All's Fair (Fair Folk Chronicles Book 4) (19 page)

Chapter 37: Oh, For a Muse of Fire

The Ballroom went still and quiet. Megan stepped forward, grabbing the bloody spear and pulling it free as the song—the song she'd had all day, not yet another one about jumping—pounded slightly differently in her skull. She saw Justin stirring against the wall, as she directed what healing she could his way. She kept walking, advancing on the Fomoire—who, as realization hit, began to flee in abject terror.

"To the Queen! To the Queen!" the shout went up among those still standing as they pursued. As she walked, she felt a scratched and iron-scarred Ashling crawling up her leg, before she lifted the fiercely grinning pixie onto her shoulder. The Count, wounded beyond flying again, cawed, which she took as a well-wish to her and the pixie, as the crow slowly hopped over to Justin.

Kerr emerged from behind the cauldron, limping and with signs of burns, but moving, and bearing medicine from the cauldron already. This time, when offered medicine from the cauldron, Tiernan didn't refuse, just nodding his thanks to the brownie before Kerr moved on to the next injured fighter.

"Cassia, see to Jude, and hold the Ballroom!" She shouted towards the satyress, who was in the process of breaking off a spear to help push it through the wound in her side. Then the pounding of the waiting song overwhelmed her again, driving her onward despite everything.

She had to save every life she could now, even if exhaustion cost her hers. Those Fomoire that saw others, unaccompanied by their king, fleeing the still fire-mantled Megan were distinctly affected. As she moved, more of the monsters joined in the retreat.

As Seven, badly scratched and slightly burned, but moving, caught up with her, she got help from one of Tiernan's men in pulling herself up into the saddle, relieved for the opportunity to let someone else handle the movement.

The sounds of battle drew her, and she urged Seven on faster, holding on tight as her troops followed. Inwar's charge had begun, a force of a few of the Norsemen and the fishing trippers taking on the Fomoire—who fell into retreat as well when the forces fleeing Megan reached them.

Inwar watched the Fomoire retreat en masse, fleeing the battlefield. He glowered at Megan, as the aura of divinity around her slowly dimmed to a thin flicker.

“I... I already can't remember it,” Ashling said. “The song. It's just... gone.”

“Not yet,” Megan whispered hoarsely. “Not all gone. It's still there somewhere. It's...rewinding.”

"You haven't done enough?" Inwar asked, his voice as even as ever, despite the fire in his eyes.

"Ride with me, General," she said. “Lead your people to victory today.”

He paused, then shouted. "To arms! We let not a one of them tarry! To Gorias!" A great shout went up, and everyone who could run or ride through the night and day took to the field in pursuit.

There wasn't time to think about who couldn't come. Nessa had fetched some of the engineering corps from the tunnels, and Lani joined Megan on Seven's back. Megan spotted Tiernan riding somewhere in the corner of her eye, too, as the miles stretched out before them.

They had to harry the Fomoire all the way back to the lake, or there was no certainty. She was sure that, no matter what, the fae would be hunting down rogue Fomoire for quite some time to come. And so they fired arrows and spells after them. They kept enough distance to limit their risks, but stay within sight, so the Fomoire would know they were being chased, so that they wouldn't have even a moment clear of arrows and fire to think, to rally, to try to hold ground.

They'd killed the greatest of the Fomoire still standing, the three who'd spent more than a millennium convincing their watery realm that they were unstoppable and would deliver victory to their people. Now, Cethlenn, Bres, and Indech had been stopped. There was a new religious awe for the Fomoire armies: the Queen wielding the mantle of a Goddess, with her forces arrayed right behind them. Megan had to keep that right behind them through the long, long forced march to Gorias, despite the pain and fatigue.

They finally neared Gorias, driving the Fomoire towards the refuge from the wrath of the Gods. The Fomoire slowed, plowing through the deeper snows, but continued on.

On a hilltop, the Gray Lady was the first to pause, looking down at the procession below. Megan and Inwar pulled up beside her, both followed closely by units loyal to them. Following the Lady’s gaze, Megan couldn't help but notice the lines of slaves and new prisoners—some mad, some tormented, many just pulled along in chains at the brutal pace the fleeing Fomoire set.

