The Dark Thorn (51 page)

Bran did not hesitate. With Caswallawn flattening against the wall, the boy sent the blue fire of his sword into the Templar Knights. They scattered like leaves on the breeze, bits of fire hungrily fighting for purchase as they screamed in terror. Caswallawn was on them like a sleek cat, knives opening the exposed neck arteries between chain mail and helmets.

In a matter of seconds, all four were dead.

Saying nothing, Richard and the others stepped over the bodies on their way upward. After what felt an eternity, Caswallawn edged into a passage where a door, flanked by thick lead plates bearing faintly pulsing green Celtic runes, waited.

He pushed through into the cool night air.

Into a courtyard of chaos.

Caer Llion loomed overhead. Yelling echoed, conflict all too close. Across from them a giant hole gaped in the outer wall of Caer Llion; through it, dozens of Templar Knights streamed from the plains without, scrambling beyond his view, focused on what had entered the castle. Richard kept himself pressed against the tower wall, propped up by his staff, trying to become one with the shadows. The others did the same.

The battle taking place nearby gave him pause; he did not know where to go now.

Arrow Jack swooped out of the night, screeching.

“How do we get out?” Richard screamed to Caswallawn. “The hole,” Caswallawn said. “And slowly. We are gravely outnumbered.”

The invisible lord moved from the door along the rounded tower wall. Richard followed Bran, sweating freely, nausea from the pain sickening him. As they came around the corner, the melee across the courtyard came into view, and Richard nearly stopped in his tracks.

In the midst of the castle warriors, a massive creature stood above all, thick and heavily muscled, destruction raining down from its enormous fists even as spears and arrows punctured its body like a pincushion. Horn-like nubs grew from a rounded head where lank dark hair hung. The juggernaut roared at all quarters while pummeling those adversaries who came too close. The carnage at its feet was complete, bodies twisted and broken from its rage.

“The Kreche,” Richard breathed.

“Halfbreed,” Caswallawn rumbled. “Doing his job.”

Richard stood thunderstruck. The Kreche must have come all the way from Seattle. Had Merle known what transpired in Caer Llion at all times? Had he known Richard and Bran had been captured? That Richard would be tortured and Bran would lose his hand? If so, Merle had a lot to answer for.

But sending the Kreche had been a Godsend.

Richard turned back to the battle. He did not worry for the Kreche. If bullets could not take it down, the medieval weapons of Annwn surely would not.

“What of Deirdre? And the Rhedewyr?”

“She has already made her way to the Morrigan,” Caswallawn answered. “So must we.”

The lord whistled loudly, the sound shattering the din. The Kreche spun, staring directly at Richard and those with him. It took a final roaring swipe at those who attacked him, scattering the warriors like gnats, and then charged across the courtyard, the ground thundering.

The warriors of Caer Llion chased after but lagged behind. Caswallawn was already nowhere in sight, invisible once more.

“Get ready, Rick,” the Kreche bellowed as he closed in. “Carrying you out of here.”

The Kreche rolled over the last of those who stood in his way until he picked Richard and Bran up in his massive arms like rag dolls without missing a step. The breath flew from Richard as the rushing wind of their flight increased.

He let the Dark Thorn dissolve as the world eddied.

“We go now,” the Kreche rumbled. “Keep your head down.”

Richard did, tucked in the left arm of the Kreche like a football. Arrows and spears zipped by as they approached the broken wall. More warriors gathered there, swords and axes drawn as if trying to build a new wall of flesh to keep the prisoners from escaping. The Kreche gave them no mind. He leapt through as if nothing could hurt him. At the last moment the warriors of Caer Llion gave way from terror or died on impact, the heavy muscles of the Kreche unforgiving and the force in which the beast ran into the hole decimating all in its path. When the Kreche hit the ground beyond, his legs tirelessly pumped through those who tried to stop them until nothing but open ground spread into the dark.

The night embraced them as they ran into it.

Richard protected his broken arm and slept.

As the pink tinge of morning light peeked through breaks in canopy foliage, Richard awoke to a new day and to freedom.

