The Dark Thorn (43 page)

“What do you mean
if
?”

“I won’t lie to you, we may not return, not amidst the hell we find ourselves in at the moment,” Richard replied. “Entering Caer Llion is a dangerous prospect even for the most trained. You are
not
trained. It’s unfortunate timing. The risk might be too much.” He paused. “But whether I like it or not, you are a fellow knight now and I need your help.”

“Being untrained, I don’t have to go in, you know,” Bran said.

“You do,” Richard said simply.

Bran was going to ask why when Snedeker, who had suddenly lost interest in his oddly colored blade of grass, flew to where the two knights were, sat on a rotting log, and listened to Richard with an intensity Bran almost found comical.

“What do you want, fairy?” the knight asked lowly.

“Nothing at all,” Snedeker answered.

“You’ve been acting strangely toward me ever since that night with the Lady in the fairy glen,” Richard pressed, clearly annoyed. “Watching me. I know you don’t like me. I don’t like you much. But I have to know. The Lady told you something, didn’t she? That night.”

Snedeker stared at Richard as if trying to figure out a puzzle.

“Answer me!” he demanded.

“Why does it matter?” Deirdre asked, having finished caring for the Rhedewyr and sitting at the fire.

“Oh, it matters. A lot. Every Heliwr has had a guide, a fairy, one that watches the knight’s back in time of need. Bran’s father had a fairy guide as well. Berrytrill, his name was. I think the Lady spoke to Snedeker there, asked him to serve. He has been quiet ever since that night and it has been grating on me.”

“Snedeker, is this true?” Deirdre asked.

The fairy glanced at the redhead, an iota of guilt crossing his woodland features.

“Red, I meant to tell you…”

“So it’s true? You are to guide Rick?”

“The Lady spoke to me, yes,” Snedeker said. “Asked me to serve the Heliwr. If I had known it would be McAllister here, though, I never would have agreed. Thought it would be Ardall. The lesser of two cow pies, that one.”

“Dammit,” Richard growled low. “Just my luck. What else did the Lady say?”

“That was it, darktard,” Snedeker snapped.

Richard looked as though he would call the Dark Thorn and incinerate the fairy immediately.

“So my father had a fairy guide?” Bran asked, trying to alleviate the tension. “What else haven’t you told me about my father, Richard?”

“There is much I haven’t told you,” the knight said, still staring hard at the fairy. “Not because I didn’t want to but because I didn’t want you to feel obligated to follow in his footsteps. To tell you more about your father would have accelerated what I had hoped to prevent. Turns out Merle is a tricky bastard, and he pulled the wool over my eyes.”

“Why keep me from anything?” Bran asked, a bit angrily. “It isn’t your place.”

“It
is
my place to protect those who can’t protect themselves,” Richard replied pointedly. “That was you. You had no idea what you were getting yourself into, just as right now you
still
do not. Sadly, I need your help in Caer Llion and that cannot be avoided.”

Calming himself, Bran let Arondight vanish.

“Did you know my father well?”

“I knew him vaguely.” Richard leaned back into his bedroll. “You look a bit like him, but he had a kinder heart than you have. No doubt due your time on the streets. He had a hard work ethic and believed quite strongly in what he was doing. Few ever bested him and those who did didn’t last much longer afterward.”

“I have few memories of him,” Bran admitted.

“Died before you grew up, for sure.”

“I asked this of you before,” Bran said. “Do you know who killed my father?”

“No,” Richard said stoically. “It literally could be anyone or anything, from this world or our own. I know his time came in the United Kingdom. Other than that, Merle was not willing to share much more.”

“Then he didn’t die in a terror attack in Ireland?”

“Ireland, maybe. A terror attack, like the IRA?” Richard scowled. “No. Whoever told you that is either ignorant or lying. Whatever murdered your father had to possess a potent magic to do it. Overcoming the power of a Heliwr is not easy.”

“What magic did he have, as Heliwr?”

“You mean what magic do
I
have, eh?”

“I guess.”

