“Not in the way you mean,” the Arch Druid answered, guarding against another ambush. He would not be caught unaware again. “I have not met either of those I seek. The thief stole a set of items that are very dangerous. From the very library of Philip Plantagenet. He must be a very good thief indeed to have done so.” He paused as he peered into a new street, looking for trouble along the path they followed. “I surmised the one who follows him is a witch. Only a witch could turn your friends so easily and readily against me while seeking the thief. And only one who uses magic would be interested in the items the thief stole.”
“They were not my friends,” Aldric claimed. “But I get your meaning.”
Bursting into view from another part of Caer Llion, a contingent of Templar Knights scattered a mob of men and women intent on looting a tiny market, its owner already dead on the street. Aldric immediately became one with the shadows next to Aengus. They watched as the Red Crosses rode after those responsible for the man’s death, disappearing down another street.
Aengus waited, giving Philip Plantagenet’s Templar Knights time to vacate the area, before following the witch’s trail down a separate avenue.
“What did the thief steal?” Aldric questioned, watching behind.
“Books.”
“Books?” the warrior scoffed. “That seems like a poor thing to steal. What is it about these books that has you risking your life?”
Aengus peered ahead. The city’s wall could be seen. “Do you know who I am?”
“No. Should I?”
“No, I would think not,” Aengus said, grinning darkly, not deviating from the course but allowing Aldric to catch up step for step. “My name is Aengus Doughal. I am the Arch Druid of Caer Dathal, the northern keep in the north.”
“I know what it is. A haven for warlocks.”
“No. Not warlocks. Students of the world, of knowledge,” Aengus said, keeping his annoyance at the other’s ignorance in check. “We do not steal babies from cribs; we do not steal wives for midnight heathen experiments. We are a peaceful sect of men, women, and children trying to make the world a better place. As Arch Druid, that is my charge.” He paused. “What you likely do not know is the history of Caer Dathal, its dark past. Once, it was not peaceful. Centuries ago, three rebel Druids tried to rule Annwn with a ruthless gauntlet. They swayed others to their cause. And when it appeared nothing could stop their plans, the dragons of Tal Ebolyon and the Unseelie Court smashed Caer Dathal into ruin, killing the rebel Druids, their evil cult, and many, many innocents who merely lived within the keep’s walls.
“The virtuous Druids who survived were left to rebuild Caer Dathal, a new keep far from the ruins of the old,” Aengus continued. He loathed talking about that past. It was everything he abhorred. “Those three rebel Druids possessed a set of five books—grimoires—that held the secrets they had amassed. About power. And humanity. And magic. These books hold their thoughts, ideas, and even spells.”
“The books you hunt are those grimoires,” Aldric offered.
“They were dear to Plantagenet,” Aengus said. “And if they fall into the wrong hands…”
“It sounds like they already have,” the scarred man said. “Why not go after them before? Surely you could have entered Caer Llion better than any thief.”
“I may be human, but I also possess magic,” the Arch Druid answered. “The High King had a witch, the Cailleach, in his employ. And that witch installed wards to keep the fey and any magic user from entering. Could not very well give the enemy access to their home city. The wards were effective for centuries. When the witch died, they failed.” Aengus looked up at the wall that now loomed over them. “I knew I would not be the only one waiting for those wards to fall. When it comes to power, there is no time better than the present to attain it. I also knew of the battle in the east. I wouldn’t be much of an Arch Druid if I didn’t. I had to be prepared for my time to finally enter Caer Llion. And I remained outside for a day before it actually happened.”
Aldric nodded. “Why does the witch want them?”
“That is what I hope we never find out.”
Having passed through the outer wall’s northern gate, the two men made their way through the sprawling town outside of Caer Llion. It had grown up around the city like a child clinging to her mother’s leg. Annwn lay just on the other side—even through the sparse buildings Aengus could see the rolling grassland beyond—and the trail he followed went toward it. One thing was certain: the thief had not been caught. If he had been, Aengus doubted the witch would have kept him alive. Such a creature would have left his body where it lay, a warning of sorts to those that followed.
