Song of the Fairy Queen (27 page)

The Hunter didn’t make a sound as it fell dead into the alley below.

“One down,” he said, softly.

From above he heard a chirrup, like the sound a pigeon would make when it was disturbed.

He looked up as Kyri dropped down, her wings nearly silent in the darkness.

For once she was dressed in something more than one of those little shifts. Instead she wore a peasant’s tunic belted over a peasant’s long skirt. Morgan had to admit he was disappointed.

“Neatly done,” Kyri whispered, eyes sparkling, her sword in hand.

“You think so?” he said, amused. “I did, too. How many others are there?”

“Two more, one, it seems, for each archer,” Kyri said.

He nodded, took a breath. “Are the archers in place?”

“Yes,” she said.

She hadn’t dared to take them out, lest their absence be noted, especially coming from on high.

This was one of the trickier parts, among many tricky parts.

With the execution scheduled for noon to allow for the most people to fill the square outside the castle for the spectacle, they needed to eliminate the archers and the defense they offered before daybreak. Not too soon before daybreak or the bodies would be discovered too quickly, raising the alarm. Too late, and someone might spot Morgan or Kyri in the growing light.

Once people filled the town and square there was a good chance everyone would have far too much to do and be far too busy to notice the absences.

At least, that was Morgan’s hope.

“Ready?”

Kyri nodded, drawing a long, hooded cloak out of the bag hanging from her belt. She swirled it around her shoulders to hide the glimmer of those iridescent wings. A cloak wasn’t uncommon garb for most women of the kingdoms.

Morgan paused to touch her face.

Her eyes met his, a gleam in the darkness.

It was enough, they had no time for more.

He turned, as they made their way along the rooftops closer to the square.

They were limiting her time in the sky.

It was a fair guess Haerold now suspected that the Fair were involved somehow, so there were likely to be eyes on the sky. They just didn’t know how skilled the Fairy were.

Like an owl, Kyri had flown silently through the night, staying at rooftop level through the outskirts of the town, rising silently and circling around far enough out to spot the Hunters before joining Morgan.

“To your left,” Kyri said, softly, “somewhere to your left. One was prowling along that flat rooftop.”

He nodded.

Trying for silence, Morgan moved ahead, his eyes scanning the darkness, seeking a darker form against the starry sky, a movement.

It was Kyri who heard it, behind her, as it bounded over the pitched roof to begin its leap halfway down. At her. She dove for the flat roof and rolled, the Hunter landing where she had been only a moment before.

Morgan heard it, turning even as Kyri spun on her toes like a dancer, her sword in hand.

A low growl, almost of pleasure, murmured out of the Hunter, as he circled, leaped to the next roof, circling. Always circling.

“Now, what are you doing up here?” it asked.

All it saw was a woman – a human woman, prey – alone on the rooftops, not a Fairy.

It didn’t seem to have noticed Morgan yet, but it was circling the wrong way for him, intent on Kyri.

She watched it warily, standing still, knowing that flight would drive its instincts to chase.

For the moment, though, it was content to stalk her. Her innate knowledge of where Morgan was sensed him moving along the slope of the roof, keeping his eye on the Hunter.

As much as she hated it, she couldn’t risk being injured by it.

One step, two, she backed and it huffed, growling a little, its mouth curling into a lupine smile.

“Breakfast,” it said and leaped.

She jumped aside, away from Morgan, putting the Hunter between them.

It turned, as quick as a snake, chuckling.

Intent on her it was oblivious to Morgan’s presence.

Almost playfully, it swung at her.

A quick snap of her blade caught it across the fingers.

It snarled, narrowing its eyes.

This wouldn’t be as easy as it thought.

Kyri kept her sword extended in front of her, the blade across her body. She much preferred fighting these things from the air, with a bow. They were quick, powerful and nearly twice her size.

Then Morgan stepped out of the shadows behind it.

She smiled.

The thing seemed to realize its danger at the last minute, but by then it was too late.

The look on its face was almost comical as Morgan’s sword pierced its chest.

Kyri’s sword rendered its howl silent.

She said, “I’ll take the next one.”

Morgan pulled her into a sharp, fierce hug.

Bows would have been quieter, but also far more chancy. As good as she was, one missed shot in poor light was all it would have taken to raise the alarm. At night the risk was that much greater.

The next one made the mistake of dozing a little and was by far the easiest to kill.

Morgan let the body fall and moved out into the darkness in search of the remaining archers.

