The Renegade Son (Winter's Blight Book 2)

by K. C. Lannon

  “Everyone,” Iain said, turning to the group, “take off your packs and leave them on the ground.”

  “You don’t truly think—” Alvey began but stopped when Iain placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

  Before Deirdre handed her bag over, she slipped her knife out and hid it behind her back. Iain felt an odd sense of pride that she could think so quickly in a dire situation like this.

  One by one, the dwarf sorted through the packs, taking out each item and examining it with his milky eyes. It threw away some things like clothing or survival gear while keeping the most random of trinkets and utensils (and a sparkly rock of Alvey’s that she looked miffed to part with).

  The group slid past the dwarf until there was only Iain and Alvey left. Alvey was stuck in her chair, unable to get through the narrow passage unaided.

  When it was done with the packs, the dwarf looked up at Iain expectantly. “You haven’t gone yet.”

  “Saving the best for last, I guess,” Iain said, smiling wryly. “Wait until you see what I’ve got.”

  “I want things… for cooking.” When the dwarf said that, his eyes widened and his mouth went slack, a string of spittle falling from his teeth. “I smell them on you. Steel and spices… and blood, still.”

  Iain pocketed a bag of chili spice, then reached into his bag and gripped the handle of his iron skillet so tight his knuckles blanched. “Catch!” Iain said and pulled out the skillet and chucked it across to the dwarf.

  The dwarf caught it eagerly, without thinking, and immediately howled in pain as the metal burned his hands a sickly purple. Instantly Iain charged forward and landed a solid kick against the dwarf’s chest, forcing it back against the cavern wall.

  The dwarf recovered quickly and reached out wildly, grabbing ahold of Alvey’s chair and pulling it back with all the force he could muster. Alvey shrieked, her arms flailing for something to grab on to.

  With a growl, Iain picked up the skillet from the ground and brought it down as hard as he could against the dwarf’s head with a deep clang as the creature was stooped to grab the chair handles. Instantly stunned, the dwarf let go.

  Iain scooped Alvey into his arms and dashed blindly into the tunnel. He didn’t get far before he felt the thin, sharp fingers of the dwarf clamp over his ankle, nearly causing him to topple over.

  “Why have you stopped running?” Alvey cried.

  “Just hold on!” Iain ordered her. “He’s got me!”

  “What?”

  Iain felt the clawlike fingers of the dwarf’s giant hand trail down his back. The other hand still held him in place by his leg, impossibly strong. The sharp fingernails tore into his jacket, piercing the fabric, and Iain bit back a shout as they dug mercilessly into his wound from the Fachan’s chain.

  “Something’s cut you deep before me!” The dwarf’s voice was heavy and thick with bloodlust. “Shame you got away. But you won’t this time. None of you will be saved.”

  Iain couldn’t move. The dwarf’s strength was far beyond his own.

  He felt the warmth of blood oozing from the wound beyond the throbbing. He felt the same helpless fear he’d felt that night the Fachan attacked, and he could almost see Philip’s swollen, lifeless face in the darkness, knowing any one of them could end up the same if he didn’t do something this time.

  That wasn’t going to happen again.

  Iain reached into his pocket, grabbed a handful of chili spice, and slammed into where he thought the dwarf’s eyes were in the darkness.

  The spice must have hit its mark, because the dwarf made a huge, dramatic fuss, sounding like a yowling cat, and let go of Iain’s leg and his jacket.

  Iain wrapped his arms around Alvey and booked it. When he looked back as he ran down the tunnel, he caught a glimpse of the dwarf scrabbling uselessly on the ground for a pool of water to douse the fire in its eyes.

  He ran smack dab into Deirdre and James, both of whom shouted in alarm. “Run!” Iain yelled hoarsely, not losing much momentum.

  The torchlight bounced wildly off the walls, casting shadows of frantic, darting figures across the twisting cave walls as James ran up beside him. Deirdre was quicker but seemed to be keeping behind with James on purpose to look out for him.

  “I’ll kill you all!” The dwarf roared behind them, getting closer. “I’ll make a river run through this land again. A river of the blood of men!”