Inwar glanced at Megan, still angry... but the anger faded. "I loved her, you know," he finally said.

Megan nodded. "I know."

“In her honor then... no hard feelings, Your Majesty." Inwar moved to the Gray Lady and put a hand on her shoulder. "It will not happen again. You have my word."

The Gray Lady turned to look at him, and the wisp floated over. "But there are still the end times to consider. The last battle."

Inwar smiled and drew his sword. "Yes, Lady. And if so, there will be a time for warriors. But Her Majesty believes this world might be saved, be a better age. And in the golden age, however it arrives, as was always said... there is no place for those like me. And so it shall be if she's right. And if she's wrong... well, perhaps I can wait for Ragnarok in Valhalla, if I go well enough for the Aesir to finally take notice as the Danann have. And if not them, then perhaps…” He trailed off, as if physically unable to finish. “At any rate, I will hope... and return the lost to you with my last breath. Peadar, get Gilroy to gather all who will still follow... we charge."

Watching from the hills as the fishing trippers, and any others more loyal to Inwar than to life, charged, words, not in song, much as they maybe should be, came to mind.

Half a league, half a league,

Half a league onward,

All in the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred

They covered the distance at full speed, focusing on reaching the greatest concentration of slaves. Any Fomoire stragglers they reached, they cut down without mercy, and rode on.

"Forward, the Light Brigade!”

Was there a man dismayed?

They struck the Fomoire ranks at full charge, tearing into their demoralized enemies. Warrior after warrior fell, until they reached the captives. Their weapons turned to shattering chains, and protecting a retreat back to fae lines. She could faintly hear Inwar's cry, "Hold, hold! We get them all!"

Theirs not to make reply,

Theirs not to reason why,

Theirs but to do and die.

Into the valley of Death

Rode the six hundred

Some of the Fomoire simply dropped what they could and fled, but others fought back for survival. Handlers and warriors with black-tipped spears, and beasts that defied description turned on the fae. Megan started to sing, calling for all the morale and inspiration she could muster, willing her tortured lungs to carry the sound from the hills to the plains.

Cannon to right of them,

Cannon to left of them,

Cannon in front of them

Volleyed and thundered;

Stormed at with shot and shell,

Boldly they rode and well,

Into the jaws of Death,

Into the mouth of hell

Rode the six hundred.

And the fae began to fall. Fomoire still fell, left and right. Black blood stained the snows—but they had numbers, and even with their gods dead, they had power. The fae kept cutting chains, kept holding ground so the captured could retreat back through the snow, and they cut down anyone who tried to follow—often instead of defending themselves.

It wasn't a perfect fit, but she started to try to make the words in her mind fit the song.

Flashed all their sabres bare,

Flashed as they turned in air

Sabring the gunners there,

Charging an army, while

All the world wondered.

Plunged in the battery-smoke

Right through the line they broke;

And Megan and the rest of the exhausted allied forces watched.

Reeled from the sabre stroke

Shattered and sundered.

Then they rode back, but not

Not the six hundred.

The deep colors of the redcaps fell, one after another. The trolls and hags were hauled down. More of the slaves were freed, fae who'd been seized in various recent battles dragging black-lined slaves from another era with them. Some of the Fomoire simply dropped lengths of chains to run instead, abandoning their charges. Others closed around an increasingly small knot of warriors, all rallying around a single light elf on the back of a unicorn, with a blade in each hand, shouting a single command again and again as he fought. "Hold! Hold!"

Stormed at with shot and shell,

While horse and hero fell.

They that had fought so well

The hag, part of Peadar's gang, Megan knew her. She cast curses, including curses powerful enough to hinder Robin Goodfellow. Her own fortune ran out when she lost a hand, and then her head. As the murmur of sprites was gradually whittled away, Gilroy fired arrow after arrow from the sky, the tiny missiles disappearing into eyeholes and gaps at warriors' throats—until a flying beast snatched him out of the air and drove him to the ground. He didn't rise again.

Peadar was still grinning as his club struck home time and again. Megan remembered the jagged teeth, remembered the grin over and over. Time and again, a Fomoire would hesitate in facing him, caught by that horror, and he'd drive his club to their heads. He was still grinning when it wasn't enough—and that red cap disappeared in the wash of blood on the snow.

