A Fair Fight (Fair Folk Chronicles Book 3) Read online




  A Fair Fight

  Book Three of the Fair Folk Chronicles

  by Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins

  Cover by Clarissa Yeo of Yocla Designs

  Text Copyright © 2016 Jeffrey Cook and Katherine Perkins

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, and events are either imaginary or used in a fictitious manner.

  All Rights Reserved

  Dedicated to three of the great popularizers of mythology:

  Edith Hamilton,

  Joseph Campbell,

  and Roy Thomas (writer of Thor #279)

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1: Underground

  Chapter 2: Atypical Senioritis

  Chapter 3: Arrivals

  Chapter 4: A War Council

  Chapter 5: Secrets

  Chapter 6: A Perfectly Normal Pizza Date

  Chapter 7: A Game of Go

  Chapter 8: Submerged

  Chapter 9: Proactive Princessing

  Chapter 10: Poison

  Chapter 11: Basket Woman to Gray Lady

  Chapter 12: Unconscionably Terrible

  Chapter 13: Awkward

  Chapter 14: Diplomacy by Other Means

  Chapter 15: Eel-Infested Waters

  Chapter 16: Subtle

  Chapter 17: Patient

  Chapter 18: Revelations with Illustrations

  Chapter 19: The Hunt

  Chapter 20: Saving Seats

  Chapter 21: The Right Kind of Lullaby

  Chapter 22: Harmony

  Chapter 23: Shakespeare in the Park

  Chapter 24: Scratch

  Chapter 25: Inheritance

  Chapter 26: A Falling Dream

  Chapter 27: Fated

  Chapter 28: A Crazy Engineering Folk Song

  Chapter 29: Runes and Dice

  Chapter 30: Divided

  Chapter 31: Fair Deals

  Chapter 32: Flowers, Silk, and Reality

  Chapter 33: Mazes

  Chapter 34: Joined

  Chapter 35: Ways of War

  Chapter 36: Outgunned

  Chapter 37: Confrontation

  Chapter 38: Time and a Saved Dance

  Chapter 39: End of the Beginning

  Chapter 40: Event of the Season

  Special Preview

  Chapter 1: Underground

  The will o' wisp provided the only illumination in the depths, the pale blue orb bobbing slowly ahead of the Gray Lady as she descended. Once she neared the underground river, blue light began to contrast with the pale greenish-yellow of bioluminescent fungus growing across the stone.

  Two sentries bearing pikes with cold black iron at the ends crossed them in front of her path. "You're a long way from home."

  The blue light drifted forward as the Lady stopped. "You should let me pass," came the whispering voice from the glowing orb.

  "No one recognizes your authority here. Go home."

  "I'm no longer seneschal, and I'm not here on the King's business. I will, however, have words with Tiernan."

  The guards tensed, hands tightening on their spears. "Is that so?"

  The Lady remained perfectly still, looking right past the pair. "It is so. He'll want to hear what I have to say."

  The pair glanced between themselves, "Then pass your message along. We'll see that he gets it," the one who hadn't been speaking before offered.

  "I will deliver the message to Tiernan myself. Tell the boatman."

  The pair exchanged glances one more time, then the spears parted. "Tell the boatman yourself, and if Tiernan doesn't like what you have to say, it's your funeral."

  "Perhaps so." She continued on to the water and lit the torch that signaled for a boat. The boatman hesitated, but gestured her aboard when she offered a pair of coins. Tiernan did love his symbolism.

  The trip into the depths was a long one, and they passed three more guard stations along the only route, with dark-clad sorcerers and archers watching the passage.

  A tall, especially pale young sidhe with wide, dark eyes and shock white hair—just one remaining streak a familiar shade of red—waited for her at the docks of the underground village. He was flanked by eight more warriors, bearing more of the long spears tipped with cold iron, holding them at the ready.

  “How did you know where to find us?” he asked.

  "I have my sources. You keep the pikes?" the wisp asked. "Here?" Despite the threat, the Gray Lady stepped off the boat.