The trail grew more haphazard, cutting this way and that, almost as if the thief knew he was being followed.
When the two men came to the edge of the grasslands, the Arch Druid knelt and touched the hard packed earth, looking for the magical trail as well as the physical one.
“They both have left Caer Llion,” Aengus confirmed. “On horses.”
“You can tell that?”
“I can.”
“How do we follow them?”
“Come with me,” the Arch Druid said. He strode back toward the gated wall. Every entrance into Caer Llion had inns and taverns built near it, businesses capitalizing on the needs of travelers. That also meant horses. After a quick discussion with an inn proprietor who had gathered a small contingent of warriors for protection against what gripped Caer Llion—and a bag of coins given—Aengus and Aldric sped northward upon two horses of a quality that would see them on their journey.
They rode most of the night, pausing only to rest their mounts. Aengus breathed in the cool air, watchful and thinking. It was not the first time he had hunted a thief. Or a witch for that matter. From his first few years at Caer Dathal many centuries earlier, he had shown a level of stern tenacity that had seen him through a childhood of hardships and an adulthood of responsibility. Possessed of a keen mind and sharper determination, he had risen quickly in the Druid ranks. That time had included many forays into Annwn, sometimes dealing with situations just like this. Now, as the Arch Druid centuries later, a man overseeing the lives and studies of hundreds, he had slipped clear of Caer Dathal without anyone’s knowledge when the need to do so could not be trusted to another.
He peered back at Aldric. The warrior showed strength of character. But it was now clear to the Arch Druid that the battle against the fey had scarred Aldric deep. But he had survived. Aengus hoped he continued to do so during their quest.
As dawn began to tinge the eastern sky and the sun began to rise against clouds that were building to the west, the plains rolled and a sparse forest met them.
And from it, detached a writhing mass of shadow the night had forgotten.
“What is it?” Aldric hissed.
“A large group of Vorrels. Of the Unseelie Court. Very dangerous. Strange they are in the sunlight.”
“The witch again?”
“The witch agai—”
Before Aengus could explain further, the black mass of spikes, claws, and teeth launched directly at the two men, moving faster than even the Arch Druid was prepared for. He sent fire from his outstretched fingertips, attempting to slow them. Mewling cries of rage and pain filled the plains and the stench of burnt musk filled the morning air. It barely slowed the Unseelie down. The Vorrels swarmed toward the Arch Druid and his mount, uncaring of his magic and its effect upon them, trying to overwhelm him with numbers and rage.
Frightened by the writhing mass, the horses became uncontrollable. Aengus leapt free, ready to fight before his feet hit the ground. Aldric was not as prepared. Bucked by his mount, the warrior landed hard but regained his feet instantly, sword unwrapped from the blanket and freed, just in time to confront the Vorrels and their ferocity.
“With me!” the Arch Druid roared. The Arch Druid built a wall of flame angling away from him, blocking the Vorrels from his path toward one of many outcroppings of granite
that littered the southern plains. Calling upon the strength of the land beneath his feet, Aengus gained the bare stone and climbed, keeping his body within the sunlight, his magic called forth.
When Aldric tried to climb, the Arch Druid pushed him back. “Get down! Now!”
“But I will be cut to ribbons!”
“You will not,” Aengus said, exposing his arms to the sun. “And shield your eyes from the day!”
He did not wait to see if Aldric did as he was told. Instead, the Arch Druid closed his eyes, feeling the sun on his face, forearms and hands. He absorbed the warmth, letting it infiltrate his body, calling upon his magic to intertwine with the light. He gathered it like a spinster spun wool, the natural power found in the day combining with his own, both building in him like molten mercury.
Thrumming with the sun and hearing the maddened Vorrels nearly upon them, Aengus opened his eyes and unleashed fury.
