Song of the Fairy Queen (69 page)

Watching from behind cover Morgan, Caleb and their small band of Marshals watched a troop of Haerold’s men, with no Hunters, ride past. The men looked after them restlessly.

“Let’s see where they’re going,” Morgan said.

The men brightened. It had been hard for them to stand back, but necessary a time or two to let a squad or patrol pass unmolested, rather than risk a pitched fight and the losses that might with it. They would need every man they had in the time to come.

From what Caleb had heard there was a group of people nearby who were, if not Marshals, certainly acted like Marshals.

Keeping back, out of sight, they followed as the troop rode toward one of the villages. If they were going there to enforce Haerold’s rule, Morgan knew he wouldn’t be able to stand by and watch, whatever the risk. He was still a Marshal and wouldn’t stand aside while innocent people were harmed.

The troop rode into the village, one dismounting to post a sign while the others spread out to bang on doors.

“Morgan,” Caleb said, gaining his attention.

Another group of riders were riding up on the village from another direction, spreading out and circling around.

One of Haerold’s people dragged a woman screaming from her house.

The other group struck, bursting out from behind the houses, one taking the soldier with the woman, the others riding hard for the mounted soldiers. One of the defenders slashed at one of the soldiers as she went by.

“Let’s go give them a hand,” Morgan said.

Morgan and his people rode in as the fight was truly engaged, Morgan going in support of the leader of the group who was holding off one of the soldiers on horse and one on the ground.

Surprised, the woman looked at him as he engaged the rider, freeing her to deal with the foot soldier.

In fact, when he looked around, he realized that the whole band was made up of women, most of them not young.

Once his small group joined in, the battle was over in a matter of moments.

Brushing her hair back from her face, the woman looked at him. She was surprisingly matronly, her hair graying, but her arms were strong and firm.

She looked at him in astonishment. “High Marshal Morgan, by all the Gods.”

A little surprised to be recognized, Morgan looked at her in question.

“It’s been a time since you’ve seen me,” she said. “I’m Cort’s wife, Brigit. When Haerold had our men arrested, we tried to fight. Emma died. So we learned better to defend ourselves and others.”

Morgan looked at her. Cort had been the captain of his Marshals here.

“I remember Cort. He was a good man. There will be more of this. Haerold is on the move. Prince Gawain has returned from exile,” Morgan said.

The woman’s eyes sharpened. “Has he now?”

“Brigit,” one of the women said, riding up with the broadside in her hand.

Taking it, Brigit nodded as she turned it so that Morgan could see it. “Well, it seems you’re right, he is.”

In large hand-scripted letters it said, “By order of the King, any and all who give support to the rebellion in any manner or way is sentenced to death on point of sword. A reward of one hundred golds is offered for the traitor known as Oryan, once King, the boy Gawain, his son, Morgan, once Marshal and Kyriay, the so-called Queen of the Fairy, dead or alive. A reward of fifty golds is offered for any information leading to the arrest of any or all of the above, or any of those who support them.”

“You’re worth a lot dead, Morgan,” Brigit said, shaking her head. “What can we do for you?”

“If you want to fight, head north and west, someone will come for you. Warn the villages that more of these will be coming.”

“Most of us have children to care for yet, but we’ll spread the word,” she said, “folk will come.”

Certainly Lord Mormont’s estates seemed to be thriving, Kyri noted as she drew closer. Like Colton’s, although Colton had only been a landowner, it was one of the few that were.

Well tended grapevines were spread over most of the hillsides, while clover spread across one or two and cattle grazed in another. Folk moved about the fields and lands serenely, their gait slower than those outside Mormont. His demesne certainly seemed to be the one part of the Kingdom that Haerold had left untouched.

A large sprawling house of whitewashed stone with a broad veranda sat in the midst of it all. House and veranda were both capped with reddish earthen tiles. To one side a large pergola, covered in more grapevine, gave a cool, shady place to retire at the end of a long day of work. Broad green lawns surrounded the house, save for the long avenue of tall oak trees that lined the drive on each side. It was very structured and very pretty.

There was a certain amount of excitement when folk saw her approach, a servant running into the house calling out excitedly as she dropped slowly to hover lightly far enough from the shadowed veranda to be out of bowshot. Hovering wasn’t terribly easy but Kyri didn’t want to be caught on the ground if she could avoid it.

It was only a moment or two before a man stepped between the wide leaded-glass doors.

Mormont matched his lands.

Not quite as tall nor as strong in the chest as Morgan, he still gave the impression of power and he was a striking man, with deep black hair combed back from his face and dark, liquid fathomless eyes. He eyed her curiously, if calmly and then bowed slightly.

“To what do I owe a visit from Kyriay, the Queen of the Fair?” he asked, his voice light and well modulated.

