Song of the Fairy Queen (22 page)

Suddenly Oryan missed his old friend acutely, fear sharp in him. He could see an echo of Phillip’s strong spare frame, so much like a crane, in the boy as Jordan bowed his head against his King’s chest.

“He was under a flag of truce, your Highness,” Jordan repeated, in horrified disbelief, as he stepped back. His expression was stark. “It was supposed to be a parley. He was supposed to be safe. Haerold called him traitor. They arrested him. They plan to hang him.”

Tears were thick in the boy’s voice, if not on his face.

Damned if they would
, Oryan thought furiously.

Galan appeared in the doorway in response to his Call. Kyri had assigned Galan to Oryan’s service, so the Fairy Healer was always close at hand.

Oryan didn’t even need to speak, Galan was already nodding, his eyes going unfocused in that way the Fair had, speaking to his Queen…and through her, Morgan.

For once it was Kyri who sought Morgan, rather than the other way around. She’d gone herself, so Galan could remain with Oryan in case more messages arrived. Finding Morgan wasn’t difficult as her sense of him had grown so great she could have found him even without the talisman he wore and in the darkest night. Only cold iron and earth could hide him from her now. As it wasn’t so dark it was even easier, despite the fact that Morgan and his people had set no fire.

In light of that caution, though, as Morgan wouldn’t have spared his folk a fire without good cause, she circled higher.

Even in the waning moonlight she could see those that followed clearly.

Hunters.

They were on Morgan’s trail, some little ways back, but clearly tracking.

Narrowing her eyes, she drew her bow, circled to come at them from the opposite direction, and aimed for the leader.

At the last moment, seeming to sense her shot, or perhaps he heard the faint whistle of the arrow or the thrum of her bowstring, that one threw himself to one side so the shaft only grazed him.

The others scattered, looking around for the source of the attack.

She sent another arrow after the leader.

That one caught him in the hindquarters.

He yelped, tumbling, as the others spread out further, muzzles lifting to try to catch her scent on the air, scanning the gathering darkness for their assailant anxiously.

It was enough.

Kyri wasn’t so daring as to risk staying. Their eyes were better in the night than hers, they simply hadn’t yet thought to look up.

That would hold them for a little while, though, long enough for her to reach Morgan with her message. She caught an updraft that gave her enough lift to soar, before circling down over the camp.

“Hail, Morgan,” she called softly.

Somehow that quiet hail didn’t startle Morgan this time. It wasn’t that he’d expected it exactly but rather he’d somehow sensed she was coming. His spirit lightened even knowing that if she was coming at this hour, the news couldn’t be good.

Looking up, he found her caught in the thin moonlight as he had the last time he’d seen her, so it silvered her wings and her hair, rendering her ethereal.

None of his people reacted, all of them knowing her voice nearly as well as he did now, but all of them came alert.

That she’d come to them without being called couldn’t be a good sign.

“It’s too much to hope that you came just to see me,” he said, his voice light but low, half in jest, as her wings folded and her feet touched the ground.

She smiled and laughed a little before sighing regretfully.

“As much as I wish it were so,” she said with a sigh. “Sadly, no, that’s not the only reason.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“Oryan needs you. Philip of Dorset went to Haerold to offer his surrender under a flag of truce. Haerold killed Phillip’s Guard and arrested him instead.”

Morgan’s humor and appetite fled as his mouth tightened.

Swearing softly, he put his food aside.

Philip was a good man.

Arrest was poor thanks for his generosity to Oryan. Apparently they hadn’t been able to keep his aid as secret as they might. Someone had talked. No surprise. A secret shared wasn’t a secret long. Not that it mattered now.

“I’m sorry, Morgan,” she said.

He sighed, “It’s not your fault, Kyri, that you get to be the bearer of bad tidings. Tell Oryan that I’ll find out what I can on the way back.”

Kyri nodded.

It took only a thought to Galan to pass the message to Oryan.

Kyri reached to touch Morgan’s hand lightly, a brush of her fingers, wishing she could offer more comfort.

“He knows. There are Hunters on your trail, too, Morgan,” she added, “but you knew that.”

With a sigh, Morgan nodded and asked, as his people saddled their horses, “How close?”

“Not as close as they were,” she said, with a mischievous grin. “And their leader has a Fairy arrow in his flank.”

He smiled. “Does he, now?”

Kyri’s eyes sparkled in the moonlight as she gave him one of her slanting glances. “He does. It doesn’t suit him.”

Smiling, Morgan said, “I imagine not.”

Then she turned, wings extending as she ran three light steps.

Her wings stroked and she was gone with only a quick glance back.

“You heard,” Morgan said to his people. “Let’s clear those Hunters first.”

