The Twilight Dragon & Other Tales of Annwn: Preludes to The Everwinter Wraith (The Annwn Cycle)

by Shawn Speakman

  Her own rage replied to the question. “If I help you, will that be proof this was not my intention?”

  The Nix nodded with harsh ferocity.

  Rosenwyn dismounted. She sent Wennyl back into the forest and then walked in front of the gargoyle, throwing off her fur-lined cloak. The icy air bit her but she did not feel it, her thoughts elsewhere. Instead, she removed her gloves and pushed up her sleeves.

  Exposing her skin.

  The moment she did that, the day darkened, the countryside become draped in pervasive shadow even as she began to brighten, her fair skin flaring with light. Closing her eyes, Rosenwyn focused. The magic in her blood illuminated the countryside and all within it, the power that she kept hidden as a secret now fully exposed to the world and its elements. The light built until her skin writhed with it, power that filled her with dread and euphoria. Dark memories flooded her, of a time, as a child, when she stood at her window in a cloudless night—and moonlight bringing to terrible life the magic that would change her life forever.

  Older now and having learned more about her curse, she still barely controlled it. It grew inside Rosenwyn, a caged beast, and before it consumed her, she unleashed lightning upon the air, a swollen flood thundering through an obstinate dam. It blasted from her, into the earth, into the sky, into the morning. She sensed the Nix thrown away like a rag doll. The air sizzled and Rosenwyn concentrated on what her body had become, a gathering rod of sorts, capturing the sunlight and changing it into violence. The lightning arced and she sent it as best she could toward the fleeing woman and her fairy companion.

  As the lightning met the witch, a bright burst of wicked green flared, one not of Rosenwyn’s making.

  The crone vanished in an eruption of Everwinter elements.

  When the pain of using her magic began to overwhelm her, Rosenwyn covered her skin anew, darkness swimming in her vision.

  And collapsed, drained.

  Silence more hollow than an empty grave followed, stillness so intense it rang in her ears. She breathed hard, fighting faintness. When she had recovered enough, she pushed up off the ground.

  The horse the witch rode lay unmoving.

  Of the witch and the fairy, there was no sign.

  The Nix untangled his stone body from crushed trees where the lightning had thrown him. “Woman of Many Talents,” the stone behemoth growled a laugh, striding up to her. “I sensed your magic but I was not prepared for it.”

  “Are you hurt?”

  “No,” the Nix rumbled. “I have been struck by lightning more times than I can recount. It is nothing to me.” He looked deeper into the meadow at the dead horse. “You will have to approach with utmost caution. I cannot go with you. Be wary. The witch has guile and all too surely hates you.”

  Exhausted but determined, Rosenwyn nodded and mounted Wennyl. Both made their way to the horse’s remains. But there was nothing there. The lightning had torn a hole in the mount’s side, killing it instantly.

  After searching the area, Rosenwyn returned to the Nix.

  “What did you find?” the gargoyle asked. “The grimoires?”

  “No,” she said, frustrated. She dismounted and went to the side of Audeph Klestmark. “The fairy is dead, reduced to black ash on the snow. The witch vanished though. The lightning threw her free of her mount but she regained her feet. The tracks led about twenty paces before they disappeared.”

  “Magic protected her and then concealed her passage. She will not be easily found,” the Nix said, gently picking up the body of Audeph Klestmark with his unbroken hand. “Come.”

  Rosenwyn nodded, the defeat like poison in her mouth, and followed the gargoyle back toward Saith yn Col. They passed the body of the man from the Raging Drunk. He couldn’t be more dead—one bloodshot eye stared up through the snow blanketed trees, the rest of his skull crushed beyond identification.

  “You were attacked by this man?” the Nix questioned, observing the remains.

  “Wennyl finished him,” Rosenwyn answered.

  “A fine Rhedewyr, a finer friend.”

  When they reached the Nix’s lair, Rosenwyn went to the body of Audeph Klestmark where the gargoyle had laid her just outside the entrance. The wealthy woman stared to the side, her mouth agape. The thief checked over the body. She could not find a cause for the woman’s death.