The day brightened blindingly in a soundless explosion of light. The plains and forest vanished; the world disappeared with them. The gathered sunlight burst from the Arch Druid into the mass of Vorrels, their rage become howls of anguish.
In moments, it was over.
Aengus remained standing if barely, weakened from his exertion. The light vanished, the day returned. Aldric remained at the foot of the stones, eyes just opening to what had occurred. The large group of Vorrels lay all too close to the two men and their outcropping of rock, decimated, those on the outside of the mass turned to ash, the rest either dying beneath their charred brethren or struggling toward freedom.
Aengus slid off the rock to the plains and almost crumbled.
Aldric steadied him. “You all right?”
“I will be,” the Arch Druid said, taking a deep breath. “The magic I employed is not easily recovered from.”
The warrior nodded. “What did you do?”
“What needed doing, sadly.”
Slowly regaining his strength, Aengus walked toward the remains of the Vorrels. Movement beneath the bodies drew him.
As he came near to investigate, two Vorrels shot from beneath their dead or dying brethren, ink blots trying for freedom.
Reacting instantly, the Arch Druid called upon the remains of his tattered magic. A simple invisible net of lines caught the fleeing Unseelie.
The Vorrels fell to the ground, captured, hissing hatred.
Before Aengus could gain his prey, Aldric beat him to the two living Vorrels. The warrior did not look to the Arch Druid; he instead moved to end the two creatures, his sword still drawn and about to fall on the helpless Vorrels.
It was all Aengus could do to reach Aldric and stay his hand. “No,” he said. “We need them.”
“These creatures an abomination.”
“They are no different from us. They just want to live and die by their own merit.”
The wound along his cheek flaming anger, Aldric did not back down. Neither did the Arch Druid. Aengus tightened his grip on the other’s arm. Eyes fiery with fury, Aldric did not relent. Aengus saw hatred there. The other hated the fey more than anything.
“I need answers,” the Arch Druid growled. “And you are free to go if that conflicts with your nature and your past.”
The other man stood firm a moment longer before yielding, lowering his sword and walking away, the heat of battle going with him. Cursing beneath his breath, Aengus watched the distance grow between the men before kneeling to his catch. The Vorrels whimpered, fear glistening in their beady eyes. Some from the Unseelie Court were a treacherous, true threats to those who traveled Annwn at night. Others were pranksters, more nuisance than menace. These creatures were neither. While a pack of Vorrels could be dangerous, the tiny Unseelie beings largely left humanity alone, their desire to stay within the shadows absolute. They would never attack two men let alone during the day. These two, like their fallen pack, had been summoned similar to Aldric’s neighbors; they had been used as pawns and put in ambush by the witch to attack the Arch Druid.
Aengus looked northward where the witch’s path led. She was growing desperate if she had called upon the Unseelie.
“What are your names?” Aengus questioned, his tone dark and gritty like their language, but letting the lines of his net loosen.
The two creatures shrank from him so viscerally he thought they were attempting to escape through the very bones of the world. The net imprisoned them though. The two Vorrels were born of nightmare, void given form, sleek cat-like bodies like cait siths but smaller with spines of hair poking out from chest, haunches, and tail. Like many of the Unseelie, their claws and teeth were in abundance. Eyes unused to the light rolled like frightened cattle.
Aengus saw something else. He did not see the threat of the witch in them.
He saw confusion.
“It is all right, little ones,” he coaxed. “I am not going to harm you.”
The slightly larger of the two fixed her gaze on him then, no longer fighting.
—Killed. Family—
The creature’s voice hissed on the air, barely intelligible.
“I did. It was not my intention. I was protecting me and my friend.”
—No. Matter—
“I did not want to die. You understand that fear.”
The Vorrel said nothing.
“Why are you here? Your kind hates the sunlight.”
—Do not know. Woman. Spoke. That is all—
“That you remember?”
The Vorrel growled affirmation.
Aengus looked back to Aldric. The warrior was already trying to discover what had happened to their mounts. It kept him focused elsewhere, for the moment at least. He would not like what Aengus was thinking.