So, he knew her.

Kyri studied him curiously as well.

He was a very contained man, difficult to read. Nor could she sense much from him either.

Mormont stared right back at her

“King Oryan asked me to speak with you,” she said.

“Did he?” he responded, giving nothing away.

“The time has come to choose which side you are on, Patraic of Mormont,” Kyri said. “Haerold moves against Oryan.”

“And why should I choose,” he said, “when I can stand aside and simply watch?”

She looked down at him. “What will happen to your fine estates, Patraic, if Oryan falls? Will Haerold have any further need to allow you to prevaricate in your commitment to him? He’ll demand his tribute or he’ll simply come and take it as he did in Dorset. There will be nothing standing in his way, not the rebels who have occupied his time until now, nor Morgan’s Marshals, now that Morgan has returned. Your willing cooperation and assistance against Oryan will no longer be needed, or standing aside, which serves Haerold just as well.”

With a wave at the surrounding lush fields, she said, “Knowing Haerold, how long will it be before he comes in and simply takes?”

For a moment those dark eyes simply looked at her. He nodded. “A point. And if I choose to back Oryan?”

She stared.

“You would negotiate?” she said amused. “Negotiate this. Stay. If we succeed, Oryan will still treat with you, but he’ll remember. And if Haerold succeeds? If we fall for lack of your aid, the result is the same, Patraic.”

“And if I move in Oryan’s cause, Haerold will send his Hunters here.”

“Then you’ll have to choose, those who will let you fall, or those who would help you rebuild,” Kyri said. “It’s your choice. Oryan asked me to come, I came.”

Her wings started to stroke, lifting her backward and up.

“Wait, Kyriay,” Mormont said. “Did I hear you say that Morgan has returned?”

She nodded. “Morgan is back.”

It made a difference.

“Tell Oryan I’ll come. Myself personally, with all those I can raise.”

Looking at him, Kyri considered it and shook her head. “I don’t know if we want you. Should we then look to our flank for betrayal?”

His eyes flashed with anger, the first sign of emotion he’d shown. “I’m only trying to keep my people safe.”

“Those who would give up liberty for security gain neither,” she said. “Think of these last years, my Lord Mormont, when you negotiated with Haerold. Have you felt either safe or free?”

He stood back a little, crossing his arms. “No.”

“And Oryan?” She spread her hands eloquently.

“How do I prove myself to you?” he demanded.

“Trust comes when it’s given,” she said, looking into the shadows of the veranda.

For a moment he looked at her. Then he walked down the steps, putting himself between her and his men, gesturing them to lower their bows. “Where do we go?”

“North. Keep away from the main byways. One of my people will come to you.” She looked at him. “Will my people be safe with you?”

Fairy were still few compared to men.

He held out his hand. “My word on it.”

Kyri took it.

As a gesture of good faith he offered her a meal, out on the lawn in the open, giving her nothing he hadn’t first tasted himself, inviting his wife and children out to join them. That last was all she really needed as proof but she understood then his concern and caution.

Despite the earlier tension, it was a very good meal and Patraic good company. He gave her a brief explanation of the different types of wine grapes and how to tell them apart by their leaves, serving her a light white wine as his children tried to sneak touches of her wings. She pretended not to notice, twitching them out of the way to make them giggle.

By the end of the meal she had more of a sense of the man.

“My men are already calling up my levies, we’ll start moving north immediately.”

She smiled. “And mine will be here come morning to help you keep out of Haerold’s sight, if we can.”

Nodding, he offered her his hand again. This time she took it easily.

Once she was safely airborne, she sent a message to Galan to let him know that Mormont had agreed to send his levies and that she was turning for her next contact, a rebel band led by a man named Michael.

The closer they came to the central plains and Remagne, the more difficult it was to travel unnoticed. It was also getting closer to the time when Morgan knew he would have to turn north again, back toward Oryan. Sending men to him was one thing and he trusted that Deandra would have begun basic drills but to turn them into a truly cohesive fighting force was a different thing altogether. A matter of weeks wasn’t really enough, either, but he had some ideas on how to solve that problem.

A flutter of wings above had his heart lifting, until he saw that it was Galan.

Then he saw the fear in Galan’s eyes.

Kyri.

His heart clenched. Something inside him went still and cold. He closed his eyes for only a moment against the pain.

“What happened?” Morgan said, tightly.

His mouth thin, his brown eyes worried, Galan said. “We don’t know, Morgan. She’s disappeared. No one can find her, nor can we hear her. All we know for certain is that she’s not dead. We would know.”

Something inside Morgan eased. He hadn’t lost her then, not yet.

But if they couldn’t sense her it meant she had iron or around her, or was underground, as he’d been.