The Dark Thorn (42 page)

Latobius ignored the rebuke and stared sadly again at his wounded son. The Fynach continued their efforts. Richard mounted Lyrian once more and, cueing the others, followed Saethmoor from the Ring of Baedgor. Richard did not look back.

It would do no good.

“You have a stubborn sire,” Richard said to Saethmoor.

“He is in pain,” the prince said, guiding them from the gardens to a flat stone yard bearing large wooden square platforms with posts at the corners like a bed. “He speaks wisdom but pain has chosen his direction in this. Perhaps he will think on what you have said.”

“What do you think?” Richard questioned.

“What you have said, I believe,” Saethmoor said. “I would rather fight.”

“I failed then.”

“No, Knight McAllister,” Henrick said. “You do not know that.”

“The lord may regain his stones,” Snedeker said.

“More is what will be done now. It is time we visit Caer Llion, Bran,” Richard said, the realization of his failure blooming into a flame of resolve.

“To do what?” Bran asked, clearly surprised. “I thought we would—”

“Fight with the Tuatha de Dannan?” Richard asked. “That will come. The Morrigan now owes me a favor, although a small one. It is time we exercise it.”

“Why Caer Llion then?”

“To end the threat of Philip Plantagenet before the war even begins.”

Bran stared into the afternoon sky where the four dragons and the barge they carried flew, disappearing into the ether of the Snowdon.

In minutes they were gone.

What had taken days to ascend had taken an hour to undo.

Upon landing in Arendig Fawr, Richard ordered Bran to soothe Westryl and Lyrian before disappearing into the Cadarn to seek out the Morrigan and the lord of Mochdrev Reach. Bran remained with Arrow Jack, whose piercing eyes watched the mobilization of the city. The Tuatha de Dannan scurried about, dozens of races—short clurichauns and feline cait siths, ugly spriggans and hairy woodwoses, pointy-eared hellyll and many others. Fairies buzzed through the air, relaying messages. A few companies of coblynau had also arrived, adding their stalwart presence. From the depths of the forest, carts of armor and arms rolled passed, coming from Mastersmith Govannon. Even leprechauns tottered about, drunkenly trying to help.

All carried weapons of some sort, ready for the coming conflict with Caer Llion.

After the Rhedewyr were once again at peace from their chaotic journey through the air, Deirdre and Snedeker returned from the Cadarn, steely determination in the redhead’s eyes.

“That was an interesting ride, eh?” Deirdre commented.

“No kidding,” Bran agreed.

“Looks like we go to war.”

“So many races here.”

“The Tuatha de Dannan are proud,” Deirdre said. “This fight has long been needed. Even without Tal Ebolyon, the force gathering should be formidable.”

“When Richard spoke in Tal Ebolyon, the dragon lord said something odd,” Bran said. “He called you a ‘fair witch.’ Why would he say that? Are you really a witch?”

“My mother was a witch,” Deirdre said, looking toward the Cadarn with an eagerness that annoyed Bran. “She died when I was very young. I know a few small spells she taught me, nothing that powerful. A levitation incantation. A song to change the color of leaves or control ivy. That’s about it.” She smiled sadly. “She would usually put back right what I had done.”

“I’m sorry to hear you lost your mother so young.”

“Life has a way of severing love sometimes,” she said sadly.

Bran nodded, thinking. When his own mother died, he had changed dramatically and knew of what Deirdre spoke. Upon entering Annwn he had changed again, this time for the better. He no longer felt lost to the streets. Despite only being in Annwn for a few days, he had become a part of something much larger than himself. He had always wished it and, like his father, he now possessed a relic of great power in Arondight, giving him the chance to matter in a world where normalcy was sought and highly overrated. He may not understand Arondight or everything that transpired around him, but he knew he would never let the sword go.

And unlike Richard, Bran would use the magic blade to the best of his ability and never let it change him as it had the knight.

No matter who he fell in love with.

“Do you love him?” Bran blurted, suddenly annoyed at himself.

