The Dark Thorn (39 page)

“None,” Richard said. “Ever again. What Guardsman Hollick did not tell you is more than just the coblynau live in these mountains. Didn’t wonder where the silk came from to build the tents we passed through in the market, did you?”

Bran shook his head.

“The Gorryn,” Henrick answered. “Man-size spiders. Very dangerous if prodded. They live deeper in the wild Snowdon, above- and belowground, spinning the silk for their webs. We collect it when possible. Gorryn rarely come into Caer Glain; they have no need, and when they do it is almost never this close to the surface.”

“‘Almost never’ is still code for
sometimes
,” Richard muttered.

The group moved forward slowly, weapons drawn, Richard leading the way with the white light of the staff fending off the darkness. It felt more comfortable in his hand than he liked, an extension of the anger he reserved for Merle. Henrick was close behind, his spear held at the ready. Both came to the first unlit torch sconce, set at a corner where a new corridor of gaping blackness to the right met the passageway they were in.

“This happened recently,” Henrick pointed out, examining the smoking sconce.

“Light it so we can move on.”

The coblynau moved to relight the torch.

Richard stepped into the junction, peering into the gloom—and had the wind knocked from him as a massive shadow slammed him against the opposite wall.

Fighting the swarm of unconsciousness, Richard focused on his assailant. Screams followed echoing chaos; the knight barely heard them. It was not a spider that attacked him. The bodach had found them. The Unseelie creature had him pinned, the white fire of the Dark Thorn enacted out of sheer instinct his only protection. The beast was relentless. It clawed and screeched at him, the smoky predator fighting to get at him.

Sweat and panic poured over Richard. There was nothing he could do to dislodge the bodach; it had him cornered with no intention of letting up until its strongest adversary to killing Bran was dead as well.

As Richard fought for his life, Lugh charged, roaring with Areadbhar lowered like a lance. The Long Hand followed their leader. Deirdre chased with the coblynau guards a step behind, rushing the Unseelie creature as well with weapons drawn and ready for the fight.

All fell upon the bodach.

All but Bran.

Claws grazed the knight’s side but he ignored the pain, focusing on the Dark Thorn and the power it lent him. The beast screamed pain as multiple blades bit into its form. It did not relent its attack. Even as it prevented Richard from dislodging it, the beast lashed out with a hind leg, kicking at any of his companions within reach.

Hollick and Lugh flew like tossed dolls into the intersecting passage, lost from view.

From the side, Richard saw Bran finally enter the fray. He held Arondight, the sword flaming azure more brightly than Richard had ever seen. With singular purpose, the boy drove the blade into the side of their attacker’s darkened silhouette, the magic infiltrating the shadow like lightning. The bodach roared inhuman. Richard could feel the white-hot pain erupting within the monster, the unholy stench pungent in his lungs. Bran pulled Arondight free and sent its entire length at the head of the beast, thrusting beyond his means as he tried to deliver a deathblow.

The bodach recoiled. The pressure on Richard vanished.

It was all the space the knight needed. The power of the Dark Thorn exploded forth. The blast of white fire sent the bodach reeling. It twisted in the air, flame incinerating the beast as it hit the ceiling and jarringly crashed against the wall near Bran, flailing limbs and howls of pain filling the corridor.

The bodach righted itself instantly, its eyes fixed on Bran.

Adrenaline rushed as fear through Richard. He struggled forward, a wave of weakness from the expenditure of magic chaining him, roaring a warning Bran could not hear. The coblynau and others were running toward the boy, hollering with weapons raised.

Bran swung at the bodach.

It feinted and, with a dark laugh, knocked the fabled blade from the boy’s hand.

Arondight vanished.

Eyes burning hatred, the bodach leapt.

Like a cat unleashed, his face’s ferocity covered in crimson from a gash above his nose, Lugh reentered the battle, his spear held low to the ground. Unable to prevent its momentum, the bodach impaled itself, the spear penetrating its innards. Silver light exploded deep within the creature as did its howl.

It missed Bran to instead land feet away.

Seizing the chance, Richard sent the magic of the Dark Thorn toward the Unseelie beast. The bodach screamed further, surprised from the side assault. It fought the fountain of white fire, singeing, maddened to gain Bran and end him. Dizziness washed over the knight but he ignored it, keeping the fount of his magic focused on the bodach. The creature tore through the flames, unable to break through their intensity, the baleful eyes and biting jaws mere feet away but incapable of reaching Bran.