  “She was a vessel. And this was a plot,” the Nix growled.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look upon her. Note what can be seen.”

  It did not take long to compare the difference from their previous meeting in Mur Castell—discarded gloves revealing fingers devoid of rings. “Her rings are gone, yet necklace and earrings remain.”

  “It means the rings held more worth,” the Nix said. “And when it comes to magic and power, gems are priceless in the province of the witch.”

  “And the vessel?”

  “This woman did not die, not by another’s hand. No wounds. No bruising,” the Nix said. “An innocent. Housing a very rare evil. That evil overtook the body of this woman, similar to how a shadow infiltrates another shadow. Unseen. A witch, ancient, one whose body has long since decayed to dust yet the spirit lives on in a different body. Such a witch even courted one of the rebel Druids of Caer Dathal. It is said she fled while my home—and her Druid partner—fell.” The Nix looked into the forest as if the witch were there, watching them. “And she would want the grimoires back. For their power… or something far more grave for Annwn.”

  “The grimoires of her fallen brethren,” Rosenwyn said. “What have I done?”

  “A terrible omen. No good can come of this.”

  Rosenwyn loathed she had aided the witch. More than she hated even herself.

  “Tell me your role in this,” the Nix rumbled. “With detail.”

  Rosenwyn did. She had no reason not to. She started with her childhood and the magic that had always plagued her life. Talking briefly about becoming a Lleidr Corryn, she instead related her time as a musician—until the night when the man at the Raging Drunk had offered his company and the fairy intervened, leading to a clandestine meeting with Lady Audeph Klestmark and her promise to help rid Rosenwyn of her debilitating curse in exchange for the Grimoires of the rebel Druids.

  “The man who tried to kill you,” the gargoyle said. “He aided the witch. He was hired, under the supervision of the witch, to help deliver another vessel body. In killing this Lady Audeph Klestmark, you now have no lead to follow. This witch is devious. And she has her freedom.” The Nix punched the ground, making Rosenwyn jump. “She stole dangerous knowledge! Quite possibly, the most dangerous books under my care.”

  “What makes them so dangerous?”

  “Dark magic during Caer Dathal’s most perilous time. The knowledge of the rebel Druids who craved power until it resulted in the destruction of hundreds of people and their home. That knowledge, in evil hands, could be a terrible bane on Annwn.” The gargoyle turned to her, his dark eyes penetrating. “You were a part of this.”

  Rosenwyn thought the gargoyle about to attack. There would be no surviving.

  “I did not sense the witch’s magic,” the Nix growled. “Because of you.”

  “My magic masked her magic.”

  The Nix nodded, still angry. “Do you wish to make amends?”

  She realized she did. Nobody made a fool of her and lived to tell it. “I do,” she admitted honestly. “Very much.”

  “Very well,” the Nix said. “You start now.”

  “Start what?”

  “You have power, Woman of Many Talents,” the stone behemoth rumbled, his voice reverberating through the chill air. “It is powerful. You can also go where I cannot. You will become an extension of my will, for a time, until you have paid back the debt of your involvement. A Lleidr Corryn will become the White Rose.” Rosenwyn was about to protest but the Nix raised his fist for silence. “Once, after the fall of Caer Llion and the death of Annwn’s despot, Philip Plantagenet, I had one such
as you retrieve these lost grimoires. The books were in his private collection. In time, you will discover this witch. And regain what she stole.”

  “Where is that thief who stole the books from Caer Llion?” she questioned.

  “Death comes all too soon in my presence, it seems.”

  Rosenwyn did not know what that meant. But if anyone could steal the grimoires back, it would be her.

  “Do you accept this proposal?” the Nix asked finally.

  “There may be a time when I am discovered by those who wish me dead for renouncing my role as Lleidr Corryn.” Rosenwyn despised the thought of confronting that part of her life. “In the past, I avoided Vrace Erryn and Rol Macleod by playing in a different town every night.”

  “Like the wind,” the Nix said. “Constantly moving.”

  “Very much so. And I cannot guarantee others will not search for me here and find you in the process. And all you possess. My life is tied to the master thief’s token. If I resume my role, they will know of it and they will come for me.”