  Alvey’s arms were wrapped so tightly around Iain’s neck he thought she might strangle him. “Turn down the middle tunnel!” she shouted in his ear. “I smell metals that way! It must be where he keeps his hoard!”

  “James!” Iain bellowed. “How do you kill a dwarf?”

  “Lots—lots of ways—” James wheezed behind him.

  “I just need one!”

  “Beheading!”

  What the hell am I going to behead him with, a spoon?

  There was an orange glow ahead like fire from the middle tunnel where Alvey had said to go. Flaming torches lit the way. When Iain ducked under the low archway and stepped inside the wide cavern, he halted for one moment, the sight of the dwarf’s hoard stopping him in his tracks.

  The cavern ceiling was higher than it had been anywhere else. The walls were so wide Iain thought their house would fit inside it a few times over, and yet there was only a small patch of ground that wasn’t piled high with treasures, items, junk of all kinds and, most importantly, weapons.

  Iain ushered Deirdre and James inside the cavern as they brought up the rear. The dwarf shouted vile curses in English and Welsh that reverberated off the walls, echoing in the cavern like a disturbed choir. It was getting closer.

  Commander Walker nudged past him, his eyes wide as he took in the entire hoard. Despite his worsening condition, Commander Walker’s mouth twitched into a faint smile. He looked to Iain and then gestured to one of the other tunnels farther in, saying, “Get these civilians and the faery to a safe location. You’re all liabilities.”

  “You’re the only one of us with a bullet wound, which makes you the liability,” Iain said. As an afterthought, he added, “Commander” at the end, but it did not make the man’s face turn any less purple.

  Still carrying Alvey in his arms, Iain turned to James and Deirdre. “James, take Alvey with Deirdre and—”

  “Nay!” Alvey clung to him tighter, pressing her face against his chest. Iain shifted uncomfortably, unused to the closeness. “I shall stay with you! That boy and that half-rate faery will surely get me killed!”

  Iain looked down at her. He wasn’t sure if she was crying or not or if she could produce tears, but she was certainly sniffling a lot. “Well, I can’t exactly kill this thing while I’m holding you,” Iain explained impatiently.

  When Deirdre came over, looking a little less than thrilled at Alvey’s comment, Iain lowered Alvey into her arms. James came over reluctantly to help, and they slowly made their way toward one of the other tunnels.

  “You have no firearm!” Commander Walker insisted.

  In response, Iain began to scour the piles of junk for a weapon that looked sturdy enough to chop through the dwarf’s neck. Commander Walker followed suit, his one wounded arm hanging limply at his side.

  Iain picked up a two-handed, two-headed battle-axe from the pile, neglecting the swords in favor of something sturdier. The blade was not nearly as old as some of the more rusted and unkempt weapons he’d seen in the pile, and it was still sharp.

  Before Deirdre and James could carry Alvey from the room, all the torch fires were snuffed out at once as a foul breeze whispered through the cavern, leaving them in darkness. A voice even fouler than the breeze filled the space.

  “Evened the ground, I have. You made me unable to see, yet you saw me, and now you cannot see, but I see you. And I can smell you still… Aah, what a good meal you will make. Your bones shall fall on the same ground as many warriors before you. That is the only hope I can offer you.”

  Iain listened closely, trying to hear
over the sound of his heart pumping. The dwarf moved silently, the only giveaway of his location the rusty blade he dragged against the ground. Then there was another sound, a crunching of rock.

  Iain flinched, feeling something heavy swing past him, just missing him, and crash thunderously against the wall of the cave. He dove out of the way blindly as the great rock the dwarf had thrown smashed down on the pile of treasures, scattering objects like shrapnel.

  “There he is…” The creature’s voice slithered across the room. “The bleeder. I’ll snap his bones with my teeth.”

  Iain shielded his eyes as a light shone in his face. When the light moved again, Iain saw Deirdre standing there in front of Alvey, her face white as a sheet as she followed the dwarf with James’s torchlight. James stood by her side, wide-eyed and frozen.

