Song of the Fairy Queen (34 page)

“An accident,” Haerold declared, “overzealousness on the part of some of my men.”

Gesturing, she said, “Like these to each side of me? You need to curb your people, Haerold.”

Haerold was too calm.

Something was wrong. He was plotting something. The wizard beside him had pressed a catch and was staring intently into her pendant, scrying, but for what?

They must know Oryan had moved on…but Morgan…

A trickle of fear went through her and above her her people responded to it.

“Forgive me, Haerold, but let us stop this war of words. You summoned me here for a reason, a parley,” Kyri said, “name your terms.”

One of her people spotted movement, furtive movement, near Morgan.

Instinctively she turned, looked across the plain as fear lanced through her.

“Morgan,” she whispered, her wings spread...as her heart stuttered.

Faithful Galan out there on the plain, and the Marshals.

Her heart went still.

A warning shot from her to those above.

“No,” she said, softly.

“Yes,” Haerold answered, smiling at a nod from his lady. “Surrender and I can promise you a quick death.”

The first of the guards died at his post in a short, silent, bloody fight even as Morgan mounted his horse.

Galan cried, “Hunters!” even as Kyri’s warning burst into his mind.

Instantly the Marshals formed a circle with Galan in the middle.

He was crucial, their Healer and their archer. Lose their Healer and they might survive the battle, but die of the wounds. If anything happened to any of them or Kyri, he was the only one who could Heal.

So close, Galan didn’t have space to take to the air in time to escape.

He reached for his bow instead, his knees tightening around his horse.

The first of the Hunters leaped for them.

In tune with its rider the Fairy horse snapped at its attacker as a Marshal slashed at it with his sword.

Morgan saw the next coming and threw his belt-knife, left-handed, as another charged from his right. He slashed at that one with his sword as his horse leaped to lash out with its hooves, landing to stomp the first Hunter beneath its forefeet.

It had been a trap and the jaws had been spread wide.

An arrow from Galan’s bow flashed past him to take another of the Hunters.

Kyri.

She was alone down there, unprotected now.

Fear for her turned Morgan berserker. His sword whipped, hacking and slashing.

All around him his people fought furiously, for him and for Kyri.

There were few among them that hadn’t benefited from her Healing touch or watched her turn on a wing to draw down on an enemy they hadn’t seen.

From the center of the circle Galan put an arrow into a Hunter that darted past the guard and leaped for him.

One Marshal was carried from his saddle but Morgan bent down and took the head of the Hunter about to rip the man’s throat out.

Kyri.
Her name was a mantra in the back of his mind.

“Go, go,” Morgan shouted, turning his horse and setting spur to it, racing for the plain.

His eyes were on her, standing on top of the distant pediment.

She might have been just another statue there at the top, a slender figure of gold and silver, or pale marble. Justice maybe, or, and he smiled a little, the Goddess of Love.

Beautiful.

Galan said, closing his eyes, “The Central forest’s aflame. Haerold’s set the Forest on fire. She is Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy, Lady of the Forest. She feels it, every tree, every life within it, like a thousand small cuts.”

One blow after another rocked Kyri. Morgan. A part of her soul cried out for him. Was he safe? And Galan? She sensed Galan’s alarm, Morgan’s fury. They were under attack… And then the trees screamed. A flash of weakness hit her, a keening need. Fire! The forest was ablaze. Trees were dying. As the flames spread, she sent those she could to help, yet it rocked her.

She was Lady of the Forest and the trees were her children, too. Their deaths hurt her, the fire among them grew and spread.

Haerold had set the Great Central Forest ablaze.

Morgan. Galan
.

Kyri staggered…

“Or come down before me, Kyriay of the Fairy, bend your knee to me and accept me as your rightful lord and King. If you do I will spare you and your people,” Haerold said.

“So, it comes to that, does it?”

She looked down at him.

Lifting her chin, standing straight and regal, she declared, “I am Kyriay, Queen of the Fairy and I bend my knee to no one.”

“So be it,” Haerold answered. “It’s on your own head then. I declare you, Kyriay of the Fairy, an enemy of this Kingdom, outlaw, to be captured, preferably alive, and brought to justice. As for your people, your lands, your forests, they are subject now to me.”

The wizard raised her hands…gestured.

A small burst of fire raced for the sky, too small and too far away to be a danger.

A signal then, but for what?