It was late summer and even the setting of the sun offered little relief from the oppressive heat that seemed to have been captured beneath the canvas. Even with the flaps on the roof opened and the doorway tied back, little in the way of creating a breeze moved the stifling air within the tent. Cups of cool water taken directly from a nearby stream offered some measure of relief from the stifling heat.

“Haerold gave Philip a sham of a trial, but it was nothing more than show. It’s going to be a public execution,” Morgan reported, looking steadily at Oryan. “He’s set a date for it, giving us plenty of time to plan and prepare.”

Morgan and his people had ridden in only an hour before after a long hard ride. Dorien had answered the call to guide them in, not Kyri, somewhat to Morgan’s disappointment, although he liked the tallish Fairy. Nor was Kyri anywhere to be seen. As neither Dorien nor Galan seemed disturbed Morgan couldn’t worry about it too much, but he found himself missing her bright presence.

Oryan nodded and sighed, “Deliberately. He’s drawing us out, then, forcing us to show ourselves or let Philip hang. So the question isn’t can we do it, but should we?”

Young Jordan started in protest, but Oryan held up a hand to stop him, his brown eyes grim.

“Make no mistake, Jordan,” he said. “We want to help your father and we certainly don’t want him to hang, but look around you. Our resources are few. There’s only so much we can do.”

“And if we do nothing,” a soft voice said as Kyri stepped past the shadows by the doorway, “they’ll say we abandoned him to his fate, he who helped you, Oryan, by giving you shelter.”

Kyri waved at Oryan as she joined them, looking tired, her expression grim. “I heard.”

She was tired.

One of Haerold’s patrols had chanced to pass too closely to a Fairy glen. It had been a tense few hours, as they watched and waited to see if the patrol offered them threat or not. As much as she hated to let them pass unmolested she simply didn’t have the people to attack such a heavily armed group and possibly inadvertently draw attention to the glen there.

With a village of the Kingdom nearby, though, she couldn’t let them go completely and had flown to the nearest group of rebels to alert them to the presence of the patrol before she’d come here to meet with Morgan and Oryan.

Her sharp gaze took them all in, settling for a moment on Morgan, warming a little as their eyes met briefly.

Morgan gave her a quick questioning look. Kyri gave him a brief answering smile in return to let him know she was fine, shaking her head against further questions. There wasn’t time.

Oryan gestured in frustration.

“Damned if we do – as they’ll expect us to do something – and damned if we don’t. We certainly can’t let him hang.”

He paced restlessly across the carpeting covering the earth and grass much as a caged lion would.

“If we can find a way to do it, successfully, we’ll do it,” Oryan said, laying a hand on young Jordan’s shoulder, his eyes on the boy. “Know that, Jordan. But know also that your father wouldn’t want lives wasted on his account.”

Oryan turned to Morgan. Could they make that promise true?

“I’ll see what more we can find out, take a look at the lay of the land,” Morgan said, knowing what Oryan needed.

“If you need eyes above, Morgan,” Kyri said, “Ask. If I can’t come, Galan, Dorien or someone will.”

Morgan nodded, seeing shadows move in her eyes. Worry.

“Haerold’s building something more than a scaffold,” he said. “Jacob sent word of that much. And calling in a lot of people. It’s a fair guess it’s a trap of some kind.”

“For you,” Kyri said, “Oryan and anyone else he can get.”

So the worry in her eyes was for him as well as Oryan and the Kingdom. Something in Morgan warmed at the thought.

“We’ll have to figure out what it is he’s plotting,” Oryan said. “And plan accordingly ourselves. Plots within plans.”

Shaking her head with a small laugh, pressing a hand to her head, Kyri said, “I’m getting confused.”

No such thing, but it made even Oryan chuckle a little. They all needed the laugh.

“All right, Morgan, see if your people can find out what Haerold has in mind.”

He needed to know, too, how the other vassals were reacting to Dorset’s circumstances, but he had other sources for that.

“Goodnight, people,” Oryan said. “And thanks to all of you.”

The tent emptied.

Kyri caught Morgan before he’d gone too far.

In truth, Morgan had been hoping she might.

The light of the flickering torchlight danced on her hair and was soft on her face. He couldn’t see her clearly, but it was enough. Her fingers were light on his arm.

There was only that ephemeral touch and her soft scent in the night.

“Morgan,” she said. “Have a care. Haerold’s people will be watching for you.”

It wasn’t anything he didn’t know and she knew that as well.

The light was bright enough for Morgan to reach out to tuck a strand of her golden curls behind one delicately pointed ear. It was a strange and pleasant sensation, the tightly wound curls, the softness of them, the unusual shape of her ear.

He thought he heard her breath catch.

“I’ll be careful,” he said, looking at her. “You be cautious as well.”

Closing her eyes, Kyri nodded. “Always.”

It was all she dared ask.

She let him go, an unfamiliar ache tightening in her chest.