  "Any fight that happens with our own kind will be a real one," he said. "I'm more surprised that you're here. The middle of nowhere, a place that is barely a rumor as a den of 'renegades too far beyond the concept of order to qualify as criminal.' Something terrible could happen, and who would hear?"

  As the wisp answered, "You would hear," the Gray Lady's pale lips parted.

  A gesture from the white-haired man, and the pikes were all carefully raised to be less threatening, and all but one of the warriors, Tiernan's right hand man, stepped away. "It'd be a real fight indeed. But it isn't necessary if you don't think it so."

  The bean sidhe's lips closed again. "I do not."

  Tiernan nodded. "Who sent you? My aunt? Her lapdog? I'd ask about your boss, but I hear that he kicked you out."

  The Gray Lady narrowed her eyes slightly at mention of Riocard, but let the comment pass without any other note. "No one sent me. I'm on my own business."

  "I'm not used to the King's hand having her own business. Is this something to do with the mortal?"

  "The mortal was a tiny piece of something far larger. The ice is breaking."

  Tiernan nodded. "So Balor wasn't all there was to it. I'd heard rumors, but Inwar, curse the Northerner, keeps things close."

  "You knew of O'Neill's goals?"

  "That he was going after Balor's grave? I make a point of knowing about those things that remind my dear aunt of her own mortality."

  "And yet she stood against the undead."

  "That was the undead. I'm curious what would have happened had Balor risen. And skeletons aren't Fomoire. Well, they shouldn't be. But they certainly exposed weaknesses in the vaunted armies of The Last Home, didn't they?"

  "Perhaps. We'll know soon enough if they've dealt with those weaknesses or not."

  "Not going to hold out hope for some saving grace, now that the experts in Summer and Winter are both on the problem?"

  "I place very little stock in hope."

  “Is that why the rumors can't sort out whether he fired you or you quit? Did you just cut your losses and run?”

  There was another stretch of silence before the wisp spoke. “He has a daughter.”

  "Oh, yes. I know. I make it a point of hearing when my aunt has a plan sabotaged, too. I'm in favor, obviously, whether I've any regard for the Unseelie or not.”

  The blank-mirror eyes stared at him. “Are you?”

  “I am.”

  “I would have suspected you might have approved of the queen's plan, assuming your obviously discreet sources reported it in full.”

  His dark eyes twitched. “They didn't need to. It was defeated by a mortal-raised child, so it was obvious that like most of her plans, it was based in high-minded intentions and no regard for reality.” He waved dismissively. “And then, again, the matter with O'Neill. Lucky the girl was along, weren't they?"

  "Do you really think Riocard has ever relied on something as uncertain as luck?"

  Tiernan paused, narrowing his eyes. "You're sure you're not still working for the King? You sound like you still think much of him.”

  The Gray Lady faced Tiernan directly, so that he could look s
traight at her blankly-mirrored eyes, though the wisp continued to do the speaking. "I try to have a realistic assessment of the people around me."

  Tiernan looked away, gritting his teeth, one hand curling into a fist, the other hand resting on his sword hilt. "You may wish to watch your words."

  "You may wish to watch your temper before it gets you into trouble."

  Tiernan relaxed slightly, hand moving away from the sword hilt, but only a small bit. "As long as we're talking about realistic assessments, Lady, what do you think the odds are that the Fomoire have kept your child alive, below the ice, all these years?" He finally lifted his eyes back to hers.

  The Gray Lady tensed, and the will o'wisp darkened in shade slightly, staring back at Tiernan for several long, silent seconds, before she answered. “With these strange, growing cracks in the lake, we may find out before Midsummer, if the diplomatic efforts find no new solutions. They'll send messengers, and soon."

  "Perhaps, or perhaps my aunt will be true to her word. Or perhaps she'll assume that we've already made some deal with the Fomoire. After all, they are the enemy of my enemy."

  "And have you?"

