Song of the Fairy Queen (8 page)

Kyri watched, her eyes steady on his.

She ruled her small people alone, and for far longer than he…how could he do any less?

A small smile touched her mouth…understanding was mirrored in her aqua eyes.

Oryan had known it, awaited this moment. A gusty sigh escaped him, mixed of anger, acceptance and grief.

“Good luck, old friend.”

Morgan sat back on his horse to look upon this man he’d served so long.

Tall, Oryan had a long, strong face and broad shoulders. Morgan had always known Oryan was tough; they’d fought the reavers to the north together when Oryan had been Prince. Nor had the early years of his reign been easy; their neighbor to the west had thought to take advantage of a young King new to his throne. It had taken a few pitched battles to prove him wrong. Those days had honed that strength and these last days had shown it. Blow after shattering blow and yet Oryan had continued on, he hadn’t wavered nor bowed even in the face of his grief.

For his people, for his Kingdom.

As Oryan’s friend, Morgan had stood for him at his wedding, had known what Gwenifer had meant to his friend, not only as wife, lover and friend but trusted advisor. No one had ever doubted Gwen’s sharp mind. Nor had there been time for Oryan to truly grieve her loss – for either of them to do so – and Morgan feared he wouldn’t be there for Oryan when there finally was.

In the twelve years since Oryan had taken the crown, Morgan had stood beside Oryan as he settled the Kingdom. He’d brought law to some areas that had never known it and peace with all their neighbors save the northern reavers. Morgan had stood beside him on the day Oryan had married Gwenifer, seeing more quivers in Oryan that day than he had on the field of battle.

“Will she love me, Morgan?” Oryan had asked then. “Is it truly me or the King she loves?”

Time had answered that question more truly, but Morgan had answered him even so, knowing it to be true. He’d been friend to both. “You, Oryan, never doubt it.”

And wished for the same for himself, someday.

Now?
It was doubtful he’d live so long.

Morgan had risen through the ranks under Oryan’s father Taran until he’d stood as second to the last High Marshal. Until the day Oryan named him to that higher service, needing his own trusted man there. There had been time for little else.

“I could have served no better King,” Morgan said evenly, his eyes on that King.

He meant it. While he’d respected the father, he loved the Prince and now King like the brother he’d never had.

Their eyes met, Oryan’s familiar brown, Morgan’s pale blue.

“My oath on it,” Morgan said.

A reminder of his knighting at Oryan’s hand, of his obligation to his King and the realm.

Oryan looked at him, smiled briefly. “Shut up.”

“My liege,” Morgan said obediently, smiling a little, inclining his head.

How long had they known each other
? Oryan wondered. He couldn’t remember a time when Morgan hadn’t stood at his shoulder in one way or another, solid, calm, confident.

One more parting, one more absence.

For the first time since Oryan had laid the sword of knighthood on Morgan’s shoulders, Oryan offered his arm to him, one man to another.

Morgan looked at the man he’d served for most of his adult life.

A good man, steady, sure, calm in the face of crisis and he silently cursed Haerold for what he’d done, although his face showed none of it.

Resolute, Morgan clasped the offered arm, his fingers closing over solid muscle.

Morgan’s eyes turned to his own trusted few. Pwyll, Jack and Dareth met his eyes. He’d tasked them with protecting the King, with the aid of Kyri and her people, until others could arrive.

Pwyll saluted, sharply.

“We’ll keep him safe, Captain, sir,” Pwyll said.

Nodding his head, Morgan said, “See that you do.”

Sucking in a breath, Morgan tightened his fingers over Oryan’s arm.

“My friend, be safe,” Oryan said.

No greater accolade was needed than that.
My friend
. Morgan could see the sincerity in his King’s eyes, though he’d always known it.

It was enough.

With a nod to the King, Morgan released him.

He looked at lovely Kyriay, sitting astride her horse bareback, as all her people did, and remembered suddenly and vividly that moment in the hall at Gwen’s estate.

Eyes sparkling, she lifted her chin in response and smiled a little, almost daring him to remind her of her duty as he had the others.

He met that gaze and smiled in return.

“Morgan,” Kyri’s light, flute-like voice said…”I have another gift…”

Turning her horse’s head, she guided it close to his.

Slipping her fingers beneath a thin silver chain around her throat, she lifted it, shaking her head to free the links from the spill of golden curls.

His body tightened almost reflexively even as her arms raised.

She guided her horse close.

Morgan ducked his head as she slipped the chain over his head.

