Song of the Fairy Queen (77 page)

Her long dark hair streaming behind her, Gaia spun down.

His heart wrenched.

From the hill Detrick watched, horrified, shouting out his grief and pain, pounding his fist impotently against a tree in rage and helpless fury. But he held for the signal. He could do nothing for her, his Gaia, he was too far away.

To the left Morgan could see young Jordan of Dorset, tall and gangly, charge, shouting, driving his people to push, holding the line as pressure came against him. He’d lost almost a third of his people but his thin young face was implacable and so were theirs. The enemy had lost more than they had.

Rolling in mid-air to change her angle, Kyri saw Patraic, hard-pressed and dove, Dorien at her side, to drive them back with arrow after arrow.

Startled, Patraic looked up and saluted his thanks, shouting at his people to close up.

All along the line their forces were pushing and Haerold’s line was wavering. It was the tipping point and they’d reached the rise. A final push and the line would break.

“Kyri,” Morgan shouted, “now!”

Shooting up into the air she fired a Fairy light high up into the sky, a sudden burst of crystalline brilliance. Oryan signaled as well and the rebels poured over the hills into the fray, screaming defiance, their ululating cries wailing above the sounds of battle.

Detrick plowed through, sword hacking and flying, grief spurring him, his people sharing it. As flighty as she’d seemed, flirtatious Gaia had guarded them fiercely…

And he’d loved her.

Above them, the sun was lowering. The battle had been going on for most of the day, but they were winning.

To Oryan’s astonishment, they were winning, they were pushing them back. For a moment, he almost couldn’t believe it.

More of the rebels poured over the hills, as the Fairy danced, dodged and darted in the air, fireballs flashing around them.

The sword caught Patraic under the ribs by surprise, the sudden piercing pain, the gush of warm blood. He looked down at it in dismay and sorrow, knowing it was a mortal wound. He wished he could have seen his wife, his children, one more time. And then he was falling. Even as he did, though, he saw the King raise his sword and set spurs to his horse….

Shifting, Haerold’s line trembled, a line of them falling before Fairy arrows as the rebels pushed them back. The Caerdonians spurred into another charge, hammering into Haerold’s flank, which was weakening.

The line shifted…wavered…

Oryan saw the moment come, the moment when the tide turned.

With a shout, he spurred his horse forward, Gawain at his side, calling to his people, exhorting them, his guard of Marshals charging with him. The army saw him and knew the moment had come. With a roar, they went with him.

Morgan watched the enemy fall back and his heart lifted.

The arrow hit him square in the chest.

It was like being punched, a sudden hard blow that took his breath away. Shockingly.

For a moment he could only look at the shaft buried in his chest, unable to take a breath, his mouth tightening.

He lifted his eyes, looking up into the sky.

To Kyri.

Morgan had no trouble finding her, her gossamer wings sparkled, her golden hair shone in the thin light, swirling around her as she turned in mid-flight, so graceful, so beautiful. His Kyri. His heart ached with more than the pain of the arrow.
Gods, how he loved her
.

He stiffened as the pain hit.

Stunned, Oryan could only stare in horror as Morgan suddenly went still.

Then, he saw it, the stain spreading.

For a moment the truth of it just didn’t penetrate. It couldn’t.

Not Morgan.

It was disaster.

The shock hit Kyri like a physical blow, like an arrow to her own breast and she spun in the air, all her world constricting to Morgan and only Morgan – and the bolt sticking out of his chest, darkness spreading over his shirt, over his broad, strong chest.

Her heart seemed to freeze.

The scream that tore out of her echoed against the sky…

“Morgan!”

Galan, Dorien, a dozen other Fairy turned in horror…

Kyri wasn’t even aware of the cry as she folded her wings and dove.

Like a falcon, she shot downwards, her hair streaming behind her, her wings sparkling so it seemed she left a glittering trail of sparks behind her as she fell like a meteor, streaking through the sky and then her wings snapped open with a crack that echoed across the battlefield.

She caught Morgan as he fell from the saddle.

“Morgan,” she whispered, her heart breaking and then the cry tore from her again. “Morgan!”

For a moment it seemed as if the world had suddenly gone utterly still and silent save only for the sound of the wind blowing, as Kyri dropped to the ground between the two forces, Morgan in her arms. All that she heard was the faint ringing of the horse’s tack as it turned away...

Her eyes were only on Morgan, only on the pain there and the love in his blue eyes.

Kyri.

Morgan could only look at her. He tried to take a breath to speak but there was pain.