  Tiernan smiled. "Now we're getting to the heart of the matter.” But he didn't say any more.

  “In terms of the enemies of your enemy,” the whispers resumed, “does hating the ljosalfar, for instance, make people good neighbors?”

  “They're still Northern savages,” Tiernan said, waving dismissively. “But they've been mostly quiet ever since their last set of raids on the ogres. I'm not out to start wars, only to finish them. At any rate, be assured, Lady: if and when An Teach Deiridh sends messengers, we'll be ready and waiting for them."

  Chapter 2: Atypical Senioritis

  “Senior year's gone by fast,” Lani said, sitting on Megan's bed, while Megan worked at her desk.

  “It has,” Megan answered as she brushed the pastels across the page. “It's been busy.” As she spoke, she added variations in the shading and texture of the ice that made up the background of her picture, showing a number of figures out ice-fishing. “It probably would have been even if school, applications, and first dates were everything. But then there's magic practice and … you know.” Because 'worrying about an imminent mystic-worlds war' was hard to say.

  “Yeah, I know,” Lani said.

  There was a pause for a while, as Megan looked over the figures in chairs, with fishing poles, and lines put through holes in the ice. Megan picked up the red so that she could add a baseball cap to one.

  Lani spoke again. “So how'd your mom take the latest doctor's appointments?”

  “Pretty well. I think she's finally re-adjusted to doctors who think doubling a medication dosage isn't always the answer. Not too surprising, since it's...well, it's been a really good year for her.”

  “You're thinking about telling her the whole truth soon, aren't you?”

  “Yeah.” Megan worked on the picture. Beneath the ice, various shadowy beings, partly obscured by the water, were gathered around two larger ones, one of whom bore some resemblance to Cthulhu.

  “Still scared, though?”

  “Obviously.” The other figure below the ice was clearly Balor. Balor had his own fishing implement, sticking a long spear up through the ice, impaling some steaks to lure the curious.

  “How's Justin?” Lani asked.

  Megan smirked. “Why are you asking me? He's your Other Brother.”

  “Because I'm not asking how he is from an at-home perspective. How is he doing from a girlfriendly perspective? Though you don't have to dwell on any gory details, for reasons of Other Brother.”

  “Just because he and I reached the point of occasionally spending time without you doesn't mean the details got gory. We're doing fine. He's very... contextual.” Megan made a face at Lani. “Why? What does he say when you ask him about me when you're helping him study for the GED?”

  “That I should ask you myself. Speaking of helping study, that reminds me that we probably should get back to pre-calculus.”

  “You're not even taking pre-calculus anymore, and I shouldn't be taking pre-calculus when I'm never going to take actual calculus.”

  “Too bad. You'd have fun shading in the area under a curve.”

  “I'm sure. And it's hard to worry too much about studying right now with...you know. Dad wants me there tomorrow for a meeting with the Queen and the General. And besides, it's not like we haven't gotten all our college acceptance letters anyway, Miss Full Ride.”

  “I have to keep that full ride. And we're going to go to UW together, so we might as well make a good impression together. At least, I suppose we are. You got in, and they've got a great fine arts program.”

  “I did, but I've still got a few days to answer before the May deadline, and I'm leaning more towards Tacoma School of the Arts, really. Their illustration program would have all the necessities. A full-on university degree just seems a bit much for an artist.”

  “What about for a princess? Sure, you can train in your field just fine without a university, but you might appreciate a really well-rounded education when you're in politics.”

  Megan frowned. "I don't want to even think about Faerie politics."

  "You don't have much choice in the matter, Princess."

  "It's not like I'm going to inherit anything. My Dad is older than Mick Jagger and still doing just fine."

  "Your Dad was a little more contemporary with Attila the Hun,” Lani said.

  "What instrument did he play?"

  "Seriously?"

  "Okay, okay. I know who Attila the Hun was. But you make my point. Besides, most of the time, art is way more useful in Faerie than traditional education. It's not like they do anything any normal way."

