Unfettered

by Terry Brooks

  He then slowly slid off the spear to the cold stone floor as the witch wrenched the weapon free.

  The vampire did not move.

  The witch straightened and finally looked at the cavern and those within it for the first time. Charles locked eyes with her. Like Lazarus, she was ancient, her eyes shining victory and malice. Charles saw a fire there that burned eternal. It was clear to him the witch had a plan, and a major piece of it had just come into her possession.

  With a smile devoid of humor, she vanished into the portal with her prize.

  After what felt like an eternity, the Swiss Guard finally created a hole in the wall of zombies. With Bruno Ricci keeping the undead at bay and Beck Almgren finally returned to lend his own fey power, the Vatican soldiers shot their rifles and pistols into the skulls of the zombies. Charles did not wait for the inevitable victory. He ran through the din, keeping clear of the danger surrounding him, encased in an armor of magic in case the Swiss Guards were incapable of hitting only their targets. Soon, he was free of the horde and running full out for the gateway into Annwn.

  “Where are you going, Ardall?!” Bruno Ricci yelled over the din, his knife lightning-infused war.

  Charles did not stop. “After the spear!”

  Within moments, he and Berrytrill won the shimmering void. The knight did not enter immediately. He gave the body of Lazarus a quick, wary eye. The spear had worked. The vampire lay dead, eyes filled with wonder.

  The man Jesus Christ had brought back to life had finally found death.

  With a nod to Berrytrill, Charles entered the portal. The power of the gateway engulfed them. Even as Charles walked forward into the void, the smell of mulch-fueled growing plants accosted him, a sweet, heady odor leading him to Annwn. Berrytrill was nowhere in sight, but Charles knew the fairy was flying close behind. Soon the knight began to be reduced in size, the air being forcibly drawn from his lungs. Even though he had grown used to passing between the two worlds, it never got any easier.

  Just when he thought he would pass out, Charles crossed into Annwn.

  He stood upon a massive finger of granite extending out of an emerald carpet of grass plains to the west of the Forest of Dean. The sun sat overhead in an azure sky, and the hum of insects surrounded the Heliwr and his guide even as the day’s warmth chased the catacomb chill from their bones. To the northwest, the massive spikes of the Snowdon Mountains were in evidence in the far distance, a last bastion of freedom for the Tuatha de Dannan; to the west, Charles knew Caer Llion sat on the ocean, the capital city of the self-crowned Philip Plantagenet controlling most of Annwn.

  Flanked by two dead trees, the portal to Rome shimmered behind him.

  Charles did not dwell on the beauty of the day or the political imbalance in Annwn. With Berrytrill watching, he called the Dark Thorn and sent its butt into the soil, searching for the Holy Lance and the witch who had machinated it from the Vatican.

  “The witch has disappeared,” Charles said angrily, the Dark Thorn in his hands matching the heat in his heart. “Cloaking herself in magic, knowing we would come after her, no doubt. I cannot track her or the Holy Lance.”

  Berrytrill flew in midair before him and frowned.

  Long moments passed. There was nothing more Charles could do. He was the Heliwr, given a grave responsibility and gifted with great power, but even he could be bested at times.

  “That’s that then,” Berrytrill said at last.

  “Why did the vampire aid the witch?” Berrytrill asked.

  The two stood again on the outcropping of rock that held the portal to Italy, the sunshine warm and inviting. Once Charles had realized they were powerless in regaining the Holy Lance, they had returned to Rome, to set right many of the wrongs still there. The zombies had been dispatched with few losses; the portal was once again protected. Retracing his footsteps, Charles ensured all aspects of the invasion were put right. With the help of Bruno Ricci, he had wiped clean dozens of guards’ memories, Beck Almgren watching to ensure it was done properly. It had taken hours of work but it was done.

  Bruno Ricci would heal. Pope Urban had the worst of it, but even the Church would construct a plausible reason for the loss of his fingers. Italy and the world knew nothing of what had transpired. And life would go on much as it had for centuries.

  “It was a means to an end,” Charles answered finally, still thinking on it.

  “The end of the spear, literally.”

  Charles couldn’t help but grin. “I suppose so.”

  “Still. The Spear of Longinus is out there. Somewhere.”

  “It is,” Charles said, the notion sobering. “The witch had other intentions, of that we can be sure. Perhaps Merle will have an answer. Until we locate the Holy Lance, we must be vigilant and look for it whenever we tread Annwn. It is too important—and powerful—of a relic to remain in the hands of such a creature. The witch sent Lazarus into the Vatican to secure it for her own reasons. Few could have crossed into Rome and bested its portal knight, especially one as strong as Bruno Ricci. Fewer still would have enough knowledge of our world and that of the Bible’s history to make his way to the Vatican Library and eventually gain the staff from the pontiff. No, it was a bold move and well orchestrated. We will hear from the witch again.”

  Berrytrill grunted. “It never ends.”

  “I just hope we are up to the task,” Charles added. “The witch has been alive a very long time and has learned patience. We will have to do the same.”

  “We will,” Berrytrill said, before looking off toward the Snowdon. “There are good qualities, like patience, learned by the passage of time—but darker qualities too.” The fairy paused. “Humans are fascinating. There are Tuatha de Dannan who live for centuries but who never succumb to the madness that clearly had taken hold of Lazarus. Why did the vampire choose death?”

