Song of the Fairy Queen (15 page)

“What else?”

“A lot of men being sent north and west.”

“Dorset,” Morgan said.

“At a guess.”

The shadows were back in Jacob’s eyes as he lifted them to look at Morgan again.

“Morgan, he’s taking prisoners. Haerold, that is. The dungeons are getting full. The stuff I hear about what goes on in there… His own men don’t like to talk about it but they do, always in whispers, always looking sideways to see who’s listening. What they do say would give any man chills, much less what they don’t say. There are rumors about a secret prison. Those that go there are never seen again.”

Frowning, Morgan said, “He’s torturing them?”

“And worse, or so rumor says,” Jacob replied, his eyes lowered once again to his cup. “Although I only have hints of that. Something about using them to raise power, but I’m no wizard, so don’t ask me how…”

He looked at Morgan. “There are also no wizards in this city any more who aren’t his wizards. Any that could have fled have, the rest are…missing. Like the others.”

There was a disquieted look in Jacob’s eyes.

It was less than Morgan had hoped, but not surprising given the small amount of time that had passed. Jacob was still earning his trust among folk who rarely gave it. Unfortunately, they didn’t have a lot of time to give him. Haerold wouldn’t wait for them to organize themselves.

One thing was certain, Morgan thought, pulling his hat down over his eyes as he left the tavern, Remagne hadn’t been improved by the relocation of the King’s seat here.

He’d always found Haerold’s city to be more than a little claustrophobic. Once you got deep enough inside you couldn’t see the high stone outer walls but somehow you knew they were there all the same. Whether you could see the walls or not, you couldn’t miss the castle in the center of the city from almost anywhere within it, it was like the spider in the center of its web, the towers and spires of it rose high above even the tallest building. It clearly suited Haerold, but Morgan found it an uncomfortable city to visit, much less to live in. He’d found the people to be a taciturn lot, too, and no wonder. A man of few words, even he found these folk singularly uncommunicative.

As he made his way through the streets, few tried to meet his eye. Fewer still smiled and the only laughter he heard was in the meaner taverns like the one he had just quit.

People of higher means didn’t have much to laugh about and most would likely not want to draw undue attention to themselves.

A patrol of guard rode by, careless as to what their horses splashed up from the street around them. Given that folks here tossed their slops buckets as much into the streets as into the drains, the few people who wandered the streets at this hour kept close to the shop fronts and houses.

Caleb glided out of an alley to join him. “Cap’n.”

“Any success?”

Caleb had thought a friend or two that might have been able to help them reach a wizard.

With a shake of his head, Caleb said, “No. From what I hear, the last of the free wizards in Remagne got rounded up before ever Haerold attacked Caernarvon.”

“Jacob said the same.”

Caleb’s basset hound eyes looked worriedly at Morgan. “There’s some what say Haerold uses ‘em for power.”

It was the second time it had been said.

“How is he doing that?” Morgan asked, frowning.

“No one knows, for certain. What is certain is that anyone with magic is running for the borders,” Caleb said. “Any border.”

Leaving the Kingdom with no wizards save for Haerold’s.

It wasn’t good news. Morgan sighed. He needed to report to Oryan.

He didn’t dare call Kyri or any of her people into this city.

As the days passed he’d begun to depend on the Fairy more and more. Kyri had been right about their skills with a bow, from above they were lethal. As scouts they were unparalleled. It was their healing skills, though, that were the most prized, but even among the Fairy, healers were rare. Norris still had two good arms, thanks to Kyri. But she and Galan were the only two Healers close.

The cities of men, however, were not the place for the Fair.

Especially not this city.

With a sigh, Morgan resigned himself to a long ride and turned them north.

Distracted, Morgan paced while he waited for an answer to his Call, rolling his head on his neck to relieve the tension in it. He was tired. It was taking time to organize both his own people and the rebellion. Necessary time, but time they could scarcely spare. He scrubbed his hand through his hair. His Marshals were successfully managing to keep the Hunters from being able to inflict too much damage on the people of Oryan’s Kingdom. They also wreaked havoc with Haerold’s supply lines and tried to delay his assault on Dorset. The last word he’d heard was that the main army had paused. That wouldn’t last long and he wasn’t certain why it had stopped.

None of them could be everywhere at once, though, so there were still villages they didn’t reach in time.

The Resistance was slowly coming together, but figuring out who to trust and who not to was a dangerous business for everyone.

The problem, of course, was that Haerold’s people were also getting organized, changing tactics and strategies.

Lack of sleep weighed on him, dulled his senses. He was nearly asleep on his feet and that wasn’t good. He shook his head to clear it.

“Hail Morgan,” a voice called, startling him completely awake, as a familiar figure dropped out of the sky above him.

Instantly, he checked his swing.

“Damn it, Kyri,” Morgan swore and slammed his sword back into its sheath. “Warn a man when you do that.”