  "Your Dad wants you more involved. Ever since you beat O'Neill, you've been getting more attention. You're a natural leader—"

  "No, I'm not. I'm a terrible leader."

  "You're maybe the most powerful bard since the Renaissance, people listen to you, and you come up with great ideas."

  "I never asked anyone to follow me. I just, you know, do stuff, and you guys make it work."

  "With just a little less slang, you sort of, you know, just defined natural leader. You realize that, right?"

  Megan rolled her eyes. "Okay, so, talking all leader-y and things, I'm delegating. Justin can open doors for me, pull out chairs, and occasionally sword things to death, Ashling can explain things to distract people until I think of something, you can build save-the-day machines, and I'll go to art school."

  Before Lani could respond, there was a knock on the door. "Come in!" Megan called.

  Justin walked in carrying a bass guitar case. He had first acquired it to hide the Claiomh Solais when they might need to go through a crowd to get into Faerie, whether through the usual magic circle in Fremont Peak Park or elsewhere. It was just supposed to be a disguise for the Sword of Light the way that coats or bulky sweatshirts hid his chainmail when he needed it. Right now, however, it contained an actual bass guitar, because Sheila O'Reilly had only needed to spot her daughter's boyfriend with a bass case twice before she'd wanted to be helpful, and delay only helped for a while.

  “How'd the lesson go?” Megan asked.

  Justin smiled as he crossed to her desk. “Better than the last, which was better than the two before. I no longer shame your mother by playing the bass badly.” He looked to Lani. “I should thank yours again for showing me how to play it badly in the first place, instead of not at all.”

  Megan stood and rose to her tiptoes to kiss Justin's cheek. “Thanks for putting up with the awkward. But hey, at least you learned from the best.” She giggled slightly. “Both in terms of bass-playing and in being enthusiastically lousy at something.” She looked to Lani. “No offense, of course.”

  “None taken,” Lani said. “You know Mom would agree.” As a musician—or a sculptor, or anything else in her extensive hobby collection—Mrs. Kahale was... a very good office manager. />
  “And speaking of her,” Justin said. “While I don't mean to rush the two of you, I would love to get home and find out what her new passion for salmon has led to. Besides, I should walk the dog again.”

  What to name the puppy had been a topic of tremendous contention in the household. While he was Mack and Justin's, in theory, everyone had to get a word in edgewise. Mack immediately saw the black dog, and wanted to go with 'Batman.' His mother had vetoed that to at least somewhat limit quoted movie lines, particularly after Mack had been given free rein in naming Lani's car. 'Awesome!' had been rejected even more vehemently. Justin had not fully waded into the debate, but admitted his 14th-Century family had simply named dogs something Greek or Latin. Lani and her father focused more on the breed, and amused themselves regularly suggesting 'Lab Results' or 'Laboratory,' partially in the hope that he could be trained in some way to fetch tools or otherwise assist in their workshops.

  Mrs. Kahale had made the jump from there, managing to satisfy the mad scientists—or as Lani would insist, mad engineers—in her life and, after pointing out to her 6-year-old that Batman was also a scientist and that winning was awesome, the family eventually settled on 'Victor.'

  “Then let's let Megan tell her Mom the 'study sleepover' is about to begin,” Lani said. “And we'll pile up into Space Ship! and go. And tomorrow … well, we'll find out about tomorrow when it happens.”

  Chapter 3: Arrivals

  Just as the golden sunlight didn't fade in the area around An Teach Deiridh until Halloween, the frost didn't melt before May Day. Megan could, however, see the frost shape into nascent flowerbuds in the branches of various trees. The temperature of the air itself was fairly mild and breezy.

  The air was also filled with lamentational pixie sighs.

  "What's the matter, Ashling?” Megan asked.

  "The Count has been reading the classifieds again. One of the local bands he really likes is auditioning for new lead singers, and he wants to try out."

  Megan blinked, looking at the crow as he flew slowly beside her, Ashling on his back. "You're kidding."