  “The two other master thieves,” the Nix grunted. “We will worry about them when the day of their reckoning comes.”

  The gargoyle said it so nonchalant she actually believed him.

  The Nix gazed at the dark clouds roaming their blue sky:

  “Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud

  Turn forth her silver lining on the night?

  I did not err; there does a sable cloud

  Turn forth her silver lining on the night,

  And casts a gleam over this tufted grove.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “That is a verse from a John Milton poem, my White Rose Thief,” the Nix said. “Another poet from the world beyond Annwn. The passage means not every evil turn is for ill if one is capable of perceiving it.”

  “That is quite appropriate, I guess,” she admitted. “The sable cloud has entered our lives. But that same cloud has brought us together.” She patted Wennyl who nuzzled her back. “Time to find the witch and end her own silver lining.”

  “I could not agree more,” the Nix growled.

  Life had a way of changing course, like a swollen river escaping its banks. It could not be fought, only accepted. Rosenwyn went to gather her things. If the Nix could endure the change in his role from gargoyle atop Caer Dathal of Old to living amongst its ruins, then she too could adapt and become something more.

  Rosenwyn Whyte breathed in the Everwinter chill and returned to the ruins.

  And to her new home of Saith yn Col.

  The Everwinter Wraith

  Introduction

  Sequels are strange creatures.

  When I finished writing The Dark Thorn, I had several different sequel ideas. The world of Annwn is rich with history and while I knew how I wanted Richard McAllister to grow as a character, I did not know which story idea would work best to make that growth happen.

  I decided to write the sequel that best fulfilled a particular promise witnessed in The Dark Thorn. Trying to find Seelie Court allies to fight despot High King Philip Plantagenet, Richard promises to help cure what ails the dying dragons of Tal Ebolyon. Five years after the terrible battle between the fey and Plantagenet, the unfettered knight still has not solved the problem. Worse, he is running out of time. The dragons are near death.

  And what ails dragonkind is more sinister than even Richard knows.

  Here are the opening chapters of The Everwinter Wraith.

  Become unfettered...

  Chapter 1

  With swirling snow stinging his face and ravenous howls closing on his flight, Richard McAllister, Heliwr and wielder of the Dark Thorn, pushed his way through Everwinter drifts up to his knees looking for a place to make a stand.

  The steep road to Tal Ebolyon in the Snowdon offered little in the way of hope.

  And the werewolves were gaining.

  “Damnit,” he snarled. “Snedeker!”

  The fairy appeared almost instantly from the depths of the storm, his wings a blur, barely able to withstand the winter even as it coated the wood and leaves of his body.

  “Anything?” Richard howled into the wind.

  “Nothing close, Rick!”

  “Find something!”

  “The sooner you shut yer yap the soone—”

  “Just do it, Snedeker!”

  The Oakwell fairy disappeared back into the melee. Annoyed by his guide, Richard struggled on even as Lyrian, his trusted Rhedewyr mount, cleared the snowdrifts ahead. It had been hard going all morning. The three companions had left early that day from the small town of Llwydnos where Richard had met with the heads of the vampire and werewolf clans that existed in Annwn. They lived in the same area, their mutual beginnings in Europe creating solidarity in a world they had now lived in for centuries. It had been a quick meeting, one meant to strengthen bonds and gain trust in the Heliwr. Richard did a lot of that now. It mattered though, according to Merle, and the knight had to grudgingly admit open dialog between factions had helped in the past.

  Now, for a reason that escaped him, half the populace of Llwydnos had devolved into their feral Mr. Hydes and chased him through this abysmal weather.

  Maybe Merle wasn’t as right as he so often thought himself.

  As if agreeing, Lyrian stopped and snorted.

  “Come on, boy,” Richard encouraged, patting the fey horse’s backside.

  “The Rhedewyr is resilient, Rick,” the fairy said suddenly, having returned. “He is safer than you are from what hunts you.”

  “That hunts us.”

  “Not to speak the obvious, but I don’t see you having wings to fly away or hooves to kill.”

  Richard checked his anger. “Haven’t you found anything yet?”

  “Ahead, oh master o’ mine,” Snedeker said sarcastically.