“Who do you mean?”

It was all Bran could do to meet Deirdre’s green eyes.

“Richard,” he said. “Why do you care for him?”

Deirdre looked away. “That is none of your concern.”

“He is a broken man,” Bran pressed.

“He is. But he will not
always
be.”

A pit of sorrow mixed with anger sank into his stomach. The feelings Bran had felt from the moment he had met the redhead had blossomed into much more. She was a few years older than him but he did not worry on that. There was something about her, an intoxicating rush of emotions she drew out of him. He wanted to kiss her, hold her. He wanted more. Confusion about how to act left him paralyzed. She had barely looked at him, the feelings Bran experienced also present in her eyes but not sent his way.

They were instead for Richard.

Frustration built inside. Bran didn’t understand.

He was about to say something he knew he would regret when Richard burst from the entrance of the Cadarn, striding with a resolve Bran had not seen in the knight before.

“We leave,” Richard said simply. “Now.”

“What happened?” Bran asked.

“The Morrigan is assembling what might the Tuatha de Dannan possess. Soon the entirety of those sent by Lord Fafnir will join the rest here. The clans outside the Carn Cavall are also amassing, near the headwaters of the Wysg River. In a matter of hours, the Seelie Court will again be gathered, even without Tal Ebolyon, organizing in the Forest of Dean, to march through the plains of Morgannwg province toward Caer Llion.”

“Well, that is good news, isn’t it?” Bran asked.

“It is. It will make what we must do all the easier.”

“The more people the safer we’ll be, I guess.”

“No,” Richard said. “We travel alone to Caer Llion, ahead of the army.”

“Shouldn’t we be with the bulk of the Queen’s army?”

“The Morrigan and I want answers,” Richard said. “The only place for them is inside Caer Llion.”

“If that is true, I am coming with you,” Deirdre interceded.

“No,” Richard said curtly.

“You will need my help,” Deirdre said. Bran could tell she was thinking quickly, as if her life depended on it. “The Rhedewyr you ride forth must be cared for. You do not plan to ride them through the front portcullis of the castle or leave them grazing alone in the plains, do you?”

“Still, it doesn’t matte—”

“I’m coming,” Deirdre said. “That’s that, knight. I knew this was coming before you did. My father has given me leave to go my own way in this madness and I will do as such. If you do not like it, take it up with him.”

Richard didn’t look at her. Bran could see the struggle going on inside of him.

“It will be dangerous,” Richard said.

“Kegan cannot go,” Deirdre said stubbornly. Bran hated how she fought. “And my family knows the plains from Arendig Fawr to Vyrridin to Caer Cleddyf. I am your best chance at success.”

With a grunt, Richard mounted Lyrian.

“Is this wise, Richard?” Bran asked.

“
Apparently
, I have no choice.”

Deirdre smiled, ignoring Bran, her eyes fixed on Richard. Without another word, they both mounted and rode after the knight who trotted southward through the melee, Snedeker a blur chasing the merlin. As Bran watched the city fade behind him, he saw Caswallawn emerge from the entrance to the Cadarn. Their gazes met. The former lord scowled after the three, the hatred he had for the outworlders palpable. In a swirl of practiced deftness, Caswallawn whirled what could only be his invisible cloak about him.

In a second, the lord disappeared.

Bran hoped the surly lord made it to Govannon’s armory safely enough to drink himself into oblivion.

Dusk settled in on the woodland after an hour, the final birdsong dwindling until silent. The path was wide and easy to navigate, the Rhedewyr plodding forward without hindrance despite the growing darkness. They did not speak, Richard leading, with Snedeker flying ahead, Bran and Deirdre coming after, and Arrow Jack a darting blur in the trees overhead. Nothing else moved. All of the activity was taking place in Arendig Fawr, leaving a world of sudden peace.