“That depends on ability,” Richard said. “Remember what I did to Llassar?”

“Yes, the grass holding him firm. He called you a wizard.”

“A weak wizard, at best.”

“So you
are
a wizard?”

Richard smiled with no warmth. “You are as well now.”

“What do you mea—”

“In due time. In due time,” Richard repeated. “Tomorrow maybe.”

Settling back into his own blankets, Bran tried to picture his father with the staff, when he saw dozens of gimlet eyes glittering from the darkness, surrounding the campsite at the edge of the firelight. Bran couldn’t make out anything more than that.

“Richard,” Bran whispered.

The knight followed his eyes. “They have been there for some time.”

“What are they?”

“Llithiwch,” Deirdre answered, looking at the shadowy wraiths from her own bedroll. “Skittish little creatures, rarely seen. They are Unseelie, but do not hurt anyone or anything. My people consider them a blessing of sorts; if they are here, no other Unseelie are nearby.”

“Are they what follow us?” Bran asked.

“Could be,” Richard said, but he didn’t sound convinced.

“Spies?”

“No, not at all,” Deirdre said. “Odd so many are gathered here though.”

“Drawn by the power of Arondight,” Richard observed. He hunkered back down into his bedroll. “Sleep. They can’t hurt us. We are going to have a long day tomorrow.”

Bran relaxed, as Deirdre followed Richard’s example. Soon the soft snores of the knight and the even rise and fall of Deirdre’s chest left Bran with the first watch. The luminous eyes from the darkness still watched. Bran kept the fire going, distrustful of the creatures, his thoughts straying to home as he stared into the fire. Seattle seemed so far away. Merle had put Bran between a rock and a hard place, having maneuvered him to the exact spot he wanted. Bran knew one thing—Merle had a lot to answer for, not only for his machinations but also the hundreds of questions Bran had concerning his father, his new role, and what it all meant for his future.

When Bran looked up from the fire, the Llithiwch were gone.

As he was about to settle back and relax, a new set of eyes appeared in the night, flaming crimson with utter hatred and growing larger by the moment.

“Bodach!” Bran screamed, leaping up and calling Arondight.

Richard gained his feet as though he hadn’t been asleep, the Dark Thorn filling his hand in white flame just as the bodach jumped.

With a shriek, the Unseelie beast bulled over the Heliwr.

Richard rolled with the assault, letting the creature blow mostly over him and then blasted it with white magic. The creature reeled away, the flames licking at its shadowy form as it fought to break through. Richard did not let up. Regaining his feet in that afforded moment, he kept his staff between them. The shadow tore at him even as the knight backed away. Richard parried every swipe, keeping the Dark Thorn held before him, his eyes burning with concentration.

“Bran!” Richard roared, falling to the ground.

As it had in Caer Glain, the fey creature fought to pin Richard to kill him, going after its most powerful adversary.

As the bodach leapt ferociously upon the knight, Bran charged with Arondight.

Deirdre beat him to it.

Hurdling the fire, Deirdre had her sword in hand, charging the fey. Her red hair manic, she sliced at the occupied bodach with wild abandon, roaring at the top of her lungs—to little effect. Annoyed by the woman, the bodach lashed out finally with one massive clawed paw, connecting with Deirdre.

She landed on the fire, the embers setting her clothes ablaze.

When Deirdre rolled away, on fire, something snapped inside Bran. In slow motion, he witnessed another attempt on their lives and his own weak inaction. Anger turned to righteousness; passion crystallized into deed. The screams of the Rhedewyr faded. The roars of the bodach vanished. All that remained was his desire to see Deirdre safe and the bodach destroyed before it could kill another and the blame be put squarely on him.

Arondight grew incandescent, flaming wild magic.

Before he could reach the bodach though, reports echoed in the night all around them, explosions in rapid succession. Pinpricks of light bloomed inside of the bodach, dozens and then hundreds permeating every aspect of the Unseelie beast. The bodach pawed the air, angry, screaming as if struck by thousands of spears at once.

It took Bran a moment to realize what was happening.