From above a burst of alarm, horror, came far too late.

Behind her, Kyri heard a sound, a rustling, even as she turned her head, even as her wings stroked to take her out of danger, it struck.

Something punched her in low in the back, impaled her completely, piercing her, deep, sharp and sudden. The impact drove her forward a step. Her back arched as it plunged into her, forced a cry from her as it speared deep…and through…

Morgan
.

For a second she closed her eyes, seeing his strong, square and handsome face sharp in her mind. Those clear, distinctive blue eyes. His strong solid body.

There were times when she would look at him, just look at him and the sight had made her breath catch….and her heart.

Morgan. I’m so sorry, love….

They hadn’t used magic…

They’d used a bow.

A very big bow. With a very long arrow.

Morgan knew the moment disaster struck. He saw it in Kyri’s body, in her bearing, in her distant face, in the way her eyes widened, her lips parted. The shock on Kyri’s face told him everything and then the red stain spread across her stomach.

She was jerked backward a step.

Morgan could picture what they had done all too clearly. They had gaffed her like a fish.

And now they reeled her in.

“Kyri,” he shouted.

In shock and disbelief, Kyri looked down at the wooden shaft and barbed arrowhead that pierced her, sticking out of her stomach between her ribs. Blood stained the pretty white lace. Her fingers fluttered near it in astonishment. There was no pain – not yet – save that she could feel it there inside her. Invading her. There was only the shock of it. Of seeing it there, impaling her.

A collective gasp echoed from the crowd below, cries of horrified dismay, outrage and sorrow.

Below her Kyri could see Haerold and his wizard looking up, smiling.

“It looks as if we’ve caught us a pretty little bird. If you live, I’m going to clip those pretty wings and put you in a cage,” Haerold cried. “We’ll see how proud you are then, Queen of the Fairy.”

NO.

The wizard nodded.

“Bring her down,” the woman snapped.

A rough jerk dug the barbs of the arrow into Kyri’s skin and nearly pulled her off her feet.

Turning her head, to her horror Kyri could see a long, taut rope stringing out behind her. It was tied to the arrow inside her.

She wouldn’t die this way.
She would not
.

Desperately, Kyri pulled her sword and slashed at it.

The thick rope parted before sharp Fairy steel and the yanking ceased.

Kyri stumbled as weakness rushed through her. Each breath was agony. She panted shallowly.

She leaped, her wings stroking for the sky, a keening cry tearing from her as each beat shifted the thing inside her.

Launching herself into the air she strove for as much height as she could bear, clinging desperately to consciousness, hoping to glide, seeking distance…

If she could get close enough, if Morgan could reach her, Galan….

Morgan watched as she leaped, took flight, her crystal wings shimmered in the light, but he could see by the way she flew that she was hurt, and badly. And weakening fast.

The first buffet of wind struck her, driving her aside. She fought it gamely, but he could see her pull her strokes, trying to flatten her wings to glide.

Kyri fought the battering wind, tried to rise, to find the thermals and soar, she needed range, distance, if she were to have any hope Morgan could get to her in time, help her. Wind struck her again and she was forced to fly. Each stroke of her wings tore at her inside, the pain making her swoon, wearing her down.

She was weakening, darkness hazed her vision.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself to keep fighting, keep trying… She could almost hear Morgan shouting and that galvanized her, another stroke….another…

And she was falling.

Desperately she pulled up out of the dive, but not quite in time….

Morgan watched as Kyri fell out of the sky, her wings loose, fluttering, and his heart was in his throat.

He couldn’t bear to watch her die.

At the last minute she shook her head, pulling up to tumble through the long grasses.

Worse still, in the distance he could see those grasses part to form three tracks. All of them moving toward Kyri. With more behind them.

Hunters.

The Fairy made a strafing run, trying to save their Queen, pulling up to fire, but the Hunters dodged the arrows.

Four. One of the Hunters was in the trail of another.

It did slow them, though.

Would they make it in time?

Kyri tried to fight to her feet but only made it to one knee, her sword out when the first of the Hunters burst out of the tall grass. The leader smiled, his wolfish jaws gaped to taste her on the wind, his discolored teeth gleaming in his pink and black mouth, tongue lolling.

“My Lord King wants you alive,” he growled. “We’ll try, but we’re very hungry.”

It was meant to frighten her and it succeeded.

It was meant to make her panic and it failed.