She went to one knee with the weight of him, a hand sliding gently down around the arrow in his chest, pouring Healing down along it and into him even as she lifted her head to stare defiantly into the face of the opposing army, fury, rage and fear spearing through her.

It was just she and Morgan alone in the middle of the field, on the rise Morgan said they had to reach.

Her hand slipped inside his shirt, curled around the arrow, over his heart, over the terrible wound so close to it. Slowly she pulled the arrow, Healing as she withdrew it.

Morgan’s blue eyes met hers, his hand covering her hand even as the enemy momentarily halted their flight.

Both of them knew the truth – that if they turned on them she couldn’t lift him from here, not before the arrows flew.

And she wouldn’t abandon him… no more than he would have left her. If they were to go, it would be together.

So small
, Oryan thought, stunned, as he saw them on the ground.

In all the time Oryan had known her, for all of her small size, Kyri’s indomitable spirit had always seemed so large.

Kneeling in the center of the plain, trapped between the two armies with Morgan in her arms, both of them in the direct path of Haerold’s forces, she looked so fragile, her gossamer wings curled almost protectively around them.

But she also looked resolute, defiant, as if daring them to come at her, defying them to try.

A sudden silence fell, for a breath, two…

Slowly, the enemy turned as someone on that side shouted and another cheered. A wizard charged through their ranks, spurring his sweat-foamed horse faster.

The enemy had turned.

A whisper, Morgan snatching a breath as Kyri’s warmth, her Healing, spread through him, taking the pain away.

Crystal blue eyes met aquamarine.

“I love you, Kyri.”

“I love you, too, Morgan,” she said, lowering her head to brush a kiss across his mouth.

Watching, Oryan saw the enemy turn to run toward them…

Shouting, he tried to rally his troops. Above, the Fairy, as one, gathered and dove. Knowing it was hopeless.

The momentum had been lost, but every one of them, from levy to rebel to Fairy refused to give up….and Oryan went with them.

A great shout went up, in defiance, denial….

Kyri looked up again…at the setting sun, at the lowering clouds.

There was only one faint chance, one last desperate gamble…

She wouldn’t lose Morgan again, not for her own life…. Haerold wouldn’t win…

Faces flashed through her mind, Oryan, so determined… young Gawain… all of her people, quiet Galan, steady Dorien, dependable Solon, merry Gaia…fallen.

And Morgan… Always her beloved Morgan…

“Gawain,” Kyri shouted, in voice and mind, “Clear the sun... clear the sun… just give me light…just a single shaft of light!”

Her arms wrapped tightly around Morgan, she poured Healing into him as the arrow finally came free. She tossed it away. Even so, he was too weak for her to move.

Her eyes were on the advancing troops, as the wizard raised his hands and gestured… raising power….

Astonished, disbelieving, Gawain could only stare, trying to understand how everything could have gone so bad so suddenly.

It didn’t seem possible. For days, weeks, months, for as much as he’d suffered, as hard as he’d fought, Morgan had seemed eternal, strong and unconquerable. They’d been so close to winning…

Kyri’s cry broke his paralysis, his eyes lifted to the leaden sky and then he set heels to his horse, racing across the battlefield and into the field of fire.

Oryan turned, cried out in horror, “Gawain!”

The army stared as the determined young man raced across the field, his brown hair flying, gray eyes steady, his sword raised in hand.

With a great shout, as one they charged to defend their General and their Prince.

Before her, a hundred men and more ran toward them.

Kyri saw the archers raise their bows and the first flight of arrows flew upwards with a sound not unlike wings to darken the sky.

Then Gawain was behind her, his hands on her shoulders.

She looked up into his silver eyes.

His met hers and then looked at the advancing army, at the flight of arrows rising and the clouds above.

Magic shivered over her skin, hers and his, focused together.

Morgan felt it, hers soft, fresh, Gawain’s sharp, clear…

In the distance, so did Galan…

“Kyriay…no….!” he shouted. “My Kyri….”

Galan ran even as his wings opened, knowing, fearing what she was about to do.

He looked across the battlefield at Kyri, saw her gesture to the prince.

“Give me light,” Kyri whispered to Gawain.

Their eyes met and the boy nodded. His gaze went to the sky.

Remembering everything she and Galan had taught him, Gawain focused his intent.

On light.

Everything went silent…the moment breathless, seemingly eternal…

Morgan watched as the soldiers sped toward them, as the arrows reached their apogee.

In a moment, they would fall.

A blast of wind would stop them, Kyri knew, but not those who ran beneath them. The arrows would reach them first, but the soldiers soon after.

Kyri looked back at Morgan. She loved him so much.

Their eyes met as his hand closed over hers. There was no pain. She’d Healed it.