Song of the Fairy Queen (10 page)

“Nor can I find them,” the wizard said, her voice deep, low, her tone irritated. “Something blocks me, a brightness. I hadn’t thought Oryan had that much magic.”

Haerold threw his wine cup violently at the nearest wall. It shattered, spraying dark red wine to dribble down the stone wall.

“He doesn’t, or he didn’t. He’s found himself a wizard, somehow, to aid him,” Haerold snapped. “And when I find who that one is they will regret the very day they were born.”

“How long until we leave this place?” the mercenary demanded. “My men grow bored, restless.”

The city offered them little now, they’d plundered what they could, the rest had burned and most of the people had fled, those that could.

Restlessly, Haerold paced. “The city is secure, it’s time to secure the countryside. Put the city to the torch. Burn it. We move in three days time…”

“Yes,” the wolf-man hissed, with satisfaction.

A breeze blew past Morgan and Jacob as the guard opened the door for a messenger.

Below the creature’s nose lifted, scenting the air as the sorceress suddenly straightened, pressing a catch on her pendant so it opened into two half domes – like and unlike the little bowl Kyri had given to Oryan – and passed her hand over it as Kyri had.

Morgan eyed it warily.

It was a scrying bowl.

“We have company,” the woman said, urgently, “someone watches.”

She swung to her feet, looking around.

The wolf man snarled as its muzzle lifted to catch their scent. It spun on its heels, moving fast, faster than many men on those unnatural legs.

Jacob didn’t need a signal, he turned and raced for the door with Morgan close behind him.

They both felt a certain measure of relief when the door to the hidden passageways closed behind them, but neither stopped, Jacob scrambling ahead.

“Turn left,” Morgan called, his voice low. “Left. We can’t go the way we came, the whole castle will be alerted.”

Jacob’s hand met emptiness on his left; he skidded into the turn, his body slamming against the wall.

“What the hell was that thing?” he demanded.

Nothing in Morgan’s experience explained it. He’d never heard of such a thing.

“I don’t know,” he said.

All he knew was that it hunted them.

They descended through the darkness, feeling their way with their racing feet as best they could, occasionally stumbling – but not on a stair, more like a ramp. They scrambled and slipped on the damp, moldy stones to another level as they raced through the dark, narrow, claustrophobic space, barely wide enough for two men to stand abreast.

A muffled howl of frustration, rage, fury and hunger, sounded distantly.

Jacob fetched up against a wall but Morgan was on his heels.

Dead end.

“They haven’t found the entrance yet,” Morgan said, as he sought for the catch.

A blast of air suddenly rushed past them and they heard a growl echo from the stone.

Another unearthly howl shrieked out, but this through the hollow walls, to send a chill down their spines.

Now they had.

“Not good, Morgan,” Jacob said. “Not good.”

The catch released abruptly, and spilled them both into the noisome moat.

Morgan blessed it even as he charged down it with Jacob on his heels. He hoped the stench would cover their scent, their tracks.

From out of the night he heard the baying, the call of those creatures to each other.

“What the hell is that?” Jacob demanded.

With a sigh, Morgan said, “Reinforcements. Run, Jake.”

They ran.

All they had to do was make it to where the now dry moat met the river and before the river spilled into the sea. If they could make it to the water… Somehow he doubted that those things swam well.

How Morgan sensed it he didn’t know, but he ducked instinctively as something passed above his head close enough to ruffle his hair, even as a claw raked at his shoulder.

With a whine of furious frustration the thing turned in midair to plant its feet on the opposite bank, its haunches bunched to spring…

Desperately, Morgan pulled his sword even as a bolt of silver shot across in front of him.

Fairy… and not just any Fairy…iridescent wings glittered, golden hair streamed behind her in the uncertain light.

Kyriay
.

The wolf-thing snapped at her, a claw raked out even as Morgan drove his sword through the thing beneath its arm, piercing heart, blood and bone…

Kyriay turned in mid-air, nearly laying over on her wings in an incredible feat of flying, to send an arrow behind her into the one who leaped for Jacob.

Then she was gone into the night.

Jacob turned, his sword flashed and took the head from the thing.

Morgan had his own hands full. The wolf-thing impaled beneath his sword still fought, shrieked, howled as Morgan drove his sword deeper into flesh, muscle and bone, both hands on the hilt to ram it through, as it arched, writhed. Its clawed hands and feet scrabbled.

He rammed his weight down on the sword.

It convulsed, thrashing, and died.

Wrenching his sword free, neither he nor Jacob paused as another howl echoed from within the castle and others rose to answer it throughout the city.

