“What did you do?” Richard growled, exasperated. “Stupid!”
“Had the game won, ye did!” Faric said, shaking his head. Then made a move.
“I did win,” Bran said.
“Ye did not!” Faric shot back, gesturing at the board. “It is a draw.”
“That’s right,” Bran said with certainty. Richard saw what he meant. The king moved back and forth over two squares, unable to be captured by Faric in the safety of the quartz guards but also unable to reach one of the corners to actually win the game due to frozen attackers. The guards were also safe from Faric, leaving a stalemate.
Faric just sat there, looking puzzled.
“You knew,” Fafnir criticized, his face wrinkled in his frown.
“No one wins in war,” Bran said, standing up. “It’s the same on the streets; it is the same everywhere, I would imagine. War is what you are going to have if you don’t believe Richard McAllister and agree with the Queen’s request, and it will be a war you will lose.”
Lord Fafnir looked from the board back to Bran and back again. Richard could not believe what had just happened. The boy looked at him uncertainly before meeting the gaze of the coblynau lord. Bran had taken a grave risk. All in the chamber knew it and waited for the outcome. Richard hoped Bran knew what he was doing.
Otherwise he was going to beat him within an inch of his life.
“What say you, Lord Fafnir?” Richard asked.
“It is an odd situation in game play. Made more odd by your need,” Fafnir admitted in his raspy voice. “This young man has shown more wisdom in playing a game than I or my forefathers have seen from that vaunted Seelie Court in previous centuries. He pulls a draw? On purpose? To make a point?” The ancient coblynau laughed. “He is rare, that one.”
Richard did not answer. The hall was silent once more.
“Truly an Ardall?”
“He is. Son of Charles,” Richard answered. “Philip has tried to kill him twice.”
“Let him speak for himself,” Fafnir commanded. “What has he seen?”
Bran hesitated before bowing. “Knight McAllister has said a war is coming to your home. He tells the truth. I have seen these evil creatures and those who drive them with my own eyes, unleashed by Philip. I met the Queen and other gathered lords, and they are prepared to fight—together. They need your aid and they need your resources. I cannot see how you will be safe if you alone stay here and do not join nor how they will be strong without your strength.”
“I see,” Fafnir said, pursing his already thin lips and gnashing his teeth. Long moments passed. No one said a word. “One course then, like your game. Both Faric and my other grandson Forrenhahl will join you and this war you believe will come. Caer Glain will supply the lords of the lowlands the ore they need. The fires will be stoked; iron will flow to Arendig Fawr.”
Richard breathed easier and bowed.
“The warriors of Caer Glain will join the Seelie Court in Arendig Fawr within three days,” Lord Fafnir promised as he stood unsteadily, even though the boney hand that gripped his war hammer was firm and strong. “May Ser Hendel protect us all.”
“Thank you, Lord Fafnir,” Richard said.
“Let us feast then,” Fafnir replied and pointed at Bran. “And perhaps a game against Ardall there.”
Richard brooded as he walked behind his companions, his thoughts splintered with rage, the reality of what had been done to him threatening his composure.
Myrddin Emrys had tricked him—again.
Even thinking the words sent fresh ire through his blood. He was now the Heliwr. The Unfettered Knight. It was his duty and his alone to patrol the two worlds and keep them both separate. If the two worlds blurred when a fey creature crossed over or someone from his world broke into Annwn, it was now his responsibility to track them down, return them—or kill them. No longer chained to the portal in Seattle, he could venture where he wished as long as he had access to Annwn and its seven gateways.
The freedom gave him no solace. Richard had not been given a choice, and that betrayal gnawed at him like a splinter in his soul.
Merle had seen this. The wizard had known.
And he had not told Richard.
After the gwyddbwyll match between Bran and Lord Fafnir the previous evening, the leader of the coblynau had offered warm beds and meals. The group from Arendig Fawr took the offer with pleasure. The deaths of Connal and the two hellyll lay heavy on their hearts.
Not so with Richard. The duplicity that had knighted him Heliwr would not allow it. Deirdre had tried to prompt the knight into conversation. He had ignored the redhead as if she had played a part in the travesty. The way she looked at him made him angrier than he had a right to be, the pain from his past mingling with the present to form a self-loathing that boiled.