And Inwar whirled and fought. His mount was cut out from under him, and still he fought on. Megan had thought, from the beginning, he looked very like an avenging angel. It was never more true than now. Spells, and missiles, and the occasional blade found their target, but he kept fighting, holding ground until the last of the fae slaves retreated. Only then, he didn't whirl and dodge fast enough.

A giant drove a spear directly through his chest, and into the ground beyond. The giant holding it released his weapon and fled, as if vengeance was coming for him for daring.

And in the midst of the field, as the Fomoire fled, and the forces of Faerie all around Megan ran to meet the slaves to help them into the safety and care of the hills, Megan saw Inwar clearly. He still moved, struggling on the spear to right himself. His eyes briefly turned her way, but then moved on—not what he was looking for.

When can their glory fade?

O the wild charge they made!

All the world wondered.

Honour the charge they made!

Honour the Light Brigade,

Noble six hundred!

As General Inwar breathed his last, he looked up to the sun—and he smiled.

Chapter 38: Every New Beginning

Megan almost fell out of the saddle as she approached the lake. Ahead of her, the Fomoire retreated back into the lake, many leaving a trail of discarded weapons, armor, and chains as they went. As more and more of the injured warriors hit the water, the expanse turned from deep blue to black, giving even more of an impression of the demoralized army retreating into an abyss.

For a time, she could see the water churning as they descended. Finally, even the ripples stilled as Megan and those closest to her looked over the lake. She glanced back to Lani. "Get a crew together to do something about Balor's body. It needs to be buried and sealed away, with all the shrouds intact, somewhere a long way from here."

Lani nodded, sliding off the wolf and moving to start gathering a work crew to follow her to the tomb.

Finally, there was only one part of the job left. The song that had ripped the firmament, torn one thin layer from the boundaries between worlds, had rewound in her mind. Now, it was time to sing it once more, to use that energy to restore another boundary, to renew the Tuatha De Danann's final gift.

So Megan opened her mouth and let the hymn beyond comprehension flow from her one last time.

The wind picked up, howling past, and the waters rippled, then froze, in a thin, brittle layer at first, before solidifying. The cold of Gorias grew even more bitter, but lost in song, and with the spear's protection, she registered it more than she actually felt it. Blue runes danced across the surface of the ice.

Blood calls to blood,
Megan thought as she sang.
So it'll be kept each in its own hidden realm, and none of it in the worlds we know.
She looked at her own hand for a moment, uncertain, as the song wound down.
Mostly.

The words of the song faded, and all of the pain of the battle, the fatigue of the long ride, and all of the impact of channeling the divine song, grounded by the four greatest treasures of the realm hit her at once, and Megan collapsed into the snow.

***

She awoke to the sight of swirling red leaves and butterflies, and the smell of Kerr's cooking.

"How long have you been waiting?" Megan croaked.

"I just got here, Majesty," Kerr said, bearing the tray to the bedside.
Brownies, timing.

Megan sat up, accepting the food. On drinking the tea included with it, her throat immediately started feeling better. More brownie kitchen magic, she assumed. "How long have I been asleep?"

"Counting the ride back, two days, Majesty. There's a lot of people eager to see you."

"If one of them is a Hawaiian Lawn Gnome, she can just come in."

"Very funny," called a voice from outside the door, but Lani entered anyway. "We were getting worried about you."

"I was kind of worried about myself for a while there. Seeing things, hearing voices. But it was all real, right? It's really over?"

"We've checked the structural integrity at the lake, and there's new crews keeping an eye on it. The scouts and hunters have found a few stragglers, but for the most part, yes, it's over."

"Only you would answer that with stuff about structural integrity."

"I've missed you too."

“So, what's the next item of business? I still have a room. I'm going to take that as a good sign. And have the messages been sent to our mothers this time?”

"Nessa has been helping Ashling with the message deliveries, including to our mothers. Your mom is really looking forward to getting you back home."

"Nessa? So, how is Ashling? And Justin?"

"Justin's going to be okay. He's negotiating now with the healers about how much he can do how soon. Ashling's tending to the Count a lot. She and Nessa are talking again, at least. Especially while she's really ground-bound, I don't think she's having any thoughts of trying to rejoin a glimmer, but they're on speaking terms." Lani sighed. "As to what's next on the agenda, a lot of people have been kind of waiting on you. Some of the delegations would really like to discuss expanding the alliance, but..."