They scrambled over the bodies and down the moat, the pair of them falling helter-skelter into the Arvon River to be swept into the sea beyond.

Morgan stroked, hard, through the water, seeking Jacob’s collar, shirt, anything – Jacob couldn’t swim – and found it, pulled.

They burst to the surface, the lights and lanterns of the docks close.

He would kill her when he saw her for taking such a risk.

With Caernarvon far behind them and all signs of pursuit fallen away, Morgan took the risk of setting camp. At last, he could find out what his people had learned.

And how high a price they’d paid for it.

Outside of swallowing some seawater, Jacob was fine.

As for the others…

A quick scan confirmed that only Walter was missing.

No one had seen or heard from him.

There’d been no sign, he simply hadn’t arrived at the rendezvous.

If he could have, Morgan knew Walter would have. So he’d been either killed or captured. Morgan’s contact in Caernarvon would get a message to Morgan one way or another and he would have to decide then what to do about it and how to do it.

Everyone else had made it, largely alive and unharmed.

“Report,” he said.

Mercenaries, conscripts and Northmen made up Haerold’s army. No surprise. The estimates and numbers came at him. Delaville’s men. Not as many as Delaville should have been able to raise as his levies, so some had stayed loyal to their King, but enough had not.

None of the others had seen these wolf-like men, but, added to the magic, they explained much about how the castle had fallen so quickly. Most men would have been ill-equipped to deal with anything like them. As it had been, it had been close even for Morgan and Jacob and they were both trained fighters.

And if Kyri hadn’t been there…?

Those things were definitely deadly fast.

Next time Morgan would be better prepared for them.

If they were to face them again he had to be faster, they all did.

With thanks, he sent his people to their bedrolls, save for the sentries.

He took no chances, remembering what that thing had said about losing Oryan’s scent. They’d tracked them as far as the Great Forest.

In the distance, dawn glimmered on the horizon. None of them would get much sleep this night. It would hardly be the first time. Or the last, perhaps, for a long time to come, now.

He needed to talk with Oryan, to tell him about Delaville. To do that he needed to call Kyri. Anger still burned in him at the risk she’d taken.

Had she been out of her mind?

From his bedroll, Jacob studied his old friend worriedly.

Morgan was every bit as exhausted as he was but something was clearly eating at him and had been since that last bit in that stinking, horrific moat…

He’d been too busy ducking the leap of the first thing and then something brilliant had whooshed past, even as another had leaped at him, he’d swung and the thing was dead.

Morgan, though, was smoldering.

At a guess, Kyriay the Fairy Queen had been playing guardian angel
, Jacob thought with a smile.

And Morgan was pissed because someone was watching over them.

For himself, Jacob didn’t mind so much, it was good to know there was someone who watched their backs from above. Morgan was the pigheaded one. Not that Jacob wanted to get used to it, that could be a dangerous practice. It took away your edge.

“Go to sleep, Jake,” Morgan said, with more force than intended, aware of Jacob’s eyes on him.

Exhausted, Jacob nodded. It was Morgan’s business.

Pacing, his gut churning, Morgan waved off the sentry as he walked beneath the cover of the trees and sent out the call….picturing Kyri. Lovely Kyriay of the golden hair. Calling her, specifically. After all, he knew all too well she was near. His anger spiked.

It was far too easy to see her in his mind. Far too easy. His body tightened at the thought.

Would she answer, though, or would another come? Could she know or sense how very angry he was?

He heard the whisper of wings…and looked up as she appeared out of the night.

“The answer to that would be yes,” a voice, light and musical, said softly, amused.

Kyri dropped out of the darkness, her brilliant eyes watched him warily but with that characteristic Fairy air of curiosity and amusement. Her gossamer wings arched around her, framing her. Each time Morgan saw her, her ethereal beauty destroyed him. She seemed so delicate, impossible, perfect. She was so lovely, her curves sweet and rounded. The thin shift drifted over her skin, her body, leaving her shapely legs bare.

It was too easy to remember blood on her.

Her feet touched the earth and her chin lifted rebelliously even as his mouth tightened in response, her body straightening in reaction to his anger.

Morgan wanted to grab her and shake her.

Her aqua eyes narrowed, her lips curving a little, almost as if daring him to try.

“Do not, Morgan,” Kyri warned.

Kyri had watched over them all night, had seen the anger reflected in the tightness of Morgan’s shoulders.

Let him be angry. She didn’t answer to him.

“Stop reading my mind,” Morgan snapped.