In that moment she was as near as she’d ever been, but for that moment in the hall. The soft scent of her reached him as her slender fingers lightly brushed the skin at his throat to send a shiver through him. Those lovely eyes were solemn…. her long slender fingers tapped lightly at the crystalline amulet on the end of the chain. It was shaped like a feather.

“Protection against magic,” she said, and looked at him intently, “as much as I can give you.”

He covered her hand over his heart and watched her eyes widen a little, the light in them shift, a small flicker of her brows. A smile twitched the corner of her mouth.

Beneath Kyri’s hand were the solid muscles of Morgan’s chest and the steady beat of his heart, her hand beneath his almost entirely hidden.

“Be safe, Morgan,” she said softly.

Morgan looked into her brilliant eyes. Something moved there in them.

For a timeless moment their eyes held.

With an effort he released her, looked to Oryan, nodded and – with Jacob at his back – turned his horse away.

He would need Jacob’s street smarts in the days to come.

Save for Morgan’s rare visits, Oryan would be alone. Save for Kyri and her reports.

And those few Morgan trusted to keep his King safe….and his King’s Heir.

He’d done all he could there.

They needed more information, though, more than Kyri’s people could provide. It was up to Morgan, Jacob, and the remaining Marshals to get it.

Smoke still rose above Caernarvon. Morgan’s jaw set and tightened to see it, but he said nothing, nor did those around him. It had been a week or more since the battle, those fires should have been put out by now. The only reason they hadn’t been then was that Haerold was allowing them to burn. Oryan’s city. Fury was useless, but it was still there.

Around Morgan rode a dozen men and women who’d served directly with him, who’d fought beside him, who he knew he could trust. They had been fighting in the north, until he’d called them south, leaving the northern border bereft and undefended, however much it pained him. It was simply another injury to set at Haerold’s door. Some of these had met him on the journey east. Soon there would be more as faithful Caleb called the reserves and retirees up.

Staying in the shadows beneath the trees on the mountain slopes above the city, Morgan looked down at the now battle-scarred castle that rose at the city’s back on the shores of the great river Arvon. In the waning light, smoke stains smeared the stone above many of the castle windows. Men walked the castle walls though, tiny figures in the distance.

At his signal his people moved out, to find their own way into the city below. Some would gather information. Others would wait in the shadows in case of need, an alarm would rouse them.

The sun settled slowly to the horizon. Dusk fell softly. Already the evening mists rose to drift through the streets as it did at this time each night. Above him, the moon glowed. The light silvered the fog as it drifted through the streets like a thousand ghosts. After the events here perhaps that was indeed what they were.

It was a risk to come here but there was too much they needed to know. He had to take the chance, great as it was.

With Jacob at his side, Morgan left his horse behind and made his way down the slope to the south and west of the city, keeping to cover and the shadows until he reached the outskirts and the small, mean buildings clustered there where the poorest folk lived.

No one moved, no sounds came from the homes, not even a child’s cry or a dog’s bark, although you could sense both were there, huddled in those houses. People were afraid even to come out of their homes. With some reason…

Patrols moved through the cobbled streets, but on horseback they were noisy and easy to avoid. There were, however, a lot of them.

Where had Haerold gotten all these men?

Frowning, Morgan moved closer to the street for a better look.

“You know,” Jacob hissed irritably from the darkness and jabbed him with an elbow, “if you were any paler, you’d be a damn beacon, Morgan, whereas I can move through the shadows like a shadow. Get out of my way.”

Morgan glanced back at his friend, shook his head with a chuckle and gestured Jacob ahead.

With a snort, Jacob moved past him, his dark skin and hair blending with the shadows, nearly to the mouth of the alley.

Listen and learn
, Jacob thought, as the next patrol rode by, talking in low voices to each other in a language he’d only heard down by the docks.

He knew it though.

Slithering backward, he found Morgan again. “Haerold’s hired himself some eastern mercenaries.”

It wasn’t a surprise.

What
, Morgan wondered,
had Haerold promised them? How was he paying them? In plunder? Or was he depending on the treasury? How would he fill it again?

He shook his head.

They slipped through the streets silently, avoiding patrols, getting closer to the castle.

Morgan could almost sense his people as they moved through the city and out near the soldiers now encamped to the north and west. Their job was to get a count – an assessment of what it was they were up against.

He and Jacob were going to try to get closer to Haerold himself.

The castle gates were guarded but Morgan had been High Marshal and as such he’d been responsible for the safety of the King. He knew that castle better than almost any. His gut twisted a little at the memory of how badly he’d failed in that task.

How had Haerold pulled it off so quickly?

With magic, obviously, timing and men…

There hadn’t even been a hint he’d planned such a thing and Morgan had been careful enough to have people watching him. That still plagued him.