Before he had finished his meal, Richard left the throne room to wander the halls of Caer Glain and think on what had happened. No one stopped him. Coming to a small waterfall, and in the dark, alone, he thought back on the events that led to his melding to the Dark Thorn. Merle had told him knighthood would not pass from father to son. He had been right. Govannon could not give Bran a weapon. The boy now carried Arondight. The Lady in the glen asked if he would protect the office of Heliwr with his life. Richard had accepted. It was the reason Bran hadn’t been able to call the Dark Thorn when they awoke under the hawthorn tree; it was the reason events had played out the way they had.
There was nothing Richard could do to change it.
And it pissed him off.
Merle had played his chess game and won a major battle in the war. Richard had been used as a pawn once more. So had Bran. When Richard had returned to his quarters, the boy had been there with questions more numerous than flies. Richard answered them, if barely. The boy’s newfound authority was exciting to Bran; the new Seattle portal knight did not care how Merle had set him up. It made Richard want to rage against everything.
Even now, watching the boy as he strode ahead and his exuberance in learning all he could about the coblynau, Richard wanted nothing more than to drag him out of Annwn by the nape of his neck and be done with this business entirely.
“And which Ser is Merrick?” Bran asked Hollick.
The guard grimaced. “Ye really do not know the ways.”
“No, not at all.”
“Ser Merrick is the governing Ser of Pathways,” the young coblynau said. “He keeps our way safe from the shadows of the Unseelie and protects all those who walk alongside him.”
“I’ll never remember all of this,” Bran said.
An overwhelming rush of hatred spread through Richard. Not for Bran, but for what the boy represented—a willing apprentice of Merle.
Along with Henrick, Hollick, and two coblynau guards named Charl and Gat, the Arendig Fawr delegation made their way through the bustle and out of Caer Glain. Fafnir kept good on his promise; hundreds of coblynau mobilized for war, and carts of iron ingots already made their way down the mountain for Govannon. The grandsons of Fafnir would also lead a contingent of coblynau warriors down the slopes to Arendig Fawr, giving their aid as best they could. While a part of Richard wished he and the others could stay a few days to recover from the attack of the bodach, he also knew time was of the essence.
The sooner he finished with Tal Ebolyon, the sooner he could confront Merle.
Thinking about how to convince Lord Latobius to rejoin the Seelie Court, Richard almost ran over Gat. In front of him the group had stopped. Beyond them, the torchlight had gone out, the only illumination a weak light emanating from the floor.
“Sometimes this happens,” Hollick said. “Odd gusts, odd wind.”
“Well, I don’t believe in sometimes,” Richard said, calling forth the Dark Thorn.
“No chances?” Bran asked.
“None,” Richard said. “Ever again. What Guardsman Hollick did not tell you is more than just the coblynau live in these mountains. Didn’t wonder where the silk came from to build the tents we passed th
rough in the market, did you?”
Bran shook his head.
“The Gorryn,” Henrick answered. “Man-size spiders. Very dangerous if prodded. They live deeper in the wild Snowdon, above- and belowground, spinning the silk for their webs. We collect it when possible. Gorryn rarely come into Caer Glain; they have no need, and when they do it is almost never this close to the surface.”
“‘Almost never’ is still code for sometimes,” Richard muttered.
The group moved forward slowly, weapons drawn, Richard leading the way with the white light of the staff fending off the darkness. It felt more comfortable in his hand than he liked, an extension of the anger he reserved for Merle. Henrick was close behind, his spear held at the ready. Both came to the first unlit torch sconce, set at a corner where a new corridor of gaping blackness to the right met the passageway they were in.
“This happened recently,” Henrick pointed out, examining the smoking sconce.
“Light it so we can move on.”
The coblynau moved to relight the torch.
Richard stepped into the junction, peering into the gloom—and had the wind knocked from him as a massive shadow slammed him against the opposite wall.