By the time the last of them had fallen to his knife or her bow – the body propped into position – the first hint of light was touching the sky.

This was why he hadn’t asked another to do this. He had no taste for cold-blooded killing, but if it must be done, better him than another.

The same for Kyri.

Kyri waited for him, reaching up to touch his face, her heart aching for him, knowing what it had cost him to do it.

Morgan pressed his mouth against her palm, taking the solace she offered.

In the building below some of Haerold’s soldiers awaited, Kyri could sense them there, pent up and restless.

Using eyes and ears to determine whether someone was in the alley below, although eyes weren’t yet as useful, Morgan shook out the rope Kyri had brought in the bag at her waist and lowered her into the narrow space between the buildings, it being too narrow for her to fly. He tied the rope off and rolled over the side himself a moment later, dropping down to join her.

Now it was only watching and waiting as the sky cleared and folk filled the square, the two of them staying in the shadows and alert for movement around them.

As Morgan’s description had been more thoroughly circulated by now and they might be searching the folk entering the square for weapons or wings, it had been decided it would be best if they slipped in at night, joining the crowd when the square was nearly filled.

Morgan’s distinctive hair had been darkened by more conventional means than magic for fear the wizards would catch the trace of it.

Nothing could be done about his crystal blue eyes, Kyri thought, but he wouldn’t be visible for long.

As for her hair, it had been neatly braided and coiled by one of Oryan’s servants so it covered her betraying ears. The girl had giggled while taking surreptitious touches of Kyri’s wings. Somewhat amused, Kyri had presented the girl with a feather when she was through. The girl had been delighted.

Crouched in the shadows, Kyri tucked in against Morgan’s body, her wings folded tightly while they watched the growing crowd from behind a stack of barrels.

Some of their people and some of the rebels were among that throng, their only purpose to get in the way of pursuit, if needed.

The execution had a weird, almost festive air, with folk drawing out little cooking braziers to roast sausages, or making meals of ham, cooked eggs, cheese, wine and bread. They chattered and laughed.

For many of them it was a mandatory day off, as they were required by Haerold to attend, so they were making a holiday of it.

Children chased each other as young men and women flirted, while the noose hung loosely from its scaffold across the square, blowing lightly in the breeze.

All of them were seemingly oblivious to the archers on the walls, or at least they were doing a good job of appearing to ignore them.

Trumpets blared as the designated hour drew near, announcing the arrival of the titular King and Queen.

It was also the signal for the rebels outside the city to make their move beyond the walls.

Attacks against each gate would occur almost simultaneously, as if trying to break through for a rescue. As soon as pursuit was apparent, though, they were to peel off, riding hell bent away. Drawing the defenders after them, at least for a time.

Hopefully, enough time.

A procession moved out of the castle.

‘King’ Haerold led out his Queen, the dark and lovely wizard with the long dark-red hair who’d sat on Gwenifer’s throne. Morgan watched her narrowly. Her jewel encrusted bauble dangled from her throat, her fingers curled around it.

That concerned him. He feared what she might see with it.

And when.

With everyone’s eyes on the procession and the crowd rising to its feet out of respect, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Taking a breath, Morgan dropped a light kiss on Kyri’s cheek. “Off you go and be careful.”

Kyri turned and gave him a quick kiss. “You, too.”

Then she stood, keeping her sword held close by her leg and beneath her cloak, walking out of the alleyway and into the thick crowd.

Morgan watched her disappear among them, apprehension curling through him, especially once she was out of sight. The true tension built now that she was out there alone where he couldn’t reach her.

His own turn in the square had to wait until very nearly the last minute. Too soon and someone would notice, too late and it would be ineffectual. It had taken several tries to get the timing right. Even so, a great many things could go wrong. And if they did, Kyri was to wait until he joined her and then they would both walk away.

However much both of them hated the idea.

Others followed behind Haerold, his own retinue, a few dignitaries and an Ambassador, Haerold’s lean and hungry face eying each narrowly as they found their seats behind him.

Kyri found a spot near a young couple trying to control two young children. She made faces at the baby to keep her entertained, leaving the three-year-old to his parents, the harassed young mother giving her a grateful look.

Smiling, she nodded, watching those on the dais set above the crowd from the corner of her eye. Many creatures could sense when someone stared at them directly.

So could wizards.

Haerold she’d seen only once or twice and that at a distance, to her relief. She’d never liked the way he looked at her.

The man bore little resemblance to Oryan save in coloring and his longish face. For all that he was the younger of the two brothers Haerold had always appeared older.