Buckling to his knees from weakness and Richard beginning to lose faith they could bring the creature down, an eruption of blue fire from Arondight burst from the corner of his eye and slammed the bodach in the side like a sledgehammer.

The fey creature landed witin the same corridor from which it had sprung.

“Pull the torch holder, Ardall!” Henrick roared.

Not hesitating, Bran grabbed at the sconce with all of his weight, not questioning the Master Guardsman.

The torch gave way as a lever. A series of snaps reverberated through the mountain. Boulders tumbled from the roof of the side passage entrance in a thunderous avalanche, showering Bran and the others with pebbles and dirt. Richard shielded his face from the destruction, worried the entire passage was about to come down. The stone beneath them shook like an earthquake and then became still.

Sudden silence hit the mountain.

Richard let the Dark Thorn dissipate to smoke.

The bodach was sealed away, unable to harm them now.

Richard pushed himself to stand. He felt drained of any authority that had been given him. A few paces away Bran stood, Arondight gripped tight, its length fiery and blazing angrier than ever before. It was odd for Richard to see the boy wield the sword he had spent so much of life regretting that he had accepted.

“What the hell?” Bran coughed as the dust swirled around him. “We have fail-safes throughout all of Caer Glain,” Henrick said, also coughing. “Never seen it needed before. The rock will keep that creature at bay, I warrant.”

“By Ser Rhaith, what was that thing?” Charl growled.

“A bodach,” Richard panted. “Unseelie.”

“Why did it find its way in here?”

“It’s after Bran,” Richard said. “And it will continue until we find a way to kill it.”

“It will not bother us for some time,” Gat surmised. “That corridor leads to an exit abandoned long ago, unused by all but those who hunt game and pheasant in the lower reaches of the Snowdon.”

Henrick glanced around. “Where is Hollick? Hollick!?”

No answer came.

Richard shared the stares of those around him as the realization struck; they all looked at the rubble-choked corridor from where the dwarfish guard had not returned after being kicked by the bodach.

“Hollick!” Henrick screamed, jumped up on the landslide. “Hollick!”

“He is already dead,” Richard said.

“Gat, notify Master Commander Masyn of what has transpired here,” Henrick ordered after a few minutes, his voice thick with emotion. “They must be made aware of this monster.”

“Kegan,” Bran breathed as Gat left. “If the bodach followed us into Caer Glain…”

Understanding hit Richard. “The Rhedewyr.”

Finding a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had, Richard chased after Bran. The others were close behind. If the bodach had entered the caverns of Caer Glain the same way they had, it could have killed the coblynau and their mounts. Kegan was in danger and without the Rhedewyr, the journey would be far more difficult.

After several twisting tunnels, Richard burst from the underground city into the glen, the sunshine of the late afternoon casting long shadows over the mountain.

The Horsemaster and the Rhedewyr were nowhere to be seen.

“Kegan!” Bran yelled.

“He’s not here,” Richard said. “Perhaps nearby.”

“Wizard, ye owe me,” a voice growled from the dark.

Llassar Llaes Gyngwyd stepped from the wooded blackness to their left and looked like he would fall over any moment. The giant had been in a fight. His patched clothing now hung in tatters, ripped apart so grotesquely it exposed the rent flesh beneath. Crimson slashes ravaged his forearms; chunks were missing from his beard as though forcibly pulled out. Eyes lost below a darkened brow, Llassar limped to stand before Richard with a painful smirk.

Lugh jumped to the forefront and lowered his spear at the giant in warning.

“Where is the clurichaun?” Richard questioned.

“I am here, Richard McAllister,” Kegan said, appearing from behind the giant man’s legs like a toddler to a father. “Safe and well.”

“What happened?”

“The creature came. Attacked us. Llassar here held it off, along with the Rhedewyr. He saved us from death.”

“Damnable right ah did,” Llassar growled, standing a bit taller. “Nothing doin’ really. Ah hate dem Unseelie folk. Evil skulkin’ creatures, the lot of ‘em.”

“I am in your debt then, Llassar Llaes Gyngwyd,” Richard said.