Fighting the swarm of unconsciousness, Richard focused on his assailant. Screams followed echoing chaos; the knight barely heard them. It was not a spider that attacked him. The bodach had found them. The Unseelie creature had him pinned, the white fire of the Dark Thorn enacted out of sheer instinct his only protection. The beast was relentless. It clawed and screeched at him, the smoky predator fighting to get at him.
Sweat and panic poured over Richard. There was nothing he could do to dislodge the bodach; it had him cornered with no intention of letting up until its strongest adversary to killing Bran was dead as well.
As Richard fought for his life, Lugh charged, roaring with Areadbhar lowered like a lance. The Long Hand followed their leader. Deirdre chased with the coblynau guards a step behind, rushing the Unseelie creature as well with weapons drawn and ready for the fight.
All fell upon the bodach.
All but Bran.
Claws grazed the knight’s side but he ignored the pain, focusing on the Dark Thorn and the power it lent him. The beast screamed pain as multiple blades bit into its form. It did not relent its attack. Even as it prevented Richard from dislodging it, the beast lashed out with a hind leg, kicking at any of his companions within reach.
Hollick and Lugh flew like tossed dolls into the intersecting passage, lost from view.
From the side, Richard saw Bran finally enter the fray. He held Arondight, the sword flaming azure more brightly than Richard had ever seen. With singular purpose, the boy drove the blade into the side of their attacker’s darkened silhouette, the magic infiltrating the shadow like lightning. The bodach roared inhuman. Richard could feel the white-hot pain erupting within the monster, the unholy stench pungent in his lungs. Bran pulled Arondight free and sent its entire length at the head of the beast, thrusting beyond his means as he tried to deliver a deathblow.
The bodach recoiled. The pressure on Richard vanished.
It was all the space the knight needed. The power of the Dark Thorn exploded forth. The blast of white fire sent the bodach reeling. It twisted in the air, flame incinerating the beast as it hit the ceiling and jarringly crashed against the wall near Bran, flailing limbs and howls of pain filling the corridor.
The bodach righted itself instantly, its eyes fixed on Bran.
Adrenaline rushed as fear through Richard. He struggled forward, a wave of weakness from the expenditure of magic chaining him, roaring a warning Bran could not hear. The coblynau and others were running toward the boy, hollering with weapons raised.
Bran swung at the bodach.
It feinted and, with a dark laugh, knocked the fabled blade from the boy’s hand.
Arondight vanished.
Eyes burning hatred, the bodach leapt.
Like a cat unleashed, his face’s ferocity covered in crimson from a gash above his nose, Lugh reentered the battle, his spear held low to the ground. Unable to prevent its momentum, the bodach impaled itself, the spear penetrating its innards. Silver light exploded deep within the creature as did its howl.
It missed Bran to instead land feet away.
Seizing the chance, Richard sent the magic of the Dark Thorn toward the Unseelie beast. The bodach screamed further, surprised from the side assault. It fought the fountain of white fire, singeing, maddened to gain Bran and end him. Dizziness washed over the knight but he ignored it, keeping the fount of his magic focused on the bodach. The creature tore through the flames, unable to break through their intensity, the baleful eyes and biting jaws mere feet away but incapable of reaching Bran.
Buckling to his knees from weakness and Richard beginning to lose faith they could bring the creature down, an eruption of blue fire from Arondight burst from the corner of his eye and slammed the bodach in the side like a sledgehammer.
The fey creature landed witin the same corridor from which it had sprung.
“Pull the torch holder, Ardall!” Henrick roared.
Not hesitating, Bran grabbed at the sconce with all of his weight, not questioning the Master Guardsman.
The torch gave way as a lever. A series of snaps reverberated through the mountain. Boulders tumbled from the roof of the side passage entrance in a thunderous avalanche, showering Bran and the others with pebbles and dirt. Richard shielded his face from the destruction, worried the entire passage was about to come down. The stone beneath them shook like an earthquake and then became still.
Sudden silence hit the mountain.
Richard let the Dark Thorn dissipate to smoke.
The bodach was sealed away, unable to harm them now.
Richard pushed himself to stand. He felt drained of any authority that had been given him. A few paces away Bran stood, Arondight gripped tight, its length fiery and blazing angrier than ever before. It was odd for Richard to see the boy wield the sword he had spent so much of life regretting that he had accepted.