"But they want to talk about that sort of thing with me, not with Tiernan? Right. Okay, so waiting list. And...the casualties?"

"Casualties are... well, there's a lot of them. It's tempered a little bit by the fact that people know it was almost a whole lot worse. But it's still hard."

Megan nodded, thinking on some of the people she'd seen fall, trying to imagine what it must be like for those who'd known those fae, and so many others, for centuries. She remembered first seeing death in Faerie. Princess Megan had been cautioned away from the reactions. Queen Megan hadn't been so sheltered.

“So... right after Christmas comes the screaming party?”

Lani nodded. “Funerals are being prepared for. And we've let the Dullahan's horse go.”

“Let go?” Megan was confused. “The least we could do is take care of the guy's horse.”

“We're not abandoning the horse. We're letting him work. He'll be back next year, by September, with a rider. There'll be the right sort of body somewhere, and omens of death don't just die completely.”

“Oh. Okay then. Uhm, speaking of spooky death-omens that are actually a lot of help, do you know where the Gray Lady is?"

"I think we could probably find her. If she hasn't already had someone tell her you were waking up, anyway. Why?"

"I'd kind of like to talk to her. She helped my Dad through a lot. She knows the courts."

Lani nodded. “Kerr, could you go see if you can locate the Gray Lady and set up a meeting? I think Megan talking to her before she starts taking audiences might be best."

Kerr smiled. "Of course. I'll be back soon." The brownie headed out the door.

"Now," Lani said. "Let's see about getting you cleaned up and ready. I'm guessing you're going to want to wear the armor?"

Megan nodded, finding that she needed Lani's help getting out of bed. Everything ached, and it took several seconds for the headrush to pass, and even longer to manage balance. "Yeah, the armor. I don't think I'm the type of Queen who's going to wear many dresses. They're kind of a pain to wash the paint out of."

***

By the time she was out of the waterfall, Megan was moving better. She still needed a lot of help from Lani with things requiring much range of motion, like combing her hair, but she was able to walk on her own.
In my defense, combing my hair has always been kind of a two-person job anyway,
she thought, while Lani was finishing up the task of taming the red locks.

“Because of course I sent Kerr off instead of getting help on this. At least your hair matches your armor for texture,” Lani muttered. “So, the song's done? No more glowing mantles on the agenda?”

“Yeah,” Megan answered. “It's done.” There was no pounding in her head. She pulled on a t-shirt and jeans, and then let the armor mold itself around her. In some ways, it was far easier to walk in the armor than out, with it helping to provide some support at her shaky knees and ankles and her sore back.

Though Megan expected Kerr any minute, Cassia was the next visitor, waiting just outside the room with the cats, with Jude heavily bandaged where one front leg used to be. "Hey, Majesty..."

"Cassia, if
you
start Majestying me in private," Megan said with a smile, before clearing the armor enough to offer a hug instead. "I don't know what I'll do. That's just weird."

"Okay, sure, Megan," the satyress said. "Either way, I kind of need to ask you a big favor."

"Anything, name it," Megan said.

Cassia crouched down to scratch each of the boys behind the ears. "If you're still going home tonight or tomorrow for Christmas, I'm coming along. Violet could use a little time, I think. Start with an impromptu holiday concert with the band."

"Okay, that's all fine, of course. What's the favor?"

"Jude and I have been talking. He wants to know if he can go home with you. He's not up for charioteering anymore. This Spring, there's supposed to be a new litter of, I guess it would be great-great-grand-nephews of the boys. I've been offered one of them, and Max is going to help me train 'em up. I mean, Jude wants to come visit a lot and all—he says no nephew of his is going to be raised without adventure-hour-audio-comics—but he's less enthused about the climbing and running, at least for now. Thought it might be better if he didn't have to think about it."

"He knows I'm probably taking Seven home, right?"

Cassia nodded. "They get along great. They're both social creatures, kind of bonded over being little brothers, I guess. Or maybe the traitor here just likes you better anyway," she said, ruffing Jude's fur.

"I'll have to talk to my mom, but if he and Seven are okay, then I think we can probably work it out."