Kyri shot upward, out of range… and looked down in surprise…

Morgan looked tired, frustrated, worn.

He also hadn’t even come close to hitting her, for all his concern.

That wasn’t good.

Lifting an eyebrow, grinning daringly, she chided teasingly, “Missed! Morgan, you’re getting slow…”

“Slow?” Morgan drawled, dangerously. She’d scared the hell out of him. He’d show her slow.

She rose delightedly out of reach when he snatched for her, as if it were a game.

To her no doubt it was.

Eyes alight, laughing, her iridescent wings lifting her out of harm’s way, she added insult to injury by snatching up the sack containing his uneaten dinner.

Morgan made another grab at her, refusing to admit his mood had lightened.

Kyri darted away, flying on a wing around a tree, her pretty eyes sparkling.

Settling on a branch out of his reach, swinging her shapely legs and munching contentedly on his meal, she said, “I’ll share.”

“That’s mine,” Morgan pointed out.

She grinned.

Licking her lips, taking another handful, Kyri thought about it, and shoved two more of the fried potatoes indelicately into her mouth.

“All right,” she said, agreeably, and kept eating. “These are good.”

Morgan gave up, laughing.

That was more like it
, Kyri thought, smiling.

Sticking one finger into her mouth, she sucked on it, slowly, to lick all the salt off.

Watching, all the blood in Morgan’s body shifted, hotly, to another location. He swore she did it deliberately, just to torment him.

Her eyebrow arched.

“Want some?” she asked playfully, leaning forward a little to hold out the sack to him, the light in her eyes dancing.

The pose was a little provocative, the little shift dipping between her breasts, giving Morgan a tantalizing glimpse…Heat moved through him.

It was good to see Kyri acting more like a Fairy. She was also clearly enjoying herself.

So, Morgan suddenly and ruefully admitted to himself, was he.

He snorted at her words, and then laughed. “Yes, thank you.”

She tossed him the sack neatly.

Catching it just as neatly, he said, “I didn’t call you so you could torment me.”

Tilting her head a little, wings fluttering for balance, she considered it and grinned. “Didn’t you? A pity, that.”

Looking up at her sitting so prettily on the branch, her beautiful, mobile face smiling, shapely legs swinging, crystalline wings beating lightly for balance, he suddenly wasn’t sure and didn’t care. He hadn’t seen anything so fetching in his life.

Their eyes met for a moment and they both went still.

“So,” Kyri asked, softly, her heart suddenly beating slow and hard, “why then did you call me, Morgan?”

It was a reminder neither suddenly wanted.

“I need to see Oryan,” Morgan said.

Letting out a breath, Kyri nodded. “As it happens, he’s not that far away. You look tired, Morgan. Sleep for a while. I can stand watch for a time and take you to him in the morning.”

Even Morgan had to acknowledge his own exhaustion. His muscles twitched with weariness. Caleb wasn’t much better off. The rest of his people were waiting to the north. It had seemed best at the time if only he and Caleb made the risky journey into the city. Now he rethought that position.

With a sigh, he nodded. He’d agreed to take the first watch to contact Oryan. Now he had.

The offer was definitely appreciated.

Her wings fluttered softly and she dropped down to the ground.

“Sleep, Morgan,” she said quietly, “I’ll watch.”

Caleb had barely stirred through all of this, a sure sign of how exhausted he was.

They needed to be careful, being that tired in their situation was dangerous.

Somehow having her there made it both easier and harder for Morgan to sleep. As tired as he was, he settled into his bedroll but still found it difficult to settle.

Rolling over onto his side, he studied Kyri of the Fair.

Moonlight washed over her, silver light sparkling on her wings. She’d settled on a rock not far away, her legs drawn up to her chin, knees bent, with her arms wrapped around them and her wings curled around her. A quiver of arrows and her bow were set between her wings. Her chin was propped on her knees. All you could see of her truly was her feet, bare as always, peeping out from beneath her wings. It was a curiously fetching picture and he fell asleep with that image in his mind.

The night settled into the sound of the wind and soft breathing.

Kyri turned her head to look at Morgan. Something within her softened. In the pale moonlight, with his eyes closed, she couldn’t see his brilliant eyes, but she was all too aware of the rest of him, of the man who was Morgan. Strong, purposeful, handsome.

They needed him, it didn’t do that he was so tired.

She sighed, cast her senses out onto the night.

There would be no surprises. Not this night.

Above and around them, the great tent billowed lightly in the summer breeze. Morgan had teased Oryan about how he was ‘roughing it’. Oryan smiled a little at the memory. A curtain separated the sleeping quarters from the rest. Beneath their feet broad carpets covered the grass and earth, giving it a more homely atmosphere. A table Geoffrey insisted could be assembled and disassembled in moments sat in the center of the ‘room’. Another smaller one in the corner served as Oryan’s desk.