  The dwarf crept along the ground, one hand supporting itself and the other poised to strike with the dagger, just paces away from Commander Walker, who was now on the ground, one hand over his wound and the other holding a mace he looked too weakened to wield. The light did not sway the dwarf from his target.

  “So close now…” The dwarf hissed. “I can taste it.”

  Iain let out a shout, running toward the dwarf with the axe raised high. He swung the weapon heavily, the air whistling around it as he took a swing at the creature. The axe rushed through the air, hitting nothing as the dwarf leaped away.

  The dwarf raised his dagger and chuckled, edging closer and closer to Iain in movements quick and jerky. “Fought many men before you, all more decorated than you, all stronger and nobler of blood, all seeking glory or my spoils. All have fallen. What makes you any different?”

  Iain wiped the sweat from his eyes, trying to keep focused on where the dwarf was moving and when he’d strike next, not letting the words distract him. He had at least gotten the dwarf’s attention so he was no longer hunting the commander.

  Iain took a step forward, holding the axe level in front of him. There they stayed for what felt like minutes until the dwarf lunged at him, brandishing the dagger through the air so quickly it was a blur.

  Iain backed up, not taking his eyes off the blade, hoping that he would not fall over something in his path. Then he charged forward, catching the blade with his axe and thrusting it back. Shouting from the effort, he held the blade aloft as the dwarf pushed back with all his might.

  He struck out with his foot, catching the dwarf in the chest and pushing him back. As the dwarf recovered and raised his blade over his head to strike, Iain brought down the axe as hard as he could. When the dwarf stuck his hand out to stop the blow, the axe sank deep through the flesh and bone.

  Blood splattered Iain’s front, and he grunted, pulling the blade free again.

  The dwarf lashed out wildly at him—Iain was flung back, though the dwarf did not touch him, clearly using magic. He landed in a pile of trinkets, the breath knocked from him and his head spinning.

  Iain leaped back to his feet, not even feeling anything, and lunged forward again. He struck out wildly at first but then tried to focus on landing a precise blow. He never trained with a sword or an ax—unless practicing with sticks in the park with James counted for anything.

  Focus! Watch his movements. Look for an opening and then—

  As the dwarf went to jab him with the knife, Iain saw an opening and brought the axe down into the dwarf’s shoulder. It sliced neatly through, gashing the flesh open and revealing purple blood.

  As the dwarf let out a twisted scream, Iain pulled the axe free and struck again, this time cleaving straight through the dwarf’s neck. The head toppled to the floor of the cavern, stuck in a silent cry. The body followed. As the dwarf breathed no more, the torches all around the cavern lit up again.

  It’s dead! It’s dead… It’s over…

  Everyone’s fine. They’re okay…

  Iain stooped over, breathing hard, his heart racing. He was aware of everyone speaking at once, but they all sounded far too loud. He was also aware of the wetness of the creature’s blood splattered across his front.

  James grabbed his arm, jolting him.

  “—can’t believe you did it!” James was shouting excitedly. “That was the coolest thing you’ve ever done!”

  Iain could only nod dazedly for a moment. Then he registered what James had said, and he felt a surge of satisfaction, adrenaline rushing through him like electricity. He laughed shakily and then grinned. That was one of the best things he’d ever heard—but it still wasn’t the best thing he’d heard that day.

  Deirdre rushed over next, beaming. “You did a good job with that dwarf!” she exclaimed, sounding a bit like an overly enthusiastic primary school teacher.

  Iain smiled weakly, hoping he didn’t look like he was about to keel over. “Thanks,” he said. “Quick thinking with that torch.”

  Deirdre pumped her fist in the air, clearly just as hopped up on adrenaline as he was but handling it better.

  Commander Walker did not look to be in good shape, but he stood regardless and began looking around. Then he attempted to get a signal on his radio to call in for reinforcements, but something about the cavern or the magic of the place kept it from going through.

  “Do not touch anything,” Commander Walker ordered when he saw James eagerly rummage through a pile of junk. “This is all property of the British government.”