The bodach was being shot by gunfire.

Bran spun about, searching.

From the darkness soldiers emerged, each one carrying assault rifles and pistols. There were two dozen of them, each dressed as black as the night around them. The odor of burnt gunpowder on the air, they unleashed bullet flurries into the bodach. The creature could not prevent it; the lead from the gunfire, anathema to the Unseelie creature, ripped through its smoky being.

Finn Arne, Captain of the Vatican’s Swiss Guard, ordered his men to press forward.

The warriors did. The bodach raged. With no thought to his own safety and the power radiating through him, Bran sent the magic of Arondight into the side of the bodach. The fire tore into the Unseelie beast, casting it off of the knight as though struck by a gigantic fist.

The shadow careened across the clearing, singed and smoking.

“Arne!” Richard roared. “Don’t let it flee!”

The noose of Swiss Guard tightened about the bodach. Sensing it was outmatched, the creature tore across the clearing to escape into the night.

Richard was too quick. He sent the power of the Dark Thorn into it. The bodach fell to the earth again, smoking, flames licking its insubstantial body. It regained its feet, eyes glowing hotter. With Deirdre behind them, Bran and Richard faced the circling fey assassin together, the guards from the Vatican preventing escape.

White fire ran down the Dark Thorn, and Bran held Arondight before him, ready.

The bodach tore at the sod, bounding toward them.

“Go after it with everything you have, Bran!” Richard yelled. “Into its deepest part!”

Bran gritted his teeth, bracing his feet. The attack didn’t come. Richard flung fire to one side of the bodach, forcing the beast away from Bran and instead toward him. It strayed from the blast and slammed into the knight. The bodach ravaged the magical shield Richard had readied—but suddenly the knight let the shield vanish. The bodach tumbled forward. As Richard let the Unseelie beast fall, he lashed out with a quick low swing, using the Dark Thorn like a sword. The fire severed the forelegs of the bodach, the limbs evaporating into the ether. The bodach dropped to the earth, screaming, scrambling in panic, using its remaining four legs to retreat in hopes of escape and regenerating its body.

“Now, Ardall!” Richard roared, diving aside.

Bran was on the bodach immediately. With all of his might and ignoring his own safety, he drove Arondight into the very center of the beast, letting the magic flow as it hadn’t yet.

The blade penetrated deep, burning so blue it became white hot. The bodach let loose a deafening screech, one of anguish and loathing. It fought the sword, biting at the steel as it squirmed to be free. Bran sent all his will through Arondight and into the creature, trying to incinerate it from within, wishing the evil assassin forever gone from world. The injustice of the things he had seen helped him wield the justice to do what was right. Images of Connal dying, the tears of Kegan, Hollick disappearing within Caer Glain, and Deirdre being tossed onto their campfire like a doll seared Bran like a cauterizing iron, bolstered his resolve, and lent him power he had never known.

Light shattered the night, intensifying, as blinding as the sun.

The bodach howled, pinned, screaming and thrashing from the onslaught. The shadow dissolved in the brightness, losing what corporeal form it had. Bran did not let up. He twisted Arondight deeper, its fire penetrating farther into the center of the creature, even as euphoria he had never before experienced but frightening in its delicious taste gripped him. Bran reveled in it—fierce glee at seeing the beast destroyed reinforcing his conviction.

Like a conduit, he sent his heart into Arondight.

The bodach shuddered, unable to flee, and in a final scream of unrequited rage disintegrated to ash.

“I will
not
continue to discuss this with you, Finn Arne,” Richard said angrily.

Deirdre listened to the knight argue with the other outworlders, but the pain racking her body sent darkness before her eyes as Bran cleaned her burnt back. Deirdre remained focused though. Finn Arne, the captain of the warriors, stared hard at Richard, his arms crossed, his one good eye appraising the knight. With the bodach dead, the soldiers now surrounded them, each one a bar in a new prison. The redhead should have been pleased by the death of the bodach. She knew they were lucky to be alive, and she had Finn Arne to thank for it.