He glanced around at the plains. Caer Llion was long behind them now, the orange glow of the army’s campfires outside its walls a memory. No one was about; the stars were giving way to day. The Kreche still carried him and Bran, the halfbreed a machine, unstoppable, despite the dozens of arrows sticking from his body like a porcupine. After about an hour he took them across a wide river and into a part of the land that gently sloped upward where rounded mounds slowly gave rise to trees that thickened into a forest, blotting out the sky.

Richard perked up to get a better view. A hellyll wearing the armor of the Long Hand stood poised with a spear pointed directly at the Kreche.

“I have come with the two knights,” the Kreche rumbled.

The guard lowered his weapon. “Follow me.”

The Kreche lowered Bran to the ground. The boy stretched the kinks out of his muscles while looking at his absent hand. Richard remained in the cradling arms of the Kreche, not sure what to say to Bran about his amputation. He had warned Bran about Merle and about coming to Annwn. In his heart, though, Richard felt pain for him. Bran had learned his lesson the hardest of ways and had paid the gravest of costs.

With the Kreche unwilling to put Richard down and Snedeker hovering nearby like a nurse of some sort, the hellyll guard brought them through a screen of trees into an open forest encompassing thousands of warriors, each fully armed and armored for war, each watching the Kreche with a mixture of open curiosity and fear. Upon first glance Richard thought they were all hellyll, but as they made their way through the throng he realized they were dozens of fey—merrow, sprites, clurichauns, leprechauns, wood nymphs, fairies, minotaurs, bugganes, coblynau, and many more.

The Queen of the Tuatha de Dannan had called for war.

And that call had been answered.

As the Kreche carried Richard deeper into the forest, a pointed sweeping tent grew out of the land, its height almost as tall as the trees around it. The pavilion was a huge construction of thick silk and ornate planning, shimmering beneath the lightening sky and blending in with the green foliage and brown bark. Fey came and went from it, the center of command.

Guards waited stoically at the wide entrance.

They nodded access to the Kreche.

When Richard, Bran, Snedeker, and the Kreche entered, dozens of eyes shifted toward them. Orbs hung high within the interior of the tent, casting warm white light over the gathered Lords of the Seelie Court. The Morrigan stood before a map displayed on a broad oak table, the leader of the Tuatha de Dannan wearing sleek black armor, her eyes hard. Horsemaster Aife and Lord n’Hagr stood near her, listening to what she said. To the side Lord Eigion spoke to two other merrow and the stocky coblynau Lord Faric, grandson of Lord Fafnir of Caer Glain. Lord Finnbhennach and four very tall minotaurs discussed their armor with Mastersmith Govannon, who examined the steel and straps with diligence. Kegan looked up from a plush divan where he whittled a piece of wood into the shape of a Rhedewyr and honest happiness covered his features at seeing them. Deirdre and her father, Lord Gerallt, were also present, standing apart.

Out of all those who had been present at the Seelie Court meeting, only Lord Caswallawn was absent, unable to keep up with the Kreche while fleeing Caer Llion.

“You found them,” the Queen said, nodding her approval.

When the monstrosity put Richard down upon the soft rugs, the Morrigan called for Belenus immediately. The ancient healer appeared from the depths of the tent and rushed to his side, the wizened old man’s eyes soulful and worried. He immediately began to probe for injuries.

“Stay your place, healer. I have a broken arm,” Richard said. “Bran. The bag.”

“You need aid,” the Morrigan asserted.

Bran unslung the leather sack he had taken. He gave it to Richard who uncorked it and drank from its contents.

The change was instantaneous. Richard felt vitality flow into him. The broken arm, at an odd angle and purpled down its length, straightened itself, the bruising vanishing as the bones grew back together on their own. The smaller wounds, bruises, and the weariness on Richard melted like ice under the sun. After seconds, no injuries or scars marred him.

Those around him stared in awe, and whispers filled the tent.

“Welcome back to the living, Rick,” the Kreche rumbled.

Richard took a deep breath. “Thank you, old friend.”

“How can this be?” Kegan breathed.

“Deirdre, come here,” Richard commanded.

She gave her father an uncertain look but went over to Richard anyway, the burn damage done to her back and arm hindering her movements despite the aid she had already received.

“Drink,” Richard ordered.

Deirdre gripped the pouch uncertainly but did as she was told. Surprise came over her face the moment the water hit her lips. She returned the bag in order to lower her tunic and the bandaging that covered the deep burns she had sustained. The skin of her back, once melted and blistered, smoothed until all remnants became healthy pale skin.