“What the hell?” Bran coughed as the dust swirled around him. “We have fail-safes throughout all of Caer Glain,” Henrick said, also coughing. “Never seen it needed before. The rock will keep that creature at bay, I warrant.”
“By Ser Rhaith, what was that thing?” Charl growled.
“A bodach,” Richard panted. “Unseelie.”
“Why did it find its way in here?”
“It’s after Bran,” Richard said. “And it will continue until we find a way to kill it.”
“It will not bother us for some time,” Gat surmised. “That corridor leads to an exit abandoned long ago, unused by all but those who hunt game and pheasant in the lower reaches of the Snowdon.”
Henrick glanced around. “Where is Hollick? Hollick!?”
No answer came.
Richard shared the stares of those around him as the realization struck; they all looked at the rubble-choked corridor from where the dwarfish guard had not returned after being kicked by the bodach.
“Hollick!” Henrick screamed, jumped up on the landslide. “Hollick!”
“He is already dead,” Richard said.
“Gat, notify Master Commander Masyn of what has transpired here,” Henrick ordered after a few minutes, his voice thick with emotion. “They must be made aware of this monster.”
“Kegan,” Bran breathed as Gat left. “If the bodach followed us into Caer Glain…”
Understanding hit Richard. “The Rhedewyr.”
Finding a reserve of strength he didn’t know he had, Richard chased after Bran. The others were close behind. If the bodach had entered the caverns of Caer Glain the same way they had, it could have killed the coblynau and their mounts. Kegan was in danger and without the Rhedewyr, the journey would be far more difficult.
After several twisting tunnels, Richard burst from the underground city into the glen, the sunshine of the late afternoon casting long shadows over the m
ountain.
The Horsemaster and the Rhedewyr were nowhere to be seen.
“Kegan!” Bran yelled.
“He’s not here,” Richard said. “Perhaps nearby.”
“Wizard, ye owe me,” a voice growled from the dark.
Llassar Llaes Gyngwyd stepped from the wooded blackness to their left and looked like he would fall over any moment. The giant had been in a fight. His patched clothing now hung in tatters, ripped apart so grotesquely it exposed the rent flesh beneath. Crimson slashes ravaged his forearms; chunks were missing from his beard as though forcibly pulled out. Eyes lost below a darkened brow, Llassar limped to stand before Richard with a painful smirk.
Lugh jumped to the forefront and lowered his spear at the giant in warning.
“Where is the clurichaun?” Richard questioned.
“I am here, Richard McAllister,” Kegan said, appearing from behind the giant man’s legs like a toddler to a father. “Safe and well.”
“What happened?”
“The creature came. Attacked us. Llassar here held it off, along with the Rhedewyr. He saved us from death.”
“Damnable right ah did,” Llassar growled, standing a bit taller. “Nothing doin’ really. Ah hate dem Unseelie folk. Evil skulkin’ creatures, the lot of ‘em.”
“I am in your debt then, Llassar Llaes Gyngwyd,” Richard said.
Henrick and Charl caught up to the rest of them, huffing.
“Ahh, the moles,” Llassar acknowledged.
“The Rhedewyr are safe as well,” Kegan added, then sounded a high-pitched whistle. “They put up a fight as only they can.”
Willowyn, Lyrian, and the other Rhedewyr clopped from the darkness, manes tossing.
“You leave us to fend for ourselves, dungknight! And this is what happens!” Snedeker reprimanded, flying before Richard with arms folded in disgust.
“Fairy,” Richard muttered. “Shut up.”
Snedeker did just that, alighting on Deirdre’s shoulder.
“There is much to discuss, Kegan,” the knight said, not pleased about it.
“Not sure I like the sound of that, knight,” the clurichaun said.
Richard filled him and the others in as quickly as he could, the distaste of admitting he was now the Unfettered Knight still rankling him. He shared what he knew about his new role, how Bran fit in, and how the boy had bested Lord Fafnir’s grandson in a game of gwyddbwyll to win over the leader of the mountain city.
The Dark Thorn Page 29