  Iain discreetly wiped the blade of his axe on his jacket and tried to hide it partially in his pack before the commander could notice. The commander was too preoccupied to see the handle of the weapon sticking out of his backpack.

  “Look at all this neat stuff!” James pointed out. “And the commander won’t even let us look at it. I think we’ve more than earned at least a look, and it’s not like he would know if we took anything—as, uh, like a memory token or something.”

  Iain had never understood his brother’s fascination with shiny trinkets and random items that had no purpose but to exist. As a child, James had always pressed his face against shop windows, begging for anything from glass animal ornaments to random gadgets that only performed one task. Iain had always been the practical one.

  So he was unnerved when something caught his eye in the pile of junk.

  That…wasn’t there before.

  He had searched that exact pile before for the axe, but there had been no box there. It was a simple wooden box, hidden within a mound of gauntlets, goblets, and other finery the dwarf had collected. Perhaps it was because the box was so out of place—it seemed like it didn’t belong there at all. It was just an ordinary box.

  I should take it.

  Iain was confused by his own thought, but he picked the box up regardless and looked it over. He ran his hands over the smooth surface of the wood, looking for a latch of some kind. Without warning, it seemed to fall open in his hands, revealing the shine of something silver inside.

  Encased in the black velvet interior was a large silver amulet, a wide oval with a detailed, thin border of Celtic knot work but a smooth, blank center—almost as if someone meant to put a mirror there but forgot. It was one of the most ornate, elegant things he’d ever seen, and just the sight of it made him want to put it back and not dirty it with his bloodied hands.

  Yet Iain ran his fingers over the cool metal. The surface of the amulet shimmered and moved almost like water, but it was not wet to the touch. Then—

  There weren’t words there before either.

  There was a single word carved into the silvery surface of the amulet. The word rippled lightly, as if water was flowing over it, but it did not fade; yet it took him a moment to make it out. When the word solidified on the surface, the meaning struck him so hard with welcoming warmth and yearning and childlike fear that his eyes stung.

  Forgiven.

  He knew logically that he shouldn’t take it—it didn’t belong to him. Yet he could not ignore the impulse to take it anyway or the word written there. Convincing himself that he could probably sell it later or barter it for sup
plies on their journey, Iain quietly closed the box once more and stowed it away in his pack, feeling a strange, foreign sense of peace that he’d done so.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “Over there, over there.” Alvey pointed to a far pile of treasure, out of the sight of Commander Walker.

  After collecting everything they’d dropped in the confrontation with the dwarf, they had decided to take a five-minute break in a smaller tunnel that was farther underground. There was no treasure there except for a mound in the corner that Deirdre was wheeling Alvey toward. She glanced up at the tall cavern ceiling above them and gulped. The dwarf’s attack had been a horrifying distraction, and now that the threat had passed, the cavern walls were once again all too close, surrounding them entirely.

  “Make haste, we do not have all day,” Alvey whispered.

  “What are we looking for?” Deirdre snapped unintentionally, hating how the cave walls grew closer around them in this area. “Is it important?”

  “Of course! ’Tis what I came to find in the first place.”

  “Fine, but let’s hurry.”

  At the pile, Deirdre sat down on a wooded stool that was intricately carved with Celtic-style knots along the legs. Alvey pulled a lever on the side of her chair, and it swiftly lowered the seat almost to the ground so she could easily reach the treasure.

  Deirdre made an attempt to help her sort through the objects, hoping it would keep her mind off the looming cave walls. “What are you looking for, exactly?” she asked.

  Alvey replied in a whisper that reminded Deirdre of a little girl telling a secret. “Relics. Items imbued with Time Magic.”

  “Time Magic? What’s that?”

  “It is the magic present in the flow and passage of time, obviously.”

  “Huh. Can faeries use that?”

  “Nay, it cannot be harnessed like other magic. But it is present often enough, moving as it wills.”

  “As it wills? What does that mean?”

  “Magic moves on its own!” Alvey snapped. “It does not just sit around waiting for faeries to come along and give it a nudge, does it? Fie! You are nearly as bad as that Jay, with your questions.”