Richard handed the pouch to the Queen. “The water in that bag has been blessed and consecrated by the power of the Word’s savior, from the chalice of the Holy Grail itself.”

“The Graal,” the Morrigan murmured. “How did it come to the Usurper?”

“I do not know, although it does explain his longevity,” Richard said. “But I do know this, and the entire Seelie Court must listen. When Bran and I snuck into Caer Llion we entered through a small cave carved from the rock of the cliff face by a hidden spring beneath the castle. That spring forms a small lake, and at its heart glimmered some kind of object that captured the dripping water and fed it into the pool. At the time I had no idea what it was. When the Templar Knights of Caer Llion attacked Bran and me, we could not defeat them. They captured us easily. Every time we ended their threat with force, they rose to come at us again. Burns, broken bones, didn’t matter. These warriors were invincible.”

“But how?” Lord n’Hagr questioned.

Richard pointed at the bag in the hands of the Queen. “Each of them had one of those.”

The members of the Seelie Court shared looks of concern.

“My cattle,” Lord Finnbhennach muttered.

“Exactly right,” Richard said. “The griffins did pick clean your cattle but not for the reasons we thought. The griffins stole their hides so that they could be cured and become thousands of those leather bags.” Richard let what he was saying sink in. “Somehow Philip has taken the power of the Grail and given it to his warriors and, undoubtedly, his entire army. It explains how the halfbreeds we’ve seen survived their infancy when they would normally die natural deaths, and how those warriors could rise against Bran and me beneath the castle and be just as strong after being hit with all the magic we possess.”

“So when you tried to find this Cauldron of Pwyll Philip spoke of…” Bran started.

“I found the lake,” Richard said. “I focused on a powerful mirror. The lake we saw beneath Caer Llion is a mirror of sorts with the most powerful relic in our existence at its heart.”

“Philip admitted he had it,” Bran said. “The Holy Grail, I mean. He healed me with it.”

“What else did he say?” the Morrigan pressed.

“He intends to attack my world,” Bran answered. “He is crazed. Extreme. Says he is doing the Word’s work in destroying sin. Says he will prove to the world the Word
is
real.”

“And in so doing destroy two worlds,” the Kreche growled.

“The army began marching yesterday,” Lugh said, gripping his spear. “Moving east.”

“East?” Richard frowned. “Why east?”

“There is a portal within the Forest of Dean near Aber Gwy, directly to our south,” the Queen replied, her demeanor grown cold. “It is a two-day march from Caer Llion. Philip and his force will be there late tomorrow.”

“Where does it lead?” Bran asked.

“Rome,” Richard said. “The heart of the old Empire.”

The room went silent. Richard could hardly comprehend Philip’s choice but it made sense. Annwn’s despot intended to attack the Holy See and the birthplace of Catholicism. It was the center for organized Christianity the world ‘round. When he brought his army into that ancient city, it would give him a huge platform like none the world had seen. The amount of exposure would be overwhelming. Governments would yield to the invading force, not because they condoned terrorism but because the revelation of the Holy Grail would give them pause. And with the dark creatures Philip used at the head of his army, the foundations of what it meant to be Christian would crumble, the belief that humanity was God’s only creation destroying the belief of millions of people. The opposite of what Philip hoped would occur. Anarchy would ensue. It would devastate the world and destroy Annwn in the resulting violence.

“Philip has no intention of attacking the remnants of the Seelie Court,” Richard said. “He instead will start a war worse than any that has come before it.”

“He must be stopped! Killed!” Deirdre exclaimed.

“This is not our battle,” Lord Faric argued. “The Queen called upon the might of the Seelie Court to protect what is our own, thinking the wayward king would attempt to bring his army against the Tuatha de Dannan. That is no longer happening. The coblynau protect what is their own and no more. Without that need, I do not see why we should place our people in harm’s way. My grandfather would not be pleased. I say we let Philip leave, once more take control of Annwn, and defend the portals from future entrance.”

“You can’t do that!” Bran thundered. “Philip plans on leading this army directly into my world. Are you all so shortsighted? He will rouse others in my world, and when that happens all is dead here, no matter how you guard your portals.” Bran looked to Richard. “You have to tell them this is true!”