Henrick and Charl caught up to the rest of them, huffing.

“Ahh, the moles,” Llassar acknowledged.

“The Rhedewyr are safe as well,” Kegan added, then sounded a high-pitched whistle. “They put up a fight as only they can.”

Willowyn, Lyrian, and the other Rhedewyr clopped from the darkness, manes tossing.

“You leave us to fend for ourselves, dungknight! And this is what happens!” Snedeker reprimanded, flying before Richard with arms folded in disgust.

“Fairy,” Richard muttered. “Shut up.”

Snedeker did just that, alighting on Deirdre’s shoulder.

“There is much to discuss, Kegan,” the knight said, not pleased about it.

“Not sure I like the sound of that, knight,” the clurichaun said.

Richard filled him and the others in as quickly as he could, the distaste of admitting he was now the Unfettered Knight still rankling him. He shared what he knew about his new role, how Bran fit in, and how the boy had bested Lord Fafnir’s grandson in a game of gwyddbwyll to win over the leader of the mountain city.

“Did you get what we needed from Lord Fafnir then?” Kegan asked.

“We did. One more lord to persuade though.”

“You are the Heliwr, eh? The Lady remains mysterious in her actions, it seems,” the clurichaun said. “I wonder what other tricks she has up her sleeve. And what of the bodach?”

“It won’t be bothersome for some time,” Henrick answered. “Blocked from this side of the mountain. It can get out but it will take some time. With any luck, Faric and Forrenhahl will cross it and kill it when they march from Caer Glain.”

“March from?” Llassar glowered. “Where do ye moles go?”

“We march to Arendig Fawr,” Henrick answered. “In three days, we go to war.”

“A man of your…talents…would be useful upon the battlefield, Llassar,” Richard said. “As Lord Fafnir and the coblynau have realized, Caer Llion and its king will come here in due course, and even this sanctuary will not be afforded you. You will die as the rest of Annwn. Would you not rather fight and prevent that from happening?”

“How much? Ah do not come cheap.”

“Your death will be cheap then,” Richard said.

As Llassar and Henrick haggled over the importance of joining Arendig Fawr, Richard met Lyrion and ran his hands over his sleek muscled neck. He looked deep into the dark pools of the horse’s eyes and then patted him. “I am happy you are safe, old boy.”

A spark of curiosity entered the eye of the horse and he nuzzled Richard.

“He is beginning to like you,” Deirdre whispered, hugging her horse close as they were also reunited. “I am pleased and so is Willowyn.”

Richard patted the horse again. “I have few friends, it seems. Nice to know I may be making another who will not betray me.”

“
I
am your friend, Richard McAllister,” she said.

“I know. Thanks.”

“Mount your Rhedewyr, knight,” Henrick directed. “The summit is not far. Tal Ebolyon is nigh, to be reached before true night falls if we press hard.”

“We do not see in the dark as you do, Master Guardsman. It would be dangerous for us to ride at night,” Richard said. He turned to Llassar. “You have a camp?”

“And a fire,” Llassar said. “In the woods there.”

“We will stay here for the rest of the day and night to recover from the bodach,” Richard said. “At first light, we ride.”

Llassar led them through a copse of twisted pine. The trail was wide, big enough to allow the giant through, and Richard soon arrived to a meadow where a fire fought its bonds of ringed stone. The flames were inviting. An enormous tent of mismatched silk was constructed under overhanging intertwined limbs—the place Llassar and his wife slept.

After the others had eaten and slinked into bedrolls, Richard decided it was time to speak to Bran. The knight stood where the light of the fire met the uncertainty of dark, the fringe of two very different worlds. He thought it appropriate.

Richard beckoned the boy over, unsure of how to begin.

“You are now the protector of the Seattle portal, Bran,” Richard said, his weariness quickly driving him to his own bedroll. “You will train with Merle, who will teach you the various aspects of your craft.”

“I know,” Bran said simply, looking in perplexity at the hand that had held Arondight. “The power, Richard. Is it always like that?”

“It can be. It can also be dangerous.”

“How so?”

“For starters, look at me,” Richard said. “I am wiped out right now. The magic enacts a terrible price. No power is created without energy given, and in magic’s case it is life energy. If you take it too far, it can kill you.”

Bran nodded. Richard thought him hard to read.