The Arch Druid turned back to his captured Unseelie. “I want you to live. And in return, to help me with who did this to you. The woman was a witch. Powerful. She made you attack us. Do you understand?”
Having settled down during the conversation, the smaller Vorrel turned to the Arch Druid with seething vehemence in her eyes.
—Hate. Her—
“I know you do,” Aengus said. “What are your names?”
The larger one spoke first.
—I Paetyn—
—And I Kehndyl—
“I have spared you this day because I know you did not attack me willingly,” Aengus said. “Do you desire revenge against the woman who killed your clan?”
The two Vorrels glanced at one another and some unspoken communication occurred between them. Before long, they spoke as one.
—Yes—
“Good,” Aengus said simply.
“I think this is a mistake,” Aldric growled.
The warrior had moved up behind the unknowing Arch Druid.
“The only mistake is what you were about to do,” Aengus rumbled, standing once more to confront the warrior. “You withheld your sword’s judgment against your neighbors. These creatures are your neighbors. And like your neighbors, used. I hope in time that will become apparent for you.” He paused for emphasis. “Philip Plantagenet is dead and I hope his extreme hatred is dead with him. Do not think because you helped saved my life that I suffer fools.”
“They will turn on you before the end,” the warrior argued.
Aengus gave a steely stare. “You know nothing of the world.”
“I know more than you know.” Aldric looked away, darkening. It would take more than a stern talking to change his belief.
“Now, what about the horses?” Aengus asked.
“They won’t have gone far,” Aldric said. “City horses.”
“You are wrong about the Vorrels. But the witch truly is evil,” Aengus said. “Will you continue with me? I offer you a new life. Far from here. The choice is your own. But know this: I will not allow harm to come to the Vorrels. They are blameless for how they were born.”
Aldric looked into the distance as if seeing the future, jaw clenched in anger. Aengus did not care how the other felt as long as it did not prevent him from r
eaching the thief and witch. The Arch Druid instead undid the magical net on the Vorrels. They regained their clawed feet, shivering all over in the sunlight. Aengus half expected them to vanish into the shadows of the nearby forest to the north. Instead, they moved to his casted shadow, finding solace from the direct sunlight, both looking sidelong at their fallen family. Then as one, both of them gave Aldric a wary look.
The horses would take time to find and time was already fleeting. Aengus followed Aldric, his two Unseelie companions keeping to his shadow.
He was pleased when Aldric began hunting their second mount.
* * * * *
Afternoon crept toward evening as the little group continued north.
It had taken longer to discover the horses than Aengus had hoped, the men sweaty as a sudden strange humidity gripped Annwn. Once the mounts had been located and the witch’s path discovered once more, the group crossed the Wysg River and Aengus turned his attention to the world about him, trying to discern the change. Massive thunderheads built to the east, threatening with menace. They should not have been there. Philip Plantagenet had used the talents of a witch known as the Cailleach to maintain a centuries long perpetual summer, a tactic that allowed him to wage war on the fey of Annwn. With the building storm to the east, the rumors within Caer Llion were true. The Cailleach was dead. And with her death, the natural order of the seasons would return. Aengus hoped not to devastating effect.
One of the most powerful creatures in Annwn was no more, an evil that had fought alongside the despot king.
Any witch, even the most powerful it seemed, could be brought low.
The Arch Druid hoped he too would end a witch this day.
The path led north and then shifted northeast. Aldric brought up the rear, his mien in a perpetual state of annoyance. The source of his irritation scouted ahead where the forest grew thicker, the Vorrels already proving a great asset.
In them, Aengus did not see evil. He merely saw lives different from his own.
With the passage of enough time after the heated argument between the two men after the Vorrel attack, Aengus slowed his horse and let Aldric come along side. The warrior gave the Arch Druid a questioning look. Aengus doubted the man would like what he had to say.
The Twilight Dragon & Other Tales of Annwn: Preludes to The Everwinter Wraith (The Annwn Cycle) Page 9