The trails wound downward, the Carn Cavall diminishing with every step the Rhedewyr took. The sticky warmth, once lost to the upper reaches of the Snowdon, had reformed around them amidst the pooling shadows that enveloped the land at the day’s end. The gloom plagued Bran, made him suspicious. The memory of his encounter with the Erlking resurfaced, crawling over his skin with electricity. If he had learned anything from being in Annwn, it was to not trust the moments he felt safe.

After several hours had passed, Deirdre turned suddenly to scrutinize the forest behind them, worry darkening her beautiful features.

“What is it?” Bran asked.

“We are being followed,” she said.

Bran shot a glance backward. Nothing appeared amiss.

“I know,” Richard said, barely flinching. “The forest went quiet behind about half an hour ago. Probably not the bodach. It would have caught us by now. Keep aware. Could just be another traveler but no reason to take a chance.”

The trail began to level as glimpses of the far-reaching plains came to them through the trees. The last glimmers of purpling light diffused the flatland. With the stars overhead slowly twinkling to life, Richard stopped to camp on the outskirts of the grasses where windblown pine sheltered a tiny bubbling brook, giving minor protection from prying eyes. Frogs nearby croaked their song while fireflies roamed the deepening darkness. All was still. The night drew peace like a blanket, a reprieve from the chaos Bran hoped would not come but knew would.

Settled near a small fire, Richard ate a meal while Snedeker puzzled over a blade of purple grass. Bran also sat by the fire and watched Deirdre care for the Rhedewyr, the redhead giving them a careful brushing after days without it.

“Now that we are alone, it is time we spoke again,” Richard said finally.

“I suppose it is,” Bran admitted.

“After I spoke with the Morrigan, I went in search of a waterfall in the Cadarn. It did not take long. Through the water, I contacted the other Knights of the Yn Saith. No, don’t ask how yet. It is a magic Merle or I will eventually teach you when this business is finished. The important thing is they know about you, they know that I am now the Heliwr. They also know to be watching their portals far more closely than they have been for the last few years.”

“You actually spoke with them?” Bran asked. “Like some kind of telepathy?”

“When you get on a roll, the questions are unending,” Richard sighed. “Yes, I actually spoke with them. In person. There is a lake on the north side of the Carn Cavall that surrounds a small island, the Isle of Achlesydd. Achlesydd is an ancient tree that wards our weapons. When not called by the knights, the relics reside on massive stones. You are now tied to one of those stones. Even now, Arondight rests there. In this way they are safe.”

“No one tries to steal them?”

“The isle is more guarded than Fort Knox,” Richard snorted.

“What of the other knights?” Bran asked. “Will they aid us?”

“It is too late for that.”

“Why?

“Scouts of the Morrigan have discovered the great amassing of an army at Caer Llion,” Richard said. “In mere days, maybe even hours, it will leave and travel to the Snowdon or one of the portals. Regardless, the knights lack the ability to get here in time. Their portals are spread all over Annwn, days away. It is just as well. It is better they protect their respective cities. There are failsafes like Dryvyd Wood in our world. Even if Philip does bring his army through, it will not be easy for him. It will buy us the time we need.” He paused. “Now call Arondight.”

With a thought, Bran held the blade in his left hand.

“Arondight is one of Govannon’s oldest creations,” Richard said. “The sword was forged long before Lancelot. You wanted to know more about it. I will tell you the most important lesson you will learn, right now. Can you feel its power, where the sword calls its fire from?”

“No.”

“Close your eyes, think it through.”

Bran gripped the blade, letting his thoughts flow along its length. He felt it then. A part of the power came from Arondight but most welled within, from his chest into his hand. The fire he had used against the bodach lingered just below the surface, a caged animal ready for release.

“I can, yes,” Bran answered, feeling a bit lightheaded.

“You and the blade are now one,” Richard said, peering closely at Bran. “While possessing it, you have the ability to protect yourself from those who would see you dead. That protection comes at a cost. The magic comes from you, but nothing comes from nothing. If not careful, you can be consumed from within, be bled empty. The power can also be addictive for some. I have seen it. I am sure Merle will have more to say about this
if
we return.”