  Before Richard could reply, the fairy flew ahead. The Heliwr pressed on, his heavy winter garb protecting his passage. He had grown accustomed to the Everwinter but Annwn had not. The season had not changed since the dark reign of Philip Plantagenet had ended five years earlier, his witch having warped nature to provide a centuries-long summer used to wage war against the fey of the Seelie Court. Now the pendulum had swung back to correct the unnatural inequity. Snow and ice crippled the land. Strife from hunger and disease grew in most of the northern cities. The fey in Arendig Fawr used magic to grow food for an entire nation but did not possess enough of either. People wondered if life had been better under Philip. The Morrigan, Queen of the Seelie Court, and Merle both believed the Everwinter was a purifying reaction to the evil that had pervaded Annwn.

  Richard knew one thing for sure. The Everwinter made life more dangerous. And without Snedeker as his guide, Richard likely would have died multiple times keeping his world and Annwn separate. Sometimes the Unfettered Knight couldn’t remember a time without the fairy.

  Then, he reflected, Snedeker would open his mouth.

  The howls of pursuit growing louder, Richard and Lyrian forced their way around a bend in the wide path where Snedeker led them. It was not in vain. On their left, a copse of fir and pine grew, its heights lost to the blinding snow.

  One of the firs at the forefront, a massive sentinel, had a hollowed center just large enough for a person to weasel into.

  Snedeker hovered at the entrance.

  “That’s the best you could do?!”

  “Beggars can’t be choosers,” Snedeker grumbled.

  “What about Lyrian?”

  “As I said, your mount can protect himself better than you can,” the fairy sniffed. “I like his chances better than yours.”

  “Some guide,” the knight spat.

  The fairy ignored him. Richard turned back to the path and called the Dark Thorn. The staff materialized immediately at plea, from ether to existence, its warm length black and comfortable in his hands. The knight let the magic infuse him, an unquenchable fire. He would need it. Werewolves at hunt were not likely to take discussion seriously and the prote
ction Snedeker had found would be essentially useless.

  Richard stepped to his Rhedewyr and looked into his mount’s eyes. “Lyrian, you cannot stay here,” the knight said. “It is not safe.”

  The horse snorted, eyes angry.

  “You must leave.”

  Lyrian shook his head, clearly annoyed, and pawed at the snow with war rumbling in his chest.

  Richard patted him. “All right then.”

  Just as the Heliwr faced back down the mountain, the werewolves burst into view along the path, three of them, unstoppable juggernauts bounding as if the Everwinter held no sway upon them, their ravenous howls echoing into the heights of the Snowdon above. They were built like massive hounds, thick through the chest, arms and hindquarters powerful but all semblances ended there. Unlike hounds, the werewolves were killing machines capable of taking on even Annwn’s largest predators, their elongated snouts filled with rending teeth and minds possessed of the worst in human intelligence.

  The first fixed its baleful eyes on Richard and tore toward him. The knight brought the Dark Thorn to bear, its magic infusing him.

  He would give as good as he got.

  When it was twenty feet away, the first werewolf leapt.

  Using the Dark Thorn like a cudgel, Richard slammed the bloodthirsty creature high upon its thick body, the knight’s magically enhanced strength driving the werewolf away. Howls of pain followed its bones shattering. The beast snarled in rage even as it impacted the snow, its inertia carrying it toward the cliff. Unwilling to give it another chance, Richard sent fire directly into its chest. It fought to stay on the mountain but vanished over the edge of the precipice into the swirling winter maelstrom.

  Ignoring the second bounding werewolf that quickly closed on the Heliwr, Richard confronted the third.

  As they had done many times in the past, Snedeker attacked the second. Several dozen yards down the path, the fairy flung handfuls of red-laced dust into the air, the shimmering grit spreading. The snowflakes in the air evaporated beneath the dust, sparking into moments of flame. But when the dust settled to the thick snow that layered the path, flames erupted twenty feet tall, the release of energy consuming all caught within it. The second werewolf howled in pain, flinging itself into the snow where it received no balm from the fire, before fleeing into the forest and taking the odor of singed hair with it.