary.

Pain was something she feared they would all get used to soon enough.

She looked over her people, in her thoughts seeing those who were missing.

Grief and sorrow as well.

“What’s wrong?” Oryan asked as he followed Morgan’s gaze. He sighed, seeing the blood on Kyriay’s shift. “Damn.”

“My thought exactly,” Morgan agreed angrily.

Remembering Gwen with a sharp pang, Oryan said, pain in his voice, “We none of us will come out of this unscathed, I’m afraid.”

He looked to his son, nestled sleeping in the bedding the Fairy had provided.

With an effort he held back grief at the thought of Gawain’s mother, his own precious Gwen.

Oryan’s words were true enough. Morgan had faced that pain often enough on the part of his people, but for some reason it bothered him more where the Queen of the Fairy was concerned. It was a thing of men, War, not her folk.

A breath of magic touched Oryan and a dozen Fairy eyes turned to him as Kyri got hurriedly to her feet.

The sunlight around them seemed to brighten, to intensify, sparkling from the leaves of the trees high above them.

“Scrying?” he asked.

With a nod, Kyri answered, “There are ways to hide us from their sight for a time and we’re doing so.”

For a time.

That complicated things.

Oryan glanced at Morgan. His intention had been to either find some place defensible to gather his forces, to take refuge with one of his vassals perhaps, or in another Kingdom if necessary. If they could scry for him, though, that was impossible.

“Is there any way to stop it?” he asked, as she came across the glade toward him, accepting a bowl of the oatmeal from one of her people as she passed.

Slowly, Kyri shook her head. “I’m sorry, Oryan. There are ways to cloud it temporarily, but nothing permanent. We can’t change your blood.”

“This changes our plans, Morgan,” Oryan said. “A refuge is out.”

Morgan nodded. His heart sank but his resolution hardened. It would make things that much more difficult. A single retreat, somewhere in the mountains perhaps, would have given them a place to gather their forces. That was impossible now, if they could scry Oryan.

Squaring his shoulders he responded, “Haerold’s not making it easy but we shouldn’t expect he would. For now, we’ll keep on the move.”

It would mean no central base but that might actually be better for their purposes as there would be less chance of an assassin finding them.

Weariness dragged at him.

Seeing tiredness settle over Morgan and feeling it himself, Oryan waved it away. “Let’s sleep while we may. A few hours at least.”

Morgan nodded. “We’ll get on the move then. Talk about it when our heads are clear.”

They sought their bedrolls, gratefully.

As did Kyri.

The sun shone brightly through the windows of Gwen’s small country estate, the blue sky nearly cloudless above them. It should have been a perfect day…the temperature was comfortable and the sky clear. Around the estate, the hills rolled green and lovely, stitched by the zigzagged gray lines of split rail fences. From the window, Oryan could watch the horses graze in those verdant fields. Gwenifer’s fields, Gwenifer’s horses. At least now they would go mounted on their own horses and so free the Fairy horses for the Fairy.

In the rooms around them came the sounds of clatter and busyness as the folk of the estate prepared for their departure. There had been a find, though, the great tent he’d used when he’d come south now and then to hunt in the hills and forests here. That was how he’d met Gwen, all those years ago, he’d been hunting. His heart twisted at the memory.

That tent would be shelter of a kind and, more importantly, portable.