  “Humans aren’t meant to be long lived, I guess,” Charles reflected. “Besides, life is much more than longevity. Quality of years is more important than quantity. Lazarus learned that all too well. No quality could be gained from his continued existence—at least that’s how he felt. He therefore decided to end it on his terms.”

  “What does quality mean to you?”

  Charles did not answer immediately.

  “A loving wife,” he said finally. “Looking into her eyes and knowing peace as I’ve never known. Sunlight on my face in spring, when the world is escaping winter in Seattle. A kind gesture from a stranger. Traveling to Annwn and seeing what this world has to offer. Having a baby on the way and all the anticipation that brings.” He smiled and looked to the fairy. “Enjoying friendship like ours at every possible moment.”

  “And Lazarus no longer had those things?”

  “I suspect he did. He just could no longer see them.”

  Berrytrill hovered in the air quietly, thinking on that.

  “There are souls who fight to live,” Charles added, also mulling it over. “And there are those who give up all too easily.”

  “Do you think he has found peace with his God?” Berrytrill asked. “Or is he in that place of fire and brimstone you mention all too often when you curse?”

  “Hell,” Charles said. “We won’t know until our reckoning day, I suppose.”

  “Your reckoning,” the fairy admonished.

  “Oh?”

  “I plan to live forever.”

  “You just may,” Charles said, smiling. “But you’ll miss me if you do.”

  Berrytrill looked toward the horizon, frowning deeper, as if trying to see that day and not liking what he saw. Charles grinned inwardly at his private joke and followed his guide’s gaze. Several ravens swirled in the distance, upon currents of air from Annwn’s ocean in the south. They settled back to one of the sentinel trees outside of the Forest of Dean before taking flight again. The dark birds were free, much like Lazarus. They had no reason to fear the world around them. They were unfettered but, unlike the vampire, they were enjoying the life they had been given.


  “Bran,” Charles whispered.

  “What?” Berrytrill questioned.

  “Bran means ‘raven’ in Welsh,” the knight said and continued to watch the birds. “It’s a good, strong name for the baby.”

  “Bran Ardall,” the guide tested. “I like it.”

  Charles nodded.

  “How do you know you are having a boy child?”

  “Whether he knew it or not,” Charles said, smiling sadly. “Lazarus shared with me a gift before his death.”

  “A boy child. You should name him Trill instead. A more regal name the boy child could not have,” Berrytrill mused with a sarcastic sniff before becoming smiling bits of leaves. “Where do we travel now?”

  “Home,” he said. “And, if he has returned, for a long discussion with Merle.”

  The Heliwr of the Yn Saith took a step down the steep trail that led to the plains below the granite outcropping, already removing the light cloak from his pack that would hide his world’s odd attire in the foreign territory. With Berrytrill flying ahead to keep their passage safe, Charles strode west toward Dryvyd Wood where the Seattle portal thrummed entrance to a city that held his heart.

  Home to his expecting wife and their forthcoming baby boy.

  And a life worth living.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Unfettered would not exist without some extraordinary people helping in various and different ways. I am indebted to one and all of them.

  Richard and Kathy Speakman: Who taught me to never back down from a fight

  Todd Speakman: Who showed love from great distance

  Jeff, Becky, Payton, and Kendall Lawson: Who are my second family and love like it

  Rachelle Longé McGhee: Whose talent is in every page of this book

  Thomas Malpass, MD: Who saved my life not once but twice

  Minh-Trang Thi Duong, Marion Tiongson, Jennifer Callahan, and Patricia Liming: Who bring love and light to every patient they care for

  Terry and Judine Brooks: Who checked up on me incessantly

  Todd Lockwood: Who rendered beautiful art and better friendship

  Peter Orullian: Who kept me company on the worst of days

  Harriet McDougal and Nat Sobel: Who gave a turn of the Wheel of Time

  Bill Schafer: Who advised how the experts do it

  John Joseph Adams: Who shared knowledge with a novice

  My story contributors: Who rallied to me and wrote tales filled with wondrous magic

  And finally, the readers: Who supported a fellow reader in need

  Table of Contents

  Foreword by Patrick Rothfuss

  Introduction: On Becoming Unfettered

  Imaginary Friends by Terry Brooks

  How Old Holly Came To Be by Patrick Rothfuss

  The Old Scale Game by Tad Williams

  Game of Chance by Carrie Vaughn

  The Martyr of the Roses by Jacqueline Carey

  Mudboy by Peter V. Brett

  The Sound of Broken Absolutes by Peter Orullian

  The Coach with Big Teeth by R.A. Salvatore

  Keeper of Memory by Todd Lockwood

  Heaven in a Wild Flower by Blake Charlton

  Dogs by Daniel Abraham

  The Chapel Perilous by Kevin Hearne

  Select Mode by Mark Lawrence

  All the Girls Love Michael Stein by David Anthony Durham

  Strange Rain by Jennifer Bosworth

  Nocturne by Robert V.S. Redick

  Unbowed by Eldon Thompson

  In Favour with Their Stars by Naomi Novik

  River of Souls by Robert Jordan & Brandon Sanderson

  The Jester by Michael J. Sullivan

  The Duel by Lev Grossman

  Walker and the Shade of Allanon by Terry Brooks

  The Unfettered Knight by Shawn Speakman

  Acknowledgments